This morning, after gymnastics class, we drove over to the optical shop to pick up my 4-year old son’s new lavender purple glasses. He chose these glasses after my husband told him that he could have his new glasses in any color he wanted, red, blue, or purple. So of course he chose purple.
The aforementioned glasses, and the cocktail I’m drinking to cope with my realizations about myself.
Apparently I am not as open-minded as I’d like to think I am.
I tried to get him to choose the navy ones. I handed him another pair of black with red accents. I picked out a dark deep purple frame. But these were the ones he wanted through and through. Today when we got them, he said “mommy, this light purple is my favorite!” Sigh. (Then when choosing a case, he was offered red or blue and he chose red because it was his favorite, so…yeah…4-year olds.)
But it stays with me because my reaction to his color choice bothers me. Why should I care what color glasses he wants? His eyesight dictates that he will probably be getting new glasses yearly for a while (and thank god we have the means for that, but that is a story for a different post) so it’s likely that he will like a different color at this time next year.
I mean, what will my mom say? What will my relatives in another country say when we go to visit them over Christmas this upcoming year? What will his friends and teachers say?? I start to prepare responses for people’s reactions. I do that sort of thing, especially since 2016. Like if someone parks too close to me in the parking lot, would I be ready to throw down? Or if I’m walking down the street past Planned Parenthood and those goddamned protestors want to say something to me, what smart retort would I come up with? Or when I am in a predominantly white situation and someone wants to be problematic about it, would I be prepared for the viral epic shutdown?
He chose them himself. It’s my husband’s idea – he suggested it. He likes purple right now. He’s really into trucks and building things and is otherwise really…gender normative. Is THAT the issue? But I live in a progressive neighborhood! I have friends of every orientation! I don’t care who he falls in love with! I don’t care what others think! I’m not bigoted!!
Wow. These glasses have made me realize that while all those things may be true, the root of all this is that we all have bias. And by wanting to protect him from other people’s judgment and bias, it comes to light that I myself have my own biases to work out.
This is really only the first(?) test among many that will come with confronting myself on my ingrained gender-normative (and who knows what other normative) biases that I have within myself. I can say that I am progressive all I want, but these beliefs do exist within me for whatever reason, and it is always going to be a conscious effort to remind myself to face them and actively quell them when they pop up.
I love your glasses because you love your glasses, buddy. Mommy is sorry that she didn’t just immediately say “you look so awesome” when she saw them. Mommy just has issues – and I’m working on them so that this world can be a better place when you start to find your way in it, my love.
I was going to make a quick note of this on Facebook or Twitter, where I let most of my passing thoughts fly by, but the more I dug into this, the more I worked myself up into a wordy frenzy. So here it goes. It’s COLD outside. And, unpopular opinion for working parents (me) and people who walked uphill to school both ways in blizzards in their childhood, school probably should have been canceled today.
Sources (my weather station) say it’s about 7F out right now with a wind chill somewhere between -10F and -20F, and in order to DRIVE my son to daycare, I dressed us both for semi-apocalypse (the warmest jacket, boots, hat, scarf, mittens combo we had). We were both outside for less than 5 minutes total, with a car ride in between, and still my toes were little frozen sausages by the time I got back home.
Boston Public School students who get buses (generally over 2 miles and/or up to 6th grade) walk up to 0.5 miles to get to a bus stop and wait for buses that may or may not be on time depending on weather starting as early as 6AM. The rest who do not get rides to school have to walk the distance to the train or to school. Just for some reference, 2 miles in the city is the distance from the Boston Common to Fenway Park, and that’s a relatively “easy” walk, flat, without too many stoplights, and mostly clear paths.
“Why couldn’t they just delay 2 hours until it gets warmer?”
As I’m writing this, it’s 9:37AM, a good 3 hours after kids would have to go out to wait for buses or leave for early school starts. It’s now reached a balmy 9F. The wind is still howling. Additionally, BPS doesn’t do one or two-hour delays due to the 600-ish buses that have to mobilize and route kids to multiple schools with varying start times and end times. Besides it would mess up that smart algorithm that those brainy MIT kids designed to “solve” school bus issues in Boston. (Definitely a whole other post for another time.)
“Parents should be providing for their kids to be warm. It’s their responsibility to prepare for this kind of weather.”
Yes. And, for the most part one should assume that they do their best. But kids are invincible, and ballet flats or their Jordans are going to be warm enough out there, hats mess up their hair, layers are too not cute, etc. We all did it. I wore Eastlands without socks in high school in all temperatures until my feet reeked of sweaty leather – but I got a ride to school every day. (Well, I guess now you know how old I am. Then again, if you know, then you are equally as old, or older.)
“I mean, kids in Nunavut and Caribou, ME have to go to school too, it’s not like they can just cancel every day.”
Yes. And kids in Nunavut and Caribou and even some parts of the midwest are more prepared because this is a more regular occurrence. They know where their jackets and warm boots and warm gloves and warm socks are because they have to use them regularly. They have a sense that if they didn’t use all their warm pieces then there might be fewer parts of them left when they got home. And they can invest in these pieces of warmery because they will use them regularly to go outside and go to school and go about their lives because their lives are colder more often. Data from 1981 to 2010 (back when people didn’t as actively deny climate change as much as just ignore it) says that Caribou’s mean temp for January is about 10F, while Boston is about 29F. Those are really different temperatures for clothing yourself on a regular basis.
Invest. It is an investment to keep warm. I may have buried the lede, but I did a (very) little cost analysis to see what it cost me to get out there and freeze my little sausage toes this morning.
The outdoor gear I was wearing just for today’s drive to daycare cost me about $515. I picked it all up over a bunch of seasons, upgrading pieces as I went. I could have gone cheaper on jacket or boots, but over the years, I’ve decided I want nice warm feet and body and I used to commute on the T, so I invested in some pieces that would make me happy.
My son wore about $210 in gear. To be fair, he did NOT wear his long underwear today because we were driving to school, so it would be more like $170. Why is long underwear $40?? I don’t know, I just picked it up for him at Dick’s Sporting Goods before we went on a ski trip this winter and I was wondering that myself. In fact, I got 2 sets for him, so he has $80 of long underwear (in size 6-7 so that he can wear it for 3 more years – does that negate the heat trapping properties of the long underwear??). His Columbia jacket and Sorel boots were presents from his generous Auntie, with the jacket picked up on sale in the spring. His mittens were from Costco and his hat is 3 years old. Additionally, we have spares of everything so that he doesn’t go without, so that’s another $20-ish hat and $20-ish mittens or so just in a basket by the door. $250 to equip a 4yo for a drive to daycare. (And some winter outdoor adventure, but he’s actually not too interested in the cold. I’m raising a soft child.)
A well-heeled Bostonian would be rolling around in over $1400 in winter gear today. (The number of Canada Goose jackets are literally uncountable in this city.) A more typical Bostonian who commutes outside would be wearing what I’m wearing.
Our low-income families, who have to choose their expenses, are likely to be unable to prioritize the cold weather gear for their kids for a once-or-twice-a-year occurrence of extremely cold weather. A $30 jacket and $40 boots will get you through most of the winter here, as will a pair of those $1 stretchy magic gloves. But on a day like today, it’s hard for me to imagine going out in magic gloves and being happy for more than 30 seconds. It would probably be less time than that for me to dissolve into tears and rage. I HAVE gone soft.
“What about parents who have to work – it’s not like we get to stay home because of the cold?”
And this is where it’s pretty much a no-win situation for those who are calling the shots for school closings. Because it’s true. We don’t get to stay home because of the cold. (I just happen to be working from home this morning so that I can pen this long-winded, researched rant.) So I’m not surprised by the fact that Boston Public Schools is open today. I mean, there are 125 schools serving about 50,000 students in this city. Kids who need not only instruction, but lunch, and a warm place to stay, and a welcoming environment of friends and staff. They just have to brave the dangerously cold commute in order to get there.
As for me, I have to work whether or not there is school today, and my son is in daycare (which would NOT have been closed for cold), so it doesn’t change my life one way or the other. And I’m fortunate enough to still have my fingers, which has allowed me to consider this little repartée about why school probably should have been cancelled today. Exeunt.
On December 30th, I went snowboarding and fell so hard I cracked my helmet. I don’t remember falling, and I don’t know how long I was out before I “woke up” while being put into an ambulance, but apparently I had been talking and not making any sense, so I went for the ride, got checked out at the hospital, and I seem to be ok.
One would think this would start 2019 with some deep introspection about my “close call” and how I should make some New Years’ resolutions. I mean, I like resolutions anyways, and part of my life in education is having multiple “new years” in which to make these resolutions.
But this year, I have not really been motivated to make widespread life changes. I had an on-and-off relationship with a Bullet Journal in 2018. That was fun and caused me to buy a lot of pens but didn’t really make any impact on my day-to-day life. I am still working in a space somewhere between digital (Google Calendar and Google Sheets and Trello) and paper (I’m really into discbound stuff), and going to add RocketPad to my life, but I haven’t reached organization and task nirvana. Suckit, 2018 resolution.
Working out and eating better? Of course. Annually it’s a “goal”. The head injury (and related back injury) has kept me from moving too much in the last few days, so that’s on hold. Also here’s my breakfast this morning – leftover Dominican mangú (which I ordered with my frituras & tostones lunch yesterday), fried egg, fried cheese, and fried salami. See, the salami is even smiling, so I must be doing the right thing.
All these things have combined to make me rather apathetic about New Year’s Resolutions this time around. Things I’ve been considering:
Creating something everyday: I love to knit, sew, draw, paint, write, make music, make spreadsheets (haha, no really), and cook and bake. I could spend more time writing in this blog. Maybe a regular amount of time. Maybe a regularly scheduled time. Maybe actually cultivate readers rather than making this an extension of my Facebook musings.
Reducing the amount of time I spend consuming social media (shouldn’t we all?) and putting it into reading books. I love to read books, actually, but I am one of those voracious readers that gets sucked in and then loses inordinate amounts of sleep due to reading.
Skunk Works: A Personal Memoir – Ben R. Rich & Leo Janos. It was really kinda boring and sounded like a bunch of old white engineers getting chuckles out of things that weren’t really that funny. Maybe I should read it in print instead of trying to audiobook that one.
Yes Please – Amy Poehler. It was funny, it was OK. It just wasn’t quite dark enough humor for the times that we are living in.
Drinking water everyday. I bought a 24-oz water bottle. I haven’t yet decorated it with inspirational quotes or vinyl stickers made with my Silhouette Cameo to motivate or monitor my progress. In fact, I think I have consumed a coffee with Swiss Miss added and a Diet Coke so far today.
Working out every day for at least 7 minutes. I was complaining about how it’s hard to get to the gym more than once a week, and my friend said that I’m just making excuses because 7 minutes a day of Tabata-like workout could get me full results. Hm. Better not knock it before I try it.
Other typical thoughts like bringing lunch to work, managing my diabetes better, re-organizing parts of my house, keeping my kitchen clean every night, following a stricter morning routine to get out of the house at a reasonable time, etcetera, etcetera.
I don’t know, 2019. I don’t want to be a new me, I just want to be the same me, which is me trying to be a better me, daily. Or maybe I should just make fewer promises that I will not be able to keep.
Maybe I’ll be here on the blog more. Cheaper than therapy, nicer looking than LiveJournal. 🙂 Happy New Year.
This is Bert. Bert is a mother, like me. Gets food when he can, lives in a state of semi-neglect, and lives to feed people
Bert the sourdough starter, or “mother”, came to our family in the usual way – through a generous adoption from our local Buy Nothing group which has been a savior for my “but this is still useful” near-hoarding ways. He (preferred pronoun) lives in a purple mason jar, because of course he does. And he is helping me through my midlife crisis, because while I would rather have a puppy, Bert at least helps to feed the family and serve as last minute host gifts for any number of occasions, therefore he pulls his weight around here. He’s only been here for about 2 weeks but he has already provided 3 loaves of bread, 2 batches of crackers, a breakfast of pancakes, and a pile of crepes.
I feel like a sourdough starter is a rite of passage for so many things. It’s definitely a rite of passage for my neighborhood of Boston, which can be described using words like hippy-dippy, progressive, quirky, and dangerously rapidly gentrifying, all of which can be the subject of a different post. I tried to find a Weck jar to give Bert a more wide-mouthed and less…purple…home, and I went to the local small kitchenwares store to see if they had one. Bantering with the cashier about “my first sourdough starter” was met with a very serious “the air here is so perfect for cultivating the wild yeast!” so I slunk out of the store careful not to make more inadvertent hippy jokes. I’m surprised that my starter has not come with papers and a full adoption story, although I’m sure if i reached out to its previous owner, I might get one. (Kombucha SCOBYs offered on the Buy Nothing group are often accompanied by “only fed organic sugar and love” type caveats.)
I also briefly remember my mother being gifted a sourdough starter in my youth — if I remember it, then she must have been about my age when she acquired this starter. I vaguely remember eating bread made from it. I vaguely remember my mom lamenting about keeping the starter fed and having to make all that bread all the time. I’m pretty sure it did NOT have a name. And then I have no recollection about how the starter met its end or when or why the bread fount stopped. So between my sister cultivating her own sourdough starter from scratch recently (no thank you, it’s not LOCAL wild yeast, haha) and the offer on the Buy Nothing group, and these memories, I figured it was time for me to adopt my own.
For the first week, Bert lived on our counter, and I started tracking his feedings. Since I can’t be trusted to keep my own bullet journal going for a whole week, the feeding tracking lasted about 2 feedings.
I tried following feeding schedules. That lasted for about 2 days. Now I am working on a schedule of taking Bert out of the fridge on Wednesday, and feeding him Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday morning and late Friday night in order to bake a loaf for Saturday evening that can be a gift or eaten, and maybe another on Sunday evening to last the week, before putting Bert back in the fridge until the next week.
Bert posing for pictures with BertBread1 on its first rise
Despite the wealth of online advice and timetables, somehow, I can’t figure out how to reverse timeline a loaf of bread through 2 feedings and 3 rises. And I tried logging the cycle for a loaf of bread, but the logs on the BertBread 1, 2, and 3 are fraught with inaccuracies on timing. I can’t even be trusted to write down the time that I did something, never mind proofing bread for a specific amount of time. I still have a learning curve for being able to visually evaluate both starter and dough, learning how to shape bread dough, and determining which factors will lead to a better crumb. (The crust and flavor of all 3 BertBreads have been pretty great. It’s that wild LOCAL yeast, man.)
(L to R) BertBread 1, 2, and 3. MOAR CRUMB PLZ! And better folding.
I’m also feeling the typical guilt about discarding starter and have looked up recipes for sourdough pancakes/waffles and crackers and crepes and banana breads (which I haven’t made yet, but there are 4 bananas tempting me from the kitchen counter right now.)
Top: BertCrepes – pretty tasty, if a little stiff. Probably needs to be watered down more. Bottom: BertCrackers 2 – the Bertening.
I guess all I need now is time and practice, and assurance that a sourdough starter can in fact survive in a house of growth by hands-off parenting. Maybe a good fridge proofing technique. Oh, and more hours in the day to get to the gym to burn off all this bread that I am happily eating with my cultured butter. Next step, churning and making my own butter. Yes, I can do that.
My first reaction to all the Harvey Weinstein hubbub was “well that sucks, and I’m lucky to not have had to deal with that in my career.”
But then I remembered I had. It was put so far away that I had forgotten that in my first year as a teacher, it was required to hug (be hugged by, endure squishy cheek kisses, walk down the hall arm in arm or hand on butt) a particular employee every day in order to have things like an elevator key, or a cart, or students who didn’t threaten you because you were “cool” with him.
Why didn’t I speak up? I was lowest on the totem pole, and it was my first job. I just wanted to fit in at work. No one else ever said anything, and I didn’t want to make more waves beyond my bad classroom management. Besides, who knows what would happen to me if I wasn’t cool with him? Sometimes you had the more boorish boys in your class on your side if you were “cool” with him. I was 22. Cool was still important.
Why haven’t I spoken about it since? I didn’t know it then, but I had been programmed to think that this was normal and this was not harassment and this was just a “rite of passage” at any new job. Also, I haven’t had anyone to tell it to – anyone who knows him is still there in that insular community, and I have lost touch. And frankly, I forgot. Because there are a lot of things about 22 that are better off forgotten.
Why would I bring it up now? My trauma does not define me, and yes, I have misgivings about this #metoo movement that requires us to bring up things that I would rather keep buried in order to be seen as human and worthy. This is not the only example of harassment I have experienced, just the most prominent one at work that was not in some part my own damn fault.
But I brought this incident up to my husband, over breakfast, and he was so uncomfortable even hearing it. Wouldn’t make eye contact, non-committal single word responses, changing the subject. And it brought me back to that shameful place where I just wanted to bury it deep and never admit I was that stupid again.
I don’t blame him – he doesn’t talk about feelings regularly, and I have accepted that about my reality. But it really makes me think that there is an issue when the people closest to me can’t accept that this happened to me. There are also people closest to me who will be surprised if they read this. If you’re one of those surprised people, I hate to tell you that this is really not the worst thing that’s happened to me. And it happens to us all. That’s the power of #metoo, and I guess I’m telling my story.
IT IS NOT OK to have to give up bodily autonomy to do your job. IT IS NOT OK to have to chip away at your definition of professionalism to do your profession. IT IS NOT OK to have your humanity subjugated just to be human.
But it is normal. And it is normalized. And that is not OK either.
“If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. If an elephant has its foot on the tail of a mouse and you say that you are neutral, the mouse will not appreciate your neutrality.” –Desmond Tutu
Friends, I barely have mental wherewithal to keep my own days together, nevermind parse the exhausting reality that our black brothers and sisters face. However, I realize that by being silent and posting only the minutiae of my life, no one is hearing my voice on the fears I harbor for the community that I work in and the world that I live in.
I am decidedly NOT neutral, even though my curated Facebook life may appear to be. I am not neutral, not since the day many years ago that my friend, coworker, and visionary leader told me that there is no such thing as being apolitical in my line of work. Those who I have worked with who have made me and changed me over these 15 years, I thank you and I think of you every day. I hope you never have a moment where someone sees you as someone who you are not, or worse yet, does not see you at all.
If you can’t understand why Kaepernick takes a knee, if you think any of these shootings could be “misunderstandings”, if you don’t see that Black lives can matter without diminishing “Blue lives” or “All Lives”, please do not engage me in dialogue unless you intend to listen, see, and be changed. The time for dialogue has passed. The time for change is now.
The view from Eastie to Logan was eerily similar to all the images of Boston being broadcast on the TV stations.
This day, September 11, is indelibly tied to my roots as an educator. In 2001, it was my 5th day of my first year teaching 9th grade Algebra at East Boston High School. Without any practice teaching or experience in a full-time classroom, I barely understood what it meant to teach math yet on that day. Yet, I found myself having to be an anchor for students when moments before, I didn’t even realize that was in my job description. The TVs were turned on in all the classrooms. Students had questions. Questions like, Do we still have football practice? Can we take the bus home? Are we at war? I mean, teachers are supposed to end their classes with “does anyone have any questions?” and then answer those questions, but I didn’t have any answers. We all just sat in our classes talking in muted tones trying to make sense of everything as parents picked up their kids throughout the day.
14 years later, I’m teaching 9th grade again for the first time in a long time. Some of our 9th graders weren’t even alive 14 years ago, and the rest were infants and toddlers on that day. But now I know the answers to questions, and even more importantly, I know the questions that lead to more questions. I know that empathy should be at the heart of all my interactions. I know that my job description includes “anchor” between the lines of the day-to-day tasks.
There are a bunch of 28-year-olds out there today who don’t know that I still think of them on this day, every year. Although the memories become less crisp each passing year, today is always a reminder of where I have come from in my chosen profession, and how much work there is still to be done.
I have “just one more thing” syndrome. To others, it mostly looks like chronic lateness mixed with insanity. However, in the moment that I am having these brilliant ideas, I feel like time is an irrelevant and malleable construct in which I can warp to fit my gnawing desire to complete JUST ONE MORE THING before I leave the house. One more thing before I go to bed. One more thing before I start that project or chore that I’ve been putting off.
Being a task-oriented yet capricious person is super frustrating. I need to get things done. I only want to do things that I’m inspired to do. That makes no sense at all. So I invent things to do when I have a whole task list of other things to do that can’t even be completed in time. It’s totally maddening — I can’t help myself.
So, the words “Yeah, I have this exciting project, and it will probably only take one hour” really did leave my mouth yesterday. I had bought the Dear Stella Dress Me at the Playground fabric because I saw it and was thinking I could make a play mat for my niece and nephews for Christmas. Better get the fabric now because who knows how long it would take me to make it, you know, I’m oh so busy with opening a new school and moving the last of our belongings and renovating our kitchen and a baby and all.
Of course all the beautiful fabric arrived, and along with it came the rationalizations: I’m actually going to see my niece this weekend, she’s driving 9+ hours to get up here, maybe I could make her a play set to take home in the car…it’ll be small and reeeaaaally quick.
I decided to make a pillowcase with French seams (only 15 minutes, it promises!) and it would be great for the car. Well, let’s wash and dry the fabric and see what happens with my time. Oh OK, I can iron the fabric too. Just one more thing.
I tell my friend I have a cool one-hour project. She gives me the knowing side-eye, and says “Sure.” I got home and I was just going to make some of the clothing pieces. The instructions for the clothing print are to “cut them out, adhere to fusible fleece or flannel, and they’ll stick to the Dress Me fabric.” Oh no, that’s too simple. Fusible fleece falls off and the edges will ravel. So I stitch around EVERY PIECE OF CLOTHING. Well, I start to, at least. I get through about one-third of the clothing pieces, and then baby comes home and we do baby things until he goes to bed at 7:30PM. OK, I’ll do the other two-thirds before I go to bed and won’t cut anything tonight, I’ll just sew. Hm, it’s only 9:30PM. I could cut the pillowcase pieces. Hm. It’s only 10PM, the pillowcase is only 15 minutes right? Wow. It’s 11:15PM. But I have this extra fabric to make a pouch to hold the clothing pieces, and the sewing machine is out anyways. HOW IS IT MIDNIGHT ALREADY?
Pro tip: No 15-minute project ever involves pinning things together. HOW CUTE IS THIS FABRIC??
Pillowcase and matching pouch. Because matching.
Morning. grrghsnrrgh. Ben: do you have to BE anywhere this morning?? Me: ughhh. Baby: <waah> slog slog slog. Nursing while sleeping is a thing right? Brain: YOU DID THIS TO YOURSELF.
In the afternoon, I need a mental break because I’m tired. Go figure. I decide to cut out some pieces of clothing. I decide to cut all pieces of clothing. I decide to organize and take pictures of clothing. I decide to finish the project. I DECIDE TO BLOG ABOUT THE PROJECT. WHY? WHYYY?
All the individual clothing pieces, stitched around and then cut out. Clipping threads was the worst ever.
No outfit is complete without shoes. And an ice cream.
Do they make this dress in adult sizes? Here’s the crazy thing about the Dress Me fabric collection – you COULD make any of these in life sizes. Diabolical, Dear Stella.
Yes, I also made a “closet” where outfits could be laid out. I’m not a monster.
Ok, it was more like 5 or 6 hours. 5 or 6 hours that I should have been 1) working, 2) sleeping, 3) organizing the craft room in order to make room for the move, 4) doing ANYTHING ELSE. I hope my niece finds it as fun as I do — I just want to sit around and make outfits for the bunny and the cat. But I “know my limits”.
Funny post and cute project aside, “just one more thing” is a real problem for me, and I hate that I feel literally compelled to do something other than what I need to do. I just can’t help it when there are so many awesome things to do. I have always been this way. I need to learn how to stop myself from giving in to the instant gratification of awesome things in order to do other things that lead to greater and more awesome things.
Greg Glassman, CEO of CrossFit, you are a ignorant and heartless bigot.
No matter how many medical facts you want to spew, there are people behind these diseases, and a stupid tweet like this does not incite “discussion”, raise “awareness”, or save lives. (Truthfully, it doesn’t make me want to do CrossFit either, so it really fails as a marketing ploy as well.)
Talking Point: If you’re fat, you’re gonna get diabetes. That is, if you didn’t already have it because of your fat laziness.
There are people who are thin and diabetic. There are people who are obese and not diabetic. T2D is simply insulin-resistance or your body just not producing enough insulin. Lifestyle factors are part of it, but if you are an overweight person with low activity, you don’t necessarily catch diabetes. You might be facing death for other reasons unrelated to diabetes though, so cut that out, if you can.
Talking Point: Excess sugar causes Type II diabetes.
It is among the causes of Type II diabetes. But here’s the thing. What is “excess” sugar? The problem with T2D is that you don’t know what’s excess until you totally overdo it and your insulin says, “uh-uh, not dealing with that”. Until I looked at my diet as a whole, it was really hard to grasp what “excess” sugar was, as I was not regularly downing sugary sodas, donuts, or ice cream (until after baby, that is. Diabetes vacation! Working on that.)
It took counting macros for me to realize where the sources of sugar were, and how deeply I had to cut them down to maintain control on my numbers. And yet, plenty of other people could eat my daily intake and not be diabetic. Huh. Lucky them.
Talking Point: Genetics. Your momma’s so fat…
What’d you say about my momma?? Yeah, she has T2D too. So does my dad. Lucky me. It means that with work, I can control my T2D but all the people who say “reverse” and “avoid”…I’ll have to manage it forever. So yeah, maybe if CrossFit wanted to give a diabetic discount, the discourse from Greg Glassman would be great, but that’s not what he’s proposing, so…
This brings us to the first thing that happened. I’m sorry for insulting you on my Facebook feed, Nick Jonas. Nick Jonas has so wonderfully stepped up for T1 diabetics and called out Glassman. Of course, I still have issues with T1s who are all like, nah, I’m not fat like those T2s, but for the most part, go diabetic solidarity. (But seriously, Nick Jonas, who is your lyricist?? Get a new one.)
ALSO – pour a glass for “dead homies?” I can’t EVEN at this moment with the privilege and cultural appropriation and INAPPROPRIATENESS of that statement in this world that we’re living in right now. I hope to tackle that in much smaller chunks, over time, as the red subsides from my vision and I can see the keyboard to articulate things clearly.
And there’s the heartlessness. I previously posted about Type 2 diabetes being treated and prevented with two luxuries in our modern world: time and money. Not opening a Coke doesn’t address either of these luxuries that many people in our country do not have. And neither do many of the causes that your CrossFit franchises have supported – cancer, education in Kenya, veterans, firefighters. All of these are noble causes, but not helping diabetics. CrossFit itself doesn’t really help diabetics – gym memberships are $200/month in my neighborhood. No diabetic discount.
And the bigot. Oh, the bigotry. I didn’t even want to link the initial tweet, but just go to CrossFit’s Twitter to see how much the organization (and I don’t care who’s handling that account, they speak for CrossFit) has doubled down on the perpetuation of their “correctness”. Ugh, no one likes that guy who has to be right all the time, even when they’re wrong.
There are many things that have happened in this half-year that I want to write about – education, racism, violence and hatred, and the inspiration of my everyday work. I chose this topic because I have a fairly concise thought about it, and it comes down to this:
Shame for shame’s sake is not an effective motivator. It is only effective if it forces people to be accountable to themselves and others. Putting a general “shaming” statement out and then doubling-down and calling it “saving some of the 1/3 of Americans who will get T2 diabetes” is just narrow-minded, ignorant, and UNHELPFUL.
Much like the theme of my blog, if there’s nothing helpful to say, say nothing at all.
It’s been a while, WPeeps. My life has been too busy for me to make time for me, as I’d feared it would become. As arbitrary as the gateway of New Year’s is, it’s always a good time for reflection. I want to say so many things about 2014, but I’d really like to talk about what’s ahead in 2015. So let’s get on with the recap and pre-cap:
Here are some of the things that have happened in 2014.
I’m back in the classroom, teaching 6th grade math full-time. I’m using my classroom time to learn more about how students learn, and to get reconnected to schools. I go to work daily knowing what needs to be achieved in a day, and I try my best to do it. I’m really enjoying being part of a lovely and supportive staff that treats each other like family — the good and bad of family — and I accept dynamics for what they are. I work (mostly) efficiently and constantly from about 7am to 6pm, but I try to leave work at work, and spend minimal time outside of work on work things. CHECK: Professional, stable, sustainable, prosperous, productive, appreciative, confident, educational. NOT QUITE: less angry…or clean.
I’m going to be part of a founding team at a new high-tech school next year, and serving as the head of instructional technology. I am excited to flex all my experiences building culture and systems for students and staff, and grow and learn in this new professional opportunity. CHECK: Professional, proactive, productive, fearless, confident, and exciting! NOT QUITE: fearless. Not quite fearless. There is some fear that is not quite latent. It could be disguised as excitement. Or gas.
I had a huge closet edit in June – my friend Kattie came over and brutally edited out two-thirds of my closet, and made me throw away things that I loved dearly, like a lot of my hand-knits that really didn’t fit well (and were mostly boleros because I got lazy about finishing objects…and decided they were long enough). In addition to the closet edit, I did a large makeup edit as well and have had more fun learning how to use my makeup and wearing makeup. There’s more editing to be done, but the purge was a good start. CHECK: Fashionable, appreciative, confident, reflective. NOT QUITE: Well, fashionable is always a work in progress. Maybe I should stick to confident. I feel better about my clothes and makeup.
Yes, I made this. So much delicate work. No, it doesn’t fit, and it never did. Why didn’t I just make it longer??
There’s a baby on the way in 2015. Any day now in the next 5 weeks of 2015, actually. This has forced me to manage my diabetes in a rather rapid and drastic fashion. I now do multiple finger-sticks a day. I take insulin regularly (at least 4 more needles a day). I’ve even managed to lower my A1C to a normal level (from a high of 13+ to last recorded 5.4). I’m not even sure what that means for my diabetes post-pregnancy. One hopes for “cure” or reversal, but I have come to terms with what lifetime management of the disease might look like. I have managed to only gain about 12 pounds throughout this pregnancy by keeping mildly active (I guess my gym apathy earlier in the spring was due to regular exhaustion) and watching what I eat somewhat carefully. I use a Fitbit with some regularity to help monitor my insulin needs as well as try to maintain some baseline activity. CHECK: healthy, proactive, physically “active”, and definitely (re)productive. NOT QUITE: fearless and exciting. More on that as we move to 2015.
Roscoe is no longer going to be the baby.
2015: O. M. G. What have we done?!
Yeah. A baby. I could tell all the stories of what it’s been like so far, but after doing my share of surfing around on the internets, it’s really nothing earth-shattering that’s happened in this duration of gestation. I’ve been REALLY tired. I’ve seen MANY doctors. Everything looks NORMAL. Worst symptom: rhinitis and exhaustion. Best symptom: getting my ass in gear about my diabetes.
So I guess I’ll just tackle the hopes and fears for 2015.
That I won’t be able to be myself anymore. All the things that I have just come to terms with about myself over the last (nearly 4) decades — that’s all about to be “something else” that I don’t even know. I worry that my foodie love life is over. I worry that I will never travel again. I worry that my crafting days are over. I worry that my hard-working days are over, and I’ll have to be more flexible about my “get it done” compulsion. I haven’t finished a craft since June or so. I’m missing a 2nd snowboard season in a row. Life is over as I know it. Everyone keeps telling me this, and I get it. I even get the fact that I don’t even “get it” yet.
Okay, I finished ONE project since June – a set of boo-boo bunnies for my Secret Santa. The cats want to eat them.
That my house will never be clean again. That the construction here will never be finished due to time, money, and priorities. That our “home” is on indefinite hold. I have a few posts in draft mode brewing about this “lifestyle” that is our home, but I haven’t fleshed them out yet. In short, we bought a fixer-upper, and we’ve been working on it for upwards of 2 years. We’re not done. We’ll never be done. And now, we’re racing time to get ourselves to a state where we can live here with a baby. I’m confident we’ll make do if we don’t make it in time, but it’s definitely a fear that weighs on my mind constantly. We haven’t had many guests over since March because it’s been that much of a disaster.
I won’t know how to be a mother. I’m not excited yet — it’s mostly been panic and fear. Every melting down child around me that I’ve seen in the past few months paralyzes me with fear. My kid is going to be that guy in the grocery store melting down because they can’t have something NOW. My kid is going to be the one that makes themselves so anxious that they force themselves to vomit. My kid is going to be THAT GUY, whatever that guy is. So. Afraid. And I’d like to say that I have high parenting standards, but I know that 1) I have no idea what my standards are at this point, and 2) every single kid is different. So regardless of genetics or my upbringing, I have NO IDEA. Terrifying. And this is not the extent of my fears about my child, but it’s a starting point for me to articulate some of this fear.
I can still have my own goals for 2015. I started a list on my Notes of things I wanted to accomplish in 2015.
Notice how “baby” is one word of one line in 2015? I’m sure it’s not going to be like that in real life.
I can still grow at work now that work-life balance is about to take on an entirely different meaning. I have so many things that I want out of work for next year, for myself, for my community, and for the students that we are going to serve in the school. It is exciting, and I hope that I have the capacity to accomplish what I want or accept my limitations and still do my best.
I will have time to write and reflect and save memories for the future. I have taken very few “maternity” pictures or recorded few moments in the latter half or 2014…but I need to work on preserving memories for people beyond myself now.
I will learn more about our growing family and what it means to be a family beyond cats (and dogs).
We’ve already had a lot of challenges getting ready, and I KNOW we’ll never be ready, but oh well, time’s up and here we go…I hope we’re prepared for 2015. Because it’s January 1, and 2015 is here, and it’s time to buckle up for the crazy ride.