If you’re from California, I don’t have to tell you that we’ve been hit with one of the worst Fire Seasons in our state’s history. You already know all about it, since you’re probably hacking up a lung.
During the previous fires, the sky was gray and dark here on the ranch, but the air was breathable. This time, we’ve been warned to stay inside. I’ve occasionally heard helicopters flying overhead this week. But I can never see them. I ventured out in the early morning a few days ago, and snapped these photos of our skyline.
This is our view to the East, where we normally see a mountain range in the distance. Those are houses, about a half mile away.
The sun looks like a dim bulb. I don’t think we’re getting our money’s worth on the solar paneling, these days.
I stood there wondering if our Governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger, was having flashbacks to that movie he was in, Total Recall. You know the scene, where he and his leading lady are exposed to the air on Mars and their eyes bug out? Weeks of horrible air quality made me realize what my true worst fear is: that the air we breathe will become a commodity, just like on Total Recall (even if we aren’t on Mars). People around here have been hospitalized for breathing this air – and as the environment continues to deteriorate, will our air become unfit for human consumption? Why yes, I am an anal retentive worry-wart, why do you ask?
I do see improvement, though. Today we played outside for the first time all week, and I caught a picture of the moon.
Now, would you look at that. The sky resembles a shade of blue. And the moon? It isn’t red today.
Category: Life in general
I have been pumping breast milk for over 400 consecutive days. There were some days where I also nursed Blythe, especially in the beginning when she was willing to be still and quiet. But for the most part, the pump has been my best friend (and occasional worst enemy). After all that time, I expected to feel liberated when it came time to quit.
On our date last night, I was free to order whatever I wanted on the menu. I even had the strawberry margarita I’ve been dreaming about for months. The pump wasn’t the third wheel in the car as we drove around, and I went straight to sleep last night, instead of sitting up for an extra 45 minutes.
I should be celebrating, right? Instead, the food made me sick and my boobs hurt. I’m looking at my pump with longing, and tears keep trickling down my face. I can’t count the number of times I’ve asked Jeremy if I’m doing the right thing. Finally, he looked at me and said, “What ever you decide is the right decision, so do what feels right.”
So I pumped, ~ and by the way, relief is spelled M-E-D-E-L-A ~ I stopped randomly crying and the world felt calm again. That feels right. Margaritas are so over-rated, anyway.
You know what I’ve realized? For weeks now, resentment of all the work I put into breast feeding has been building up. Most of all, I’ve felt robbed of precious time. But I kept at it, because I had to. I’ve found that when I have to do something, I resist. What I now know is that I want to do this. I’m not ready to quit, but whenever I am ready, I’m glad I have given myself permission to do so.
In addition, I just want to say a big fat thank you for all the support I’ve received. It’s awesome to know I’m not alone!
Categories
I’m a Quitter
I have a confession to make: I’m a Quitter.
Growing up, I was a shy, easily embarrassed kid. Whenever a piano recital or gymnastics performance came up, I dropped out. This ingenious tactic worked great, for awhile. Then some extroverted adult would tell me I couldn’t join back up, in an effort to get me to just perform, already. Instead, I became an avid reader. Who needs sports or music when you can read by yourself in the corner of any room, unnoticed?
As I got older, it became my focus in life to not quit, ever. Determination can help a person through some tough times, but it occasionally makes me hold on to things (or relationships, or people) that aren’t working anymore. My fierce resolve to exclusively breastfeed Blythe got us through a stay in the ICU, biting, hyperactivity, food allergies and countless other setbacks. We persevered, because I refused to quit.
Here we are, almost 14 months later, and I’m riddled with guilt about deciding to hang up the old breast pump. Our pediatric allergist said that the longer Blythe receives egg/corn-free breast milk, the more likely it is that she’ll outgrow those allergies. But most importantly, the breast milk would do wonders to help heal her intestines, which were under attack for all those months while we tried to figure out what was “wrong” with her.
We’ve been egg-free for four months now, and corn-free for three. She hasn’t been sick once in three months. For a child who previously caught a bug if someone in an adjacent room even thought about sneezing, that is quite an accomplishment. If nothing else, I can say my stubborn determination helped her heal, even if I didn’t make it to her second birthday.
My body is telling me it’s time. As I finish a 45 minute pump session and find a measly 1 or 2 ounces, I hear, “It’s over, sister, can’t you take a hint? Please?” and that little voice is getting harder to ignore. Even milking cows need to be bred again every so often, to replenish their supply. Since that’s not an option for me, I’m going to embrace my inner shy child and just quit. Excuse me while I curl up in the corner with a good book.
Categories
How the Other Half Lives
This weekend I had the pleasure (term used in the loosest way possible) of using a Check Cashing store for the first time.
On Saturday, Jeremy found a truck he was interested in on Craigslist and kindly requested that I call about it. After pointing out that the seller probably wouldn’t appreciate a phone call at 6:30 am the day after the 4th of July, I went back to bed waited a few hours and made the call. Because Jeremy doesn’t talk on the phone unless he has to.
Several hours later, we drove an hour to meet the guy, who informed us that he did not take business checks, only cash. Did you know banks aren’t open at 3:00 on Saturday afternoons, especially on holiday weekends? Ah, but check cashing places are. *Involuntary Shudder*
Don’t get me wrong, the place seemed clean enough. But there is a distinct air of suspicion cast on the patrons by the toothless pleasant cashiers. After forty-five minutes of checking with different “bosses” and calling our bank to verify we had funds, (during which Jeremy and I perfected our silent conversation skills as we people-watched) the cashier gave us a winning smile and declared us surprisingly approved.
Then came the part where they raped us asked for their exorbitant fee. Seriously, people fork over 6% of their money instead of using a bank? No wonder people are broke these days!
Categories
Independence Day
When my family and I first moved back to the United States after 3 years in Heidelberg, Germany, I found myself unable to fit in with many of my fellow Americans. Often, I was annoyed by the attitude of entitlement many of them exuded. Mind you, I was mainly exposed to teenagers, so my view of a typical American was slightly skewed.
It was fall of 1991, and I had just left a country which, after decades of division, had reunited in front of my eyes. The Berlin wall had come crashing down, and thousands of East Germans flooded the streets of our town. Tent cities were erected as people searched for shelter and long-lost loved ones. Parades were held, and as Military Americans, we were tearfully thanked wherever we went for our part in their freedom.
As a teenager (and barely, at that), I was humbled. During Desert Storm we had been on constant alert, watching the threat level rise and fall by the hour. There were soldiers with M-16’s on school buses, roof tops, at the doors to our apartment buildings, making sure we were safe. They worked tirelessly, and yet, as kind as I was to those soldiers, it bothered me that they were there. I didn’t want to have to answer to 10 different people if I wanted to walk to the park. I hated that it took an hour to get to the post office, because it was on base and all people and cars were searched. My German friends were no longer allowed to come over, because they didn’t have proper identification.
But what I gained, as my family donated all the clothes, food, and time we could spare to our new neighbors, was perspective. These people were grateful for the ability to walk down the street, to hug, to speak their minds. They slept on cots and had limited access to toilets, but they were thankful. We proudly watched them assimilate into the Western way of life over the months that followed. The first ever German Reunification Day was on my birthday, and I had never been a part of such a celebration in all my life. It changed me in a way I can’t begin to describe.
On the Fourth of July, as the United States of America celebrates its Independence, I remember those people who experienced independence for the first time. I try to recapture that euphoria, and say Thank You to a country that has provided me with the Sweet Life I have. To be American implies so many things. But most of all, it shouts FREEDOM.