The Great Massachusetts H1N1 Debacle

So, I'm chagrined and angry. Not annoyed, or irritated, or even irked. I'm actually red-in-the-face embarrassed and pissed off. My state has decided to include prisoners in the high risk category for H1N1. Finding out exactly what this means is tough because the statehouse is saying one thing and the press has been saying another. However, if I were to be totally honest, I don't really care for what either source is saying. I want our babies and pregnant women vaccinated before the shots go out to prisons. End of conversation. 

Here is a copy of what I sent to the statehouse:

I believe that the press regarding prisoners getting the H1N1 vaccine before other people is generally inflated, and I don't want to sound like chicken little crying about a falling sky, but I have first hand knowledge that we are having a problem getting the vaccine to all of the high risk patients in the general public that are electing to vaccinate. I have a problem with vaccinating any inmates while babies and pregnant women wait for their shots.

While I understand the rationale behind offering the vaccine to prisoners because it is a closed system, I think this should take a back seat until all babies, children and pregnant women receive their doses. I don't want riots in the prisons, or infected ex-inmates infecting the general population. And I'm not a blood thirsty vigilante who wants prisoners to suffer. I just want pregnant women and children to get access to the vaccine first.

As of now, this is NOT the case. I have 2 children under 3 (one is a 9 month old baby), and I am being told that no one has the vaccine right now. When I called about the shot (pediatricians won't call patients because this vaccine is in such great demand that they never get enough for the people on their waiting lists, so you apparently have to get lucky and call on the right day) I was told that they ran out of it in a matter of hours. The women I work with, all highly educated school teachers and nurses, are also having no luck vaccinating their children. My sister in law, a pregnant pharmacist, can't find the vaccine for herself.

I'm glad that "tens of thousands of H1N1 vaccine doses" were sent "to hundreds of medical sites around the state," but it was clearly not enough to cover even the highest priority of the high risk groups. Shouldn't we address this problem before we start discussing who to give this elusive vaccine to next?

Dear Jane,

I totally feel you. My two year old threw herself onto the middle couch cushion in a completely hideous temper tantrum. Unfortunately, my laptop was on the cushion and she smacked her face right into it. My baby's first shiner. Then this evening she was so tired that she tried to sit down on the bathroom floor while I was brushing my teeth, smacking her mouth on the edge of the tub -- add a fat lip. What a weekend! And all on my watch.

Despite my husband's assurances, I can't help but feel like there must have been something I could have done. In addition to feeling like the worst parent ever, I had to bring her to ice skating lessons this morning. Every hockey parent in the rink is looking at me like I'm some kind of barbarian (irony not lost). And of course my lovely, sweet, darling cousin -- warm and trusting at 24 -- took a ton of pictures and posted them on facebook. Never even thinking about what she looks like in them, or what I look like in them. It didn't dawn on her that people might think the worst. 

There's my baby girl -- sitting on a bench in the rink lobby (which is totally indistinguishable from any institutional setting with scarred wooden benches bolted to the floor and grey concrete block walls in the background), stuffing vending machine animal crackers in her mouth, and looking like she's been out boozing hard all night and needs to be bailed out of jail. "They try to make me go to rehab, but I say no, no, no..."

I haven't had to take her out with the black eye and fat lip, yet. Wish me luck, or better yet -- leave me the contact for a good lawyer.

Is Elmo Really Anti-Reading?

I've been watching Sesame Street with my daughter for about a year. I grew up in a very different era of Sesame Street -- Mr. Hooper was alive and well, Snuffy was only seen by Big Bird (so, he may or may not have been imaginary), Maria was young and hot (she's still hot, btw), and Ruth Buzzi was on Laugh-In repeats. Oh, and Elmo didn't exist.

My husband calls Elmo "THE RED MENACE," and I can see his point. Since "Street" has become part of our lives again, it has been non-stop Elmo fever. Elmo toys, Elmo dolls (many of whom sing, much to my dismay), Elmo art supplies, Elmo clothes, Elmo juice, Elmo toiletries and ironically Elmo books. Elmo, Elmo, Elmo. Really, he should be registered by the FBI as a cult leader.

Anyway, I digress. It's true that I'm currently suffering from an Elmo overdose, but I still prefer the furry red dude to Barney (who just makes me slightly uncomfortable) or the Teletubbies (who truly bore me to tears). My only real issue with Elmo is that he appears to be against text based reading. In every "Elmo's World" episode, Elmo asks a question. He asks the computer, his "friends," other monsters/puppets, Mr. Noodle, a baby, TV, and even inanimate objects. However, he has never asked a book about it -- and I mean never, not once in the year we've been watching twice daily episodes. Why is this?

From what I can tell, Elmo is a superstar. From what I remember, Sesame Street is educational televison. Why the disconnect? Clearly, the producers of "Street" have to be aware of the drop in literacy among children, and they have to know that Elmo could single handedly change the direction of this statistic. Shame on Sesame Street for this oversight. They really need to step up their game, and use Elmo for a force of good instead of just a marketing tool.

Stinky, Stinky Roo -- The Bog Dog

My dog is gross. She's a 60 pound slob, and she smells like a dead opossum's vagina. I always get a little sick in my throat when I open up the hatch back to move her blanket, which is where she rides to and from her many park adventures with my family. Seriously, it's that bad. It probably isn't her fault; she just happens to love stinky, stagnant water -- the more putrid the better. And somehow my husband and daughter seem happily oblivious to her stench. Last night, she actually kissed my baby girl, my two year old pixie, right on the open mouth as she waggled her bum at my husband's delighted coos. My lovely little angel laughed like the ethereal fairy she is, and I turned my head in disgust.

Don't get me wrong, I generally love animals (even my three ancient cats that throw up everywhere -- but that's another story) and I like her well enough. It's just that she is also very, very stupid. This dog almost failed basic obedience as a puppy because she couldn't figure out what we (and I am including the trainer) were trying to teach her. She just stared at us with her big, sad, saggy face and looked pathetic. She tries hard and she is terribly sweet, but she just doesn't get it. She's always underfoot and getting scolded for accidently bumping the babies or stealing their toys.

Still, she's a lot better than she once was. As a puppy, she would crap in her pen and then run through it, caking poo into her pads and tracking it through the house. Once, she even managed to smear it all over her head, face and teeth. That was a fun bath! Ever floss a dog? As a teenager, she ate everything in my apartment that was made of wicker; then she ate a hole the size of my head in my mattress when we decided to "try her loose." Needless to say, she went back into her crate when we were out. Now, as an adult, she has mellowed out some. We still can't trust her alone for long periods and she certainly can't keep up with my brother's K9 shepherd, but she has made progress.

She'll never be the sharpest crayon in the box and her hygiene leaves plenty to be desired, but she is my huge, goofy, stupid, smelly, drooling cow of a dog. I hate her slobber and her stench, I get frustrated with her slow intellect and her clumsiness, and I get overwhelmed by the size of her personality and her body -- but I love her. I do. Which is why I pretend that I don't know she's been sneaking onto the leather couch while we're all sleeping, and digging for treasure in the kitchen garbage. It is why I exclaim in bewilderment over "accidental" chew marks and blame her gas on my husband. And it is why I only turn my face a little when she lays one of her wet, sloppy"kisses" on me. She may be a big yucky mess, but she's mine.

SHE"S BAAAAAACK!

So, once upon a time, I had this friend.  I loved her like a sister. She was funny, smart, clever, talented, and an amazingly good time. I already told you what my town was like, and how desperately I needed to escape. Unfortunately, in the course of my escape I left her behind. I went off to college and got caught up with the wild side of that life. I was finding myself while losing myself daily. And she was home. 

She went to school, too. But she commuted, and eventually it was too much for her. She quit and went to work. She moved in with a guy that wasn't good enough for her, and I told her as much. We grew apart. I lost her. But I always figured it was a natural deterioration, sad but nothing personal. Still, I always missed her, and lamented the loss of one of the best relationships of my life.

Then, about 10 years later, we found each other. I don't remember who found who, but that isn't the point. The point is that I found out the absolution of our relationship was very personal. She walked back into my life to prove to me that she had made good choices. She brought her wonderful little baby, who looked just like her baby pictures, and bragged about her life as a mom and a married woman. Then she dropped a bomb on me. She had purposely pulled away from me because I was too judgmental of her mate and the life she had chosen. She felt I didn't support her, and I crushed her by abandoning her. My heart broke. Then she walked back out of my life. 

Now, she's back again. I am uneasy with this reincarnation, but at the same time I want a second chance. I'm afraid that I'll let her down again, but I can't help but reach out. In many ways, she's still one of the smartest, funniest, most clever people I've ever known. And the one afternoon we met for coffee felt so comfortable, like sliding right back into a pair of old jeans. 

Still, is it like this for her? Is she waiting for me to hurt her again? What can we be to each other at this point? How can I navigate a relationship with her if her husband (rightly) hates me? After all, I talked so much smack about him, but in the end I was the one who hurt her. My husband says we can never have what once was. Logically, I know this and emotionally I'm not even sure I'd want it. But still, never? If that's true, what am I doing? And what do I want? 

I invited her to dinner. 

House on Mango Street

I feel like Sandra Cisneros as I write this, but my hometown is a tough place to live. I don't want to sound like an NPR douche, but it just doesn't match my values. I think I have to leave, or burn it down, or something. My husband, Homemaker Man, and I bought our house almost 2 years ago. I really wanted to own a home and we don't make much money (with my job as a teacher and his as a homemaker), so we needed to move out of the urbane neighborhoods we'd been living in for almost 20 years. Basically, we couldn't afford to own where we lived.

So... Cue drum roll... I suggested my old city. After all, it is reasonably safe for a working class town, the schools still have strong art and sports programs. The people are hard working, and neighborly. I'd be able to give something back.  And, best of all, we could afford it. Sounds good, right?

My G-D, was I delusional.

Right now, in this moment, I have no idea why I did this. I hated living here as a kid. I hated it so much that I left at 16 on my own, and didn't return until now, in my mid-thirties. There were other factors in my exodus, but hating this town was high on the list. It is provincial, narrow, racist, ignorant, dirty and poor. The local politicians are so ass-backwards that they make the most idiotic, lazy mistakes. The business owners don't invest in their community; they are like absentee landlords. And the citizens don't get actively involved in anything but complaining.  

Everything good about the town (and there are good things) is sucked out by this all-encompassing self-loathing shame that the citizens seem to feel for their community. As a group, they hate change and resist it at all cost, and they fear the unknown.  They hate themselves for still living here, but they hate the thought of leaving. As individuals, they are generous, neighborly and thoughtful. They take pride in their homes and families. They are very difficult people.

My town is the fat paste-eater in preschool. It's the smelly kid in grade school. It's the stupid, white trash bully in middle school. It's the pregnant chick smoking outside of study hall in high school. My town sucks. Why did I move back here?

I am planning my next exodus; it should take about 5 years. Moving with kids is way more complicated. I wish I could just run away again. 

D-I-V-O-R-C-E!!!

My husband and I never (and I know everyone says this), never, never fought before the children were born. We knew each other for about 15 years before the birth of our first, were roommates for 14 of those years, and romantically involved for 5. In that time, we had a few fights as roommates over dishes and late bills, we had a fight as friends over wearing headphones during a conversation, and we had a few fights as a couple over not spending enough time together and petty jealousy (mostly mine).

Since the peanut was born 2 years ago, we haven't stopped fighting. It got a little better when peanut was about 1 until the pumpkin man was born, but never really let up. Now, we are at each other's throats again. We still love each other, without a doubt. We still want to be together, and affirm this after every fight. But we are relentless, and we can't seem to give each other a break. 

Seriously, we fight about everything and nothing, from kid stuff: when the diaper pail needs to be changed, how much the peanut ate during the day, how to clean chocolate milk stains, where to put the kiddie pool -- to house stuff: when and how to deal with Kevin and Fat Tony, how much to spend on fish, how much mulch we need, when to get the mail from the box, when to throw food out -- to global issues: the economy, politics, human issues, neighborhood ideology, family crap -- to intimacy: what we share with others, when to have sex, how much we love each other, who is listening to whom, and why we can't communicate.  

I know I love him, and there is no one else for me in this world. I don't want to be in this life, or any other, with anyone else. The thought D-word makes my throat close and chest seize up. I can't breathe without him. He is the center of my world and the anchor of my sanity. I can't remember life without him, and I don't want to. I loved him before I ever met him, and I will love him long after we are gone. Forever, and Forever, and Forever...

Mostly, I think I'm just a bitch and he needs more sleep. Like he says, "we just need to hold on."