The Answers, Part I

Here we go:

• Women's health, and why we don't take care of ourselves (I'm "breaking up" with my GP and having trouble getting positive references to a new doctor): I won't go into detail here about why I'm dumping my GP (let's just say she either can't keep a chart or has absolutely no idea who I am; neither is good), but I am. And I've thought of it before. But each time I query my friends about their GPs, I generally get these responses: I don't like mine so I don't go, and I don't have one because I never have time to go. Neither of these is good. It means we're not taking care of ourselves. Sure the chance that most of us currently have anything life-threatening is relatively small, being for the most part not-at-risk, mid-30 year old women, but that doesn't mean we don't have the beginnings of servious, life-threatening things. For my own part, I have a 40% chance of developing Type 2 diabetes in the next 7 years because I had gestational diabetes when I was pregnant (something THAT GP has to ask me each time we talk; she is obsessed. But then she never remembers. And I had called her about my back not my sugars. And then she thought it was my feet. Fool). Which is one of the main reasons I've been trying to lose weight (said GP thinks dropping 30 lbs would eliminate most of the risk. I'm trying). But I need to have someone I can trust to talk to, not someone I dread calling every 16 months, especially because I avoid having my annual. As my PT said, it's silly. Especially now that I have a couple of kiddos who I want to be healthy for. And you, my friends, do too.
  



• Mama and I are starting our own book club. First up, probably Kingsolver's The Bean Trees (I know, I can't believe I haven't read this either). See, Mama doesn't want to talk to me just about the news anymore. Or work. Or even the kids. Perfectly understandable. And once we go through our days, what's left? So we're starting our own book club by choosing a genre that neither of us has much experience with: contemporary fiction. As you can tell from the list we started compiling (and, darn it, Miss T, I totally forgot which ones you had suggested; please email or comment), we are thinking predominantly women writers and award-winners. We got one copy of a few of those but will pick up the second copy at the library this weekend. Though, now we think we are starting with Brooks's March.
  



• Those octuplets: religion, reproduction, and multiples. Though, maybe I shouldn't start that. Okay, I'm starting. I'm not going to comment on the woman's marital status, employment history, or existing children. I don't really have a right to sit in judgment on her, even if tax dollars are being spent on her and her 14 children. I certainly wouldn't have wanted people judging us as lesbians who received fertility treatments and had multiples (though, we actually weren't supposed to, but that's another story. So, we consider having twins a miracle, even with all the science involved). I do want to talk about medical ethics. I believe, even as someone pro-choice who believes it is the woman's right to choose, that it is medically unethical to enable an octuplet pregnancy. Now, I haven't read too many details about the actual implantation (forgive any misuse of terms--in vitro wasn't our thing and I don't know the lingo), though one article seemed to imply that doctors weren't needed. Which then means this isn't really medical ethics but business ethics, of which I am afraid there are almost none. But for doctors involved with higher-order multiples, particularly fertility specialists who transfer numerous embryos and then try to talk oftentimes desperate impregnated women into reduction (knowing that for many women this is akin to abortion and completely untenable and against their religious or spiritual beliefs), there really ought to be some guidelines--I'm not talking forced abortions, but stopping the possibility of higher-order multiples before conception. I'm uncomfortable saying "laws." But I think there is a public cost, unless the family sells their story to cable television to pay for the extreme cost of having, say, twins and sextuplets. Indeed, isn't it almost child endangerment, since the children are at risk for multiple health problems? That makes doctors negligible and liable, right? (because of course hurting the pocket book is the only way to stop some medical practices, and some business ones). You can't tell me that these octuplets are going to be okay, physically. And even if they are, will the next ones be?
  



• Crayons vs. markers: I miss crayons. My kids mainly like markers. But I don't think markers, even in their wonderful array of colors--though, it's never 96, is it?--have the subtlety or flexibility of crayons. But they always choose markers. Luckily, they forget to cap them. And so when our markers run out, I'm pushing the crayons. Hey, the teachers say it's better for their fine motor skills, so I'm doing it for them . . .



• Snow cream v.3 with honey (and snow vs. rain): We tried a version of snow cream with honey. But it wasn't very good. Too grainy, not sweet, with an overpoweringly strong flavor of honey overwhelming the cream. But it was how Little Bear did it originally, so we tried it. And as we did, I wondered when, if ever, I will quit doing something special whenever it snows. We've had a lot of snow this winter--almost as if snow were rain and very common (I never make a big deal out of rain. I'm from East Texas, so I'm so over rain, even if I do love a good thunderstorm. As long as the trees stay in the ground)--but everytime it snows, we do something special. After living in the north since 1993 (off and on), I still think snow is special. Even if it's better with sweetened condensed milk!
  
  
• Making valentines: The school Valentine's Day celebration is next week and we need unaddressed valentines for each member of the class and for the teachers. And so, I've made multiple trips to the craft store for doilies, punches, stamps, foamies, and other craft supplies. Wednesday we went to work. Bud loved the punches and doilies; Sis preferred the foamies. Each made about half of the required school valentines, which is why we got a head start. We'll probably do it again today. And they had such a good time, thinking of the friends who would get them, trying new techniques so that each card looked different. So, even if they are a little sticky, these valentines cards are very heartfelt.
  



• Competitive Dieting: The "Big Loser" is big. And I've never seen it. As a rule, I don't like watching people struggle with personal issues for entertainment; it's exploitative (sizism at its worst), even if the participants and audience don't think so. What I have read about it says it's also unrealistic and unhealthy. Not my kind of recreational tv. Of course, I'm fat myself so I have issues. But people love it. My friends (who read this blog) love it and are even participating in their own versions. And, apparently, those home-grown diet competitions can be effective, especially for men for whom diets are ineffective or, at its misogynistic best, a girl-thing. Most of my friends have heard me rant about this. And so, I have to admit, especially because I try to be honest when I'm at my judgmental and hypocritical best, I've entered into a diet wager. Just $5 a week. Not giving any more details. I'm too competitive for that! Let's see if it works.


• Cooking dangerously with children: I love reading about Dexter's experiences in the kitchen. But his dad is a few steps ahead of me. Until very recently, my kids have been restricted to baked goods--cookies, cakes, pies are safe before they go in the oven. They know not to stick anything into a moving mixer and stand far away when I call out loudly that I'm opening the oven door. I always leave the oven light one when we're baking so they have a visuall reminder that it is hot. But recently, Bud has wanted to branch out. He likes to make my coffee. He's got all the steps down (we have a Keurig) and I add milk immediately so it doesn't stay hot for long. Now, though, he wants to scramble eggs, stir soup, brown things. And I let him. He stands beside the stove (there is front and side access, and he can get closer without leaning from the side, though there are a few inches of protective countertop) on a chair and I give him my longest wooden spoon or plastic spatula. And I stand there and watch. And he has a field day stirring and sloshing food. He's doing the cooking. And we both love it. Though, I don't think we are going to try Dexter's fried kale recipe anytime soon.