This last weekend was CRAZY. Friday, my sister and I took in a showing of Frost Nixon at the Paramount. Saturday, Nick and I went to Seattle's Hop Scotch festival with a good friend, and Sunday we spent ferrying between the mom's houses. In between all of this, I managed to prep a dinner for my family's Mother's Day celebration, take Nick to buy a fuscia for his mother (since neither of those boys is capable of agreeing on a damned thing, might I add), shop for pots and plants for the little container garden I'm planning, and make vanilla cupcakes with (I'm told) real French buttercream. Yowza. It's the closest I've come to feeling like super-woman in a long, LOOOOOOONG time.
I may be really off-base here, but my mother-in-law freaks me the fuck out. I could spend hours on all the reasons, but at the moment the primary issue is that she's been so nice to me lately. To me! She's always made it really clear that she didn't care for me, that she did not particularly want her son to marry me, that she was really not pleased to welcome me as a member of her "family." Our relationship has always been strained, at best, open warfare at worst.
A few months ago, she just dropped all of it, and started treating me as if I were actually her daughter-in-law and not just the filthy half-breed her son dragged in. This was very sudden, mind you, and I'm still reeling. Nick and I had a huge fight about this the other day: I don't trust it, because people don't just change overnight. I need to know why. Nick insists that I should just accept her like this, althought she has no history of behaving this way towards anyone, as far as I can tell. Not even her own sons. Nick has somehow reasoned out that she is so frustrated with his older brother, that she has decided to be nice to me. Makes no sense, but I honestly don't even want to discuss it with him any longer.
Ugh.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Unmotivated Day
The dog won't behave, my back hurts, my allergies are acting up, and I have a stomach ache.
Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
There are a million things I should be doing, none of which sound remotely interesting. Even the thought of going back to bed bores me to tears. I have done some laundry and run the dishwasher. It took an hour to convince myself that I should make some lunch, because nothing I can keep down sounds good at all.
Really, I don't have much to complain about: my lovely husband has a good job, with good insurance, which allows me not to work until I feel ready. He earns enough to pay the bills and have a little extra for fun, and he is also able to be home with me a good deal of the time. We eat well: healthy, organic and as local as I can find. My family is pretty supportive, my friends generally understanding. As I said, I have nothing to complain about.
However, I can't shake the feeling that no one really knows how I feel, or even wants to. I hurt, all the time. Simple, everyday tasks are exhausting. I can't remember what it's like to not really need a nap by lunch time. I may elaborate at some later date, but that is not an exaggeration. Taking a bath hurts for hours after, and I dread it. People placate me, but how many healthy people really have any concept of what I go through just to get out of bed in the morning?
Today is one of the bad days. I can feel things flaring up. There are lots of things I know I should be doing, things that may help: the dreaded baths, some yoga, taking a walk. I've only been up for a few hours, and have only done a few smallish tasks in that time, but I can already hardly keep my eyes open. Sometimes I wonder if I like the really, REALLY bad days more: I am in such bad shape that I don't even think about all the things I should be doing, I sleep constantly, and Nick is just the sweetest, all the time. It's more like a dream, and there is always a light at the end of the tunnel: I know that the really awful pain won't last forever. But days like today, they happen a lot. There doesn't seem to be an end in sight.
Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine.
There are a million things I should be doing, none of which sound remotely interesting. Even the thought of going back to bed bores me to tears. I have done some laundry and run the dishwasher. It took an hour to convince myself that I should make some lunch, because nothing I can keep down sounds good at all.
Really, I don't have much to complain about: my lovely husband has a good job, with good insurance, which allows me not to work until I feel ready. He earns enough to pay the bills and have a little extra for fun, and he is also able to be home with me a good deal of the time. We eat well: healthy, organic and as local as I can find. My family is pretty supportive, my friends generally understanding. As I said, I have nothing to complain about.
However, I can't shake the feeling that no one really knows how I feel, or even wants to. I hurt, all the time. Simple, everyday tasks are exhausting. I can't remember what it's like to not really need a nap by lunch time. I may elaborate at some later date, but that is not an exaggeration. Taking a bath hurts for hours after, and I dread it. People placate me, but how many healthy people really have any concept of what I go through just to get out of bed in the morning?
Today is one of the bad days. I can feel things flaring up. There are lots of things I know I should be doing, things that may help: the dreaded baths, some yoga, taking a walk. I've only been up for a few hours, and have only done a few smallish tasks in that time, but I can already hardly keep my eyes open. Sometimes I wonder if I like the really, REALLY bad days more: I am in such bad shape that I don't even think about all the things I should be doing, I sleep constantly, and Nick is just the sweetest, all the time. It's more like a dream, and there is always a light at the end of the tunnel: I know that the really awful pain won't last forever. But days like today, they happen a lot. There doesn't seem to be an end in sight.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Blame the swine...
There is a lot of press going around about the so-called swine flu lately. I say "so-called" not because I don't believe it exists, but because I think the name is inflammatory and does not credit the actual origin of the virus. I believe we should rightly call it the FFF, Factory Farming Flu. Check it out:
http://www.hsus.org/farm/news/ournews/swine_flu_virus_origin_1998_042909.html
You could accuse me of being an HSUS fangirl, and you would be correct. HSUS has been investigating the conditions on these so-called farms for years. (So-called? Again? Say what you mean, girl!) Farms conjure pastoral images of rolling fields, red barns, and a wholesome family trying to earn an honest living. No matter which way you slice it, the places where animals are raised for eventual consumption are not farms: they are animal sweatshops.
Real farms still exist, but a small (but growing) percentage of our food actually comes from them. Some farms (GASP!) even raise their animals humanely, with a clean environment, access to the outdoors, freedom to engage in natural behaviors, a warm place to sleep, plentiful food and a quick, painless-as-possible death. I have heard it said that there is nothing humane about raising animals for the slaughter. While I agree in principle, encouraging animal welfare with our purchases is at least a step in the right direction. Others say you should raise your food yourself. I love this idea, but it really is a full time job, and it requires you have a fair amount of space and the ability to use it freely. I would wager that a vast majority of US citizens lack at least one of these luxuries.
To aid in your shopping, a quick Google will reveal that there are many organizations that offer humane certifications to farmers. It's a cool idea, but these certifications and inspections don't run cheap. and would be incredibly expensive for most small farmers to implement. Some grocery stores, such as Whole Foods or PCC in Seattle, have their own set of standards for the products they carry. I look for these certifications during the dead winter months, when my local farmer's market is closed. My preference is to be able to actually talk to the farmers, learn about their visions of humane animal care and sustainability, and make informed purchasing decisions based on this information. With farmer's market season coming up, I would encourage others to do the same. If you find that you eat a lot of meat in your household, order in bulk from the producers: you will likely find you can get fresh, organic, humane, local and sustainably raised meat for about the same price per pound as the factory farmed meat available at your local grocery store. You can feel better about the treatment of the animals, and you will not be contributing to the WHO's workload with your meal choices.
(Incidentally, I did not troll the HSUS' website and steal their idea. I read an article several days ago about the first person to contract the FFF, and it mentioned his close proximity to a US-owned factory farm. How convenient! The connection in my mind was instant, and I've been soapboxing to my husband about it for days. Seriously, ask him: www.ceohno.com )
http://www.hsus.org/farm/news/ournews/swine_flu_virus_origin_1998_042909.html
You could accuse me of being an HSUS fangirl, and you would be correct. HSUS has been investigating the conditions on these so-called farms for years. (So-called? Again? Say what you mean, girl!) Farms conjure pastoral images of rolling fields, red barns, and a wholesome family trying to earn an honest living. No matter which way you slice it, the places where animals are raised for eventual consumption are not farms: they are animal sweatshops.
Real farms still exist, but a small (but growing) percentage of our food actually comes from them. Some farms (GASP!) even raise their animals humanely, with a clean environment, access to the outdoors, freedom to engage in natural behaviors, a warm place to sleep, plentiful food and a quick, painless-as-possible death. I have heard it said that there is nothing humane about raising animals for the slaughter. While I agree in principle, encouraging animal welfare with our purchases is at least a step in the right direction. Others say you should raise your food yourself. I love this idea, but it really is a full time job, and it requires you have a fair amount of space and the ability to use it freely. I would wager that a vast majority of US citizens lack at least one of these luxuries.
To aid in your shopping, a quick Google will reveal that there are many organizations that offer humane certifications to farmers. It's a cool idea, but these certifications and inspections don't run cheap. and would be incredibly expensive for most small farmers to implement. Some grocery stores, such as Whole Foods or PCC in Seattle, have their own set of standards for the products they carry. I look for these certifications during the dead winter months, when my local farmer's market is closed. My preference is to be able to actually talk to the farmers, learn about their visions of humane animal care and sustainability, and make informed purchasing decisions based on this information. With farmer's market season coming up, I would encourage others to do the same. If you find that you eat a lot of meat in your household, order in bulk from the producers: you will likely find you can get fresh, organic, humane, local and sustainably raised meat for about the same price per pound as the factory farmed meat available at your local grocery store. You can feel better about the treatment of the animals, and you will not be contributing to the WHO's workload with your meal choices.
(Incidentally, I did not troll the HSUS' website and steal their idea. I read an article several days ago about the first person to contract the FFF, and it mentioned his close proximity to a US-owned factory farm. How convenient! The connection in my mind was instant, and I've been soapboxing to my husband about it for days. Seriously, ask him: www.ceohno.com )
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Because I am bored, bored, BORED!
I think I will give this thing a try. I don't likely have anything important to say, but I have a lot of things I would like to get off my chest, and not to anyone in particular. Maybe it will feel like writing a wish in the sand, and watching it disappear into the encroaching ocean; that's that I'm hoping, anyway.
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