I couldn't get all that stuff that was floating around in my head to make up one post without it turning into an incoherent rant. So I'm going to get to the second part and then I promise we can talk about something else.
So, as I mentioned in my last post, I read a news article online that resonated with me and then I made the mistake of looking over the reader comments after it, which got me a little riled. Let me just say that I hope I haven't given the impression that I'm against debate. I welcome clear-headed debate on any issue. I simply feel that sometimes when emotions are running high, we zero-in on trying to convince others that we are right, and in the process we miss the bigger picture. My argument here is that if an acceptable amount of work was being done by the world of science into this epidemic, there would be no need for debate. We'd have some bloody answers.
But anyway, the debate was not even what got me riled. It was actually something that I've complained about before, which is the need for some people out there to float around cyberspace looking for nasty things to say to complete strangers, usually anonymously, to make themselves feel smart or superior or powerful. Regardless of where I see this happening (and I see it far too often, unfortunately), it always makes my blood boil.
In this particular instance, I read comments that described our autistic children as "retarded", "slow" and "mentally challenged". I read comments claiming that parents who were questioning the vaccine schedule were knowingly hurting children, and that they were sheep, mindlessly following someone called "Dr. Playboy". It occurred to me that people who would publicly post such hurtful things probably don't even know anyone with autism. And that just made me madder.
So then I spent the next few days feeling angry at the world, convinced that most of the people in it were nasty, sad, powerless little people who just wanted to spread their spite and create ugliness. And not just on this topic. I see it everywhere. Blogs I love frequently have some jerk show up and anonymously insult the author via the comments box. And we all know that for that one stupid, uneducated piece of nastiness, there are probably ten positive comments. But it's that one mean one that sticks in the back of your mind, irritating you afterwards. It's what these people count on.
I admit that for a few days afterwards, I was a little irrational about the whole thing. I saw the world as a place where my child will never be accepted, and where the quality of his life will forever be judged as inferior by others. I admit, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself.
And then came my roadside adventure.
Late yesterday afternoon I was driving the kids home from a program on the base. They were tired and cranky, and I needed to pee. The road I took is a dirt road, and it is the same road I had my accident on a couple of years ago. Yesterday, it was snowing and, as usual, the road had been cleared just wide enough for a child's bicycle to fit through. As I came to a bend in the road, I realized I couldn't really see if anything was coming around the corner towards me, and I should try to get over to the right a little so I didn't get taken by surprise. Everything out there was very white, and I completely misjudged exactly how deep that snow to the right of the road was. Before I knew it, I was pulled right into it and stuck in a snowbank. My kids were not impressed. And I still needed to pee.
Within one minute of realizing I wasn't going to get out of this on my own, a truck pulled up on the other side and a lady got out and came over. I told her I'd usually just call my husband, but he's in Afghanistan. She repiled "Mine too! Who can we call?!" And we stood there giggling over the insanity of military life, and how this stuff ALWAYS happens when they're away.
As we were trying to figure out the closest towing company to call, another car pulled up. In it was a couple who lived on a nearby farm. They told us to hang on and they'd come back with their tractor. The military wife stayed with us that whole time and within about a half hour, the farmers were back not in their tractor, but in a truck. They had me pulled out of the snow in about 15 minutes. As I sat in the driver's seat trying to carefully reverse my car while the truck slid from side to side on the road, pulling me slowly out, and as my car finally moved safely back out onto that road, the wife of the farmer, and the military wife who had stuck around to keep me company, started jumping up and down, clapping and cheering. Even my kids stopped whining.
It occured to me then that the world is really not made up mostly of people who want to create ugliness. Here I had three people I didn't know from Adam who, out of nothing more than a desire to do some good, had taken an hour out of their Saturday to pull a complete stranger out of a snowbank. Manitoba has the worst weather known to man. But it also has the best people.
And then I thought about all the other issues happening in the world today (yes, it's true. Autism isn't the ONLY one!). And I remembered the millions of dollars that have been raised to help earthquake victims in Haiti, the soldiers who put themselves in harm's way to promote and protect freedom throughout the world, the countless people who run, walk and fundraise for any number of charitable causes, and the people who open doors for you when they see you struggling with a couple of kids and bagloads of their crap. And now that I'm rational again, I can recognize that, without a doubt, this thing happened to me yesterday for a reason. I needed that little push from the universe to remind me of something I already knew deep down. That the number of people out there who want to create good in the world far, far, far outnumber those who want to create ugliness and evil.
And also to pee BEFORE going for a drive.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Saturday, February 6, 2010
Some Autism Talk
I've been trying to formulate this post in my head for a couple of days, but all the little bits of it are flying around up there and I can't get them to settle. Here goes.
Earlier this week I read a news story online about the Lancet retracting the study by Dr. Andrew Wakefield potentially connecting the MMR vaccine with autism and bowel issues. For those of you not familiar, this study has been a source of serious controversy for a good few years now, with Dr. Wakefield having been accused of professional misconduct, both in how he obtained the data for his paper and in failing to disclose that he was being paid by lawyers representing parents of autistic children who were potentially looking to launch a lawsuit. He has denied the charges. Ten of his 12 co-authors have published retractions, essentially removing themselves from the whole thing. Is he a guilty scumbag who falsified data and took kickbacks? Is he the innocent victim of a smear campaign headed up by a pharmaceutical industry that has a whole lot to lose in all this? Or do the facts fall somewhere in between? I have absolutely no idea.
I don't know why I still do this to myself, but after reading the article, I scrolled down and started perusing the reader comments. There were hundreds of them. It's a very hot topic, especially for those of us with children on the spectrum. But there was very little talk about the actual article. You know, the part about the doctor who maybe, possibly, probably screwed things up badly enough to have his work completely discredited?? What everyone really seemed to want to do was debate the vaccine theory.
I have my own very strong, controversial opinions on this theory so I understand that desire to convince people one way or the other. In moments of serious irrationality (WHO? ME?!), I have posted articles, opinions and lord knows what else on facebook for all my family, friends and casual acquaintances to be thoroughly alienated by. I have no problems with people sharing what has worked for them. God knows, at this point, that's about all we've got. But when you're talking to someone who has her very own little human petrie dish at home, feeding her new data every day about the puzzling, mysterious, baffling conundrum that is autism, you're unlikely to change her mind. She already knows. Very few of us are just sitting on the fence waiting to be enlightened. And to try to convince the mother who watched helplessly as her child regressed after a vaccine that it was a mere coincidence--or to inform the mother who knows in her heart that it's entirely genetic that the numbers don't add up--is self-righteous and a waste of breath.
It isn't that I don't want the whole world stepping up and shouting about this at the top of its collective lungs. Something that, in the span of less than 30 years, has gone from an incidence rate of 1 in 10,000 to 1 in 110 is something we should all be setting aside our bickering for, and demanding answers to. Research needs to be done, and it needs to be done thoroughly. We don't need guesswork. We need answers. And we need help.
And if what Dr. Wakefield is accused of turns out to be true, it doesn't matter what side of this issue any of us sits on. He's set back progress either way, and done ALL of our children a grave disservice.
Earlier this week I read a news story online about the Lancet retracting the study by Dr. Andrew Wakefield potentially connecting the MMR vaccine with autism and bowel issues. For those of you not familiar, this study has been a source of serious controversy for a good few years now, with Dr. Wakefield having been accused of professional misconduct, both in how he obtained the data for his paper and in failing to disclose that he was being paid by lawyers representing parents of autistic children who were potentially looking to launch a lawsuit. He has denied the charges. Ten of his 12 co-authors have published retractions, essentially removing themselves from the whole thing. Is he a guilty scumbag who falsified data and took kickbacks? Is he the innocent victim of a smear campaign headed up by a pharmaceutical industry that has a whole lot to lose in all this? Or do the facts fall somewhere in between? I have absolutely no idea.
I don't know why I still do this to myself, but after reading the article, I scrolled down and started perusing the reader comments. There were hundreds of them. It's a very hot topic, especially for those of us with children on the spectrum. But there was very little talk about the actual article. You know, the part about the doctor who maybe, possibly, probably screwed things up badly enough to have his work completely discredited?? What everyone really seemed to want to do was debate the vaccine theory.
I have my own very strong, controversial opinions on this theory so I understand that desire to convince people one way or the other. In moments of serious irrationality (WHO? ME?!), I have posted articles, opinions and lord knows what else on facebook for all my family, friends and casual acquaintances to be thoroughly alienated by. I have no problems with people sharing what has worked for them. God knows, at this point, that's about all we've got. But when you're talking to someone who has her very own little human petrie dish at home, feeding her new data every day about the puzzling, mysterious, baffling conundrum that is autism, you're unlikely to change her mind. She already knows. Very few of us are just sitting on the fence waiting to be enlightened. And to try to convince the mother who watched helplessly as her child regressed after a vaccine that it was a mere coincidence--or to inform the mother who knows in her heart that it's entirely genetic that the numbers don't add up--is self-righteous and a waste of breath.
It isn't that I don't want the whole world stepping up and shouting about this at the top of its collective lungs. Something that, in the span of less than 30 years, has gone from an incidence rate of 1 in 10,000 to 1 in 110 is something we should all be setting aside our bickering for, and demanding answers to. Research needs to be done, and it needs to be done thoroughly. We don't need guesswork. We need answers. And we need help.
And if what Dr. Wakefield is accused of turns out to be true, it doesn't matter what side of this issue any of us sits on. He's set back progress either way, and done ALL of our children a grave disservice.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
My Patronus is a Headless Chicken...or Maybe Courtney Cox
Oh my God. It has taken me three days to finish this post. Every time I sit down to type, one kid or another starts throwing things or pestering for snacks or taking a header off the coffee table. CALGON! TAKE ME AWAY!!!
If you're wondering why my hair looks like it hasn't been touched by a professional since January 2005, well...you just answered your own question. And no, my glasses aren't crooked. My eyes are.
Busy and frazzled though I've been, I've had a much better week than the last one. I do appreciate all your lovely comments, and I'm now in the process of learning how to make a perfect vodka martini (thanks for the suggestion, Deb!). When I've unravelled the mystery, I'll post pictures and a recipe!
Here's a glimpse at what the inner workings of my brain look like right now. Prepare for some randomness.
**
Numero uno, Firstborn and I have a Friday night ritual. After Rosemary's Baby is in bed (he can join us one day. Right now he's just too disruptive.), we grab a snack and have our own little movie night. Lately, Firstborn's movies of choice have been of the Harry Potter variety, which is just fine with me. They're entertaining AND thought-provoking. A few ideas I'd really like to apply to my own life are the house elves (free house cleaning so I can get on with the more important things in life, like crafting and holding impromptu fashion shows in front of my closet. And blogging, of course), floo powder (no having to travel by myself with noisy, naughty kids--I am already dreading my vacation next month), the invisibility cloak (I need a break from my life), and messenger owls (does anyone remember what a handwritten letter even looks like anymore?!).
**
In other news, I had a mix-up earlier this month when I tried to use Danier's archaic online ordering system. They require you to--get this--PICK UP THE PHONE! I actually had to call it in. What is this? 1976? And then they pick up their phone and have to confirm your credit card information with someone who only speaks French. So, as a result of all this inefficient human interaction, my order got both messed up AND so severely delayed that I thought it had been cancelled. In a rage, I went to the Sears website and ordered the same two items (a leather purse and a pair of gloves). Both orders then showed up on the same day. My luxuries budget is blown until spring. But I can live with that. Here's my new booty:
And finally, I'm starting to think that one of these days, I'm going to log onto one of my news sites, and added to the usual headings (World News, Canada, Health, Local) will be a new, flashy one: Facebook News. Seriously, it is starting to take over the world. But since I can't do anything about it, I'll just let you all know (in case you hadn't heard already) that it's Doppelganger Week! You have to post a picture of a celebrity you've been told you look like. The reason this is so great is that once you post that picture, people will start commenting, telling you that they think you look like some other celebrity. By the end of the day, you'll have been compared to at least 3 unbelievably gorgeous people and your head will be the size of a beach ball. It's exactly what Facebook is all about!
Here's a (dreadful) picture of me:
If you're wondering why my hair looks like it hasn't been touched by a professional since January 2005, well...you just answered your own question. And no, my glasses aren't crooked. My eyes are.
Here are pictures of celebrities I've been compared to:
Ally Sheedy was the big one before I had to start wearing my glasses all the time.
Now, I mostly get Tina Fey.
And, for the first time ever, when I posted the Tina Fey pic, I was told I actually look more like Courtney Cox!
The moral of the story is that I am a babe. At least according to Facebook.
**
I have no idea when I'll be able to make it back here to post again. If things keep going the way they have, I should be able to churn out about one sentence every 24 hours.
But rest assured, when I do return, I'll probably be complaining about something new.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Is This How Heart Disease Starts?!
By the time Valentine's Day hits, my heart is going to look like that picture they used to show us in health class to stop us from smoking.
I was going about my business in the kitchen on Wednesday afternoon, when I saw an unfamiliar minivan pulling into my driveway and coming from the direction of the base. For a normal person, this would not be a reason for the heart to rise up to four times it's normal rate. But we live in the middle of nowhere, and we almost never get unexpected visitors in unfamiliar cars. The Captain is doing a dangerous job in a dangerous place, and so seeing that van pull in made me panic a little. I sprinted to the door, repeating my mantra: "It's just the Jehovah's Witnesses!" It wasn't, but it wasn't the army either. It was my neighbour swinging in (in his second vehicle, which I never see) to check that all was well with us. We live in a very friendly place.
Then, I was woken up last night around midnight to the phone ringing. Yet another horrible omen. Who calls anyone at midnight with good news? I was groggy and still wearing my night guard (I'm a tooth-grinder) when I got to the phone. But I did have the presence of mind to let my overactive imagination completely run away with me, so by the time I said "Hello?" I was in quite a tizzy. But it was the Captain. He needed an address (there's been paperwork regarding his father's will that he's had to deal with on his very limited downtime there) and couldn't wait until morning to get it from me. I went back to bed, my heart yet again beating a mile a minute.
And finally, this evening as I was getting Rosemary's Baby ready for bed, another unexpected set of headlights appeared in the driveway. This one panicked me the worst. I actually found myself doing breathing exercises on the way to the door this time, absolutely sure I was going to find a couple of uniformed officers on my front step. But it was my neighbour again! Seriously, he usually calls first! But he's doing some spring cleaning, so he had some books for the kids and he was passing, and, well, how can a girl complain when there are free books involved?!
I tell you, I am not an alarmist. We are at about the halfway mark in this tour and I have had a good, confident feeling about it from day one. The Captain will return home safely and life will go on as usual for us, I'm sure of it. This week has just seen me a little edgier than usual. Possibly due to hormones. Or lack of sleep. Or vitamin deficiency. But there's good news too. Do you know what all this heart-racing means? My cardio for the week is DONE!
Now, please point the way to the potato chips...
I was going about my business in the kitchen on Wednesday afternoon, when I saw an unfamiliar minivan pulling into my driveway and coming from the direction of the base. For a normal person, this would not be a reason for the heart to rise up to four times it's normal rate. But we live in the middle of nowhere, and we almost never get unexpected visitors in unfamiliar cars. The Captain is doing a dangerous job in a dangerous place, and so seeing that van pull in made me panic a little. I sprinted to the door, repeating my mantra: "It's just the Jehovah's Witnesses!" It wasn't, but it wasn't the army either. It was my neighbour swinging in (in his second vehicle, which I never see) to check that all was well with us. We live in a very friendly place.
Then, I was woken up last night around midnight to the phone ringing. Yet another horrible omen. Who calls anyone at midnight with good news? I was groggy and still wearing my night guard (I'm a tooth-grinder) when I got to the phone. But I did have the presence of mind to let my overactive imagination completely run away with me, so by the time I said "Hello?" I was in quite a tizzy. But it was the Captain. He needed an address (there's been paperwork regarding his father's will that he's had to deal with on his very limited downtime there) and couldn't wait until morning to get it from me. I went back to bed, my heart yet again beating a mile a minute.
And finally, this evening as I was getting Rosemary's Baby ready for bed, another unexpected set of headlights appeared in the driveway. This one panicked me the worst. I actually found myself doing breathing exercises on the way to the door this time, absolutely sure I was going to find a couple of uniformed officers on my front step. But it was my neighbour again! Seriously, he usually calls first! But he's doing some spring cleaning, so he had some books for the kids and he was passing, and, well, how can a girl complain when there are free books involved?!
I tell you, I am not an alarmist. We are at about the halfway mark in this tour and I have had a good, confident feeling about it from day one. The Captain will return home safely and life will go on as usual for us, I'm sure of it. This week has just seen me a little edgier than usual. Possibly due to hormones. Or lack of sleep. Or vitamin deficiency. But there's good news too. Do you know what all this heart-racing means? My cardio for the week is DONE!
Now, please point the way to the potato chips...
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I Am A Cougar. Oh God...
I remember when I hit thirty and realized that my doctor, dentist, vet and lawyer were all suddenly younger than me. That I could handle. This, not so much.
With the Captain away, I get to watch any TV I please. What I've wanted to watch lately is The Tudors. When I was eight (and obviously living in England), my class took a trip to the Tower of London. Being a dork, I did lots of reading about it beforehand and convinced myself I was actually going to come face-to-face with the headless spectre of Anne Boleyn. Sadly, that didn't happen. Actually, so very little happened on that school trip that I barely remember it at all. But thanks to the magic of books, I've been rather enamoured with the whole thing ever since. So, I could pretend that I watch this show because I have a scholarly interest in the reformation, the monarchy, and the life of women in Tudor England. But really, it's all about the bodice-ripping.
The Tudors is what the Captain likes to call "a soap opera for nerds", so naturally everyone is unbearably gorgeous. And when I started watching, I came to the conclusion that one of the actors on this show was certainly the hottest thing I had ever seen on this planet. Here is a picture of that actor:
Sex on toast, no?!!
Well, last night, I was avoiding having to let the dogs out and piddling around on Wikipedia when I came across the most horrifying piece of information. This actor (whose name, incidentally, is Henry Cavill) was born in...1983. NINETEEN-EIGHTY-THREE!!
This means that he is a full DECADE younger than me. When this kid was having his umbilical cord cut, I was halfway to figuring out the Rubik's Cube!
This might not sound like much of a problem to the rest of you, but it has made me realize my age. I now have to be very, very careful with my thoughts. I am no longer young enough to just let my head be turned by any old eye-candy that takes my fancy. I am in serious danger of cougardom here. My God! I should be locked up!
So, the creepy ogling of young men on TV will have to come to an end. But for the road, here's one last shot so you can see what he looks like with hair:
ROWR!! Come to mama!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
Why Rocks Make Better Pets
I spent a good hour making a pumpkin pie from scratch last night, using one of the pumpkins from our garden. I left it to cool overnight and then tried a slice for breakfast this morning. It's a good thing that I did.
When I came back out to the kitchen 5 minutes later, I found my pie plate looking mysteriously like this:
And Rusty looking mysteriously like this:
Someone is in grave danger of winning a one-way trip to the hot dog factory...
Saturday, January 9, 2010
TV and Sugar Cereal: An Important Part of a Complete Childhood
Yesterday, I was playing downstairs with my kids when I came across a little tiger finger puppet I'd made for them ages ago. I put it on my finger, wiggled it around and started saying "Frosted Flakes Good? They're Grrrrrreat!"
I expected Firstborn to laugh, but he just looked at me quizzically and asked "Why are you saying that?" And I realized that not having them planted in front of the TV all day has it's downside! Thanks to our refusal to pay for cable TV, and Rosemary's Baby's penchant for breaking the rabbit ears (which aren't really available in stores anymore anyway), my kids are really lacking in pop-culture!
If you too have this disasterous social problem, the good news is that I've taken this opportunity to learn how to embed a video in my posts! Show this cheesy old commercial to your kids. They'll thank you for it later.
I expected Firstborn to laugh, but he just looked at me quizzically and asked "Why are you saying that?" And I realized that not having them planted in front of the TV all day has it's downside! Thanks to our refusal to pay for cable TV, and Rosemary's Baby's penchant for breaking the rabbit ears (which aren't really available in stores anymore anyway), my kids are really lacking in pop-culture!
If you too have this disasterous social problem, the good news is that I've taken this opportunity to learn how to embed a video in my posts! Show this cheesy old commercial to your kids. They'll thank you for it later.
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