Today.

Princess Nebraska had this quote on her blog today. I think that it is entriely relevant to today's proceedings, no matter your beliefs or leanings.

A belief that we are connected as one people. If there’s a child on the south side of Chicago who can’t read, that matters to me, even if it’s not my child. If there’s a senior citizen somewhere who can’t pay for her prescription and has to choose between medicine and the rent, that makes my life poorer, even if it’s not my grandmother. If there’s an Arab American family being rounded up without benefit of an attorney or due process, that threatens my civil liberties. It’s that fundamental belief — I am my brother’s keeper, I am my sisters’ keeper — that makes this country work. It’s what allows us to pursue our individual dreams, yet still come together as a single American family. “E pluribus unum.” Out of many, one.

Yet even as we speak, there are those who are preparing to divide us, the spin masters and negative ad peddlers who embrace the politics of anything goes. Well, I say to them tonight, there’s not a liberal America and a conservative America — there’s the United States of America. There’s not a black America and white America and Latino America and Asian America; there’s the United States of America. The pundits like to slice-and-dice our country into Red States and Blue States; Red States for Republicans, Blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an awesome God in the Blue States, and we don’t like federal agents poking around our libraries in the Red States. We coach Little League in the Blue States and have gay friends in the Red States. There are patriots who opposed the war in Iraq and patriots who supported it. We are one people, all of us pledging allegiance to the stars and stripes, all of us defending the United States of America.

In the end, that’s what this election is about. Do we participate in a politics of cynicism or a politics of hope? I’m not talking about blind optimism here — the almost willful ignorance that thinks unemployment will go away if we just don’t talk about it, or the health care crisis will solve itself if we just ignore it. No, I’m talking about something more substantial. It’s the hope of slaves sitting around a fire singing freedom songs; the hope of immigrants setting out for distant shores; the hope of a young naval lieutenant bravely patrolling the Mekong Delta; the hope of a mill worker’s son who dares to defy the odds; the hope of a skinny kid with a funny name who believes that America has a place for him, too.

The audacity of hope!

-Barack Obama, 2004 Democratic National Convention

Meandering Thoughts About Depression.

Every time there is a woman going through depression, I am reminded of my struggle. I think there is some part of mental illness, even Post Partum Depression, that is like an addiction: you have to be aware of it for the rest of your life. It is always a part of you. And you can look back at parts of your life before the diagnoses and see glimpses of it then. It is completely enmeshed with your identity.


Jason can see parts of his addictive nature in everything…his obsession with our budget, his hunt for new foods to try, his tendency to take something and run with it to the extreme.

He can look back at his days as a carver in his early teens, his need for attention, his penchant for doing crazy things to get an adrenaline rush.


I look at my adolescence and remember feeling out of place. Out of my skin. Like I wasn’t really a part of the acceptable world. I constantly strove to make better grades, to be the smartest, since I wasn’t the prettiest or the most clever. I had to be the smart one. I constantly escaped into books and movies and a rich imagination. If I couldn’t be the best at something, like math or 4H or heck, even cleaning my room, I gave up. Sure, there was the standard parental pressure of the 80’s and 90’s on the oldest child to be successful, but my parents were generally supportive. And loved me unconditionally. Possibly even more than that, since they tried for 7 years before they had me. There was just something that misfired in my brain and told me I wasn’t good enough.

I didn’t realize this was an abnormal feeling until diagnosed with PPD. And my therapy sessions revealed that perhaps PPD was more of a trigger, that this clinical depression was lying dormant for MUCH longer. And it made SO much sense. And I was relieved.

But like I said, it is a lifelong struggle. Like Jason has moments when he craves meth so badly that he can taste it, I sometimes long to crawl into my bed and roll around in my sadness. I have to fight my natural instinct, to indulge in my misery, and instead embrace happiness. Not all the time, of course, but there are definite moments.


We both fight these urges, for our girl. She is the one who made us a family. Who forced us to be grown-ups, to pull ourselves up and make ourselves better. She is the light of our lives, and easily the best thing either of us has done. She is the reason I take the little white pill every day, the reason Jason says no.

And we watch. We look for little signs. Does her love for fast rides and daredevil tactics predict a life of searching for the next high? Does the shaking rage when she doesn’t get her way indicate a misfiring synapse? Did she get the wrong number in the Roulette wheel? I mean, she has a mother who is clinically depressed, a father who is a drug addict, she was born on Smoker’s New Year…Is there any hope?


Then I look at her. I watch her hug the dogs, and sing Jingle Bells (the Bing Crosby version), and tell me, “Good night, darling, I love you,” because darling is the term of endearment I use most for her. I hug her, hold her tight, tell her everyday she is beautiful and I love her. And I know that no matter what happens…we will be ok.

She will be ok.

Bring on the Peppermint!

No Diabetes!

I was thrilled and surprised. After 3 weeks of being given the run-around and being stuck like a pin cushion, I can safely eat the truffles hidden in my desk.

Like most things, though, something good came out of this whole debacle: Jason was been cooking healthy food.

This may not seem like much of an accomplishment, but this is a man who insists grease is more beneficial than vitamins. Who had a 3 day argument with me over whether it was cruel to give our daughter soy milk. Who believes vegetables should be covered in Velveeta.

We have been making gradual changes for over a year…changing our breads and pastas to whole wheat…banishing high fructose corn syrup…trading products for organic versions (have you tried the all-natural Cheetos? NO ORANGE DUST = AWESOME.)

But this…

Jason didn’t know anything about diabetes when we were told I was a candidate. He did some research, and became TERRIFIED. (Dads should Google even less than moms.) He began to fear for the health of his wife and second daughter. He was an emotional mess.

So, he did what he does, what I love him for. He grabbed the freakin’ bull by the horns.

He researched and found Asian food was the best cuisine for people with sugar problems, and has incredible health benefits. He found the best types of veggies to use, the oyster and sesame and soy and chili sauces he would need. He invested in a wok and found the best way to use peanut oil.

He learned how to cook TOFU.

This is something we are continuing though the tests were negative. He has embraced this lifestyle, and we are running with it. Not to say we still won’t be indulging in the rich, caloric food Jason excels at. In fact, one of the benefits of the healthy food is the allowance to continue his Quest to Perfect All Desserts.

We have so much more energy. Our bodies feel less creaky and decrepit. And our girl, who refuses to eat with anything but chopsticks now, who devours tofu and broccoli and carrots, who eats more in one sitting of ‘Chinee Foot’ than she would in an entire day before, will reap the benefits as well.

So this bump turned out to be a ramp after all.