Ill-fitting genes

Ah ha, THERE you are! It seems like forever since I've seen you! Where have you been? Why haven't you been around lately?

Oh. Nothing to read. I hear you. It's been a bit quiet, huh? I was actually surprised when I logged in today *let me be honest here, I only logged in because I was trying to check my friend's blog* and I noticed the last thing I wrote was about me whining and waiting for spring break. And now, here I am -- two weeks or so into summer vacation already. So forget proper updates. I passed. I got awesome grades. My professors recommended me to be in the Scholars Program. I turned it down. Molecular biology sucked. But I don't have to do it again. I adopted a kitten named Zac. Husband got smashed in the face with a softball, almost requiring plastic surgery, daughter is amazing but I think is perhaps going through her early teenage years already, I'm going home in a little while to play with people I love ever so much, New York still sucks, but not quite as much, and if you need(ed) to know more, well, you should have emailed or spoken to me in that 3 month break. So there.

Last night I was thinking about the idea of journal writing. I always like the idea of a journal. They look pretty, it seems almost attractive to me, musing and writing while out in public, but confiding hidden thoughts to just a mere blank page, the book carefully set aside when the server brings your tea (or wine). But you know? When you read a journal, it just sounds so fake. So .... stupid. There. I said it. (Miss A thinks stupid is a cuss word, and continually refers to it as the S.T. word -- bless!!)

I mean, for real. It's not an accurate description of how a person thinks. If you are writing down how you are feeling in that moment, or what you are actually thinking about, you do not write in beautifully constructed sentences, flowing with perfect English -- a prose that rivals the great writers of the centuries. There is no real coherent nature of thought and no one, I swear, no one has their thoughts so well planned out that they can work in a manner of paragraphs!

Here is an example of how my journal would look like, given a topic of say -- leaving for Australia.

(First of all we can forget the "dear diary" as made famous by shitty movies. no one does that)

"So, here I am in the airport, about to go back home. is it home? where is home? did i kiss Zac when I left? Did I kiss miss A last or the cat last? Because that would suck if i kissed the cat last. ok. so going to the other home to see A and B. god i'm hungry. and this seat is hard. fuck im tired already. this guy next to me smells, he better not be anywhere NEAR me on the plane. i miss my babies, i can't wait to see them. i bet they smell great. i wonder how tall they are. fuck i hate certain people in my life. i think i hate this man next to me. hate is such a horrible quality. i am going to try and work on losing that. i wonder if my kids hate me? god i hope not. why do i say god when i dont even think there is a god. thats not true. i do. that rhymed. ha. oh juevenile.
anyway. im really going to enjoy this trip. no emotional wreckage. of course there will be. lets just leave it as 'minimalistic'. that's not bad. i think that girl over there should have taken a lesson in minimalistic when she put on that eye makeup....."

You see my point? No one really sits and thinks and is all, "Well, journal, it's just you, me and my clear, collective thoughts. What I really want from life is a healthy, happy flight. I am sure i will work through the emotional turmoil that this trip will .... blah... "See. I can't even do it. My head won't even go there. Unless you're telling a story, like I am now, I don't see how anyone can do it. If you're a journal writer, and you can, let me know. If you don't think journals sound freaking creepy or cheesy, let me know. AND if you have ever written a journal and gone back to it years later and NOT been embarrased, let me know.

With that out of the way, I'll get back to what I was going to write about (much to say?!) hah.

You ever realise that, genetically speaking, 'bad' genes are the ones we tend to notice more frequently? It seems as though it is rare for someone to compliment how someone else has excellent health because, say, their parent/s were always extremely healthy, or how they have fantastic eyesight for the same reason. Instead, we go to the Dr, and they want to know "does gluacoma run in the family? Cancer? Heart disease? Diabetes?"

I feel like what they are asking is, "are members of your family sick? sick? sick?"

I know medically there are predetermining factors, of course I am not stupid (gasp! the S.T. word!) Butthere are also environmental factors. I have no idea if cancer runs in my family -- what constitutes a 'run'. My grandfather died of cancer. But he was in his late 70's perhaps. That doesn't seem, I don't know, a medical anomoly. And it doesn't mean to say that I'm not more susseptible to it because of my environment. Or conversely, perhaps heart disease runs in my family (if it did, again.. i dont know?) because everyone ate diets high in saturated fat, smoked cigarettes, and did not exercise. It seems to me that if the medical doctors are going to ask questions about my genetics, and that of my family's, then they should be asking quetions about environment also.

I got a whole bunch of genes that aren't working out so well for me. But I refuse to let that determine my future. Or my childrens'.

Clearly I've got a lot on my mind this morning. I'll stop now, before I make you listen to a rant about Iran and dictatorship governments fixing elections.

You don't know how lucky you are!

Where's the time?

Really... I'm hanging on until that elusive "spring break" that everyone around the world knows American college students equate with release, time, relaxation...drinking? killing brain cells?

All I am doing lately is Sleep. Study. School. It is awful! You know that plea "give me a life!" and when you get one, "give me a break!" -- well, that's me!

If I have to contemplate metabolic pathways, Krebs cycles, Acetyl CoA or glucose rings for much longer, I may just explode!

Look at me -- I'm reduced to writing one lousy, unstructured sentence at a time. Forgive me.

On the plus side, I'm avoiding study today by making my own granola. Healthy, hearty, wholesome, and almost all organic. Mmm.. mmm. Right now, my apartment smells like cinnamon, nutmeg, apples, nuts, oats, vanilla, seeds... even "she who has turned into 'I don't like that'"says she can't wait to try it! Yay for that, and yay for healthy food.

That's actually become my latest 'obsession'.. not that it wasn't before --but more so now. I've just been feeling so crap --lethargic, nauseous, even itchy!-- every time I eat processed food, that I really am avoiding anything that isn't more natural now. Even soaps. I guess I pump so many chemicals into my body with the Alice In Wonderland drugs, I need to make a little balance somewhere. The thing is.. I used to be like this, before I moved to the US. I just don't know how it happened to... I don't know... be sucked out of me. I guess when you're surrounded by, no -- engulfed by -- so many overprocessed products, and all so easily accessible, it's hard not to succumb to laxidaisal attitudes aswell. You have NO idea how 'out of the way' it is for me to find a health food store that stocks raw produce in bulk. AND a store that carries organic castile soaps. I don't know if it's because I am not accustomed to the area and the right 'places'... but my small little city back home was far more 'earthy' than here! But I found a great store, that stocks both, and while it's a bit of a drive, it makes me happy, and shiny, and very, very ... did I say happy? when I'm there!

Anyway... so better on the inside, getting back to the more 'natural' me... can't be so bad, right?

I just wish I could remember two things --

** I don't need toxic people in my life. really. And they don't need to know anything about my life.

** my biology notes.

///

my favourite quote from The Simpsons --

Lisa -- I'm so angry!!
Marge-- You're a woman, you can hold onto it forever...

mamma,, i want a sisterrrrrr

So we were just coming home from a (great) night out at our favourite restaurant. I think I might have got food poisoning though. The jury is still out on that seafood. Anyway. I don't know how the subject got started, but Miss A was asking, in the car, about babies. Oh god, kill me now.

She asked how long we had known eachother before she was born ( was 15 months too disgusting to say?) ....and had asked whether you could choose the gender of a baby. Then she asked..

"who chooses whether you can have a baby or not"

we reply, "well, i guess, that's us"

her: "so. i want you to have a baby"



"uh, baby.. we have one. we love you."

Miss A, (determined), "no.... i want you to have a baby. i want a baby sister."

holy fuck. are you kidding me? this fucking discussion?

so we talk about how --

a) it might not be a sister
b) she might be sharing her room with a train loving, screaming, nightmarish, pooping fiend.
c) daddy won't even let us have a kitten. how in the hell will he let us have a kid.

I also said, (real quote)

" and what about mama's school, and then, work? who will look after the baby when i'm at school, hmn?"

Miss A, " you could have the baby in the summer. then you could take care of her then".

so fucking planned and matter of fact i want to choke.

we discuss how the world is already over populated, and how ....well.... yada yada.....mama has gorgeous kids....yada yada....

and she was still adament.

in the end, husband pulls up the car, sighing, and saying,

"look, we'll try, ok?"

i nearly fell out of the car laughing so hard i almost peed myself.

she, on the other hand, was very, very happy with the response.

sarcasm is totalllllly lost on a 6 year old.

A bit of advice...

This past weekend Miss A was outside with her dad, learning to ride her bike without the training wheels. She has been too scared to do try, not to mention it's been winter ...and icy...so it's been a while since she has gotten on the ol' deadly treadly....

Next thing I hear is Miss A coming up the stairs crying her eyes out .... sigh..... I head for the band-aid basket. But no... no need to fix broken skin just yet...instead, she was having a major meltdown just at the mere idea of taking the protective, sturdy, balancing wheels off her bike. Following up the stairs, wrench in hand, the husband sighs, "will you tell her she won't die if I take them off?"

Or something like that....I couldn't quite hear over the sobs and heaves of the mortified six year old buried against my stomach.

Now. This is where I faced a dilemma.

What the hell am I meant to say to my daughter?

A.) yes, i have older children. no, i don't remember teaching them how to ride.

B.) my best friend in grade school taught me how to ride, when i was in .. what..4th-5th grade? Any advice she gave me, is not something I could pass on to my daughter. Plus. I didn't have training wheels. I had a sissy bar, and streamers.

SO. what to do. what to do.

I just started doing what I always do. I talked. Out of my...(ass?)....heart.

I told her about how we taught her how to walk. First holding her two little hands til she got her balance. Then we held one hand, and finally, one day, she was ready to let go and not hold any hands at all! I told Miss A it was just like getting rid of the training wheels... and if a baby could do it by letting go of a hand... then maybe a six year old could let go of a wheel... at least one....for now.

Miss A went downstairs, and the next thing I knew, they had gone completely around the block. One training-wheel free.

(Tear free also.)

Awww.... how freaking cute is that?

(it gets cuter)

I had put it out of my mind until later that night, when Miss A came up to me and said (verbatim), "Mum, thank you for that advice you gave me this afternoon. It really helped."

I wanted to eat her precious little face!

I didn't even see that what I was doing was giving advice. I was just talking. Telling her things that would help her understand. Ok, Ok, I know that's kinda what advice is.... but...

... I guess from my experience, I'm used to advice being 'loaded'... like, 'let me tell you this, based on what I think you should do or what suits my needs'.

This time, right in this moment, my daughter just listened, heard a story about something she used to do, realised she could apply the same principles to her life now, and went out and did it.

Holy shit this was an awesome moment.

Awesome.

(Next weekend she wants to try both training wheels coming off -- no prompting!)

Lost in the Music

Well.. winter intersession is officially over. Whoot! I can, technically, write html/javascript codes. I also know the history behind the internet, world wide web, and I can even answer a question or two on Jeopardy! when DARPA is mentioned. Go me. In all reality, this is information that is taking up valuable space, soon will be stored away deep in the depths of the hollow caverns of my mind, never to see daylight again.

Where it should be.

To get me through this winter fun-factory of learning, I have been getting my groove on to some funky songs. There’s nothing like listening to some old favourites, discovering new tunes, or reminiscing on times past with lyrics, beats and groovy tracks. Want to hear what I hear?

(not the voices. they’re private ;-) )

(that was a joke… before you start getting all ….whatever.)

Get Your Groove On Here

ohhh. You know you love it. I know you are singing along to some of the songs. It’s ok. Dance along with me. Getting lost in the music is what sometimes gets me through the days. It’s therapy, all wrapped up in a chorus or two, with a delicate backdrop of piano or violin, or rampant drumming if you like.

There is nothing better.

Oh! Except this! We all know Monday is Australia Day, right? The day the white people came and stole the indigenous people of Australia's land, culture, social stratification, heritage, energy.....etc etc... (don't get me started)... but it's Australia Day after all... and it's time to move forward... if America can rise above slavery and elect Obama (oh man... don't get me started on that glorious event, either.....sigh!!!) into office.. then ... let's just say We As Australian's should be able to apologise, move forward and celebrate as One People.

And to celebrate...I am going here on Sunday (damn time zones) .. with little (pretend--not that crazy) flags tattooed on my face...and will enjoy the company of other Aussie ex-pats!

Oh-Yeah! BBQ...beer...two-up...everything but bikini's, fireworks...

.....and flies!

Delicately.....

It finally happened. I finally got to talk to my babies back home. After a month! Christmas passing, New Year, most of their summer of vacation, beach-talk, movie-talk, so much of 'everyday nothingness' ... and sitting in the car just before midnight last night...they were finally home! Any reason for them not answering over the last month? No. Any apologies from anyone who should have apologised? No.

Ugh.

But.. we spoke.. quietly, softly, discussing this and that...mostly back to 'normal' conversation....and then...

the moment my heart felt displaced...torn from my body in one gut wrenching moment.

It was during a conversation between my daughter and I... she is entering high school -- in their State it is Grade 7 -- in a few weeks! OH MY GOD! I can't believe it!! So we discussed the differences, the similarities.. if she will still be playing violin ( her passion ) , we discussed her love of books, and whether she will still have time to read her 'extra curricular' books.. and then,

"uh, mum...so...now I'm going into high school, I had the period talk"

(I was out of the car by now, in sub-zero temperatures, and it took me about 5 paces to register what 'the period talk' was to her)

"ok....." ...feeling my legs start to go numb....not from the cold....keep walking...keep walking....

"so, mum...I was wondering, when did you first get yours, because I know that it can be similar, and I want to know when I might expect mine"

"well...lets see...." .... keep walking......

We had our talk, she was relieved, to say the least, and then I said,

"you know, baby girl (*which seemed so damn redundant now), you can talk to me about these things as well"

.pause.

"oh yeah. I know. I know, mum."

After we hung up, I melted. Of course I know that my oldest two children live with their dad and another woman whom they also call "mum", and together they raise them, and I see them not nearly as much as I would like, and the time we share is limited, and precious....but....

Some other woman gave my daughter the sacred, intimate female-to-female discussion on all those things we discuss when a girl grows and flourishes into a woman?! What if she told her things I wouldn't have? What if my daughter understands things in a way that only her and I intrinsically can only relate? did she tell her about ?? i asked her if she was nervous, or if she had any questions, and she said no.. but is she? does she? and when the event really happens... how will she feel? who will help her? i wont be there? i panicked. i cried. im crying now. it's possibly the most real, grounding thought i've come across since i left them and i kept having anxiety over "who is helping them cross the street?"

mother fucker. i ache.

Oh My God. Miss A just saw me crying and came and said "it's ok mom. you've always got me. it's good i'm not away". she has no idea why i'm crying.

apparently she does.


So, the only other thing that I keep thinking is -- given it's important to start telling my growing and developing daughter when puberty kicked in for me, when is it time to tell her, and her brother, that I have Bipolar Disorder...given that it is also something related to hormones, and is proven to be heriditary? And if you take a quick glance at my family.. that apple is certainly still rolling around in the orchard!

One thing at a time....

I need to find my legs today!

One thing at a time....

~Sprung~

So today I'm at the corner mini-grocery (deli, by any other accounts) with Alyssa.... wait... backtrack...

today is freezing....so fucking freezing that I'm wearing two..count them....two pairs of socks...four layers of clothing, a hat, a hood, gloves, a scarf and I am still unable to feel my legs. My ass went numb about 2 hours ago. Note to self -- thongs are only, only, meant for summer.

( -18C to be exact .... I'm not kidding. This is not even a real number for an Australian).

So, back to the mini-grocery. This is what happened.

Alyssa and I stopped by on the way home from school to pick up what we had decided what a complete necessity, however, it is a little bit of an indulgent for us -- whipped cream for hot chocolate.... and a bag of chips for extra value!

Next thing we know, we bump into Alyssa's kindergarten teacher. Mrs C was wonderful -- you know the type -- so very happy, always smiling, either full of life, or full of drugs....I'd like to think the former. She asked how Alyssa was doing in 1st grade etc, though she admitted she already knew, because she asks about her and knows she's doing wonderfully. Then it came.

Mrs. C -- "So, are you working now? What are you doing?"

(I was always going on field trips and helping out at class parties last year)

Me -- "No..I'm busy studying this year"

Mrs. C -- "Oh, that's great ..what?"

Me -- "Uh...Nutrition....Clearly...."


as I hold up my can of whipped cream and bag of salt and vinegar chips.

(a can???)

fuck.

I made such a fuss last year about how children should eat healthy alternatives, how kids eat too much crap food in America, and how Alyssa eats a balanced, nutritious diet....you have no idea...SUCH a fuss....like, up to the assistant principal involvement kind of fuss.

Eh. I shrugged...She laughed...We laughed...Said it's too cold to care about anything right now (too freaking true!)... and Alyssa and I hurried on home for the best hot chocolate in the world...What she doesn't know is I make my own mix , complete with a little cayenne pepper to spice it up--oh for the love of god! It is so good!

On the plus side I did buy the 'fat free' canned whipped cream. This wasn't on purpose.

Eh.