Although I’ve been leaning towards Barack Obama for a while, I still didn’t feel a great sense of urgency regarding the election until McCain made his infamous VP selection, who contrary to popular belief is no Mary Magdalene. Granted, I have never been her #1 fan but the more I learn about her and the more I see of her, the more red flags that begin to wave and the more my instinctive alarms go off. For Palin, people, is nothing more than a fresh and polished–but very poisoned–apple.

Personally, I have not heard one positive thing this woman “stands for.” In fact, she evades answering questions like typhoid fever. Anyone who is naive enough to think she makes a good candidate because she is an unseasoned, “six-pack Joe” is a bloody fool. It takes a lot of manipulation tactics to be as evasive as she is and who is better suited to grandstanding than a politician? It doesn’t take several terms as Senator to develop these skills; for some, it just comes naturally.

She has complained about how much Katie Couric annoyed her because she claims Couric was trying to “trap” her into being straight-forward. She has misquoted and misinterpreted Madeleine Albright to insinuate that any woman who does not vote for her is going to Hell. She has flat-out stated that instead of answering interviewers questions she wanted to talk about what the Americans really care about, which in her professional opinion–is bashing Obama. She ignored Gwen Ifill, the moderator of the vice-presidential debate, continuing on with her own selfish agenda.

Sidestepping the whole issue that I firmly believe in the separation of church and state, a distinction that she clearly seems unable to recognize, this woman, who wasn’t even a terrific governor of an underpopulated state, has absolutely no business being in the running in the first place. Anyone with a lick of sense knows she was chosen solely as a publicity tactic and not for merit, credentials or experience. Her loyalties do not lie among the people of this nation–that is more than evident! She has but one goal and two strategies to get there. Realizing that she actually has a shot at becoming this country’s first female VP and possibly first female president, her eyes are fixed firmly upon the white house as she eagerly licks her chops.

To anyone who reads between the lines (as we all should do before casting a vote in an election as important as this) her strategies are as obvious as her aspiration. Her first line of defense to avoid giving concrete, credible answers is to create a diversion by slewing verbal arsenals at Obama with any means necessary. The reason is obvious: when you lack any merit by which to elevate yourself, you must tear your opponent down.

Her second gimmick to fool Americans into forgetting her deficits is attempting to create the illusion of some great alliance by affiliating herself with the country’s “everyday” citizens. If she is such an average Joe who understands and empathizes with the plights of the people, why, praytell, is she against women’s rights? Why is she against abortion, yet simultaneously against programs to help the impoverished, such as young, unwed mothers? WHY are women in the state she governs forced to buy their own rape kits? Does this sound like someone who really gives a God-forsaken damn?

So what, she’s attractive. She goes to church. She’s a mom. The last time I checked these weren’t valid qualifications to run the United States of America! For crying out loud, if we think George W. Bush is a joke, then she’s the punchline! She simply can not be trusted and she is using the aforementioned qualities to her benefit to paint a superficial appearance for which to hide the manipulative and selfish person residing within.

Contrary to what you’re probably thinking, I would not go so far as to classify myself as a democrat. While I do share more of the liberal ideology, I readily admit many of our systems need serious reform. Yet, under no circumstances do I want our country to take two steps back for every one we’ve taken. As much as I would like to see a woman in power, it must be the right woman. One who advocates justice, progression, and social values. Most importantly, one with integrity.

Sources:
(A thank you to Pentad’s blog which led me to some of these links.)

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/10/03/palin-on-fox-news-couric_n_131655.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/10/05/ifill-palin-blew-me-off_n_132028.html

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2008/10/05/palin-misquotes-albright_n_131967.html

Yet slightly more dramatically (had I been told during the first two days of the journey that I would someday make the following declaration I would have figured that either myself or the deliverer of said message was tripping on acid or some other powerful hallucinogen), I would go as far as to say (and stone sober, mind you) that my time in Paris, albeit my only solo expedition to date, was not only my most memorable vacation, but one of the greatest times of my life. The experience was flanked with brief but distressing adjustment periods (strangely, I again suffered culture shock upon returning home) but it was the many wonderful days in the middle that made all the difference in the world.

To briefly emphasize the benefits I reaped before referencing a less cheery affair, Paris provided me with a much-needed change of scenery, pace and emotional climate. It provided me the chance to reclaim my identity and, for the first time in a while, I genuinely cherished the joy of living. I returned with renewed energy, insight, and perception. Most importantly, it gave me the time and space to replenish what had become a desperately starved and malnourished entity: my spirit.

Pity I just had to spend five soul-sucking days at the beach with my mother.

My mother who, nearly always driven by egocentric motives, imposes her disguised negativity anytime things aren’t going precisely the way she thinks they should. Now, don’t get me wrong, she’s as pleasant as a peach when she wants to be and she tries very hard not to be blatantly biting with her words (which are often under the breath utterances). Rather she is insidious like a poisonous snake slithering in the tall grass, donning what I call “the look” and waiting until the right time to strike using the mental inventory she’s taken. The Look is usually not made with direct eye contact; it’s simply a judgmental expression of such disgust and disdain that it manages to drain the recipient of all self-worth and value. Yet if anyone were to confront her about these things she is always equipped to cover her tracks with a reserve of manipulative tactics ranging from changing her obvious intent to flat-out lying about things she’s said or done.

Needless to say, my trip to the beach wasn’t all that beachy.

In conclusion, my voyages within the last month–the first to Paris, the second to the Outer Banks (which encompasses the graveyard of the Atlantic)–should be aptly memorialized as
the treasure and the shipwreck, respectively.

Hell, you didn’t think I chose the title for this blog out of thin air, did you?

Secondly, I’d like to thank the few who still check back occasionally to make sure I haven’t fallen off the face of the earth since I have had too much going on to dedicate the time I’d like to writing, leaving large, ugly gaps between posts.

Thirdly, I felt like sharing that I have just returned from a very dysfunctional family vacation to the Outer Banks which included about twice as much family as I would have liked. Not only have I been having marital troubles as of late, but this voyage was a product of my susceptibility to my mother’s relentless pressure on me to commit to things she wants to do (and well in advance, mind you). Having only been home for approximately two hours and exhausted beyond measure, I am currently attempting a mother-detox, but there is a great deal of residual resentment that I am having difficulty in shaking. Oddly, I revert to an infant-like state in my ability to intelligibly and effectively communicate with that woman beyond the superficial level, and equally unfortunate, the stress I endure when in her presence inevitably turns me into the very type of person she loathes and already believes me to be. It is like some strange phenomenon where I allow her to create me into something to condemn and emotionally subjugate.

On the bright side, these issues may have inspired a whole new subject for me to lament about in my posts! The situation has certainly begged the question whether it’s possible that I’m just being overly sensitive and choosing to see the negative in people, although my original and more intrinsic belief is that I’ve been surrounded by many dysfunctional individuals for so long but finally see these relationships for what they are and have become extremely frustrated because the other’s aren’t interested in breaking the cycles. Therefore, I look like the “bad guy” for wanting–correction–needing change. Yet, when it arouses difficulties in multiple relationships at one time, it is easy for the others to perceive the problem lies in the individual stirring things up, as opposed to within themselves, no?

Could I be on to something or am I just crazy?

My stint in Paris admittedly started out a little rough. I have definitely undergone a metamorphosis throughout this first week. Arriving exhausted, not-so-fresh feeling, and unable to communicate effectively can be overwhelming enough. Add to that a feeling of isolation in the chosen retreat, and it is disheartening to say the least. Succumbing to the culture shock, emotional vulnerability and lack of sleep on that first day I wondered why I had left home in the first place. During the initial two days I missed my children so terribly it physically felt as if there was a hole in my heart. I was riddled with guilt and regret. It was one of the most horrible feelings I had suffered in a long, long time.

Yet, knowing they are doing well I realized I had no choice but to make the best of this opportunity. I have been extraordinarily fortunate that Paris has boasted the best weather conditions one could ask for. I also found a new apartment in the heart of the city and, although I suffered grueling misadventures to make the move, have not regretted it for one moment.

I am learning my way around, my French is improving, and I am becoming more confident in this amazing foreign city. I have done more walking/hiking than I think I ever have. If I don’t come back one toned, buff mother I will be shocked! I have made a few English-speaking friends, one of which is an Australian girl whom I have just spent a very lovely 3 ½ days and am very sad that she is leaving tomorrow. She claims to marvel at my abilities where, as she puts it, I can navigate proficiently and have even begun making jokes with the locals in French.

Considering some of the obstacles I have overcome, I know that I will emerge from this experience a stronger person capable of nearly anything that comes my way (which is bad news for the likes of London, Amsterdam and Prague, to name a few of the other cities I someday hope to conquer).

More details to come. Here are just a few random pictures from the week so far:

(”H” is my friend and “P” is her two year old who came to stay with me a couple weeks ago)

I drove down to see the baby Saturday for the first time and I even got to hold him. It was a day for a lot of firsts, as it was not only the first time I held him, but the first day his father got to hold him! Also, big brother got to get his first look and touch. Since P is only two he doesn’t really understand what’s going on. Up until Saturday, he had only seen his baby brother in pictures. Also, Baby was doing well enough on that day that H was able to change his diaper and give him a sponge bath. Up until now, only the nurses have been able to care for him.

Baby Boy seemed so much tinier than the pictures she had sent me (even though he’s over 8 lbs now). I guess partially because the photos were taken close-up making him look bigger as well as his being very swollen in the beginning. If he hadn’t been hooked up with wires everywhere, you would never know by looking at him that he has been through so much. He was awake most of the time and seemed very alert. I couldn’t stand seeing him lying on the table wearing only a onesie and no socks or blanket! I kept sneakily moving the blanket up over his feet. During his little “bath”, when H was washing him with the wash cloth I went right behind her drying him off and covering him up. He started to cry after she washed his hair, so I placed my hand over his tiny head to keep it warm. Although we could only touch him with gloves on, it had to have helped because he became immediately content. Can you imagine how cold it would be lying in a hospital room naked and wet? Poor little guy.

He did have a couple of disconcerting spells where he seemed to be choking and fighting for air (he’s on oxygen, but he was clearly struggling in some way). After he was turned on his side and suctioned he seemed to do better. He has a lot of junk in his lungs that needs to be expelled. As long as he remains stable, the next steps are for him to learn to breath and eat on his own. He has never done either in his short life. He is on a feeding tube, and has never been fed through his stomach. Although babies are born with the sucking reflex, since his was never stimulated he must even learn to suck.

I can not imagine how hard it is for her to have to leave him there. I feel like I already miss him and obviously I don’t have the new mother longing like she does. If all goes well he may be home in a few weeks, maybe even by the time I get back from my trip. Unfortunately, as the nurse was very careful to convey, you just never know what the future has in store for babies this critical. He has proven to be a fighter though, so I am remaining hopeful and optimistic.

So here’s a confession: I have a potty mouth. And at times a temper. I was not blessed with a plethora of patience and when my limit has been breached I am ashamed to report that my vocabulary tends to become rather colorful. I have gotten slightly better over the years, able to occasionally muffle an obscenity just as it is hitting the air, or sometimes tweaking a consonant just in time to ever-so-slightly distort the forthcoming expletive. At times I wonder, does it really matter if the words I spew in the heat of anger and frustration are official profanities in the English language? I rather think it’s the delivery of the message that makes the most impact; however, I certainly prefer not to curse as I don’t condone that language by my children (of course, I pull a bit of the “do as I say, not say as I say” routine and reinforce that those words are not acceptable). I absolutely do not choose to do it. In fact, I work very hard to control it.

While often swimming in a sea of chaos and resentment it is difficult to always behave in a manner that is commendable and respectable. Although I certainly have many things to be thankful for, raising children with ADHD while being afflicted myself, makes for some very harrowing, if not downright dogged moments around here. It is very unfortunate that the time of day when my two younger children (ages 9 and 5) often begin throwing ridiculous tantrums because their medication is wearing off rendering it extremely difficult to cope with situations rationally, my medication is also wearing off (and yes, this process can have the same effect on adults as it does children). Needless to say, our household can become a very undesirable scene between the hours of 3 and 5 pm.

Initially, I try to respond patiently and rationally. Unless you have raised children like this and have dealt with similar issues day in and day out, you just can not fathom the stress induced by these incessant tribulations. Once I feel my blood pressure has reached the boiling point, I know little can save me. I have incorporated breathing techniques which do help temporarily; however, if the chaos ensues this only serves to delay the gasket from blowing.

Luckily, I’ve always had a speedy recovery. Immediately as soon as the demands, screaming, or kicking the bedroom door stops, my breathing returns to normal and my sense of calm reinstates. That is, up until recently. Something is different in me now. I imagine that along with having larger issues weighing on my mind, it’s because I have finally reached a breaking point and realize that this can not continue. Instead of coping one day at a time, it is imperative to stop this cycle. Something must change. Only nothing is as simple as it should be when ADHD is involved.

The other day after coming home from school the two younger kids behaved beautifully the entire evening. They were both sweet, agreeable and cooperative. Usually they tend to take turns, like only one of them can behave at a time. When my husband came home he even jokingly asked what I had done to them. Reveling in the pleasantness of the atmosphere, I realized that this is what it’s like to have “normal” children. I know all kids sometimes misbehave and need consequences. But for children with ADHD, it is the lack of coping skills (which leads to intense overreacting) that is one of the many elements separating them from the norm. Traditional strategies can be very challenging to implement and do not always work.

In any case, there you have it. Dysfunction. I imagine it’s a little disappointing if you were chomping for something as “juicy” as the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal–I’m saving that for another story.

ReGeneration

Perhaps I had it coming,
But I don’t remember well
Why I often wore the welts of belts
When I was small Michele.

My father’s rage often hit the roof
While my mother simply played aloof.
She’d say his name in that horrid whine
As if that would suddenly help this time.

When as a child I lie in bed
Anger and fear swirling through my head
The kind and gentle face I saw
Was the apparition of my grandpa.

While lying there I began to cry.
For the thought that he would someday die
Sent floods of salty streams to flow
To soak the core of my pillow.

I greatly envied my own mother
Having a father such as he,
And I equally resented her
For choosing mine for me.

Our fathers represented
The likes of day and night.
The gentle one had been to war;
The other learned to fight.

From the childish vision of my dad
I often thought all men were bad
Then I recalled the other man who
Showed us warmth so kind and true.

Now I’m grown and he is gone
But I am lucky he lived so long.
I’m only sad my kids didn’t see
Just why he was so special to me.

It’s quite ironic, this circle of life
For now despite my childhood strife
My once hurtful father is no more–
He’s now the grandpa my kids adore.

Last night was absolutely horrid. I was unable to sleep at all except for possibly a few minutes here and there due to (pardon the tmi) the droves of relentless post-nasal drip. I believe I took every legal cold-related product on the market (plus a few illegal ones) without benefit. I even made myself a mug of hot green tea at 3 am which did seem to provide enough relief to allow me about 8-10 minutes of sleeping upright before awakening to the myriad of symptoms accompanied by a kink in my side.

I was hoping when I got up this morning that after taking a shower and another fistful of remedial products I would at least improve enough to be able to meet my friend out for coffee and conversation.

Nope. Still feel like shit.

And I can’t even remember how long it’s been since I’ve popped what because I am having to ingest both the maximum doses of ibuprofen and aspirin every few hours. Since I can’t keep track, I just throw back more pills when something starts terribly hurting again. I am kind of thinking those two aren’t even supposed to be taken simultaneously.

Anyway, in case you are wondering: no, this entry really does not serve a purpose other than lamenting on my pathetic condition. And instead of actually writing 1,000 words, I decided to include a picture. As one would expect after a night like I had, it is certainly not very flattering.

This is me at about 7:00 this morning; unfortunately, with little to no improvement since.

What do you think? Should I make it my avatar?

I now strongly advise that you go wash your hands!

Firstly, the title of this work I imagine is a foreign concept to some. The terms traveling and housewife do not often go hand in hand. By substituting the latter word with one more befitting, the resulting phrase will conjure recognition. Ah, yes, the traveling salesman! Once upon a time, they were a welcome sight providing the rare opportunity to make a purchase without leaving home and offering immediate gratification to boot. During the fifties, people appreciated the service they provided so much that in 1951 alone, they were a $7 billion industry. These days, the majority of us are less than thrilled to find one on our doorstep. Many home-owners even go as far as to affix “no soliciting” labels in plain view to discourage one from ever ringing their bell. Much like a traveling salesman of today, as a traveling housewife I often feel as though I am living in the wrong era. He and I briefly coexist, sharing a tiny dot on the time line–he nearly obsolete, I narrowly preceding the domestic revolution.

In our loss of appreciation for what was once a respectable line of work, I find a glimmer of hope. It proves to me that, albeit slowly, we are capable of molding our community sentiment to fit the needs of the times.

Today traveling salesmen are nearly extinct. Harder to shake, however, has been the other role epitomized in the fifties; the oppressive role of domesticity. As I reproach the popular mindset of a bygone era, I challenge the adoption of a new mindset. One in which a ‘traveling housewife‘ would not be the subject of gossip and condemnation. Firstly, we need to nullify the misconception that in order for a mother to be a good one, she must adopt a selfless affect, always ready to serve others, regardless of her own needs.

Perhaps it would help if we consciously appreciated mothers as the world’s most substantial and influential volunteers; volunteers that are responsible for cultivating in the rising generations the confidence, values, and flexibility needed to govern and contribute to society. These volunteers almost always sign on with the support of a donating collaborator and the conception that they are commencing a partnership. Soon after the baby business takes off, she comes to realize that the job is exhausting, frustrating, under appreciated, and comes with little to no time off. Ever.

Is it our wish that those who bear this invaluable responsibility become so depleted they eventually grow resentful or worse, apathetic? The solution is to allow or, rather support mothers to intermittently take time to indulge her whims and rejuvenate her spirit in order to maintain a healthy sense of well-being. While it may seem that I would purport such a theory for selfish reasons, in essence, it would come to benefit each member in her family. Furthermore, if implemented by the majority, it would perpetuate the betterment of society on the whole.

While each woman has her own preferred method to rejuvenate herself, the pursuit I have chosen in order for me to ‘live life to the fullest’ is exploring some of the amazing places earth has to offer. Experiencing the world beyond the familiar corridors of this nation is paramount to my vitality. Perhaps a fusion of curiosity, intuition and fascination lead to my affinity to travel. Much of it is the novelty of seeing diverse people, places and customs. One thing is absolute: exotic food, enchanting people, and eclectic experiences generate new insights not found in the comfort of conventional surroundings. These elements together are unequivocally the best means to replenish my sense and sensibility.

Do not mistake me, motherhood is often an immensely rewarding job, the benefits from which aren’t measurable in profits or net worth; indeed they are priceless. Some are able to find that cooking, cleaning, and caring for their family is enough to endow their emotional needs. Notwithstanding the rewards and the tremendous love I have for my children, I long for more.

Because I am so passionate about my travels, it would not benefit my family if I were denied these occasional escapes (99% of my time is spent alongside them). My children have no doubt in my love and dedication to them. Devoting time to replenish my soul only enhances my ability to reinforce those elements. Furthermore, by sharing with them my enthusiasm, they are rendered the confidence to use their imaginations and ingenuity to follow what gives them joy.

With a more flexible attitude (one in which a ‘Traveling Housewife’ is not subject to scoffing and criticism) toward the stringent role held to us, I feel, in turn, a change will occur. Once we start taking more time to replenish our emotional well-being, happier mothers will begin to emerge. It is cliché, but true, that a happy mom is fundamental to a happy family. Promoting my position from “housewife” to “traveling housewife” has literally saved my family business.