Have we gone too far?

I had a conversation with a coworker about this very topic just yesterday and thought, "I've never posted this on my blog. I wonder if others have had thoughts about this as well." In the technological and media filled age we live in, we are exposed to information on a massive scale. Because of this, we as a society of inquiring beings know more about varied topics then we've ever known. We are more well-rounded, more accepting of others and our longevity has increased a few decades. (On the other hand, we are more jaded, more afraid and extremely picky about our lifestyles).

We are experimenting and dabbling in things that we would never have thought possible a century ago. One such area is procreation. Now, if you are single or in a same-sex relationship without prospects of reproducing, you can journey to your local sperm bank and receive the donor of your choice for the child of your choice. We've had this option for about 40+ years and it is extremely successful. Here's the thing (as described in my scenario below) that always throws me and has me banging my head against the table:

Suzy Single from Seattle picks out the sperm of Sherman Shootout (anonymous on the vial) but statistics include a 150IQ, brown eyes, brown hair, athletic build with a great health history as far as three generations back. Suzy becomes impregnated with Sherman Shootouts little men (for this example, Suzy has a bouncy baby boy, Sammy Single).
Two years later, Sherman Shootout gets married and has a daughter, the apple of his eye, Sheila Shootout. At 18, Sammy gets accepted at MIT and journeys to the city of squares to begin his higher education in linguistics and philosophy. His junior year, he meets the lovely Sheila Shootout, who has just begun her studies at MIT, also in the study of linguistics and philosophy.

Is this mechanism at all regulated because this freaking scares the crap out of me. A lot of this process is anonymous and, until now, DNA testing wasn't a widely used method of investigation and it's still very controlled (not something you normally do before you head down to the wedding chapel). Before getting married, you used to have blood tests performed. Where I was married, I didn't need one and have found that it is only required in certain states. I guess it doesn't matter because the scenario above is feasible (okay, extremely possible).

And if you're not buying my sperm bank theory, how about this:

Emily becomes preggers in 1955 and is in no way ready to get married to her boyfriend Chuck or raise a child(by the way, boyfriend has no idea about the baby). The family ushers her off get large, have the baby and then puts the baby up for adoption all in secret (Emily conveniently breaks up with Chuck before disappearing for nine months). Emily returns and Chuck has moved away. Fast forward twenty years. Chuck has married and had a child of his own and Emily's baby is now enjoying the tail-end of the sexual revolution, hooking up with Chuck's kid at the discotheque.

Aside from carrying around blood and DNA samples, how do people avoid these possibilities or something similar? My friend and I had no answers.

Thanksgiving Post Mortum - After the Bird

I'm not a big Turkey fan, but I eat it and am not concerned about it being "free range" or not. Does that make me a bad person? Because my turkey is pumped with God knows how many steroids and lives in a crowded space, only to be processed, frozen and sent to my local grocers...should I feel bad? Funny. I don't. And I consider myself an animal lover and a person who believes in being humane. Okay. So, if I could, I would make them all free range and give them wonderful feed and fluffy blankets to sleep on but I can't. As it is, I didn't eat huge amounts of turkey, but I ate a lot of everything else. I took home leftover turkey and have had two sandwhiches since Thursday.

The day was lovely, complete with family and good times. Even though we'd all seen it before, we watched Elf after the meal. We all laughed and started to feel the impending Christmas spirit that slips in just after the last of the turkey is sealed and placed in the freezer. I remembered last year's black Friday and my Braxton Hicks that wouldn't stop coming. Now, Indy is here and eating with her six, lovely teeth...crawling around and trying not to get knocked over by my mom's dog's huge, slobbering tongue.

Friday, we put up the tree and as with every year, hubby said, "I'm not putting up a lot of lights," only to cover most of our front yard and part of the back. Amazing! He didn't grow up with the Christmas frenzy the way I did, but somehow, I've rubbed off on him. The kids love it and Indy thought sucking on the lights was a great idea. Her big sister was appalled. :)

Saturday, the amoxicillin had taken it's tole and gave my poor little baby a yeast infection. Ugh! They're miserable for adults, I can only imagine how she was feeling...trapped in a suffocating diaper with all that redness and inflamation. We went to the insta/kid care (a sort of after-hours spot for medical concerns, without the hefty emergency hospital-visit prices) on Saturday night at around 7:30pm. They got us in fairly quickly and the doctor diagnosed her within seconds. We were written a prescription and sent on our way. Down the street I went to the nearby Walgreens to fill the prescription,"We're backed up," the pharmacist tells me, "And, this is a compound, so it will take a while...about an hour." Great. Oh, but one thing...the doctor has neglected to add the quantity. He tries to call, but they've turned on their night phone. Great!

Back to the Insta/Kid care to get a quantity on the prescription. I get that taken care of, then back to the Walgreens. The girls were exhausted and the babe fell asleep in the waiting chair. Indy fell asleep on my lap. By 10:10pm, we got the prescription and headed home. Yes, I suppose I could have waited till the next day to fill the prescription but when it comes to my kids and their suffering, there's no waiting. Indy wasn't going to bed with the itchies.

So, she's doing much better and not as grouchy. The babe was eager to get back to school and I am starting to cope. Cope with what? Well, it seems hubby has been given his schedule. Graveyard. Now, it's official. Two years on graveyard shift. When he told me, I seriously wanted to die. Then, I remembered; you're never given anything you can't handle. Everything happens for a reason. The good come to those who wait. I'll just bide my time, then.

Memories of Family

Being that this is the week of thankfulness and a concentration on the thoughts of family, I've been thinking about family gatherings of years past and I'm finding that my memory is growing short. For example, I spent the first 8.5 years of my life in sunny California, feasting over turkey and trimmings in 70 to 75 degree weather. I'm sure that after the feast, I probably ran outside to ride bikes with friends or play in my yard; however, I can't remember really doing this. I know that I must have because my mother cooks with a vengeance during this time of the year (country, soul food...there's nothing like it! Collard greens, baked macaroni and cheese, cornbread dressing, sweet potato casserole, squash, dirty rice...ah!). She's all about the fine china, the crystal water goblets and the good silver, too. I do remember helping her shine the silver and set the table. I remember it was during this time of the year that I relearned when to use whichever fork (work from the outside in, people). But, I don't remember eating anything. I don't remember if we invited company at her big, walnut dining table. I don't remember if I enjoyed the meal. I don't remember if life was even good, during this time. Strange, huh?

Fast forward to my life in Nashville with parents who barely spoke to each other and meals on the second floor of our split-level, rented home with the red shutters. I remember, again, helping my mother shine the silver and set the table, but I don't remember eating. I don't remember Christmas dinners either and we lived in this home for ten years. My father was off the road and always home during this time. I don't remember him carving the bird. I don't remember him sleeping after the big meal. I don't remember enjoying it. Why don't I remember eating?

My college years, my mother was already living in Utah and I remained in Tennessee until Christmas time. I would go to my best friend's for Thanksgiving (since my father's apartment never felt like home and he usually ate at some one's home whom I didn't know). I remember eating. I remember laughing a lot, eating and napping on her couch in their too small family room. I remember eating here, even though they were never thorough about the job they did in washing their dishes (this grossed me out most of the time, but I insisted on helping with the pre-cleaning process during my visits at Thanksgiving). I needed to enjoy a holiday meal after being subjected to cafeteria food for months on end.

Nineteen hundred and ninety-eight in Centerville, Utah for Thanksgiving...my first Thanksgiving with my mother in years. I remember that day and all the Thanksgivings after it. Lots of food, lots of laughter and lots of joy. I suppose, now that I write this, my memory has faded on Thanksgivings past because the joy was limited in my youth during that time. My father was usually on the road, or I was living in a house with limited love. I'm sure the meals were lovely, but the actions weren't worthy of memory. Those times that were worthy were kept in the forefront of my mind. I suppose these are the memories I will pull from when my mother is no longer here and I'm left to do the Thanksgiving preparation on my own (I don't want to even think about that right now).

So, here's what I'm thankful for: I'm thankful for my happy memories of family, friends and joyful times...for a comfortable home, for frequent laughter, for reasonable health and an able mind.

Intimacy...the Missing Piece

Friday, Saturday, Sunday and Monday of last week, my hubby was off work. We lost a day to a really dumb argument, but ended up having amazing make-up sex. Once it starts it doesn't stop, sort of like chips; you can't have just one. Over a two-day period, we were at each other five times...FIVE. Tuesday, on my way to work in bliss, I started thinking about how things get between us if the intimacy slacks for whatever reason. It could be his schedule, it could be my TOM or it could just be we're too tired to even see. Whatever the reason, if things aren't "popping off" at least three times a week, we're absolutely pissy with each other.

Initially, I thought, "Oh, this is normal. A healthy married or attached couple is probably intimate several times a week. No wonder we're going crazy." Wrong. The more I read and listen, the more I'm finding out that me and hubby are so in the minority (a couple of freaks, okay. Let's just go ahead and say it). I mean, not that there's anything wrong with being freaky but, we have more than our share at home...even with the kids (the babe said the other day that she was laying in bed one night and heard strange noises coming from our room. I guess we need to think about either taking it down a notch or going down stairs for our escapades). Most of the information I'm gleaning from others is a couple of times of month. Oh my god! I would die! Seriously, where's the razor so I can slit my wrists?

I've come to the conclusion that people would be much happier, couple relationships wouldn't become turnstiles as often, marriages wouldn't end in horrible knock down, drag out divorces and the need for Xanax, Valium, Zelnorm, beer, (name your cocktail) wouldn't be nearly as high if we were just getting laid more often. Okay, and maybe not even laid, a good session of oral pleasure a day? That could be the prescription for more health and happiness. Is this too far fetched? I'm starting to think not.

So, from this post you can probably tell that I'm missing my hubby. It was Wednesday evening before work that we managed to get a "quickie" in (about 25 minutes worth of lovin'). Anyway, last night I was restless and having a hard time sleeping. I realized that, because he had to go in for an overtime shift, I only saw him for about two minutes(no exaggeration, here). I got home at a little after five, and he left as I was coming in...giving us just a couple of minutes for a hug and a kiss goodbye. Oh, that just sucked! No physical or mental intimacy. Double whammy!

After speaking with him this morning, I'm feeling more and more like he's my personal version of heroin. I'm addicted (as is he to me, this being said in the most non conceitful way I assure you) to my significant other. I'm not codependent, which is something else entirely, but definitely feel his presence is a necessity for my world to be at peace. People say that sex isn't the most important aspect to a relationship, but it's definitely important and loses it's importance over time. Couples who have been together several decades mark the steady decline in intimacy. I am proud and happy to say that this is not the case with us. My hubby and I are more active than we were when we first got together. More so because we know each other on a different level and we're responsive to each other's needs (He loves to go down and I have no arguments. His favorite? Me licking his perineum. Talk about a great way to see a man climb up the walls!)

For anyone having struggles in their relationship or your just not "feeling the love" like you used to, evaluate your intimacy. If you can't remember the last time you were with your significant other or the intimacy has been given a specific "day" (Ugh, perish the thought!) it's time to reevaluate. Hubby and I talk all the time. What I like, what he likes and maybe what we'd like to try. Trust me, you'll feel better getting things going more often.

DIY Basement

A few years ago, we took on the industrious project of finishing our basement. It was framed and there were three completed bedrooms when we moved in, but that was it. (One of the rooms is our acting office/computer room, one is our workout room and one is a guest bedroom) Hubby's friend and others came in and put up the sheet rock for us. Later, a friend of mine at work gave us the name of someone who could mud and tape. It took them an amazingly fast two days. Next, hubby primed the walls and I helped him paint. The color is sort of an off peach (I didn't want our basement to be all dark, doom and gloom. Bright and inviting was our goal). Our neighbor, and electrician, put in our ceiling fans and canister (recessed) lighting. Lastly, hubby's friend (will call him Matt) taught hubby how to tile. Matt and hubby tiled the storage room together and hubby tiled the exit way and entryway himself. It looks terrific!

The tiling took place sometime last year and not much has gotten done since then. We've had a couple of road blocks like hubby leaving the outside faucet on, causing the basement partial flooding and crazy rain storms that did the same thing. The carpet in the computer room has been completely ripped out and replaced by a large area rug. We've also had things like getting pregnant and having babies intrude in our lives, which doesn't make working on the basement easy.

We're now ready to tackle the project again and spent last night cleaning out the storage room (which has somehow become the babe's holding pen for all of her toys and crap). Goodness! I never knew a child could have so much stuff! We separated the things to give to the donation center from the things we wanted to keep and pretty much ended up with a truckload. Hubby and Matt will take these things to the donation center next week. The next bit of the project is in my hands.

Once upon a time, we had a file cabinet for all of our medical records, tax materials, and receipts. That cabinet was damaged in one of our last apartments and was replaced by two new ones. Unfortunately, the two new ones have never been filled and all of the old files are in boxes. I will be going through those, sorting out things that are old and creating file folders to put into the cabinets. It's going to be a huge project, but I hope to get it done by next week's due date.

The goal? To have the basement mostly finished before Christmas. That way, we can move all of our current living room furniture downstairs to the basement where there is more space. The upstairs room will become a sitting room(that will be void of furniture for a bit, I think). It will be so nice to have that area done. The last project will be the third bathroom and we will take our time with that, since it is a costly and involved process.

Having watched enough DIY programs, we know that this will take the value of our home up substantially. We also know that it could hinder sales because new owners will not be able to do what they want to the basement. It's sort of a catch-22, but I'm really not worried. I think our home is lovely and has a lot to offer the large families that exist here in Utah (minivan capitol of the world). The next project? A lovely deck to host outdoor parties and barbecues. Guess I better start looking for that second job, huh?

Bring out your Inner Chef

I consider myself a decent cook, by no means miraculous, but decent. There are several dishes and desserts I like to make when the time presents itself. This is typically the time of year when time magically appears for me (and for a lot of other people). We take time off and are given days off by our jobs for the holidays, which can be a blessing or a curse for some. I take it as a blessing and use them to enjoy myself cooking, eating and socializing.

Not long ago, we had a pot-luck in the office and I made, what is now considered, my "famous" Kahlua cake. It's a recipe I found online years ago, but have since altered to my own personal tastes. It's funny because I really don't like chocolate cake (too rich), but many of my friends of the European persuasion absolutely adore it and I like it a lot myself. It sort of tastes more like a brownie than a cake. It's incredibly rich, but smooth on the palate. I present this cake and it usually disappears before the main courses. I think it's the icing. It's not a cooked icing, so the alcohol is very prominent in the taste of the cake. Granted, it's no more than you'd find in a cold syrup but for those sensitive to the stuff, it can make people who eat it very happy after a few bites.

I think that's the joy in cooking for me; seeing other people marvel over your food or ingest it with ecstasy. "This is the best I've ever tasted! I've got to have the recipe." An even more ego-stroking comment is, "I tried the recipe, but it didn't turn out like yours." Oh, I love that! The best of my recipes have alcohol, but I also make an apple crumble that my mother can't seem to get enough of. Again, it's a recipe I found online that I altered for her tastes. The first time I made it, she wanted more of the topping and asked that, when I make it again, I double the topping. So, I did. The result would put a restaurant to shame. It was divine! Top it off with a scoop of ice scream? Heaven.

Desserts are my specialty, but I can make a lot of other things. For example, there are two items my hubby can't get enough of: my fried chicken and my homemade, barbecue chicken pizza. The pizza and chicken are actually quite healthy, if you can believe that. I'll post them (eventually) on my recipezaar site soon. The chicken is fried in olive oil, instead of canola or vegetable. There are also two ingredients (tomato soup and dried salad dressing) that give the chicken a distinctive taste. After having my chicken, no other chicken will do for hubby, now. Oh, we still buy from KFC occasionally, but he'd much rather have mine.

The pizza? I grill the chicken and use fresh ingredients; chopped onions, freshly sliced mushrooms, fresh grated mozzarella cheese, and whatever his BBQ sauce de jour is, currently (it changes with the wind). He loves it! Last year, my kitchen became an assembly line when he asked that I prepare three of these: One for the night shift (his shift) at work, one for the day shift (overtime) and one for the house. They all got rave reviews. Now that I think about it, that's a lot of dang cooking. I must love him or something.

Enough food talk for now. A portion of a post I created a while back reared it's ugly head again last night. Hubby was taking the garbage out and it seems the husband of our neighbor had returned from Arizona to settle all the craziness here in Utah with his wife. I guess she's really been hitting the meth hard and got very upset when he called her on it. She started to hit him and their girls were there to witness the event (not good). He called the police, pressed charges and she was removed from the home for the entire night. He feverishly worked to get out as much of his stuff as he could, seeing that she would be allowed back in the home by 5:00pm the next day. He was telling all this to my hubby and hubby said he was like, "Yeah, I'm trying to hurry before she gets here because I really don't want to have to deal with her or have something else happen in front of the girls. Oh crap! Here she comes." She pulled up just as they were talking. Hubby excused himself and came home.

It's so sad. She was such a good mother. Hubby said that her hubby (soon to be ex) said that she's lost nearly one hundred pounds. She's all gaunt and skinny. She basically looks nothing like her former self. He (the husband) told my hubby this is the second time she's been on this stuff and each time, it's been because her meth-head mother has been around. Their house is pending sale, but he (the husband) says she's trying to pull out. It's so evil and vindictive. I hope they get things squared away over there and soon.

Naked, Naked, Naked...

One of Rn_buffon's posts got me to thinking on a somewhat philosophical level. To open, my hubby and I are fairly free with our bodies. I don't sleep in pajamas (unless I'm sick) and neither does he. When we didn't have the kids, we'd come home, get undressed and walk around in the "altogether" until we had to get dressed the next day. We've also talked about some day living somewhere with huge pane, glass windows that make the scenery your own, personal artwork. For us, this would also mean moving out into the middle of nowhere for reasons that should be pretty apparent. Thin or large, it has really made no difference to me and I'm very comfortable this way. It seems natural.

So, here's the question: What would our world, our very existence as humans be like if the serpent had never entered the garden? (assuming you believe in the Genesis creation)

Well, for one, we wouldn't know we were unclothed...at least, at first. I believe the Creator would have given Adam and Eve access to the tree of knowledge, after he felt they were ready for it. I also think they would have been given the knowledge that they lived in a clothing optional world, but that there was no shame in their bodies and being unclothed is a natural and healthy way to be. I could run off on all sorts of tangents here about our existence as it is today with technology and so forth. Would we have that, would we know what we know now, but I'll save that for another time.

Recently, Kirstie Alley appeared on the Oprah show to show off her newly slimmed body in a two piece bathing suit. I didn't see the show, but I read articles after the fact. She talked about how, as a young adult, she never felt comfortable about her body. She was so self conscious and never satisfied with it. It's the same story with so many other women, including myself. Granted, I've always been cool with being naked and at home by myself, but out and around others? Not that I was naked around others, just overly concerned about my body and its appearance in my clothes. Oh, man. I was always worried about my pooch, or my thighs, or my back (yes, my back dammit).

As I aged and became more comfortable with me, those thoughts sort of waned. I adapted my fashion to the age. I did go to high school in the 90's, after all. Man, I could work a mini dress! By college, although I knew I could look better, I was still pretty happy with where I was. It took Kirstie time (and probably some needed time in rehab) to realize her body wasn't her enemy and to embrace who she was/is. I applaud her for her bravery and for her acceptance of who she is. Jamie Lee Curtis did a sort of "embrace who you are" with her layout in More magazine. She displayed herself as she is, day-to-day and then as she is made up like a movie star. I think it all comes down to this: naked or clothed, we should learn to love ourselves for ourselves.

Irritation of the Brain

Normally, hubby comes home on Sundays from working the night shift, dresses for church and makes the journey with us back to Salt Lake. Saturday, he announced that he would probably come home and go to sleep (suspecting that things would be rowdy due to its being a Saturday night and a full moon. Yes! The old wive's tale is true). Sunday morning arrives and I'm getting the girls ready and dressed. I also put a roast in the crock pot to cook during the day so that I wouldn't have to do much in the evening in terms of cooking. Dad comes in, disrobes and hops into bed. The girls and I go to Church and have a plesant, but pretty uneventful Sunday.

Around 9:15am, I'm back on the road heading home. We get home, the girls eat and then take a bit of a nap. I spent the day watching Northern Exposure episodes, falling in and out of sleep myself. Hubby wakes on his own, so I'm all chipper and ask him if he's ready to eat. "No," he says. He's craving something sweet, so he eats a bowl of sugary cereal. He seems annoyed and I'm not sure why. I ask him a couple of questions, trying to get him to talk. He grunts the answers, but doesn't really appear to want to talk. So, I ask him: "Do you want to talk to me today?" He grunts what I think is a, "No." Well, okay. I leave the room. I decide not to pout, so I go back and get the laundry that needs to be folded. I can see him still eating his cereal, now with the tv on.

Once the babe is up, she convinces him to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas with her and she continuously comes back to ask if I'll watch it, too. I explain that I'm folding clothes (but, I'm thinking that if dad doesn't want to talk, why should I be in there anyway)? By this time, the baby is also in the room with me and, not feeling very well, is extremely needy. The babe continues to ask but she never says he's the one asking her to ask me until the last time she comes back into my room. I let her know that there's plenty of time to watch it again before Christmas and she can watch it this time with him. She seems disappointed, but I don't see her again for a while. Once I've folded the clothes, the baby gets snotty so I have to get one of the nice tissues out of the living room. Hubby starts baby talking as soon as he sees her, "Oh, so she's okay to talk to but not me?" He explains that he said that he wanted to talk to me. Really? Wouldn't you have made more of an effort to talk to me besides sending your daughter back to ask me about a movie? Whatever.

By this point, my irritation is high and I just don't want to be bothered. We spend the next several hours barely speaking. The babe ends up getting in trouble and gets restricted to her room. Hubby spends the afternoon/evening sleeping even more on the couch (normally, five hours is plenty for him. Sunday, he gets seven hours and then sleeps most of the afternoon away. Amazing!). The roast never gets eaten and I end up going to bed early enough to avoid seeing hubby off for the evening. All in all, Sunday pretty much sucked. I hope it's not an indication of the week I'm going to have. It's a short week for me, seeing that the baby's daycare is closed on Friday for Veteran's day. I'll be working a half day from home and taking a half vacation day. I was really hoping for a good week. I hope all is not lost.

Meanwhile, hubby usually calls when he gets off work. Nothing. Not a peep. I suppose he still has mucho irriation on his side as well. I could blame it on the moon or the fact that I'm supposed to start tomorrow (TOM always brings out the best in people, doesn't it?) or that Mercury is currently in retrograde but, I won't. I'll just chalk it up to, two people who have been very unhappy with a work schedule that seems to put our relationship to the test, daily. Some days, we triumph and others...well, see the post above.

All Saint's Day

"When: November 1st (http://www.holidayinsights.com/christian/saintsday.htm)

The Christian holiday of All Saint's Day honors and recognizes all of the saints of the christian church, many of which were martyrs. The church sets this day aside to celebrate over 10,000 recognized saints. Historically, All Saints Day was known as Hallomas.

Did you know? All Saints Day and All Souls Day was originally in May. They were moved to November 1st and 2and to downplay the Pagan holidays of Halloween (All Hallow's Eve) and Dia De Loss Muertos. Religious leaders felt these holidays were too popular at the time to ban outright. But, if moved they christian holidays to this time periods, the pagan holidays would slowly die away......."

I guess they didn't. These holidays are just as popular as ever and boy did we celebrate in the festivities, yesterday. Candy, cakes and cookies galore! (so yesterday, I allowed myself to partake, and today I'm feeling it...boy, am I feeling it). Probably not in the way you would think. We had lots of chilis and chowders. Chilis have beans. Then, I went home and had really cheesy pizza (did I mention that I'm lactose intolerant?). All the lactaid in the world couldn't save my stomach last night, this morning and again this morning. Granted, the fiber is great for you and I truly didn't eat as many sweets as I could have, but man. There should be a cut-off number of beans that is widely known so that you don't end up living in the bathroom for the entire night. Sorry, I know...too much information.

We did have a good time, though and we've got some pretty talented chefs around here. The costumes were creative, as usual. Someone was a pretty involved dark angel, there were four or five Alice in Wonderland characters, all from the mad hatter's party, I myself was a prom queen--complete with tiara and corsage.

Once I got home, dad was getting the babe prepped for trick or treating, layering her clothes underneath her costume. For the first time in years it wasn't raining, but it was super cold (below freezing). One of the homes was dispensing cider and allowing the kids to make cotton candy. Wow! I guess we are getting more trusting. The babe came home with freshly made cotton candy, a cauldron full of candy (which she kept calling her "witches brew") and a steaming cup of cider. She was frozen, but happy. We then ate our pizza and crashed for the evening. I got seven hours of sleep and I'm feeling fine (no sugar hang over for me, thank you).

So, I'm pretty much babbling now. Enjoy All Saint's Day and the knowledge that we get to partake in even more holidays very soon.