Nothing Is Sacred

Becky's Take on Life, Love, Motherhood and Other Random Stuff

My Thoughts on Healthcare March 23, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 10:15 am
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This was actually a comment left in response to another comment left by someone on Facebook.  Let’s get this straight once and for all. THERE ARE UNINSURED PEOPLE WHO WORK FOR A LIVING, HAVE BEEN DENIED COVERAGE BY INSURANCE COMPANIES AND ARE NOT JUST RESTING ON THEIR LAURELS WAITING FOR THE GOVERNMENT TO TAKE CARE OF THEM.

Okay, now for my commentary.

Are you serious? I work as an editor for a 2 person company. There is no group coverage. My co-worker is fortunate to have insurance through her husband. I lost my insurance when I got divorced. I am SO sick of people saying they are going to be paying for the uninsured who don’t work, blah, blah, blah. I work for my living just like many other uninsured people. I make a house payment, buy my own groceries, pay my utility bills– all without gov’t assistance. I am not uninsured because I don’t work. I am uninsured because I have been refused coverage by insurance companies due to a pre-existing condition. I have no sense of entitlement. I just want to protect myself from financial ruin should I (God forbid) become seriously ill.

In the time it took you to write your patriotic, great American diatribe about what a fine, upstanding citizen you are, you might have taken the time to look up the real facts on healthcare reform instead of listening to what the talking heads are telling you.

In this current economic climate, I can’t imagine that there is anyone who is immune from the possibility of unemployment. We are all just one day away from being unemployed and uninsured. What would you do then? Spend $1500 a month on COBRA? Sure, until your savings run out. And if you are still unemployed after 12, 15, 18 months? Would you give up your home to continue to pay for insurance? Eventually, the insurance will become secondary to your family’s other needs. What if you, your husband, or a child needed extensive medical treatment? Would you want someone to step in and help you out? That’s what healthcare reform would do. But you know, if you don’t want to be a burden on the rest of American citizens like all us uninsured people are, you can always refuse treatment.

A friend of mine is watching a friend of hers die of cancer because she is uninsured and can’t get the treatments she needs. Meanwhile, people down the hall from her in the hospital are getting the treatment for the same type of cancer because they are insured. One can pay, one can’t. That is the real death panel. And it’s happening right here in the greatest country in the world every day.

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Mr. Beer January 6, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 2:18 pm
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Several years ago there had been a rash of vandalism in the city, with car windows being shot out. Late one night my parents were awakened by a loud pop and the sound of breaking glass. My father grabbed the night stick he keeps by the bed (what good that would be against a gun, I don’t know) and crept stealthily down the hallway. When he got to the front hall he put his USAF basic training to work and did a belly crawl toward the living room. He found no damage to the front of the house, so he decided to crawl to the kitchen– and what to his wondering eye did appear?

Some lunatic (that would be me) had given my now ex-husband a “Mr. Beer” for Christmas. Why? I thought he would enjoy brewing his own beer. It seemed simple enough. You put everything in the cute plastic keg and in short order you had beer.

(Let me backtrack now and tell you that my father is a connoisseur of weird things that other people get rid of, so of course, he was in possession of a bottle-capping contraption. )

So, Scott is happily brewing away and had some moderate successes, so he decided to expand his repertoire to include a fruity beer. Cherry to be precise. He brews it up and using my father’s bottle capping machine, INSTEAD of the plastic caps that came with the kit, caps it off and leaves a few bottles with my dad.

When my father finally managed to drag his nearly 70-year-old body to the kitchen he found UN-capped bottles broken on the floor, the glass in a picture frame had been shattered and cherry beer was dripping everywhere. It looked not just a little like O.J., Nicole and Ron had been there.

He gave up home brewing after that, deciding it was best to leave it to the experts. but every once in a while my mom will look up at the kitchen ceiling and say, “is that a piece of cherry up there.”

 

Meet Socks December 30, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 2:47 pm
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Sure, he looks all cute, sorrowful and snuggly laying there on my (oops!) unmade bed, but don’t be deceived– he was sent by Al Qaeda to terrorize my home. He has earned the nickname “Osocksma bin Beagle” for his efforts.

He belongs to my ex, but spends an extended amount of time here since an apartment is too confining for his nefarious activities. At this point I should mention that the doctor said it would be great for my ex to have a dog– it would get him out walking and getting exercise. He has gained 8 lbs and cracked 2 ribs while chasing the runaway beagle boy.

In the time Socks has spent here he has managed to chew up 2 of my Christmas Santas and a tree ornament. He has destroyed countless wrappers, containers, a sturdy plastic bowl,  and several treat bags the kids got from school– including the pencils! On my dining room table was a box of peanut crunch awaiting gift wrapping. Socks looked at it as an afternoon snack, pulled it off of the table and enjoyed it, box and all.

Unfortunately for Socks, he isn’t the brightest light in the harbor. (But he is a shining beacon in the bay of stupidity.) He pulled a glass baking dish off the stovetop and proceeded to try and eat the meatloaf off the broken glass. He has eaten numerous things that would have done a lesser dog in, including a large bag of Splenda. This was a meal after his previous week’s appetizer of a partial bag of Splenda brown sugar substitute. We have learned now to put these things back in the cabinet immediately, or at least push them far enough back on the counter that he can’t reach them.

Socks did show a moment of brilliance on Monday morning. He managed to escape through the garage door and head out for a neighborhood adventure. I was willing to let him go, but I had a very upset little boy, so we headed out to look for him. When we finally caught up with him, he was following the barking of some fenced dogs. Z11 hopped out to get him and he started to run, but wait, there was a standard poodle that had to be at least 4 foot off the ground, staring him down. Socks contemplated this marvel with the big, fluffy ball on his tail, then looked at Z, looked back at the Amazon-sized dog and practically leapt into Z’s arms. Good going Socks!

 

Resolution vs. Realization December 28, 2009

Should I make a resolution to blog more often? to lose weight? to make some other resolution I won’t keep? No, I’m not going to do that. In my experience, resolving to do something just makes it that much less likely to happen.

Instead I’m going to make realizations.

I realize that 20 blog posts over 365 days isn’t much. I also realize that each blog post does not have to be a great work of literature, nor does it have to be deep and profound. It can just be what it is.

I realize that my life is what I make it. If I am unhappy then I should do something about making myself happier. Alas, it is not reasonable to kill those around you who are making you miserable, so eating chocolate will continue to be my happy-maker.

I realize that my children are who they are. All I can do is help them to become the best “them” they can be. (did that make sense?) I can still yell at them randomly, but I should quit hoping that it’s going to turn them into saints.

I realize that my parents are getting older. I realize that “getting older” is code for “my parents are over 70 and are going to drive me to drinking hard liquor before my 42nd birthday.” I also realize I can’t send them to “the home” until they are actually ready to go.

I realize that you can’t make someone love you if they don’t. (with a nod to Bonnie Raitt there) Of course, you can always restrain them in a chair until they tell you what you want to hear.

Ah 2010! What glorious adventures do you hold? Judging from what I have written above, perhaps anger management classes? Nah. I’m a pretty happy girl.

 

Dreams September 13, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 9:18 pm
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Last night I dreamed he held me. Doesn’t that sound really romantic? Except that I have no idea who “he” was. It was nice to be held. It’s been awhile, you know? Just as I was about to look up into my dreamy studmuffin’s eyes and discover his identity– and this is important because what if he is the produce guy at WalMart or something and I’ve been overlooking him during my grocery shopping excursions? Anyway, just I was about to identify the tall guy with the solid chest invading my dreams, Z11 starts shaking my foot, telling me to wake up. Why? Is the house on fire? No, she just appointed herself the alarm fairy and it is now her personal mission to make sure we are all awake at the hour she deems appropriate.

Isn’t having a tween great? I think I might have really enjoyed the rest of that dream. I was already feeling like I had eaten a large bag of M&M’s though, so maybe it couldn’t have gotten much better.

 

Baby Talk September 6, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 8:10 pm
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Z11 and I have been doing a little scrapbooking recently and looking at her baby pictures. I was discussing with her how children go through phases where their looks change. It was hard for her to understand my meaning when I said there were days she was precious and days where… well, not so much. So, I whipped out the picture of her in which she bears a striking resemblance to Edward G. Robinson looking as if he has just smelled something pretty rank. She was not amused.

‘Fess up moms! There were times when you looked down at your baby and thought, “Dear Lord, I’ve given birth to Buddy Ebsen.” That’s because most babies look like old men.

I was at a store when a woman came up and said to me, “what a cute little boy! What’s his name?” Well, lady, I realize my baby looks like a short, fat man from a 1930’s gangster flick, (and oh how I have cried over that!) but HER name is Z and I would think you might have been tipped off to that fact that SHE is a GIRL by the pink overalls and the bow on her head. Sheesh!

Let’s face it, no one looks good after they’ve been in a womb for 9 months. But, for a new mother who is riddled with hormones, anxiety and depression there is a special hell in wondering if your child is forever going to look like they’ve just been claimed from the uterus. You don’t voice your fears to everyone because they’re all telling you how gorgeous the baby is, even though you know they are wondering the same thing.

And, of course, the babies plump up, lose the red tint, grow some hair and become so darn cute you just want to eat ’em up. When my daughter was a baby, I remember reading an article that said that children’s facial structure sets sometime between 6 and 7 years. I just kept praying she would be in one of her cute phases when it did.

 

Give me a moment, please?!? July 20, 2009

Filed under: Uncategorized — Becky @ 9:34 pm
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I love being with my kids. They are funny and cute, serious and wise– and yes, sometimes annoying. Nothing sets my teeth on edge faster than the shrill screams of , “he’s touching me,” or “she scratched me.” (There is no justice for the little brother whose big sister has fingernails.) All in all they are good kids, even when Z9 gets a little yakkity-yak. I figure he’s just making up for the first 4 years of his life when he kept silent and let Z11 do all his talking for him.

Still, I long for a trip to the bathroom that does not feature someone screaming my name and tracking me down, then knocking on the door and asking, “what are you doing in there?” I’m in the bathroom with the door closed. What do they think I am doing in there– underwater basket weaving in the tub?

Usually in the evenings I retire to my boudoir where I work on the laptop, maybe watch a little TV, or read a book. Do I do this alone? God forbid! They troop in behind me carrying their hobbies, Nintendos, books or whatever else they can find (which is also why my bedroom looks like a receptacle for abandoned toys) and we spend “quality” time together. This often consists of them either fighting over what they are going to watch on TV or telling me they don’t like what I’m watching. It has apparently completely escaped their notice that there are two other, fully-functional, cable televisions less than 100 feet from this room.

Generally,  the quality time is fine. I don’t watch much TV, so they are free to spend the evening with “Phineas & Ferb” if they like, and we can visit with each other throughout the evening. However, just let me try to watch something on TV I really want to see and all hell breaks loose. Suddenly Z9 has a mosquito bite that needs treatment. “Can you fix it at the next commercial, mom?” “Son, I’m watching PBS, there are no commercials. Just come here and I will take care of it.” He then feels compelled to tell me the names, ages, birthdates and character traits of every person in the computer game he is playing. Z11 is wanting help navigating through something else on a different computer. My mother calls– twice.

At this point, all I want to  know is “whodunit?” It wouldn’t be so bad if I hadn’t already seen the crime committed, but no, they let me get interested in it before they try to drag me away from it. “Okay guys, just let me see the end of this and find out who did it.” “It’s Miss Marple, mom, you already said you’ve read all the books.” Oh thank you 11-year-old fount of wisdom. But this is a film production I’ve never seen before and it’s been 14 years since I read the books. I’ve given birth since then, and God help me, I’ve left brain cells scattered all over southwest Oklahoma and north Texas.