Because Words CAN Hurt

"But I didn't mean any offense! You're being too sensitive. This world is getting too p.c."

Here's the way to know if a phrase needs to be eliminated from your repertoire: Is the phrase said to connotate anything less than desirable? I.E., is the metaphor/simile indicating that whatever I am doing/saying/wearing something that is laughable? Then it is degrading. End of story.

Telling you that a phrase you may use isn't something I am comfortable with or that I find it offensive doesn't make me "overly sensitive" or "too politically correct." It means that I am trying to consider the feelings of other people, whether or not that particular group is represented at the time of the phrase's use.

The #LikeAGirl campaign by Always hit on a topic I've been wanting to cover for a while. In fact, just a few weeks ago, a kindly father at the neighborhood pool jokingly told his daughter that she was "throwing like a girl." Now, had she not been playing with my own daughter at the time, I may not have intervened with my own comment. But she WAS beside my own daughter and I could not stand by and let this comment go;

"Like a girl? So, you mean she threw it strong and far, right? Because girls are amazing and powerful and nothing to be made fun of, right?"

I was actually trying to be kind and approachable when I said this, as I know most people feel that this is a joke that is still socially acceptable.

It's not.

It's no longer acceptable to degrade females. It's no longer acceptable to make remarks about any group of human beings in a way that implies that they are less than desirable. I think it should go without saying, but it is not acceptable to mock someone because of their race, religion, sexual orientation, mental capacities, physical limitations, social status or gender. IT'S NOT.

This means you cannot say things like "that's so gay" , "he's so retarded", or "trailer trash" without hurting someone. Not only because a person within earshot may be homosexual, mentally challenged, or raised in a trailer park, but also because it perpetuates the idea that those stereotypes are valid. Words have power. Words have WEIGHT.

"But it's ok! I AM gay-Jewish-overweight-female-poverty-born! I can mock myself!"

This makes me sigh, because I get it. I do it. We all do it. Life cannot be focused on being serious and politically correct. Life should be about embracing the fun and the light and the joy, and I GET IT. But do we have to knock each other or ourselves down in order to have the laughter?

I'm not being overly sensitive. I'm not making too much out of a "simple phrase, meant in jest." I'm not trying to police the world and make everyone think exactly as I do. I know for a FACT that I still make mistakes regarding some of the phrases I have grown up with. I can guarantee you that I have uttered less than complimentary phrases about groups of people, without even thinking about what it actually meant to them, or to me. I own my own biases and continue to work past them. All I ask is that we all consider our words before we speak them. All I ask is that each of us owns our own mistakes and tries to move forward.

How else can we create a society that gracious and kind, if we continue to knock each other down?



#LikeAGirl means "like a person who is capable and strong, who just happens to be female."

Why Male Gynecologists Creep Me Out

Nobody seems to find this as big of a deal as I do. "What's the problem?" they ask me when I say that I don't like male gynecologists. "Why do you care? A doctor's a doctor."

Except, a male gynecologist is not a female gynecologist. A male doctor may have more experience with vaginas and cervixes and all of the other female bits and pieces in his practice than his female counterpart. He may have saved hundreds of lives, delivering thousands of babies and helping women for dozens of years, and that's fabulous. (In fact, thank God for male gynecologists because they have saved our gender through many generations where women weren't ALLOWED to actually doctor themselves.)

But try though he might to empathize with a woman, here is a newsflash:

A male gynecologist has never actually owned a vagina. 

Imagine you have a very special vehicle. It is your BABY, to be honest. You've pampered this car for your entire adulthood and it is everything you have ever wanted in a car. You bring it into the mechanic to have some work done and ask some questions about how it's been running lately. This mechanic has inspected every single curve of many cars. He knows all of the details of dozens of makes and models. Maybe he even grew up in a family garage of fantastic mechanic.

That mechanic can "quote" to you the way it's SUPPOSED to feel when you push your foot down on the brake pedal verbatim, but this particular mechanic has Never DRIVEN A CAR.

He has never known the fear you have when your brakes suddenly go smooshy on the highway while you're cruising along at 65 mph.

He has never had a flat tire on the side of the road on a dark, abandoned highway.

He has never known the pain of making hundreds of car payments and finally paying it off, only to have it sputter and die on I-55.

Tell me the truth: Would you REALLY take your vintage vehicle, your prized possession, your ultimate dream car to a person who has NEVER DRIVEN A CAR??

So why the hell would I choose a doctor who has NO FLIPPING CLUE what menstrual cramps or other vagina-related-issues feels like??




*Have I mentioned that I kinda sorta have "issues" with doctors in general?
*Inspired by a comment that I began on a random blog...

Drive-Thru Diagnosis?

I don't generally pontificate on news stories. But when a news story such as the piece on autism in Time Healthland airs, I cannot contain my words.

Did you read it? Read it.

All done? Ok.

So, we can diagnose a kid as autistic in 5 minutes? We can accurately label a child as autistic in just 5 minutes? With just one home video? Without having met the patient on good days and bad? We can count on the answers of a parent on a questionnaire as foolproof? I can tell you this: When filling out questionnaires about my child, I often found myself flinging my heart from one side of the fence to the other. I would answer honestly, but would then wonder if my honesty was, well, honest. Was the answer to question #14 correct or was it influenced by the fact that I desperately don't WANT this diagnosis to be true? Was the answer to question #23 correct or was it influenced by the fact that I desperately DO want this diagnosis to be true? To have a reason for all of these... issues?

Do you see the issue?

Don't get me wrong; Parent evaluations are vastly important. Nobody knows their child better than the parents do. But there is more to a psychological evaluation than "7 online questions and a short home video."

These guidelines would surely work for determining if a child should be brought in for further evaluations. But I fear that the parents who wish for their child to have a reason for their issues will have far too easy a method of screwing with the system. I fear that if these methods are allowed to pass as a definitive diagnosis, many children who are not autistic will be labeled as such. This would also mean that a multitude of children who ARE legitimately autistic and requiring intervention services will not be able to receive such help due to the increase in referrals.

I am not a medical professional but I am a mom of a kid who falls somewhere on the spectrum. I am a mom of a kid who could attach labels to his name, if he wanted to do so. I am a mom who is concerned that this type of drive-thru diagnosis could be a sign of what is to come for our medical futures and I am afraid.

Don't blame my smile for your unhappiness

I am not Suzy Sunshine. I am not perpetually cheerful. I struggle with wondering what the hell Life is all about every day but I refuse to be sucked into a hole that will only become harder to climb out of if I ignore what I have to be grateful for. I thought that this was evident?

If I write about being grateful and happy with my life it's because I force myself to appreciate the small goodnesses that surround me. Despite my own personal pile of crap (we all have a pile of crap to shovel), I want to enjoy my life! We all have the ability to recognize the little things. If you choose to not focus on the good and continually wallow in only what depresses all of us, how am I to blame?

Now excuse me, but I have some cupcakes to frost and a little girl to play with.

When you live in MY house, you live by MY rules!

I KNOW. Can you believe I stooped that low? I can't.

I mean, it's the ultimate cliche phrase; the one I'd sworn against my entire life.

"If you utter That Phrase, you are just asking for your child to yell back 'Then I'm OUT of here!' as they run off to Vegas."

(That? That is what I used to consider MY phrase.)

And now? I'm the cliche-slinging, ranting mother who stomped her foot at her 12 year old and called out "Bullshit!" when he proclaimed to not need to help clean the house and that HE didn't CARE if it was messy.

BULL. SHIT.

Yep. Mommy has left the building and MOTHER has entered.

In my defense, there really is only so much a person can handle. I can handle daily chores. I can handle a little sigh as they have to pause a show or game or book in order to put clothing away or take the garbage out. I GET IT. It's not fun to do housework. OBVIOUSLY.

But what I don't understand is how I have arrived at this stage in my life where my boys are combative about ANY chore or basic duty that a human being needs to accomplish. I'm astounded.

And I actually threatened* to take ALL clothing but 2 shirts and 2 pants from Justin's room so that he is always doing his own laundry and always knows where his shit is. I am sick and tired of being the only person in this house that can find a clean shirt** or pair of socks***.

I'll bet all of your kids are just JUMPING at the chance to visit my house, right?!?



*(and am still considering following up on!)


**(in the drawer! Shocking!)


***(I looked in the sock basket because I'm all Sherlock Holmes-ish like that)

This is not directed at you, it's that other parent from that other day. Swear to God.

Those signs that say "For Ages 5 - 12" or "Recommended for children over 5" are there for a reason. I'm not saying that you shouldn't allow your 2 year old on the playground. I did it with my kids all the time! I'm also not saying that your kids shouldn't be there. Bring them out! Have a ball. But you cannot, in the same breath, condemn children for being overweight and lazy and then rant and rave over how your toddler isn't safe on the playground because of all of the Obnoxious Big Kids "taking it over." You just can't.

Just wait until your own little guy is a pre-teen. Pre-teen basically equates to Little Kid in a Big Kid body. Same amount of energy and same misconcepts of body space and surroundings but too old for playing make-believe in the backyard. So it's off to the park they go to play Cherry Bomb and Color Tag and Lord knows what else but they all require RUNNING on the equipment. Yes, RUNNING. Can you believe it? American pre-teens RUN.NING. Shouldn't they be playing video games or something?!?

I'm not saying that they shouldn't be looking down when running on the equipment. They should and, actually, they DO! But your little guy is just SO LITTLE that he's bound to get knocked down on the equipment. His balance just isn't capable of climbing those stairs for FIVE YEAR OLDS and holding onto the railing AND withstanding the wind tunnels that the older children create with their PLAY. He will most likely receive the standard playground apology of "Oh! Sorry, man!" as they run to the next game.That is obviously not the BEST apology in the world, but it is what all the kids tend to do. It's kind of the Law of the Playground; Every Man for Himself. Again, if you have a problem with that? Then the playground that is recommended for ages 5 and UP probably isn't the best spot for your child.

Want to help fight childhood obesity? Then encourage them to run around and be wild on the damn playgrounds. That's what they're THERE FOR.

If World Leaders Listened to their Mothers...

Tolerance = not speaking aloud all of the negative thoughts you are harboring about the person you don't accept. It means believing that you are better than someone else based upon their abilities, social standing or choices, but "enduring" it so that you are socially and politically correct.

Acceptance = genuinely believing that we all have a right to our life styles, religions or beliefs, and careers or lack thereof. It means that you don't see someone's physical/emotional/mental differences as something to be reckoned or "dealt with" because we are ALL different!

Thank God for that.

I'm not perfect, but I would sure love to witness more Acceptance of our Fellow Man in the world instead of simply Tolerance. I can "tolerate" an argument between my children, but I don't "accept" it.

I can "tolerate" a LOT of situations that I will never "accept".

One thing I will never tolerate OR accept will be ignorance of the rights of human beings. Every mother, everywhere has always said:

"Treat others as you'd like to be treated."

Honestly, if mothers were to be truly in charge of the world, the leaders would never reach a situation where they had weapons to play around with. After arguing and yelling and throwing their 'toys' about, they'd be grounded, without privileges, until they figured out how to get along!

I am bone tired of witnessing the pent-up anger of the world. I am fed UP with the whiny, over-privileged People of Luck who cannot empathize with the plight of their fellow man. I want nothing more than to send the leaders who demean and degrade their citizens straight to their rooms for a lengthy time-out. If you can't handle the responsibility that you asked for, then you can't get your allowance!

Honestly.

Shhhh...

Feeling quiet this week. Really still in my heart and head...

I sit at the computer and stare and feel little desire to read or write.

So I pick up my current Harry Potter
and dive back into the world of teenaged magic
and forget about the dishes
and schoolwork
and tediums of life in February
for a little smidge longer.

This morning, I heard a reporter say that Borders was going out of business
because nobody reads real books anymore.

"When was the last time
you curled up with a real book?"

She asked.

"We all pick up our Kindles and Nooks instead!"

Not me.

I understand.

I do.

It's cheaper/easier/cooler/etc. to read on a nifty reading thingy-bob.
There may come a day when I break down
and own one myself...

But paperless books just aren't the same.

My books are dog-eared and frayed.
They have spots of spaghetti sauce and salsa from reading during meals.
They have rips and creases from falling asleep with them.
They can be shared or given away
(is there something you'd like to borrow?)
My books are loved and worn and cherished
and I wouldn't want it any other way.

A New First for the "baby" book...

There are a lot of firsts in your child's life.

The more obvious ones are expected: first steps, first words, first foot-stomping tantrum and "NO!" shouted in Mama's face.

Some Firsts are a little more slippery and catch you off-guard: the first time they don't hug you goodbye, the first private joke they share with someone and don't share with you, the first grown-up conversation that leaves you filled with pride and amazement that THIS was once your toddling baby...

And some Firsts just knock you flat on your back and leave you so flabbergasted that you fume and rage and want to punch someone with your Mighty Mommy Fists. Some Firsts are ones that you need to write about but fear to do so before angrily scratching several days from the calendar as a buffering distance. You need to allow your mind and heart to reevaluate and try to diffuse the gut-instinct rage that keeps boiling over whenever you picture that first time...

Everyone's ok. Everyone's fine and my children did NOTHING wrong. This is a rage that involves a stranger, a PERFECT stranger, and how his behavior and words affected me, my children and several other children. I feel emotionally violated and am still shaking, 5 days later, over the treatment that innocent kids were subjected to at the hands of someone they are told to respect and trust. I am also furious at the actions that a fellow parent took which brought this situation about...

But I am still too angry (Obviously; I'm shaking as I type this) to properly convey how this simple situation got out of hand....

I guess I still need to cross off a few more days on the calendar...

Someday, You'll Understand...

Dear Upset Mom to One Toddler at Brookfield Zoo,

Hey! How are things? Are you enjoying your quiet morning? Did you have fun at the zoo yesterday? Can I please interrupt your day for a minute to pass on some advice and send out a plea?

Guess what? Someday, your sweet 2-year-old boy will turn 11. I know! It’s shocking to think about. No new mom ever really believes that she will be a parent to an older child, but (by the grace of God), it happens.

Someday, your son will be awkward and stumbling; his feet too big for his legs and voice too loud for polite conversation. Someday, you will be forever reminding him to cover his nose with his elbow when he sneezes. Someday, you will have to wrangle him into the bathroom for showers and sniff under his arms to make sure that he DID put on deodorant. Someday, you will spend more time apologizing for his bumbling actions and responses than you currently do. After all, everyone expects a 2 year old boy to be noisy, active and needy; When he grows as tall as you are (overnight, I swear), people suddenly expect him to be polite, coordinated and mature...

Read More...

I just wanted a smoothie, damnit

"Aaaaeeeiiieeee!! EvAN! That's MY seat!!"

"Evan, as a personal favor to me, could you please, please PLEASE let her sit there? I know she's tired and whiny, but I just want to get through these banana smoothies without a fight. Please?"

Evan relented with a huff and a sigh but Justin's indignation would not be so silent.

"I hate that! I hate that she always gets her way! That is SO unfair!"

"Justin, this is not about you..."

"She ALWAYS gets her way. She just has to whine a little and you let her do whatever she wants!"

"That is not true. And when you were 4, you whined just as much as she did and we had to work our lives around it, too. Now that you're older..."

"It's NOT FAIR."

"Life isn't fair!"

"You ALWAYS SAY THAT!"

"That's because it's ALWAYS true!"

"Arrggghh!! Just, just... NEVER MIND. You just don't understand!"

"Wrong, kiddo. I DO understand. I too had a little sister who whined when she was 4 and I too had a mother who just wanted to get through a meal without an argument. I had to give in and give up and it wasn't 'fair' but LIFE ISN'T FAIR."

"You already said that!"

"That's because it's ALWAYS true! You know what isn't fair? It isn't fair that there are kids who can't argue over who gets to sit at the special chair for their banana smoothies because they don't HAVE chairs or the money to buy a banana smoothie. It's not fair that children are homeless and starving. It's not fair that there are children in homes without love or attention. It's not fair that you have a family that loves and cares for you but there are millions and millions of kids who don't even know what a loving family LOOKS like. LIFE ISN'T FAIR. Being able to argue over a chair is a privilege that I am grateful you guys are allowed. But it isn't asking too much of you guys to occasionally let your little sister sit in the chair after a loooong weekend. She is so tired that she slept on the freaking piano bench, kid. Now drink your smoothie and let me make my own in peace, PLEASE?"

And the skies opened and the angels sang their praises of grace and he was quiet and all was right with the world. And I drank my banana smoothie in peace as I typed this post.

Praise be.

2 hours on the piano bench and NO I didn't even consider waking her up.

Halfway there...

Despite what I may say, I really do enjoy scout camp. I DO. Swear to God. Hanging out with my kids and watching them interact with other boys doing boy stuff like shooting arrows and making milk jugs into masks is awesome and I look forward to it every year.

But.

(You know I had to have a big one of those, right?)

But, but, but: Exhaustion doesn't adequately describe my body's status. Between the hiking and head-counting and standing and sitting and SUNBURN after 4 hours at the water park, my poor little body is wiped out. I feel so... elderly.

Best part of the water park, hands down, is trying to comprehend the people who just don't seem to realize how they look in their bathing suits. I honestly believe that there is nothing wrong with a woman's stomach after having children. (well, except for my own which seems to have more wavy lines than a topical map of the Boundary Waters). I ALSO honestly believe that the rest of the world doesn't need to be shown how miraculous your body was by having your belly and rear not-so-daintily crammed into a string bikini meant for a 16 year old girl. Do they not realize that this only makes them LESS attractive? Trying to hold onto your youth (and dream of your former girlish figure) is the fastest way to appear OLDER than you are!

Don't even get me started on the men's trunks that ride at their cracks because their bellies push them down or the indecency of a man flaunting breasts larger than an A cup. Tie up the shorts and put on a shirt, fellas! I am not faulting you for being overweight. NOT AT ALL. But please try to have a little pride in your bathing attire. If not for yourself, than for my eyes; For the children's eyes, and For the LOVE OF GOD!

2 more days of camp. Gotta remember the sunscreen...

A Bitchy rant that is in NO WAY influenced by my monthly cycle. Swear to God.

Playtex, I have a gripe to spew.

You know that contest you're running? The one where you offer a fabulous Bra Makeover? The one with the free trip to New York and lots of goodies? Yeah. That one.

Well, darling makers of bras and other unmentionables, I was actually pretty excited about your damn contest. I found the time to fill out your damn form; Even though I parent and homeschool 3 children. Even though my husband works nights and isn't home to help me for more than an hour a day. EVEN THOUGH I have loads and loads of other things I could be doing with my limited online time. Despite all of the above, I spent the precious time it took to fill out your form and link to a picture and write why I felt I would be a good candidate for your Bra Makeover. And it was GOOD. I laughed. I smiled. I nodded to myself that this witty paragraph just might catch your attention and get this particular Mom and wife a chance to win a special weekend to herself. I was excited that my bra collection of $10 sale undergarments purchased while my 3 kids stood in the underwear department of Wal-Mart might ACTUALLY be filled out with items that not only fit me well, but also make me LOOK good!

You can imagine my surprise when, at the end of the contest form, I read the fine print in the "terms and conditions" section. The fine print that states that this contest is not open to, and I quote:

Only female legal residents of the fifty (50) states of the United States and the District of Columbia who are twenty-one (21) years of age or older, and with bra sizes within the ranges of 36C to 50C, 32D to 50D, 34DD to 50DD, and 34DDD to 44DDD are eligible to apply for the Playtex Bra Makeover. Ladies with A and B cup sizes and with bra sizes outside these ranges are not eligible for the Playtex Bra Makeover.

Seriously?

SERIOUSLY?

You are honestly going to exclude me because I'm "small-chested?" AGAIN? Again the world is saying I'm not quite womanly enough because I only reach the letter B in the alphabet? As though I haven't struggled with this my whole life? As though the jokes about small boobs haven't chipped away at my confidence my entire life?

I'm sure there are plenty of reasons for your qualification. It's your damn contest; you can do what you want. But I don't care. You can rest assured that I will no longer consider the words "Playtex" in my bra purchases.

Just because my girls aren't enormous doesn't make me less of a woman or less deserving of a special treatment.

When I get down, I bake a pie. And eat the #$@% out of it...

Yes. That is a heart on top of an apple pie. Yes. I peeled every apple, sliced them with Justin, made the crust myself and baked it until the house smelled divine. Yes. It tastes AWESOME. And yes; it certainly helped me feel a little better...

I'm happy to say that I was busy today. Too busy to be depressed. Busy taking care of a little boy who will be here for 2 hours a day while his parents are between shifts. I think that this little bit of money and little bit of routine will be really good for me (and the family). I'm hoping, at least. Plus, he's only one year old! There's nothing sweeter than a baby that age. It should be just enough baby time in the house to get rid of any baby longings I may be having. Not that I'm having any. At all. But, well. You know.

(Ok, ok. A TINY BIT OF ME wants another baby. Probably the tiny bit that will ALWAYS want another baby. But that tiny little bit will just have to suck it up and get over itself because we are DONE.)

So, a little extra cash for food and a little extra time playing with a cute little baby. Sounds like a good deal...
~~~~

Hey, if anyone knows who the idiot is who stole the front of my cd player out of my van, please pass along my congratulations on being an IDIOT because they didn't take ALL of the stereo, just the facing. Which sucks for me because I can't play any music or tell what time it is. But it sucks for the thief as well because they can't EITHER. Also, thanks for picking on the family that can barely afford FOOD. I certainly hope you didn't steal from us to pay for an operation or something because you won't get ANY MONEY for simply the facing, you IDIOT.

It's pretty pathetic to be a criminal. But it's downright embarrassing to be a STUPID ONE.
~~~

Don't forget to enter to win my Bonefish Grill giveaway and BeiBambini baby clothes giveaway! I'll pick the winners after 12 noon on Friday and anounce ASAP. Good luck to all!

In Which My Naive Heart Meets Reality

Ever have someone that you just click with? No matter how long the time between talking or seeing each other, you just seem to understand the other's silences and thoughts, their sense of humor and views on life. When I reconnected with a dear person recently, we were both shocked at how much we missed each other, and amazed at how we had managed to live 15 years of our lives without being friends.

What shocked me initially though, was that this kind person was nervous to meet with me. My friend feared that I wouldn't react well to the changes that life had brought to the surface. That I would, in fact, be uncomfortable or reject the possibility of friendship with someone who has finally begun to accept the reality that she is a She, despite what her birth certificate displays.

Am I really that unusual in my ability to accept this change so freely? Is someone being transgender truly something that affects others in such a profoundly vile way? Am I that incredibly naive to assume that the world would OF COURSE see the lovely person inside, without worrying about the external differences?

I've tried to wrap my mind around it, but my heart keeps getting in the way. For all I saw when I gave her a hug, was someone with a generous heart and soul, who wouldn't hurt a fly (or mouse). All I saw was the same sweet person from my youth. True, we've both gotten a little older, and compared a couple of gray hairs (grrrrrr) but the core of who we are is the same. The decision to finally "get busy living" and embrace her true nature hasn't changed the person that is inside.

But I heard the fear of being rejected or treated horribly in her voice. I know that the expectation of being hurt or pushed aside was already thought out in her head before we said hello. For the daily life of someone who is transgender is something I can only imagine...

This gentle soul has to hide her true identity at work. In this economy, none of us want to take a chance at losing our jobs, and the reality is that coming out at work regarding one's gender identity or sexual orientation is still dangerous. Most states don't have any protection for LGBT rights. Though Illinois has some, they are not all-inclusive or equal with those who are born into the gender they identify with or those who have a different sexual orientation. There exists the very real possibility that she could be fired without reason, simply because of who she is. And that? That. Makes. Me. Ill.

We need to wake up. We need to protect EVERYONE. Minorities aren't just ethnicities, religions or those with different physical or mental abilities. Every single person on this planet has something that makes them unique. Some trait, belief, or difference that sets them apart from others. What is YOUR unique difference? How would you feel if that very special trait made you fearful of hate crimes or of losing the right to live a happy, peaceful life?

I know I'm naive, now. I know that I am a little unusual in that I DON'T CARE who makes your heart beat faster or how you want to dress. I want only for each person on Earth to experience happiness, joy and acceptance. It is not up to anyone else to determine how you are "supposed" to feel happy.

My Door's Alway's Open

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on September 10, 2009

My Door's Always Open

The conversation was going well. I was connecting with a woman I hadn't seen in months and remembering why I had liked her before.

"How are things?" she asks.

I hem and haw around the financial issues we're going through. It's not something everyone wants to hear about and it's not something I want to talk in great detail about. (Writing it for the world? That's ok. Talking with a real person in front of me? Too personal. We bloggers are a strange breed, aren't we?)

"But how are you and your husband holding up through it all? It's generally a tough time for couples..."

I reassure her that we are doing well. I know that things could be better, but one constant in my life is the love that we have for each other and our commitment to making it through anything. I return the question to her and am surprised by the answer...

"I'm thinking of leaving him. Things aren't good. Not good at all..."

The specifics aren't mine to spill. Her story is unique to her and yet similar to so many women's lives. Tied to a man that may not be good for her anymore; she has 2 children and their future to consider.

Tears in our eyes, I listen. I hold her hand, this woman I was hoping to befriend. Now I am hoping that she believes me when I said, as I passed her my phone number,

"Call me. Any time you need me. Any time you need somewhere to go. Call me."

I have no judgment. I'll offer no advice. All I can provide are open arms and a genuinely concerned ear to listen. I pray that all women with secrets they cannot tell have someone to call. Somewhere to go...

Where does their power end?

Originally posted at the former Chicago Moms Blog on May 17, 2009

Where does their power end? Daniel Hauser FORCED treatment for Hodgkin's Disease

How does this sound constitutional? How does this sound like free will and religious freedom?

If you haven't heard already, if Daniel Hauser, age 13 who has Hodgkin's Disease, is found to have what the doctors consider "treatable cancer," he will be forced to undergo treatments deemed necessary by the hospital. If the parents refuse to subject him to their medical treatments, Daniel will be taken from their custody and placed in temporary custody.

Really? REALLY?

If I were to refuse medical treatment for myself, would I be forced to undergo medical procedures? What if I said I understood the details and percentages, but the doctors thought I wasn't competent enough? As adults, we have the "freedom" to decide what we want done to our bodies. So if a 13 year old boy decides he wants to refuse chemotherapy due to religious convictions, who are we to say that he is wrong? Which religions are "real religions" and which are "cults?" Who are the government officials to say that it's okay to worship the idea of a man dying and coming back to life in 3 days, but that the "natural healing" of the Nemenhah band are ludicrous and unworthy of their respect?

Those who practice medicine are not infallible. In fact, you need only to read the words, "PRACTICING medicine" to realize that they do NOT know all of the answers. They are playing a guessing game of levels and treatments. Doctors hold the knowledge that is equivalent to a thimbleful of an ocean. It IS some knowledge, but only a miniscule portion of what is available!

I am not saying that the chemotherapy and radiation won't cure this particular boy of his Hodgkin's lymphoma. If you're have to have cancer, Hodgkin's is one of the ones you would prefer as its cure rate is much higher than that of other more aggressive cancers. Chances are, he would survive the chemo and radiation treatments.

But where does our government's ability to make our medical choices FOR US end? Where does it stop? IF a treatment WERE found to have a 100% cure ratio, would we all be forced to accept that treatment? Could the government extend this ability to have a say in our children's medical treatments eventually grow so much as to one day force us to immunize, sterilize, and euthanize?

For me, this isn't about neglect. This is a basic human rights and religious freedom issue. My heart goes out to Daniel and his family, that they have to undergo this legal circus at a time such as this. My family, as well as many others, has not remained untouched by the devastation that is cancer. May Daniel's family's rights not be overlooked by those who deem themselves more worthy of an opinion than anyone else.