http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/04/15/AR2008041501753_pf.html 

Bisphenol A, or BPA, is one of the creepy plastic chemicals discussed in The Toxic Sandbox, the book I mentioned a while back with regard to pacifiers and phthalates. 

I found this blog post (http://greenerpenny.blogspot.com/2007/09/least-toxic-totables.html) about safe and unsafe plastic food containers by Mindy Pennybacker, environmental writer and editor with focus on lifestyles and health and former editor-in-chief of The Green Guide (thegreenguide.com) for 11 years. Check it out. We may become a household full of only wood and metal soon.

I’ve just finished a small copyediting project about Syria. It was interesting and thankfully short. Arabic names are a bitch; transliteration produces all manner of variant spellings. I did not make a ton of money on the book and worked harder on it than I’ve worked on most projects in the last … um … six months or so, but as my freelance work has been spotty over the last several months, I’m grateful to have had the project. Now I am more convinced than ever that peace in that region of the globe is hopeless, although that was not the message of the book. 

I’m experiencing a lot of internal conflict over work and what I’m supposed to be doing with my time. On the one hand, I have a voracious appetite for work. I like working. I find it stimulating and rewarding. I like concentrating and solving problems, unraveling knots of words into a single, easy-to-follow thread. I like challenging myself and learning new things, which is truly the beauty of the work I do: Every project is different. There is always something to learn. And getting paid to work on books that I wouldn’t normally pick up to read for pleasure has the added bonus of forcing me to learn about things I’m not necessarily naturally inclined to learn about. It broadens my horizons, so to speak. Whenever I speak to other freelancer friends, I’m impressed by what they are doing, by how many clients they have, by how much hustling, networking, and marketing they do, by how much they work/earn (although direct conversation about money is rare). I’m impressed by their drive and ambition and success. I yearn for the same. I yearn to do more, earn more, learn more, be more. My immediate impulse at this moment is to email all my clients and ask for more work.

And yet …

I’m equally motivated by the needs of my family. I have two small people who can’t get along five minutes without me (or so it often seems). I have thoroughly enjoyed Asher’s babyhood thus far. Sometimes I get to take naps with him. We look at books together. We listen to music. In the afternoons when Lucas is home and not at the babysitters’, we enjoy the outdoors, go to the library, visit my grandmother, take walks, do art projects. These things are fun and fulfilling. I know that my children will grow up quickly. I am not willing to miss these early years. I think they do best when they are with me, and I’m grateful to have a supportive (literally and figuratively) husband and a profession that allows me so much flexibility to be with my kids. I also know that I would be a miserable wreck of a mother if I had to ship my children off to daycare full-time. I wussed out at the prospect of part-time daycare back in 2003 and have never looked back since. Some days I am able to slow down my brain and watch the butterflies drift across the yard. Some days I can take great pleasure in washing the dishes by hand with Lucas. I try to cultivate patience and peace by watching good things grow—vegetables, messes, and boys. They grow slowly. I am unable (and unwilling) to speed up the time. And so, my world turns slowly. 

Sometimes that slowness—the drowzy and dizzying days of taking care of children—is a welcome balm. And sometimes it makes me grit my teeth and feel corralled.

There is a metaphor about marriage that is a better metaphor for raising children. Ian and I have “hitched” ourselves to a cart full of precious cargo. We did it on purpose. We must ensure the cargo’s safe delivery to (hopefully) a happy and productive adulthood. We must choose our path carefully and not deviate from it randomly or without consideration. We must go slowly and steadily so as not to jostle or damage the cargo, or bounce it out and leave it by the wayside. We must make frequent rest stops and potty breaks. And although we might wish to run off together without the cart and cargo, we basically can’t—at least not until the cargo gets much farther down the path, and then only for a short break. And the cart won’t travel nearly so well with only one of us pulling, so we are hitched. It’s a good kind of hitched.

*Sigh*

Too busy to write lately, I suppose. Actually, I think I’m stuck on something I want to write about, but here’s a brief recap of some recent stuff.

* I finally have some editing work and a deadline coming this Wednesday. One project is a copyedit for a book on Syria for the 6th-12th grade market. It’s got me hoppin’ a bit and doesn’t pay well, but hey. I took it. It’s been good dusting off my brain a bit. Arabic naming conventions are puzzling—either that or my two authors are wildly inconsistent.

* Had a crisis last Monday related to being sick. I have a big post about that brewing, but suffice it to say it has a happy ending. I have learned a lot recently.

* Lucas is back in school, Thank God! He seems to be all better now. We’re starting the probiotics.

* Despite being busy with my projects and working a fair piece of it, I’ve had a terrific weekend. Yesterday we got to meet up and picnic with 

sundayhangover

,

foseelovechild

, and

grlfury

. I ate strawberries and bits of apple (heaven!) and drank champagne. The weather was perfect both yesterday and today. Today, we were invited to go kayaking with my brother and his girlfriend, Boo. We are so getting into kayaking as soon as the boys are a tad bit older. Actually, Lucas is ready now. Asher may have to stay home for a while yet. My dad came out to the lake with us and stayed with Asher on shore so the rest of us could go paddling under the Folsom Rainbow bridge. It was so cool and beautiful on the water. I always feel so much better about life when I can get out under the sky, breathe deeply, and remember that my problems are small in comparison with the great, big, beautiful world.

* My hubby is super handy! He fixed a switch and two outdoor light boxes on our house that have never worked. He installed two new fixtures and they’re really pretty. We have more to put up that will all match and our backyard patio will be ready for summer nights. (Now we must get the hot tub fixed!)

To  

gypsy_ritsa ,  

who is cute as a bug’s ear, friendly and cheerful and loving every time I see her, and competent in myriad ways I can’t even imagine. 

Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. Your creativity is breathtaking—you pump out costumes for a bazillion productions a year, play a mean pennywhistle, and, as far as I have gathered over the many years I’ve had the pleasure of knowing you, you don’t even own a pair of sweatpants. Baby, you got style. You got flare. And you got fans. I hope your birthday is/was joyful in every way (even though I know you had to work). Love ya!

Later this morning I’m dragging my butt to the doctor. I haven’t seen her in more than a year, so I expect she’ll ask me things like, “How have you been since the last time I saw you, when you were dying?” My cold of last week has settled uncomfortably into my lungs, as my colds like to do. Saturday night I had a low fever. Coughed and burbled all day yesterday. I’m wondering if it’s become an infection. I’m choosing to see my regular doc instead of my asthma/allergy specialist because I like her more than I like him. 

So many of my peeps are sick: Asher’s nose keeps running and he coughs sometimes, but he is a bit better now.  Lucas has two more days of meds to take. I happily sent him to school this morning, despite his protests.

kimkimkaree is sick too, and I feel for her. Sorry, Baby. If you were here I’d brush your hair, fix you tea, and let you rest in my snuggly bed.

Later this morning I’m dragging my butt to the doctor. I haven’t seen her in more than a year, so I expect she’ll ask me things like, “How have you been since the last time I saw you, when you were dying?” My cold of last week has settled uncomfortably into my lungs, as my colds like to do. Saturday night I had a low fever. Coughed and burbled all day yesterday. I’m wondering if it’s become an infection. I’m choosing to see my regular doc instead of my asthma/allergy specialist because I like her more than I like him. 

So many of my peeps are sick: Asher’s nose keeps running and he coughs sometimes, but he is a bit better now.  Lucas has two more days of meds to take. I happily sent him to school this morning, despite his protests.

kimkimkaree  

is sick too, and I feel for her. Sorry, Baby. If you were here I’d brush your hair, fix you tea, and let you rest in my snuggly bed.

It’s been a hell of a Spring Break and I, for one, am glad it’s OVER! 

It’s Friday night and I’m sitting here in the dark with my vodka and 7, while Ian suffers in the other room: On top of cold symptoms that he’s worked through all week, he appears now to have eaten some bad sushi.

Asher is still sick. He alternates between feeling reasonably chipper and totally lame. His nose is sometimes so congested it’s hard for him to breastfeed. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. Suck, suck, detach, breathe. It’s pathetic. He’s now whining a lot of the time, not crying, just complaining. I don’t blame him, but there is so little I can do to make him comfortable: menthol rub on his chest, hot showers to clear out the boogers, milk when he wants it, a sleeping companion, being held a lot. That’s about it.

Lucas is doing better. The antibiotics do the trick. I hate the idea that we’re wiping out all the beneficial flora in his system by giving him this medicine, but lung infections suck worse. Maybe. He’s got 6 more days of meds to take, but he’ll be back to school on Monday. (Otherwise, I may just end up in prison.) Fortunately, my son is mature enough to take his medicine without argument or fuss.

In 12 days, I have left the house only a few times and then only for a brief while. My nerves are completely frayed. Today I yelled at Asher because he wouldn’t sleep. Yeah, that’s stupid. I know. He would go to sleep, rest for 10 minutes and pop awake again. He did that three times. He only really took a proper nap when I calmed down and resolved myself to staying with him instead of working. 

I have work to do and can’t manage to do it. I have my first project to edit in a whole new software program. At the moment, I’m not sure how to do it, only that I’ve committed to doing it. 

Yesterday evening I split, engaged in some retail therapy, and (Thank God) dropped in on some friends who were kind enough to convince me that 9 p.m. was not too late. It was a dark moment when I was sitting in my car in front of Barnes & Noble thinking I had no friends and nothing to do and nowhere to go. Thanks, darlings. I really needed to sit in your kitchen and bitch for a while. 

In a (perhaps belated) effort to stay positive and be Zen about all this, here are some highlights from the last two weeks. There were some fun and/or funny moments, in between the SERENITY NOW! moments.

El Torrito Cilantro Pepita Caesar salad dressing. Lucas has been practicing pouring.

We took a walk at Negro Bar along the American River on March 26. Here are a few pics from that brief outing. It took Lucas only .5 seconds to get covered in wet mud.

It was a beautiful afternoon.

This was before we got sick. I like knowing how to take time-delayed shots! The camera is balanced on the stroller.

This is a cupboard in Lucas’s bedroom. Asher has taken to hiding his pacifiers in this cupboard. Now every time Asher enters Lucas’s room, he makes a beeline for this cupboard to check his stash.

My tulips are blooming and they’re fabulous.

I planted a multipack of pansies in the flowerbed by my front door a few weeks ago. They’re looking great now.

Some bath time fun. Asher kept sticking his tongue out.


And Lucas thought that was cool, so …

We have a book from the library called Hurry and the Monarch and another book all about the life-cycle of the monarch butterfly. Lucas spent two entire days being a monarch butterfly. I had to sneak this photo because he didn’t want one taken. He also had a monarch butterfly painted on his face—and it was damned good, if I do say so myself.

Lucas has also spent a lot of time pretending to be a mouse and a rabbit, which is more palatable to me than, say, pretending to be a Hells Angel or WWF wrestler. Even though small woodland creatures talk in unbearably high, squeaky voices and titter loudly enough to make your head explode.

To keep ourselves busy, we have also: 
* painted pictures
* painted faces
* made mobiles from tissue paper and sticks
* played board games
* played with dominoes
* drawn and colored
* cooked
* gardened and planted 2 tomatoes, 1 cucumber, 1 cantaloupe melon, 2 lavender bushes
* read dozens and dozens of books
* shopped online
* done many, many chores
* cleaned out closets
* and blogged.

I was wondering if anyone can point me to good info about homeopathy? Does it work? Is it safe? (The FDA recently said not to give cold meds to children under 6 years old, so I’m trying to find something to relieve symptoms.) I don’t have much experience with this, but we are trying Hyland’s ear ache and cold tablets for children. I see homeopathy kits on the internet, but have some skepticism and sticker shock at their prices.

Ian called. He’s got it now too. That makes all four of us. We’re all sick with the cold that knocked Lucas out a week ago. 

We are tired. We are miserable. Lucas is alternately very exhausted and pathetic and annoying as hell. He’s on meds. He is now complaining of an earache. 

The rest of us are just suffering, hoping we’ll feel better soon. 

Asher keeps looking at me like, “What the hell kind of crap mom are you, anyway?! Why don’t you DO something?” I get the stink-eye from him when his nose explodes snotty slime all over his face. I get it when I take his temp rectally. I get it when he coughs. And also when I put any type of food in front of him—any morsel at all. He won’t eat anything. (Thank goodness he’s still nursing. I know he’s getting some fluids at least.) 

Asher woke up many times last night with coughing or crying. But then he did something I’ve never seen him or anyone else do in my whole life: He started screaming and thrashing about. I’m talking about eyes-open-mouth-blaring-rageful screaming. And thrashing his entire body about in the bed, hitting his head on the headboard, on me, on Ian, with complete disregard. It was like a full-on temper tantrum out of a dead sleep at 3 a.m. If he had been hot to the touch, I would have concluded, “Oh, so this is what a febrile seizure looks like.” Only he didn’t have a fever. He was, as far as I can guess, simply MAD AS HELL. He screamed that way for 20 minutes. Ian just held him … tightly, until Asher stopped screaming and went back to sleep. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

It’s another gorgeous spring day and we are trapped inside the Wilson Sanatorium. God help me. I’m just about off my rocker.