Sunday, November 27, 2011
Monday, November 21, 2011
Hey, world. It's me. Ready to take on my agoraphobia and live my life again.
See, I have this rash on ma face. Thought it was eczema from eating gluten back in June. A little hydrocortisone here and there and I thought it would go away. Well. It didn't. And it got worse. The lighting, crappy camera phone, and faux lazy eye does not begin to do this justice, but you get the point.
Here's a better example from the interwebs:
So I finally went to the dermatologist. Turns out I have this thing called Perioral Dermatitis. 90% of patients with this......disease? are woman 20-45 years of age. "Scientists" are not sure what causes it and they're not really even sure how to completely get rid of it. "They" think it might be the fluoride in toothpaste. Ha. My dermatologist? Kind of came off as a jerky idiot on the matter. Every. single. question I asked was met with "the pamphlet will explain that". Turns out the pamphlet was like, "sooooo we don't really know." Awesome. He prescribed an antibiotic to take.....for 2 months. How in the world can that be healthy?? But I was desperate. So I went to pick up the prescription.
$261 to fill that prescription, with pretty decent insurance. No way was I dropping that much on pills that would probably cause more issues than they solved. So then I fell into a depression, out of which I am coming a week later (sorry, Danny!), and hopped online to some great forums to find out that the antibiotics route usually just becomes a cycle. That never ends. For years. No thanks.
I also found that the earthy, voodoo juju, crunchy path is usually the best. I eliminated soaps and beauty products with sodium lauryl sulfates (SLS) and sodium lareth sulfates (SLES). (SLS and SLES basically just make your soap sudsier. So you "feel cleaner". Even though it doesn't actually make you cleaner. In my case, it makes my skin irritated-er.) The rash got worse for several days while my face went through steroid withdrawal (from the hydrocortisone) but after a strict regimen of probiotics every afternoon, diluted apple cider vinegar on my face twice a day, a yogurt mask at night, and a few honey masks, my face is looking better than it has in MONTHS. And it's been YEARS since I was this obsessed with my face. Annnnnnd I also fired that doctor from my services. The fact that these treatments are working suggest that the cause of PD has something to do with the flora in your gut being amiss (the gluten catalyst) combined with yeast issues on yo face. Perfect storm. For some ego-shrinking and confidence shattering PD.
Lessons learned:
- Trust "modern medicine" even less.
- Firing doctors is really easy - just don't go to them again.
- I am way more vain than I thought.
See, I have this rash on ma face. Thought it was eczema from eating gluten back in June. A little hydrocortisone here and there and I thought it would go away. Well. It didn't. And it got worse. The lighting, crappy camera phone, and faux lazy eye does not begin to do this justice, but you get the point.
Here's a better example from the interwebs:
So I finally went to the dermatologist. Turns out I have this thing called Perioral Dermatitis. 90% of patients with this......disease? are woman 20-45 years of age. "Scientists" are not sure what causes it and they're not really even sure how to completely get rid of it. "They" think it might be the fluoride in toothpaste. Ha. My dermatologist? Kind of came off as a jerky idiot on the matter. Every. single. question I asked was met with "the pamphlet will explain that". Turns out the pamphlet was like, "sooooo we don't really know." Awesome. He prescribed an antibiotic to take.....for 2 months. How in the world can that be healthy?? But I was desperate. So I went to pick up the prescription.
$261 to fill that prescription, with pretty decent insurance. No way was I dropping that much on pills that would probably cause more issues than they solved. So then I fell into a depression, out of which I am coming a week later (sorry, Danny!), and hopped online to some great forums to find out that the antibiotics route usually just becomes a cycle. That never ends. For years. No thanks.
I also found that the earthy, voodoo juju, crunchy path is usually the best. I eliminated soaps and beauty products with sodium lauryl sulfates (SLS) and sodium lareth sulfates (SLES). (SLS and SLES basically just make your soap sudsier. So you "feel cleaner". Even though it doesn't actually make you cleaner. In my case, it makes my skin irritated-er.) The rash got worse for several days while my face went through steroid withdrawal (from the hydrocortisone) but after a strict regimen of probiotics every afternoon, diluted apple cider vinegar on my face twice a day, a yogurt mask at night, and a few honey masks, my face is looking better than it has in MONTHS. And it's been YEARS since I was this obsessed with my face. Annnnnnd I also fired that doctor from my services. The fact that these treatments are working suggest that the cause of PD has something to do with the flora in your gut being amiss (the gluten catalyst) combined with yeast issues on yo face. Perfect storm. For some ego-shrinking and confidence shattering PD.
Lessons learned:
- Trust "modern medicine" even less.
- Firing doctors is really easy - just don't go to them again.
- I am way more vain than I thought.
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Ava goes to jail. Not really. But there was a cop involved.
So. I had my first stupidity-induced traumatic parenting experience last week. My poor, tiny human. It IS hard to be her. Actually.
I was repainting our dining room chairs outside. And any other thing I could find to spray paint (the spray paint obsession is currently at an all time high). When I work outside or in the gay-rage it generally means power tools or lots of muscle use is involved which means my testosterone levels are elevated and I get the urge to cook outdoors which means that I multitask poorly (sexist stereotyping, HOLLA!). Also, I don't like the tiny human running around in the garage because, well, I don't want any tiny fingers lopped off by a miter saw or to find her consuming a bag of screws. Because she would do that. This is where her obsession with the car comes in mighty handy. It contains her so I don't have to worry about her safety/feel bad when I forget that I'm a mom for a second.
I generally open the car door, put on the e-brake and let her go crazy pushing buttons and whatnot (I secretly think she is an evil mastermind and seeks to ensure that, at the very least, I get a blast of a/c in my face and busted ear drums the next time I turn on the car). But I failed to remember the sneakiest super power that kids have. They do this thing when put in the same situation over and over again called learning. A new skill here, an epiphany there. No big deal right? Except when they use all their new knowledge and skills at one time. On this particular day I hadn't realized that my kid learned how to close the door, lock the door, and put the keys in the ignition. Of course she decided to use all! three! new! skills! at the same time.
In the middle of my spray painting induced nirvana I suddenly had an inkling. Where are my keys? Where is my kid? Why is the door closed? Please don't be locked, please don't be locked. Annnnnd the car door was locked. With Ava inside. With the keys dangling from the ignition (not the actual car key, thankgoodness). Panic set in. I stood there and pleaded with Ava to push the button! That one! Right there! (The lock/unlock one.) Turns out she had figured out how to lock but not unlock. After several pushes of the lock button she got mad that I was still frustrated with her and refused to even go near it again.
Since the door wasn't completely latched and the keys were dangling from her hands instead of the ignition I decided to use a marshmallow skewer to procure the keys. FAIL. BIG FAT FAIL. The keys were sucked into the abyss between the door and the seat.
And then I really panicked. Ava was starting to panic as well.
So clearly I called the nearest Toyota dealer, bawling my eyes out, to see what they could do. The guy was really sweet but said I needed to try the police first. (What does it say about me that I don't think to call the police first in a slightly emergent situation? Too much Law and Order, my friends. TOO MUCH.)
So. I called the police. I was almost hyperventilating at that point. My toddler was screaming. She was hot and she didn't understand why her mommy wouldn't just open the door and pick her up.
Seven minutes that felt like 20 later, a police man showed up in his fancy Charger. A little wedge here, a little car opening device there, and BAM! the door opened and my tiny human suctioned herself to my person like an octopus. The cop had to take down some info and I silently worried that he was going to call CPS on me. Turns out he just had to make sure the car was mine. He said something about my car being a "really expensive playpen" and drove off with my eternal gratitude and suspicion (again, with the Law and Order).
All is well that ends well, right?
Except that Ava whimpered for a solid 10 minutes afterward and maybe I did too. What are the chances I can raise this kid without one or the other of us needing therapy?
I was repainting our dining room chairs outside. And any other thing I could find to spray paint (the spray paint obsession is currently at an all time high). When I work outside or in the gay-rage it generally means power tools or lots of muscle use is involved which means my testosterone levels are elevated and I get the urge to cook outdoors which means that I multitask poorly (sexist stereotyping, HOLLA!). Also, I don't like the tiny human running around in the garage because, well, I don't want any tiny fingers lopped off by a miter saw or to find her consuming a bag of screws. Because she would do that. This is where her obsession with the car comes in mighty handy. It contains her so I don't have to worry about her safety/feel bad when I forget that I'm a mom for a second.
I generally open the car door, put on the e-brake and let her go crazy pushing buttons and whatnot (I secretly think she is an evil mastermind and seeks to ensure that, at the very least, I get a blast of a/c in my face and busted ear drums the next time I turn on the car). But I failed to remember the sneakiest super power that kids have. They do this thing when put in the same situation over and over again called learning. A new skill here, an epiphany there. No big deal right? Except when they use all their new knowledge and skills at one time. On this particular day I hadn't realized that my kid learned how to close the door, lock the door, and put the keys in the ignition. Of course she decided to use all! three! new! skills! at the same time.
In the middle of my spray painting induced nirvana I suddenly had an inkling. Where are my keys? Where is my kid? Why is the door closed? Please don't be locked, please don't be locked. Annnnnd the car door was locked. With Ava inside. With the keys dangling from the ignition (not the actual car key, thankgoodness). Panic set in. I stood there and pleaded with Ava to push the button! That one! Right there! (The lock/unlock one.) Turns out she had figured out how to lock but not unlock. After several pushes of the lock button she got mad that I was still frustrated with her and refused to even go near it again.
Since the door wasn't completely latched and the keys were dangling from her hands instead of the ignition I decided to use a marshmallow skewer to procure the keys. FAIL. BIG FAT FAIL. The keys were sucked into the abyss between the door and the seat.
And then I really panicked. Ava was starting to panic as well.
So clearly I called the nearest Toyota dealer, bawling my eyes out, to see what they could do. The guy was really sweet but said I needed to try the police first. (What does it say about me that I don't think to call the police first in a slightly emergent situation? Too much Law and Order, my friends. TOO MUCH.)
So. I called the police. I was almost hyperventilating at that point. My toddler was screaming. She was hot and she didn't understand why her mommy wouldn't just open the door and pick her up.
Seven minutes that felt like 20 later, a police man showed up in his fancy Charger. A little wedge here, a little car opening device there, and BAM! the door opened and my tiny human suctioned herself to my person like an octopus. The cop had to take down some info and I silently worried that he was going to call CPS on me. Turns out he just had to make sure the car was mine. He said something about my car being a "really expensive playpen" and drove off with my eternal gratitude and suspicion (again, with the Law and Order).
All is well that ends well, right?
Except that Ava whimpered for a solid 10 minutes afterward and maybe I did too. What are the chances I can raise this kid without one or the other of us needing therapy?
Monday, November 7, 2011
Pilgrim's Progress
The house. It is coming along nicely. Here are some updates for your eyes.
Here we have the dining room. We refinished the floors, painted all the trim, windows, and built-ins white, repainted the ceiling and painted the walls a nice "fresh butter". This is the table that my dad and I made together. I also repainted our chairs sage green. We still have to put down the quarter round, caulk, and eventually put up a few shelves and crown molding.
The living room is finally looking nicer. So far we have pulled up the carpet, refinished the floors, repaired cracked plaster, stripped the baseboards, painted the trim, baseboards, built-ins, and doors, and repainted the walls a nice Miss Martha Gray. The ceiling needs special attention and so does the fireplace - hence no pictures of it. We totally lucked out and got a nice leather couch and chair from Danny's boss. I guess he needed more space for his painting and yoga, no joke.
Painted built-ins that are eventually going to be ripped out. C'est vrai.
So it feels good to have a house that's prettier. Ish. Now to hang pictures and things..... I was totally going to make this post witty and funnier. Alas, I have to save all my wit for my next post about how I am a terrible mom and my toddler is scarred forever.
CLIFFHANGER.
Here we have the dining room. We refinished the floors, painted all the trim, windows, and built-ins white, repainted the ceiling and painted the walls a nice "fresh butter". This is the table that my dad and I made together. I also repainted our chairs sage green. We still have to put down the quarter round, caulk, and eventually put up a few shelves and crown molding.
The living room is finally looking nicer. So far we have pulled up the carpet, refinished the floors, repaired cracked plaster, stripped the baseboards, painted the trim, baseboards, built-ins, and doors, and repainted the walls a nice Miss Martha Gray. The ceiling needs special attention and so does the fireplace - hence no pictures of it. We totally lucked out and got a nice leather couch and chair from Danny's boss. I guess he needed more space for his painting and yoga, no joke.
The only downer about the couch? There are big scratches on the (new) floor from moving it in. Blaaaaaa. Also, I don't like the rug anymore. Too modern for this space. Typical me. We'll be moving it upstairs to hang out in my office.
The gray actually makes my front door less heinous.
So it feels good to have a house that's prettier. Ish. Now to hang pictures and things..... I was totally going to make this post witty and funnier. Alas, I have to save all my wit for my next post about how I am a terrible mom and my toddler is scarred forever.
CLIFFHANGER.
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