Meta thoughts... I guess.

I had a chat with an old friend today. Brought up some old memories. Some good, some not. Nostalgia in droves. It got me thinking about, well, me. And the age old question, who am I? Part of that is easy to answer. Woman, wife, mother. Daughter, Granddaughter, niece and cousin. Some are not so easy. Am I really me? Will I ever be able to be honestly me? Have I ever been really me? You spend so many years trying to figure yourself out, sometimes I’m not sure if I’m truly me or not.

I like to think of myself as multi faceted. And there’s facets that I’ve shown others over the years, and it’s part of me. It wasn’t always a good part of me, or the part that I want to go back to again, but it was me then. Sometimes part of my facets from the past come up, or manifest themselves some, but for the most part, I keep to my current facet.

But I’m always changing. I guess it’s from age and some sort of wisdom from life experiences. Although sometimes I wonder if I do actually learn something. Most of the time I just muddle through days and parts of my life that all run together, and when it’s quiet and late I wonder where the time has gone.

Sometimes I just stop and really look at myself. Not just the look in the mirror where you see if your hair is sticking up or you have food on your face. The one where you look, and stop, and see yourself like never before, and it stops you in your tracks. The one where you almost don’t recognize yourself. I did that recently, I caught my reflection in the computer monitor. And really almost didn’t recognize myself. In my mind’s eye I’m still that somewhat pudgy blonde haired blue eyed young girl I was growing up. But I’m not that anymore.

I see myself as my daughter’s age now.. eight. Not a care in the world, big dreams, a loving family. But I look in the mirror and that’s changed somewhat. I do have a lot of cares, I still have a loving family but not in the same respect, and yes, I still have big dreams.

I may be getting older and the dreams may be different, but I still have them. I have so much life left that I can do to accomplish these dreams and set many new ones. While I do have dreams for tomorrow, I still have to live for today as well. Otherwise life will pass me by and I’ll have nothing but regrets. And I don’t want that. I regret enough already.

I used to play the “what if” game with my past. I’ll admit, I still do have those thoughts from time to time. But it doesn’t eat at me any more. I can’t let it, and I can’t imagine the “what if” because it’s been so long since the past I’m wishing for was the present.

So what do I do now? I stay aware of the present, remember the past but try not to dwell on it, and look for the future with hopes and dreams. To quote from “The Shawshank Redemption”, “Get busy living, or get busy dying.”

"But you just GOT here!" Kiss my exhausted keister.

There is nothing more irritating to me than going to work, and after about an hour, when I say that I'm tired, "But you just GOT here..how can you be tired?"

Well, yes, it is true that I just got there, at 4 pm. And I'm only working until about 9:30 pm. My job overall really isn't that hard. It can be busy, and sometimes tedious and repetitive. But 4-9:30 really isn't that long of a shift. It doesn't mean I can't be tired from everything else. And today is one of those days where I'm tired before I even get to my "paid job" where I'll make around $44 before taxes.

I want to ask, what do you think I do all day? Sit around and eat bon bons and read trashy romance novels? While it's true that some afternoons I do sit on the computer wasting time and eating too much junk food, even then I probably still have at least 2 or 3 things that I'm still hopping up to do, such as laundry, running the dishwasher, placating the cat, or making sure the kids aren't putting unnecessary holes in the house by jumping on the bed. Even as I'm writing this I just had to stop to make my girl a peanut butter sandwich, and remember that I had to e mail her summer school to let them know she is going to be gone Friday.

Today has been a busy day.

4 am. The cat woke me up. Thanks, cat.
5:15. Husband goes to work.
7:30. Girl wakes me up because her bed tent fell down. She's really insistent. I get up. Get laundry in the washer.
8:00. Husband's home for breakfast break.
 Get the kids ready to go to summer school.
8:40. Get laundry in the dryer. Get kids in the car and take girl to summer school by 9. Son just comes along.
9:15ish: Go to goodwill. Get some clothes.
9:30: Go to Walmart.
10:15: Come home from Walmart. Put everything away. Put the new cat litter box together. Clean one toilet.
10:35: Go with son to get lunch for me and Dad.
11:00: Husband is home on his half hour lunch.
11:15: Go with son to pick up girl from school at 11:30.
11:35: Pick up the girl from school, head to the store to get some things I forgot.
12:10. Finally home. Put those groceries away.Checked the mail. Started the dishwasher. Cleaned the other toilet.

And now it's 12:40 and the dishwasher's done. I still have to put laundry away, and a new fan to assemble and put in son's room. Tomorrow I need to pack my stuff and the kids' for our Wisconsin weekend, mow the lawn and trim, and work 4-9:30 tomorrow as well.

I appreciate those that work the 60-70 hour paid work weeks. I really do. But just because I "only" work 35 hours of paid work, doesn't mean I can't be tired or want to go home early or take an extra day off. I do a lot that people only realize I do when I DON'T do it, so please, just don't even start with me. I'm not in the mood to hear it. Most people don't know or understand.

Real baby advice

So one of my friends is going to have a baby very soon. I promised her way back in the early stages of pregnancy that I’d compile a list of REAL advice for a first time mom, not all that glossy magazine and parenting books you come across endlessly in all sorts of places. And, now that the baby’s due next week, here’s the list of REAL baby advice that no one tells you. (In no particular order.)

1. When you’re at the store, park as close as you can near a cart corral.
Seriously. It’ll save your sanity. Here’s why: At first, you’ll probably have a baby in the top part of the cart, in a carrier. You’re done shopping, and if you parked anywhere else, you have to lug a  huge car seat and your purchases into the car to all be tucked away. And you’re going to be exhausted because that is second nature after having a kid, so the less distance you have to carry kids and other stuff, the better. Even when the kids are older, this is good too, because you’ll want to hurry and get your stuff to the car before you or them have any more breakdowns. (Nervous for mom, behaviourial for kids.)

2. New babies don’t care about clothes.
Yeah, they care about the big things, like food, diaper changes, being held and loved. But for at least the first 6 months, clothes are not a big deal. When you’re going out, yes, it’s nice to have the cute outfits and matching socks and hats and bows, but that’s for adult sentiment. Not babies. When you’re at home and it’s just you, the baby and the dog watching The Wiggles at 7:30 am, that baby doesn’t care if it matches or not. As long as it’s dressed, that’s all you need. And besides, whatever it’s wearing is going to get soiled in some fashion, so it might as well be something cheap and comfortable. Goodwill or other store like that is a good place to look for early baby clothes. It’s cheap, and if it needs to be thrown out because of a blowout from one end or the other, you don’t feel guilty. And a side note, if you think it’s warm enough for baby, don’t think you have to put clothes on. Just something to cover the bottom up, and maybe something to cover a diaper too. Because those little hands will soon figure out how to undo diaper tabs. And that’s not pleasant. Trust me. On the other hand, I’m sure you’ve heard “Dress the baby in one layer warmer than yourself.” This really only works if it’s cold, I’ve found.(and don’t forget a hat)  If it’s hot, dress it in the same as yourself. It’s really just a judgement call. Do what feels right. You can always put layers on a baby or take it off, just as yourself.

3. Cloth Diapers.
I don’t care if your baby wears them on their butt or not. Pick up a package of these. The cheap white 12 count package is fine. Cause these make excellent burp cloths, and once again, for the first 6 months, you will live with these things. Seriously, have one under your baby when laying down after feeding, and if not under, within six inches of it. Cause random projectile vomit happens. Sometimes a lot. They’re machine washable and disposable if need be.

4.  Try to sleep sometimes when the baby sleeps.
This is an oldie but a goodie. I’m sure you’ve heard this one before. And you’ll say “Oh, I don’t need to sleep, I need to get stuff done!” etc etc. Yeah, well, forget it. I’m not saying you should sleep EVERY time the baby sleeps, otherwise, true, the laundry may not get done, or the dishes, or a shower for you, or anything else, but at least once a day during the first three months, up to the 9 months or so, TAKE A NAP DURING THE DAY WHEN THE BABY SLEEPS. You need it. And whatever else you’re doing can wait. Those dust bunnies aren’t going anywhere. Let them sit. You need to take care of you too.

5..  The diaper bag is your new best friend.
So pick a practical one. You’ll be lugging that thing around for probably at least three years, so get one you’ll like. Make sure it has lots of pockets so you can’t find what you want when you need it. Also, for you moms, don’t carry a purse and a diaper bag. Just throw everything into the diaper bag. But make sure you at least get your wallet and stuff out if dad takes the bag without you.

5a.  A side note on clothes and travel.
When packing for your baby’s diaper bag, even if you’re just going to the store for “5 minutes”, pack a whole extra set of clothes. Because Murphy’s Law is especially true for babies and bodily fluids. My rule is “Pack a set of clothes for your baby. Then an extra set. Then one more set.” Because some days, it’s going to be that way. Extra messy. Baby clothes are small, you can always stuff an extra shirt and pants in somewhere. Some day, you’ll be glad you did.

5b.  Plastic bags.
Whether it’s the plastic shopping bags from the grocery store or little one gallon bags you can find in the baby section, have some in your diaper bag. Because someday you’ll have a extra messy diaper you can’t toss right away, or something gross you need to keep separate from everything. Carry these around. The environment will understand. It’s okay.

6.  Baby Gates.
Not exactly a thing mamas need to worry about right away with little babies, but a point nonetheless. When you’re looking for baby gates, and you’re looking at the selection, keep this in mind. Don’t buy the cheapest baby gate. I’m not saying you have to buy the expensive modify your house ones, but if you think you can just buy the $10 ones and have it work right, you’re wrong. Buy the $20 ones. It’ll save you so much hassle.

7.  Savor it.
The first year is going to fly by. (So will the next few years, but the first year, especially.) Take some time when they’re little, especially in the first weeks and months when they can’t squirm away too much yet, to just hold your baby. Remember what it’s like for them to be so little, tiny and helpless. Look into their eyes and wonder what they’re thinking. Watch them when they’re reaching for a new toy or trying to catch a mobile over their head. There’s nothing quite like watching a baby when it’s learning, when you can see the gears turning. Remember that new baby smell and feel. Because it’ll be gone before you know it. I’ve already started that, and even though my kids are still young, at 8 and 6 I look at them now and say “where did the time go?” Next thing I know, I’ll turn around my kids will be 18 and 16, and almost grown up. So yeah. Cherish it.

Riding the emotional rollercoaster

So, for some reason, I've been having all these feelings lately, and two sessions at the computer later, the following word vomit came out. It's raw, barely edited and probably choppy and whatnot, but I don't particularly care. It's how I feel, and it's off my chest. It's about a crazy time in my life, when my dad died when I was 17, (July 1996), my grandpa died when I was 18, (January 1997) and my mom died a week before my 19th birthday. (October 1997)

So yeah. You were warned. Emotions abound ahead.

Helene

 ~~
I have random flashes of childhood memories. It’s unknown what triggers them or what they “mean”, if anything. Suddenly it’s so strong, the feelings, the memories, the little things. How things felt, the smell. Little details flashing. A distinct textured wall. A sign outside. Distant memories come crashing back. And the realization that there is no one to ask about details, or even, “hey, do you remember this?”  No one is left. In the last couple years I was talking to my grandmother about something that happened, and we both realized that all the other people who where there are now dead, it’s only me and her left. That’s sobering at times.

Sometimes, I feel lost. Like no one is there for me. I know deep down this isn’t true, but the feeling is still there, deep down. I can’t call my mom and dad when I want, to ask advice, or vent about life. I don’t have that. And it’s said, whatever doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. It’s true, but sometimes I’m not strong enough inside. Sometimes I’m just a scared little girl who wants to go home to mom and dad and have them protect me, like they always did, and take care of me, like they always did.

I go to their graves once a year. I don’t really get time to do any more than that, since I live 6 hours from where I grew up. I put in my flowers, maybe pull a few weeds. Take a step back and stare at the meager headstones, like somehow the image that is already permanently burned into my brain might have somehow changed in the last year. Which of course it hasn’t. But I stare anyway, letting my thoughts wander back to two days of two funerals which I barely remember, lost in my grief. I usually stand on the graves for a couple of minutes, and watch my kids run and hop around the section of the cemetery, looking at names or sniffing fake flowers or reading dates. With one more look down, maybe one more brush off of some dirt, then a deep sigh, then I move on to the next of the family tombstones.

After a few minutes reflecting at some other family stones, I usually head back to my parents’ graves one last time for a couple more minutes of reflection and staring before heading back across the road to the car. I mean, what else can I do? No amount of grave sitting or wailing or reflecting is going to bring them back. Six feet under where I was just standing are the physical bodies of my parents, and have been for 15 years. There’s nothing I can do about that. It must be hard for people who know me to see me, the only one left, just staring at the graves like there can be some kind of connection still if I look hard enough. Even if I’m with people, it’s still a very alone experience. Something that no one else can ever understand.

Most of the time, I function fine. There are some days that chaotic year and a half of my life doesn’t actively cross my mind. Those events did change my life forever, and shape it at a young age. But it isn’t always first and foremost every day any more. It’s been too long for that. But some days, it’s as if it just happened. Usually around anniversary dates, but it’s almost too early for that, as if grief has a timetable, which i know it doesn’t.

Time does heal all wounds. But not completely. The deep wounds still leave scars, and the scars can hurt too, even if it’s faint at times. I only in the last 5 years had tremendous guilt for the way I treated my mother after my father’s death, even though we were both too caught up in our own grief to realize what we were doing to each other. I’m trying to forgive myself.

Then the ‘what if’s’ hit me. What if they’d survived? What would my life had been like? How could I have done things differently? But I can’t dwell on that for long. I can’t say how it would have been different, and I’ll never know.

One of the oddest feelings is realizing you’re an orphan. It’s not as heartbreaking as seeing a small child lose both their parents, but realizing it can be hard. For me it was in my sophomore year of college, when I had to declare myself an orphan or a ward of the courts for college financial aid. To see that in black and white, so clinically, is jarring.

In the next 2 to 3 years, my parents will be gone longer than I knew them. That’s a weird feeling. But I’ll probably always miss them, and grieve, to a point. I could probably be 70 and sitting in a quiet corner somewhere, and have that bit of wonder, of longing. Of what might have been.

I feel like i’m forgetting them. Their voices, especially. I’m thinking of contacting my grandma and see if she has any old cassette tapes that she can send me, so I can somehow get it converted to digital and then I won’t lose that part at least, although she’ll probably think the cheese has finally slipped off my cracker.. One of my favorite pictures is one that is last dated picture of my mom and dad and my uncle. Not only because it’s one of the last pictures I can find of my father before his death, but because of the details. I can look at it and say, ‘oh, yeah, that’s the color of the kitchen wall,’ or ‘hey, i remember the little donkey salt and pepper shaker holder my mom had.”.. things like that. After my parents died, after the house was taken down and before the new one was in, I went over to the land. Even though it was absolutely flat, I used the well as a memory placeholder and from there retraced my steps through the ‘house’, ending in the kitchen where I would look out the window over at my grandma’s house.

When I go to my grandma’s house now, I’ll still gaze over there, even if the corn is too high and the house is different. I almost wish I could go over there now, just for memories’ sake, but I don’t want to alarm the current residents by having some random woman standing in the yard and driveway staring off into the distance, remembering. Like the lyrics from the Miranda Lambert song, The House that Built Me.

You leave home and you move on and you do the best you can
I got lost in this old world and forgot who I am

I thought if I could touch this place or feel it
This brokenness inside me might start healing
Out here it’s like I’m someone else
I thought that maybe I could find myself
If I could just come in I swear I’ll leave
Won’t take nothing but a memory
From the house that built me

Time may pass, voices and pictures may fade, but the memories never will. 

Looking back, trying to find myself..

I have realized that I don't really know my parents.

Which sounds like an odd thing to say. I mean, how can you not know your parents, especially your biological ones, the ones that gave birth to you, and loved you unconditionally your whole life. How can you not know them?

Well, it's kind of complicated. And I do know them, I just don't know them.

I know my parents. I know their names were Alvin and Idell Olson, their birthdays, their wedding anniversary, some information about where they grew up, and so on. But I don't really know them.

My parents died when I was 17 and 18, respectively. They weren't young by any means, my father was 75 and my mother was 58. My father was a lot older than my mother, and they didn't think they could have any children, so when I was born 19 year later when my dad was 57 and my mom was almost 40, well, it was a blessed surprise.

Being an only child, my parent's deaths changed my life dramatically. And it was hard the first few years, I'm not gonna lie. It's still hard at times now, and even though time may heal the wounds, scars can still hurt too.

I never really thought much about my parent's history in great depth, except that, you know, it exists. I've been a bit of a family history buff for years, but lately it's been ratcheted up a notch, and I've been putting information into a online family tree program with fervor.

I even managed to find some of my parents' friends from way back, and when I was trying to explain why I was looking for them, I really had to say, 'I don't know why I want to get in contact with you..I just did.' And even though I won't be physically able to visit these people, or any other of my family for at least another 6 months, somehow, I want that connection.. People that knew my parents better than I did.

I have the urge to literally contact people that knew my parents well, aunts, uncles, cousins, etc, and say, "I want to know more about my parents. Please tell me about them. Favorite memories, what they meant to you..", things like that. I can know the statistics all I want, but tell me about the person.

I'm afraid that I'm forgetting. Not my parents themselves, but details. I can't remember the sound of their voices, and I'm yearning for a way to hear it again. (I do have some very old tape of them somewhere, on a old fashioned reel to reel tape recorder, but I have no idea if it is my possession right now. If I have to guess, I'm have to say it's not, and I have some suspicion of where it is, which will be another 6 months before I can access that either.)

I have a lot of 8mm home movies that I'd like to get on DVD, which I never seem to get around to doing. I think I want to see those images of them, maybe it will be tangible again, and I won't feel this want.

My husband and I were watching 'World War II in HD' on Netflix last week.  It was a very personal thing for me, as the episode we were watching, I could reference my dad's Army letters and determine, that, yes, my father could have been in that very part of the world, only in about 3 months' time. Somehow, it made his letters and the situation much more real to me.

So why am I doing this, looking back, trying to reconnect with my past at this level? I used to want to go back to my grandma's house and "up north" to try to remember a simpler time, when I had no worries and life was more carefree. But I know I can't have that again. Is it because I see my children growing up, and the struggles and breakthroughs they have, and I wonder what my own childhood was like then? Is it because I know my children will never know their grandparents, and I remember having a set of grandparents I have little to no recollection about? Once again, I don't really know. I just feel it is important for me to try and reconnect.

This picture is one of my favorites. It was taken in October of 1995, about 9 months before my dad died. It's my dad with my mom, and my Uncle Everett (my dad's brother) on the right. I could have cropped it to bring my mom and dad more into the picture, but I didn't. And here's why. I want the whole picture because of the details, of things I don't want to forget about not only my parents, but the house I grew up in. The tacky kitchen wallpaper, the items on the wall, even the fact that I can look out the kitchen window and see a truck parked in the yard. (doubtful it was ours, but still, the memories...) I don't want to lose any of that in my mind's eye. And so, I guess I search.

A day in the life..

My day so far:

7 am: get up, get the son ready for school, take him to the bus stop.
Get the girl up, ready for school, get her on the bus.
Did some dishes.
Put some laundry in the washer.
Picked up the junk on the counter, took out some recyclables.
Started picking up our bedroom.
Husband came home at 9 for breakfast break, made him an egg.
9:30: Went to son's school to straighten out a registration mess.
Went to the ATM at the bank.
Went to the library.
Went to the gas station.
Went to the post office.
Went to Walmart.
Went to McDonalds to get lunch.
I was home by 11 or shortly after..

Yet to do today:
Figure out the school registration thing. (I think it's my laptop, gonna try the tower next..)
Put the laundry in the dryer.
Try to work on my fic that's due 6/2.
Work on cleaning up the rest of our bedroom.
Make sure the kids are fed/keep a general eye on them.

..I think that's it for today. :D Usually I don't have quite that many errands to run, but you get the idea. I'm one busy mama. And tomorrow I get a "Big Special Project", cleaning out our shed. Once a year the community we live in has a "trash amnesty day", where we can throw out all the big stuff, and leave our junk at our curb and they will pick it up. Well, this year, our day is Friday. But, Friday is Heidi's preschool graduation in the morning, so I won't have time for that Friday. So tomorrow it is. I am armed with my big black trash bags, and I will not be distracted by that tomorrow.

Friday is Heidi's preschool graduation. I can't believe the school year is over, and my little baby (she's 5) will be graduating and be in Kindergarten next year. And my son Roger's last day for the year is Friday as well, he gets out early and will be in 2nd grade next year. My little man..

The kiddos have summer school this year, and it'll be a supermama challenge to keep it all straight. The girl starts 6/13, and she'll go Monday through Friday for 2.5 hours in the morning for 6 weeks, and the son starts 6/22 and goes for 2 hours in the afternoon 2 days a week for 8 weeks. Neither are in summer school at the same time of day! And the girl is going to a different school for summer school (same district, different building..) But they are both getting bussed, so I just have to have them ready.

The girl was kind of sick last week, just a stomach bug or something. She was feverish, and she didn't want to eat for drink for about a day and a half, and the only thing she would take was tylenol.. (and that's still like wrestling a piglet to get that in, believe me.) And she was mad at me for the medicine, too. She said "you're fired" to me once, I just laughed..

But she did have a milestone, too. I finally got around to fixing the Diego trike and brought it in the house. She usually just pushes it with her feet, but this time, she's been using the pedals and doing it right! I'm excited for the weather to clear and time to permit so she can pedal outside to her heart's content. The son still can't ride a bike, he wants to but is having trouble with the brain/feet coordination. He'll get there.

Since it's almost lunch and husband will be home soon, I'd better wrap this up. To quote Frost, there are still "miles to go before I sleep."

The highs and lows of the autism ride..

So this happened Mother's Day.

Son: Mom, how do you close up this zooble toy?

Me: I have no idea, ask your sister. She knows those things.

Son: Okay. [to his sister, sitting at my feet,] Hey, can you show me how to close up this zooble? [He hands it out to her.]

Girl: Uh, okay. [she takes it from him, closes it, and hands it back to him.] Here you go.

Son: Thanks. [he takes it, goes off]

Girl: You're welcome. [she goes back to her toys]

A normal conversation between siblings, right? Maybe for a "normal" family. But my kids aren't normal, especially my girl. So for my girl to be so "on" and actually help her brother and respond to her brother and help him with what he wanted, without any prompting from me, well, I just about cried.

Then today, son was sick in the night. He stayed home from school, because his stomach hurts. Well, the truth finally came out that the reason his stomach was hurting was because his sister was beating him up last night and getting him in the stomach. The son is not much of a defender of himself, even though we tell him he needs to be more assertive, and tell us when his sister is being mean to him.

Sometimes there's progress, and sometimes there's regression. Well, one miracle per day at a time, I guess.

This supermum is on strike!

Well, part time. And for a couple hours..

Kiddos are off school today, for Easter Monday. And they're already driving me nuts. They won't stop taking each others toys, pick up any messes, and need something every five minutes. So on my way home from Walmart this morning, I thought, this mom's on a temporary strike. I got Hardee's breakfast just for myself, even though they fussed, and also even though they usually don't eat what I get them from Hardee's anyway. I also bought some Swiss Cake Rolls at Walmart, and plan on eating some later. (all diets start tomorrow, I say..)

I'm tired. Not just physically, which is what happens when I work full time at McDonalds with a bunch of kids serving a bunch of sometimes ungrateful customers for just over minimum wage, and then come home and get the kids to school, clean the house, make meals for everyone..No wonder I crack. But also emotionally tired, when my work doesn't appreciate anything I do for them, and oh yeah, the same thing happens at home. No one appreciates me here either. I'm the only one who picks up anything, takes out any garbage, does any dishes, or mows the lawn. And I can't keep up. No one listens, or if they do listen, they sure don't hear.

Trekfest is the end of June. I'm going on the Saturday of it, and possibly as Janice Rand if I can get my act together to get the wig done. Hubby doesn't want me to go, of course. Because I'm meeting people I met online and that I don't even know. Even though I met these people last year, and survived. I never get a "day off" to do something I enjoy, even though how many Saturdays last summer did he leave early in the morning to go golfing with his friend, and not get home til 5, or later? And I'm home with the kids all day. And I can't have ONE day out of the year to go do what I want? Tough noogies, I say. He'll live.

After lunch maybe I'll bribe my kids with dollars to go pick up the yard so I can mow sometime this week. Or not. At any rate, the world won't end if it doesn't get done today. Cause this mom's on vacation.

Notes from the bottom of the hovel...

I, like most moms, struggle with house cleaning, especially when the kids are little. With a husband, a 7 year old and an autistic 5 year old, my house always looks like a tornado hit it, or like my friend Annie says, like a frat party that you have to clean up, but didn't get to enjoy. I manage to get some day to day cleaning done every day, such as dishes, picking up toys/clothes/misc out of the footpaths, laundry, etc, but the deep cleaning that probably should happen more often just doesn't. There simply isn't enough hours in the day when you're the only one doing it. And not getting any help or appreciation either. One of my friends that means well (but has no children) commented on the state of my home, saying that "a clean home makes for a clearer mind and better environment for all." Maybe so, but when you're the only one who can or will make an attempt at cleaning, it gets old really fast.

Lately I haven't been overly worried about the state of my house. Because I just really don't have the energy, and not much time, either, to be cleaning like a fool. I'd much rather be reading with my son, or tickling my daughter and making her laugh until she gets the hiccups. Because they are already growing too fast, and sometimes I feel like I've already missed too much. I turned around and they are 7 and 5, almost in 2nd grade and Kindergarten. The next time I turn around they will be 17 and 15 and almost in 12th grade and 10th grade.

I've had the last part of this poem in my head the last week or so, and while my "babies" aren't really babies anymore, and I no longer rock them, it's still true. The details on the origins of this poem are sketchy, but I've seen it labeled as being published as early as 1958. The last paragraph is especially true. ETA: Upon further research, it is called "Song for a fifth child."

Dedicated to the other "supermamas" in my life, Annie, Corrie and Catrina. <3 and hugs!

Mother, O Mother, come shake out your cloth,
Empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
Hang out the washing, make up the bed,
Sew on a button and butter the bread.

Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She’s up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I’ve grown as shiftless as Little Boy Blue,
Lullabye, rockabye, lullabye loo.
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
Pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo

The shopping’s not done and there’s nothing for stew
And out in the yard there’s a hullabaloo
But I’m playing Kanga and this is my Roo
Look! Aren’t his eyes the most wonderful hue?
Lullabye, rockaby lullabye loo.

The cleaning and scrubbing can wait till tomorrow
But children grow up as I’ve learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down cobwebs; Dust go to sleep!
I’m rocking my baby and babies don’t keep.

- Ruth Hulbert Hamilton

Episodes in stupidity..

I went down to my work office today, to try to get a copy of my paycheck stub from two weeks ago, as I lost it and I needed a copy of it for income verification for my children's Medicaid. The two women I spoke to were very rude, and told me "I couldn't get it." This is the letter I am sending with signature and delivery confirmation to the owner of our franchise. I don't know if he'll get it, or if the women in question will get ahold of it before he does, but I have to say something. Our payroll woman, Lynn is known for being rude, not just to me but I'm not going to take this treatment quietly.

November 2^nd, 2010

Mr. Mzowski,

My name is Helene and I work at the Marion store on 6^th Avenue, store 5014. Today I went down to the office to try to receive a copy of my paycheck stub from October 18^th, as I had lost my copy. I needed a copy of my income for the month of October as it is time for my annual review for my eligibility for my children for Medicaid.

When I went down to the office in the morning, the first person seen told me that “we didn't have the paystubs, you do.” I said I understood that, but I had lost my stub from two weeks prior and I needed a copy of it for DHS. She said “you would have to talk to Lynn, but she's on the phone.”

I waited for about 5 minutes, and when I did get to talk to Lynn, she said again that “we don't have the stubs, you do.” And I said again, yes, I understand, but I lost the stub from the 18^th, and I need it for a DHS verification. And they said that they couldn't do it. They said that DHS can send them a form and they can fill it out, and that “we need to start keeping track of these things, I'm tired of filling out those forms”.

I believe I know of the form that Lynn referenced. That is for DHS when you start a new job, and DHS sends a form for the employer to fill out to verify income to see if you still qualify based on income. That is not the form I am filling out. This is a yearly verification of my income and I am supposed to send in copies of my paycheck stubs for the month of October. I received this form in the mail on November 1^st and it is due back on November 5^th, so I really do not have time to wait.

I do not understand why I could not have a copy of that paycheck stub. I understand that it is my responsibility to keep track of my own financial documents, but sometimes things do happen and things get misplaced. I can't imagine that there is no access to that there at the office, and that it would take that much time out of their day to look that up for me.

I am sending in my form with the paycheck stub from November 1^st and a note telling them that I was unable to get a copy of the October 18^th paystub, along with the office address and phone number, and I hope this will suffice for them.

I was not pleased to have driven all the way down to office from Marion, having to bring my child with me only to find out that I could not get what I needed.

I don't know what can be done about this issue now, but I did want to let you know about the disrepectful treatment I received today.

Sincerely,

Another daughter update...

More news from the Heidi front...

Heidi finally had her appointment with the Developmental Pediatrician on Monday the 23rd. She didn't actually see the doctor for very long, but with the little time the doctor seen her, and talking to us about her, she did say that Heidi does fall into the spectrum of Autistic behaviors.

Okay, so now what? It's mostly just observation, for now. Heidi started preschool August 18th, and even though it is only for 2.5 hours 4 days a week, she loves it. Her teachers know about her needs, and they are working with her with and through Grant Wood Area Education Agency. She might go to some speech therapy, and other one on one interaction to see what she knows, how she expresses herself, things like that.

We have more papers to fill out and another doctor's appointment in a couple of weeks. I won't update on every appointment, but if something big happens, I'll be sure to update.

On the home front, like I said, Heidi loves school. She's getting into the routine of getting ready, and she loves music time and playing outside. She usually doesn't want to leave. It probably doesn't help that sometimes I have to park near a big playground she can't go on. :)

She is talking more, although still not as clearly for her age. We celebrate the small things like saying complete sentences, and I watched her pour her own glass of milk the other day. (That task still requires some supervision, however.)

She is still so sweet and innocent to the way people look at her with her behaviors. She doesn't know she shouldn't scream while picking up the son from school, that she shouldn't just go up to other kids and get right up in their business. She doesn't care if people stare or scowl. In that way, she is innocent. In other ways, such as getting into mischief at home, such as getting into the blinds or tearing the sheet off the bed again, she's not so innocent. But, that's Heidi. I want to protect her, as any parent does for their child, but I also have to let her go to a point and let her explore the world.

This is just the start of a process for us. Thank you all for your support as we work on this.

My family has been going through some rough times lately.

My daughter, Heidi might be autistic. It hasn't been officially diagnosed, but we're just starting the process with doctors to see if that might be the case. She's 4 years old, with about a 2 year old or less mentality. She doesn't say more than 40 words, and just this week I got the longest sentence from her ever. "I love you mom." She babbles nonsense, and screams loudly when she doesn't like what you say to her.

She crouches down and refuses to move when she doesn't want to walk. I often have to pick her up and carry her when she does that. She doesn't respond to most verbal commands, "Stop, please," "No, please." She runs at full speed, anywhere and everywhere. She has no fear.

She likes to be in her own little world at times. She likes to stack things, like books and blocks, and line things up, like cars and toys. She likes to imagine and talk to her special toys, and focus intently on certain tasks. (usually involving something not allowed).

She can be mean. She throws fits if it isn't done her way, I've been hit and kicked more times than I can count. She has a fascination with knives and forks, and would rather stab a pen through a paper than draw with it. She beats up her big brother, when he has something she wants. I try to curb this, but it isn't always easy. Sometimes it feels like I have a pet more than a child, with her behavior.

I'm getting better at figuring out what she wants, but it's hard when she just looks up at a section of the counter. There's 30 things on that counter, it could be any of them. And she can't tell me what hurts when she's sick, if I can't see it, she just cries and says "ow ow ow."

I hate it when she refused to get up off the floor, or screams at the grocery store, and people stare and sometimes glare. I can't help the way she is. I wish I could. But I still love her just as much as my son.

My daughter looks normal. She doesn't look like anything is wrong. She's tall for her age, and I've heard she's very cute. I call her Dastardly Cute. But I don't call her Sylar girl for nothing. She's cute and sweet when she wants to be, but, like Sylar, she's wired a bit differently inside as well.

Her Doctor referred her to a Developmental Pediatrician, for "developmental delays and questionable autistic", as I overheard. I'm not surprised. I'm a little sad, because I know it will be a struggle. But it's a start.

I just want people to know what's going on to try to understand and to not judge. Please.

It takes all kinds...

I have worked in the fast food industry a long time, and have seen a lot of strange things from customers over the years. I had an interesting encounter last night with a customer, that I want to share.

Right now I am working as an employee at KFC. (A fast food chicken place.) It's not the greatest job in the world, I make $7.35 US Dollars an hour, and I struggle to get 20 hours a week. It's not hard work, really, I run the register, pack food according to the customer's orders, and clean and stock in the store. But, it's a job, and while it's not always what I want to be doing, for now, it's what I do.

The weather was unseasonably warm for Iowa yesterday, so we were pretty busy between 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. I was at the front counter, taking the orders for customers that would come in the lobby. A man came in, he ordered the new Double Down grilled sandwich, just the sandwich, to go. No big deal, except that almost immediately after ordering, he starts on a what will become a 20 minute diatribe about just about everything.

Now, a bit of a disclaimer here. I'm going to post as much of what I can remember about what he said here, in italics. I don't remember it all, as I've been groggy from a head cold, and the back part of the store can be very loud. He wasn't talking too loudly, so I didn't catch everything he said, but I do remember some things quite clearly.

It started with trying to complete the order transaction. He said, this is so slow, and I inferred that he was talking about the whole Iowa way of life, how we take our time to do things, how we're unhurried as a whole. He also mentioned that he was from California, (I think he said the LA area) and how things were so much faster and more streamlined out there. He said, this is the hot tub time machine, this is 1985! Even our credit card machine didn't meet with his approval, as he looked over the counter to watch my run his card. Too old school, I guess.

Then, as he waits for his food, he goes on about how can we do this to ourselves, how can we treat our bodies this way. Our bodies are temples, and if we don't respect them and ourselves, how can we start to respect others? I do understand that, I really do. I am about 60 pounds overweight, and I know this. I know that I should take better care of myself, and I don't like the way I look right now, but that's just the way it is. And I'm the only one to blame for that, and the only one who can change that.

If this guy was so concerned about his health, he was at the wrong restaurant in the first place. KFC is not known for its health food. He ordered the Double Down Grilled Sandwich. It has 460 calories, and 1430 milligrams of sodium, which is actually more sodium than the Original Double Down Sandwich, which comes in at 540 calories and 1380 mg for the sodium.

But he just kept going. And I was not needed in the kitchen at that time, and other employees were packing food, so I didn't have any escape route. I had to listen, as best I could given the conditions, to this man.

Here's what I remember. Something about how being fat is like just seeing the tip of the iceberg, you only see about 10 percent of it, it's the other 90 percent that you can't see. And that trickles down to other aspects of their lives, such as their religious views, their work ethic, how they treat other people and maybe even how they treat their kids.

Also in there he got started on how some people (I'm not sure if he meant us low level employees, or just in general, ) wind up on welfare, and I (the man) would have to pay for it.

During most of this speech I am trying to keep up, nod and smile, or at least try to say something back. I couldn't get a word in edgewise, and if any of you know me in real life, that's a rare occurance. And I'm supposed to be nice and polite to the customers, so asking them what kind of crack they are smoking, and would they please SHUT UP isn't really very good business practice. I was also trying to edge my way into the kitchen a couple of times, hoping they would need my help, but to no avail.

Next on the list was that he had lived in Europe for ten years, and Americans are the most ugly, overweight disgusting people. Finally after he did get his sandwich, he come up with this. Really, is there more cottage cheese here than the dairy section? Then he left.

I was very relieved, to say the least. And in our defense, at the time he was there, only one other employee besides myself could have been considered "overweight", so really that comment about the "cottage cheese" was unwarranted, in my opinion. While I was rather busy after he left, when I had more time to think about this encounter, the more odd some of his statements seemed.

I know Iowa isn't LA. Things can be slower here, a little more laid back, a little less fast paced. But this isn't Bedrock, either. We have high speed internet, iphones, and other technology too. Yeah, traffic isn't as bad on Collins Road in Cedar Rapids as it is on 405 in California, but that doesn't mean we're totally backwards.

Another point, because I'm fat, I have a bad work ethic, unfavorable religious views, and it possibly reflects on how I treat my kids? Yeah, I don't think so. I might not have went to law school, like he said he did, and I don't have the best job in the world, but I work hard at what I do to try to provide for my family. I don't feel like it's always enough, but I do what I can. As for my religious views, my faith may waver, but it's still pretty strong. And I believe that everyone has the right to believe in what they want, despite what I myself believe. And if I had been able to speak my piece, I would have said something about how I love both of my children very much, and my weight has nothing to do with how I treat them. At all.

The part about being on welfare caught my ear too. I know that there are abusers of the system, but I also know that it can be helpful to those that need it. I myself was on Medicaid (state aid) for both of my pregnancies, and my children have been on some sort of state sponsored medical insurance their whole lives. I am grateful for this, as my son was in the NICU for the first week of his life, with a bill running well over $100,000, and my daughter is going to be needing special developmental care, and neither me nor my husband can afford these costs out of pocket. And as for this man having to pay for something if I get hurt? Sorry, not for me. I have no health insurance. If I need medical care outside of getting hurt at work, I'm paying for it out of pocket, and at full price. And my cousin/godmother, who has been living off of disability for 15 years for job related injuries, is triple doomed because she's living on government money, has medicaid, and is morbidly obese? I guess she's got another strike against her as well, as she's been recently been diagnosed with cancer, and the state of Wisconsin will have to cover those medical expenses.

So, Mr. Customer, feel free to go back to California and your fast paced, fit, beautiful lifestyle. And if that gets to be too much for you, feel free to go back to Europe and live. At the very least, please stay out of my workplace. And don't let any doors hit you on the way out, either.

An article I like...

I sent this article to a friend of mine today, and thought I would post it here. I got it from Stacey, a dear friend of mine from Luther College, after my mom died. On a lighter note, I typed this into my laptop today, and honestly, I have never used so many quotation marks in my LIFE! And I write fiction! Hope it provokes some thoughts.

Hurrying healing

By Ellen Goodman, Globe Columnist, 1/4/98

I don't remember when the words fist began to echo in the hollow aftermath of loss. But now it seems that every public or private death, every moment of mourning is followed by a call for “healing” a cry for “closure”.

Last month, driving home in my car just 24 hours after three Kentucky teenagers were shot to death in a school prayer meeting, I heard a Paducah minister talk about “healing”. The three teenagers had yet to be buried, and he said it was time to begin the healing process, as if there were an antibiotic to be applied at the first sign of pain among the survivors.

Weeks later, at a Christmas party, a man offered up a worried sigh about a mutual friend. “It's been two years” he said, “and she still hasn't achieved closure.” The words pegged her as an underachiever who failed the required course in Mourning 201, who wouldn't graduate with her grief class.

This vocabulary of “healing” and “closure” has spread across the post-mortem landscape like a nail across my blackboard. It comes with an intonation of sympathy but an accent of impatience. It suggests that death is something to be dealt with, that loss is something to get over-according to a prescribed emotional timetable.

It happened again when the Terry Nichols verdict came down. No sooner had the mixed accounts of guilty and innocent been announced, than the usually jargon free Peter Jennings asked how it would help the “healing” for Oklahoma City. Assorted commentators and reporters asked the families whether they felt a sense of “closure”.

The implicit expectation, even demand, was that the survivors of 168 deaths would traverse a similar emotional terrain and come to the finish line at the same time. Was two and a half years too long to mourn a child blown up in a building?

It was the families themselves who set us straight with responses as personal and diverse as one young mother said, “it's time to move on” and another who described her heart this way: “Sometimes it feels like it's bleeding.”

In the Nichols sentencing trial last week, we got another rare sampling of raw grief. Laura Kennedy testified that in the wake of her son's death in 1995, “I have an emptiness inside of men that's there all the time.” Diane Leonard said that since her husband's death her life “has a huge whole that can't be mended.”

By the second day, however, the cameras had turned away, the microphones had turned a deaf ear, as if they had heard enough keening. Again, observers asked what affect a life or death sentence would have on, of course, “healing” and “closure.”

I do not mean to suggest that the people who testified were “typical” mourners of the Oklahoma bombing a “typical” way of death. I mean to suggest that grief is atypical-as individual as the death and the mourner.

The American way of dealing with it has turned grieving into a set process with rules, stages, and of course, deadlines. We have, in essence, tried to make a science of grief, to tuck messy emotions under neat clinical labels-like “survivor guilt” or “detachment”.

Sometimes we confuse sadness with depression, replace comfort with Prozac, and expect, maybe insist upon an end to grief. Trauma, pain, detachment, acceptance in a year-time's up.

But in real lives, grief is a train that doesn't run on anyone else's schedule. Jimmie Holland at New York's Sloan Kettering Hospital, know that “normal grief may often become an ongoing lifelong process.” Indeed, she says, “The expectation of healing becomes an added burden. We create a sense of failure. We hear people say, 'I'm can't seem to reach closure, I'm not doing it fast enough.'”

Surely it is our own anxiety in the presence of pain, our own fear of loss and death, that makes us wish away another's grief or hide our own. But in every life, losses will accumulate like stones in a backpack. We will all be caught at times between remembrance and resilience.

So whatever our national passion for emotional efficiency, for quality time parents and one minute managers, there simply are no one minute mourners. Hearts heal faster from surgery than from loss. And when the center of someone's life has been blown out like the core of a building, is it any wonder if it takes so long even to find a door to close?

Star Trek Musings and other griping....

This is actually two of my LiveJournal posts posted here into one. Yay for you!

Let's try this again, shall we? I started this last night, but realized I didn't have the energy or though process to finish it. The thoughts were still with me too flipping early for me this morning.

The hubby and I went to go see Star Trek again Friday. The 4th time, and probably the last, because my husband was falling asleep in the theatre. I was fine, and I'd love to see it again. and again. This was the first time at this theatre, the first week at the 2nd run theatre. Tickets, pop and popcorn at Wehrenburg, the first run theatre, was about $30, and at Collins Roads, the 2nd run theatre, the total was about $17. And that's with real butter for your popcorn.

I had some random thoughts about some things in the movie, and I can't really express them anywhere but online, since my husband says I overanalyze. Of course I do. I'm a fangirl and a Trekkie. duh. So in no real order, my thoughts.

How exactly did Kirk get his "Enterprise clothes"? When Kirk was brought on board, he was still wearing his cadet uniform, although Bones did say something about "getting changed". I've seen an article about the designs of the uniforms, and the male cadets wore a red undershirt under the red uniform, and "cupcake" had one on when his shirt was open after the bar fight. How did Kirk get a black shirt and pants? He wouldn't have his own uniforms on the Enterprise, since he wasn't assigned there. I suppose Kirk could have "cheated" and wore the black undershirt under his cadet uniform, but I don't know if he would have even possessed any of them, as he had no real ship to go to, and get them. (Like that would ever stop Jim Kirk.) Most likely, he probably borrowed them, from his boyfriend best friend McCoy, although at least with the shirt, it probably would have been too big. But now, we couldn't have our hero running around in red or a too big borrowed shirt, right? Sure. At least it does give us something nice to look at. Chris Pine is easy on the eyes, most definitely.

Why was Dr. McCoy helping with the Kobyashi Maru? I know he was there to support and roll his eyes at Jim, but honestly, Dr. McCoy knows how to check to see if the Klingon shields are down? I guess there is something for doctors to be cross-trained, but man, that's something else. No wonder McCoy is so busy, learning all the nuances of Starfleet along with all the medical stuff. Another quick note about McCoy. I really hope if they are going to do a sequel that McCoy can be a little bit happy. I swear, the closest we got of a smile from him was when Kirk asked about who Spock was after his hearing. Honestly, some happiness for the good doctor, please.

I know that McCoy and Kirk are BFF's, but I really don't think I could smuggle my best friend on my ship just cause he didn't want to be left behind. That is some dedication by McCoy. I wonder if he really got into much trouble for getting Jim onboard, afterall, Kirk did save the whole damn planet, ya know.

I have more, but I'll wrap it up for now, with kids and chatting, it's taken me an hour to write this much. Progress, I know. Have a good fourth, if you like the holiday. I don't but that's just personal reasons. Til later.


Let's see if I can get this done. I'm kinda a crabby SOB today, so, yeah. Maybe I'll explain that more later.

Star Trek thoughts..

Sulu seriously doesn't get enough credit for saving the Enterprise. If he hadn't forgotten to take off the "parking brake", the ship would have been with the rest of the fleet, and reduced to space trash. Between his error and McCoy's smuggling of Jim onboard, the planet has a lot more people than just Jim Kirk to thank for the saving of Earth.

This is the point I tried to explain to my husband, who proceeded to give me his best McCoy eyeroll. I asked why Chekov got the conn in the movie when the Captain is elsewhere, saving everyone's hides. He said, "because that's the way it's always done" I guess he means in TOS. Fine. But for me, giving Chekov the conn in the movie, was CRAZY! Pike gives it to Chekov when Spock, Kirk, Mr. Red-Shirt Olsen and himself were going to visit Nero and the drill. Pike couldn't even remember his name 20 minutes before! And later, when Spock was going to beam down to Vulcan, I believe Spock gave it to Chekov again. I don't remember if I heard it or not, but when Spock and Kirk beamed onto Nero's ship, he probably had it then. I'm sorry, but HUH? I love Chekov, don't get me wrong, he's cute, and smart, and Anton Yelchin is great, but giving the captain's duties to a 17 year old kid? As McCoy said, "Oh Good, he's 17." Maybe he wouldn't have total captainly duties, or he's just babysitting the bridge until the Captain gets back, and doesn't make any real decisions, but, yeah. Maybe TOS Chekov had more responsiblities, but I just don't see this AU Chekov as mature enough to be captain if the situation arises. What's Sulu, chopped liver? And in the TOS we know he got to be Captain. See previous thought. Luckily, everyone made it home mostly safe, so it's kind of a moot point, but, thought provoking, for me.

I saw an LJ icon that said, "Jim Kirk and the terrible, awful, horrible, no good very bad day." Yeah, that about sums it up. I have no idea how Kirk could even TALK with having the life almost choked out of him by Spock, and Ayel, and beat up by about everything in between. One tough cookie. Or stupid cookie. Or both.

Okkaayyy....

The Linn County Sheriff's Office just stopped by. A little unnerving, seeing a deputy at your door. Anyway...He says we are being garnished.. Apparantly some sue happy dude has decided that the trailer park that we live in owes him about $750 for some reason. He's suing them for that amount. So, somehow SOMEBODY decided that OUR money that we pay the trailer park needs to go to this person. We haven't paid our lot rent for the month of June yet, we were going to do that today after work, and the deputy said to mail the rent to an address on the papers I got instead of going up to the office. I don't know how WE got picked to be the lucky ones to pay off this guy, maybe random pin the tail on the schmucks that live here, but whatever. I am definitely keeping all my receipts and papers and stuff, and I guess if the trailer park has any questions THEY can call the Sheriff's office. And no, I don't know the guy suing. We have lived here for 2 years, we are buying the place from a private seller. His first name is the same as the suer, but we are keeping up on the payments, and we won't be done with that til sept or so, unless mr. seller is using an alias, but I doubt it. He wouldn't be suing the park, anyway, he'd be suing us. Why the park hasn't coughed up the $750 themselves, I don't know. Wait, yes I do. They're so cheap, they've probably been ignoring him for years, and figured he wouldn't do anything about it. Well, he did. Congrats to us for having to get involved in crap that isn't our business and we know NOTHING about. We have until the end of September to get this resolved, and two or three months of paying our lot rent (about $320) to the Sheriff's office to calm down all parties involved. Ugh. I feel a headache coming on. At least it wasn't anything we personally did, so I'm not too worried. Still, my first thought, and still kinda is on my mind...is...WTF???? Yeah. rant done.

Healthy living through chemistry. Or healthy eating choices. Details.

Went to McDonalds today. Haven't eaten there in about a week, which considering I used to work there, and gained most of my pregnancy weight with Heidi there, is an eternity.

Ordered a Bacon Ranch Salad for myself, a 10 piece nugget meal, and an extra 6 piece nugget for my daughter. I didn't really need a 10 piece nugget, but they sounded good, and I could split the fries with my daughter, and keep the iced mocha. I know it's cheaper than ordering it all separate.

I got home, put the salad in the fridge for later. Found no salad dressing or silverware. No surprise, but no biggie, either. I have ranch dressing in the fridge, and last I checked, I still had some forks. I wasn't interested in the salad, right now. I wanted nuggets and fries!

I ate 3 nuggets, and my half of the split french fries, and felt kinda icky. The strong mocha probably didn't help, and I know Travis said it wasn't that good, but I thought it was okay. I won't gross you out, it wasn't bad, but...dunno...I felt off. I gave up on the nuggets, and went for a walk.

I am now eating the salad, and I feel better. Out of curiousity, I went to the McD's website, I pulled the nutrition facts for roughly what I ate. For a 4 piece nugget, small fry and iced mocha with whole milk, it is 730 Calories. For my salad, Bacon Ranch with Grilled Chicken with Ranch dressing, it was 440 calories, it is 440 calories. I know calories aren't everything, but, it's a start.

Sorry, Double Cheeseburgers, no ketchup mustard with mac sauce, I think our days are done. And can I say Thank goodness.