Thanksgiving for the Non-Traditional Family

"What three favorite family traditions have you passed or will pass on to your children?" It's an intriguing question that came my way via email, http://www.twittermoms.com/forum/topics/win-a-50-target-gift-card-in, this morning. Which got me thinking.

It's pretty easy to forget that Thanksgiving is only two weeks away; the malls have conveniently skipped this Fall tradition, instead festooning every lamppost and chandelier with mistletoe and ivy sometime around October 15. A quick trip into Borders the night before last found me serenaded by Bing Crosby as I searched for my daughter's latest installment of her favorite Anime series. And when I open up my hotmail account, Land's End has already launched it's "St. Nick Specials". So to say that "Thanksgiving" isn't up there on my radar is an understatement.

Until I smelled gingerbread. You read that right. Gingerbread.

I grew up in a very non-traditional home. An only child living with a broken family 2,500 miles from any relatives, we didn't have big, festive Thanksgivings. We had the three of us. My mother was not going to baste a bird for three people. Occasionally we would drive up to see my stepsister, who at the time lived a very bohemian lifestyle; we once celebrated Easter at her commune.

So when I had a family of my own, I changed things up a bit. Frankly, there was nowhere to go but up. And so I have created new family traditions, that might seem a bit odd to other families, but for me, they're as "traditional" as I can get.

First, it all begins with the Macy's Day Parade. I have watched this parade since I was four. Now, I have my children to huddle on the sofa with, waiting for each float, balloon and band. When I was younger, I was all about the floats. As I have gotten older, I am all about the bands. And the Rockettes. But the best is always the arrival of Santa—to a point that there is screeching from all corners of the house (especially if I happen to be basting the bird), "SANTA AFTER THE BREAK!!!" I've found, from my own experience, that the more old-fashioned Santa appears, the worse the economy. This year, if he comes out looking super skinny, with long flowing robes, you know we're doomed!

After the parade, it's time for my second tradition: the making of the gingerbread houses. Yeah, I KNOW, go figure. But that's what I do. Now, when the kids were little, I made ONE house and then let the kids decorate (read: slap on whatever candies they hadn't already consumed) onto the house. This vision of artistic and culinary expertise then becomes my holiday centerpiece up through New Year's. However, as the kids have gotten older, they're not as fond of a collaborative effort, and prefer to express their individual talents with their own houses. Which means I am making three (four if I'm feeling the need to decorate one). Three gingerbread houses, complete with three batches of Royal icing, takes a LOT of time. And it's a good thing I have a very long dining room table, because I now have to put a runner down the center and stagger the houses between the candlesticks. Fills up the table, but it's fun and festive. And I love asking guests to guess who's is whose. The kids LOVE that.

My final tradition is at Thanksgiving dinner itself. By that time I'm ready for a bubble bath and a nap, but that's probably par for the course for all of us. We take turns going around the table and telling everyone what we are most thankful for. In the past, the kids have usually said some toy or game or their cat. But economic conditions have changed; they've watched their father get laid off and watch his daily efforts to find a new position. They've seen their friends move away as those parents seek employment in other parts of the country. They are more aware of what we do for them, and express their appreciation. They are thankful for the time they have with us.

I've had to create my own Thanksgiving traditions, but I'm pretty confident that they'll be passed along through my children. There will be gingerbread houses and Macy's Day Parades and, most of all, there will be going around the table and remembering why we are all together as a family.

But enough reminiscing; I've got to make my list and head to Target to get stocked up for the Gingerbread House Extravaganza. Thank goodness Target has the prices to keep this tradition alive!!

Be Well. Be Happy. Find Joy.

I received a call this week. It was one I was not expecting, but was always expecting. You'll know what I mean as you read this. A very dear friend of mine has breast cancer. What was going to be a simple lumpectomy has become something much more invasive. Immediately, I am concerned. Worried. Scared. Usually conversation comes easily to me. Here, I do not know what to say. What do I ask? I can already imagine what's going through her mind. 2,500 miles away, I can't bring a casserole. I can't take over her carpool duties. I can't run some laundry or clean up her kitchen.

I can worry, but really, what help is that? I can call with support. I can hope. I can reach out. But I cannot solve this. For a "fixer" that's really a problem.

As many of you know, I am an ardent supporter of healthcare reform. I am believer in the power of electronic health records. I am shocked by the disinformation spread by the Republican party (hello, death panels? Sarah Palin go home) to defeat potential reforms that would ensure that individuals who are diagnosed with serious illnesses do not go bankrupt nor are they ever classified as "pre-existing conditions."

I know my friend will receive exceptional care. Of that, I have no worries. I cannot say that for other women who are experiencing this same diagnosis right now. I cannot say the same for even myself, who, as a self-employed individual pays ridiculous premiums that continue to rise to a point that I wonder how long I can keep it going.

So my point, as I write this, I guess is this. If anyone can help me find the words I need for my friend, please share. And if any of you were wondering about healthcare reform, please look into it further and do not listen to the amazing inaccuracies being spread thanks in part to large volumes of cash from insurance company lobbyists that are finding their way into the coffers of many elected officials (Democrats included). But know that whatever you decide is fine by me.

And, finally, I truly wish for health and happiness for all of us, and that we all enjoy long, productive lives filled with laughter and joy.

Be well and be happy and be joyful.

Celebrating the End of Summer

As school begins anew tomorrow, I have to reflect on the past 10 (yes, I HAVE been counting) weeks. It's been a long summer. Between myself and my husband (and actually mostly my husband) we have attempted to work while also entertaining our three kids. No day camps, no special outings, no vacations. My husband's position was re-engineered (I don't care what you call it, it means the same thing) and he is job-hunting. So this was a no-frills summer break. As a result, my family learned a few things (perhaps you have encountered the same thing):

• Teenagers are moody, BUT they sleep in late. Thus, you save money on breakfast, which they miss entirely, and lunch, which they miss frequently, but they make up for it in snacks, iTunes and sleepover feasts.

• Teenagers do not require a great deal of supervision, unless there is nail polish and/or sleepovers involved.

• Teenagers do not enjoy babysitting younger siblings, and will complain vociferously if requested to do so.

• 11-year-old boys are very active. Like from 6 a.m. to 11 p.m. active. They also are very very hungry. Always.

• 11-year-old boys do not stay on task for more than 45 minutes. Break that across an 18-hour day and it's no wonder my husband was surly by the time it was 5 p.m.

• 8-year-0ld little brothers do whatever their big brothers do, even if it results in them being grounded or put in timeout.

• 8-year-olds eat only slightly less than their older brothers, and even more if sugar is a main ingredient.

• Guitar Hero will keep a group of five or more boys busy for more than two hours, but there will be at least three full-blown arguments over who plays which instrument.

• Little brothers will cry unless they get to play drums.

• Otter Pops are the best invention ever. Better than Popsicles. Better than Fudgsicles. Almost as good as water balloons. Almost. And thank you, Albertsons, for always having the big box on sale.

• Water balloons are a great event. For about 15 minutes. These innocuous little latex fun bags also require a heap of dry towels and five threats about cleaning up the aftermath.

• The pool is the best place to spend a summer night. Just pack up dinner and head for the pool. Three hours go by in a flash, and it gives the house time to cool down.

• Ceiling fans. What did we ever do without them?

• Scooters. What did we ever do without those?

• Backyard overnights in the REI tent: Genius. All you need is a tent, a flashlight, snacks and a couple of little boys. Easiest overnight EVER.

• Yahtzee is a good family game. And nobody can cheat. Can't say the same about Monopoly.

• Microwave popcorn is the greatest invention of the 2oth century.

• Homemade cupcakes are more delicious than anything found in any bakery. Same with brownies.

• Watching Paul Blart Mall Cop with your kids kills brain cells, but you make up for it in laughter.

• Colored pencils + paper = I have more artwork than my walls can handle. BUT my daughter perfected her Simba in the process.

• Target is the perfect resource for...just about everything.

• It would have been great to have been able to get out and get away, but instead the kids learned that summer is long, frequently hot and often boring. They also learned that they like to draw; they can ride their bikes further than ever before; that CVS has the best selection of cheap candy; that staying up late is fun; and that their parents love them very, very much.

So, basically, they learned all the things we already knew. Because we've all done the same exact thing.

Back to school!! YAY!!!

An Inspirational Young Lady

There is a young girl in my neighborhood who has been diagnosed with Stage 3 Neuroblastoma. You can follow her story here. http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/katiehawley

A brave girl who is an inspiration to all of us; I wanted to share. Let's all say a prayer and keep her in our thoughts. 

It's "Back to Swine Flu" Season

I don't  know about you guys, but I left Swine Flu back in May somewhere. I remember I was flying to Seattle and the media was on fire about Swine Flu, but nobody in the terminal seemed to be paying attention. Armed with one painting mask (don't judge) and trial sizes of sanitizer, I was ready to tackle the air. Only thing is, nobody showed up to join me in the battle. So I went commando, as it were; no mask, no sanitizer, just my usual Diet Coke in hand. As I am posting today, it's clear I survived.

So here we are, getting the back to school gear together and hearing about the massive Swine Flu epidemic that awaits on the horizon, like a bad storm. Is it going to blow in, or is it going to dissipate, or maybe just hit hard somewhere else? Given that Congress is on vacation, this is the media's darling. I've also stayed abreast on the status of a Swine Flu vaccine. Currently in trial, it's difficult to tell if it will hit the market in time, if it will be effective, and if it has serious side effects. Today I read that there are projections that the Swine Flu will be in full swing by mid-October, well sooner than anyone could build up antibodies from a vaccine. And that it could infect up to 50% of the population.

So here's my question to you. What do you think? Is this media hype? Are you scared? What do you think of a rushed vaccine? Are you more scared of the vaccine or of the flu? And, if given the option, will you get the shot? Or take your chances?

I'm curious. Because I am pondering all of that. Here's my take, if it's worth anything: Yes, there is a significant amount of hype; yes, I am scared, I am not fond of the word "pandemic"; I don't like rushed vaccines; I am more terrified of long-term effects of the shot at this point; and at this point, I'd opt out and not do the shot. But I don't like making mistakes. 

So, fellow moms, what say you. I really really want your opinion.

Shopping for Jeans Is Not in My DNA

Recently, I had the impossibly rare experience of HAVING to shop for new jeans. Yes, this is documentable proof that it does happen. Your old jeans may literally fall off your butt, leaving you exposed and wanting for new denim. Fashionable denim. Hot denim. Because if your jeans are falling off your ass, your ass is now smaller. And this, trust, is something the world absolutely must know. And it must know it right now. In fact, if your local TV station had an ongoing fashion crawl, mine would have read: Lori Wildrick loses two jeans' sizes. Really. You can see it live right now at Mission Viejo Mall.

But I digress. So, armed with my wallet, a water and a rather obnoxious smile, I drove to the Depot of all things Denim: The Mall. Because, over the course of my lifetime, women have evolved from girdle-wearing Barbie dolls who wore full pantyhose, silk slips OVER a full bra, a colorful skirt/jacket combination and matching shoes/hat/purse/gloves to a uniform of jeans and flip flops and/or heels combos. We can talk about the death of fashion another day. I have to stay on topic here.

Okay, so how hard could this be? First stop: J. Crew. No, it's not logical. But I have a $50 gift card and that's like free money, so, thus, this is my first stop. Their jeans are not sized; they are numbered. Where I factor in the 24 - 29 spectrum baffles me. Luckily a salesperson steps in, sizes me up, so to speak, and hands me a 25 and a 26. And a stack of fresh denim. Oh boy. Finding two pairs that fit AND that almost screamed "hey her butt's not fat" I gave myself a good once-0ver. Can a mom in her 40's really get away with severely distressed jeans? The pair that fit best had a fine four-inch rip across the left knee and numerous "distressed" areas. In fact, they looked like my eight-year-old had worn them for half a year (had he been my size, of course). Disappointed that they fit, but convinced that I would look like one of the Desperate Moms (I'd need the bedazzled t-shirt to finish off that look), I shelved the J. Crew project and kept moving.

Next stop: White House/Black Market or whatever. You and I know it as 'the place that sells things that are either black or white'. Here, they have sizes. This I understand. And no, I do not understand what a Size 0 is. I'm not a math major, but if you are a zero (which I have continuously admonished my kids NEVER to be; a "zero" that is), that would tell me that you do not exist. So why start there? But, that's the way it is, and I'll say that zero must be the new 1. I remember that size. It was for Juniors. Anyway, nothing too exciting that made me run to the register. So I kept moving. Through the entire mall. 

At then end of the mall, having now tried on a minimum of 25 pairs of denim products, I wandered, dazed, into Nordstrom. Into their fashion denim section, actually, where an impossibly tiny salesgirl (hello, Miss Size Zero!) happily flitted from rack to rack like a busy little denim hummingbird. Then she herded me into the Nordstrom fitting room, piled high with 12 pairs of perfectly presentable jeans and chirped "Mynameislindsayletmeknowifyouneedanothersize...." 

Hopeful for the best, I attacked the stack. Most fit. Many looked okay. A few looked great. This is when I noticed two things: 1: The price must be based on the designs on the pockets. And 2, fashion denim is really, really pricey. For example, a very nice pair of 7 For All Mankind jeans, $155 (yeah, I'll be cool and leave off the exclamation point that went off in my head) had very embellished pockets. BUT the True Religions were extra embellished and they cost even more. However, the subdued Hudsons were slightly less. So it leads me to believe that if you are going to drop a Costco-sized chunk of change for one pair of jeans, your backside absolutely MUST look like there's a party going on back there. And the more you spend, the bigger the party. And, follow me here, but I am guessing that only the chicks with impossibly tiny butts would buy these, because, to me, a "big party" on a big butt would not have big appeal. 

Frankly, I have neither an impossibly tiny rear or a party budget. So I left Lindsay and her perky size zero self to reshelve my rejects and sauntered into American Eagle Outfitters. I had avoided this particular store; it's a teenager store. I'm not a teenager. And I had low expectations, I might add, when the impossibly happy salesgirl came up to me and asked me if I needed any help. I was waiting for her to finish that off with "finding some jeans for your daughter." But she didn't. And she showed me all of her favorites, pulled sizes and again, armed with a dozen pairs of denim, I dragged myself to the fitting room. I was not the empowered, confident woman who had entered the mall hours earlier. Denim had defeated me. Boggled as to whether I should try on "the Artist" (sounds creative) or "the best boyfriend jean" or the simply titled "straight leg", I started all over again. 

You know what I learned? Don't be afraid of the teenager stores. And that you can find jeans for under $40 bucks that look damned good and fit fine. And that teenagers will help you, even if you're old enough to be their mom. And that dropping two jeans sizes is fun, but the shopping sucks.

And, finally, that the best part of that day was the oatmeal raisin cookie I scarfed down on my way out of the mall. Sweet. And that will be two extra sets of squats tomorrow. Because, after going through this to buy new jeans, I am NOT going back up in size, lol.

Going on Record About Digital Health Records

I cut my finger last night. Sliced, really. Well, since the sight of blood makes me queasy, I think I could say that I could have given any good slasher film a run for its money. I was showing my littlest how to use a Swiss Army knife. As my husband has so kindly pointed out, apparently I wanted to demonstrate exactly what NOT to do. Which is it flip the blade closed and have your finger in the way.

The damage was immediate and profound. Blood everywhere. Like Carrie, without the prom dress. My husband, the calm one (and, luckily someone who is not at all afraid of seeing blood or a gaping wound) comes over. "Get your hand over your head!" he barks. "Put some pressure on it!" An hour later, this thing is still giving up the fully Freddy Krueger. Not one to give up on staying home, he starts calling around for an open Urgent Care. At 10:30 p.m., none answer. Now he calls the E.R. "What's your wait like?" he inquires. "It's a typical Saturday night," responds the nurse. "So a cut finger would be low on the list?" he offers. All he gets is giggling and a quick "yes." 

Knowing that my digit was not going to be repaired any time soon, Dr. Husband props me up in bed, clamps a brace I used when I slammed my finger in a door around it and says, "Get comfortable. You're sleeping with your hand over your head." I do not need to offer that I had a really sleepless night.

This morning, we surveyed the damage. At least it wasn't still splurting. Nasty, deep and angry looking, Dr. Husband doctored it up like a pro. Then I called my insurance company's 24-hour nurse line. "So when's the last time you had a Tetanus shot?" she asks. I have no idea. I've been compiling all of my family's medical information into our HealthVault account, and since the kids and my husband had a lot more stuff to enter, I was on the bottom of the list. I was the cobbler, as it were, and I had no shoes. "Well, if you can't remember, you probably need one. Get it within 24 hours, though, okay?" And then she very kindly helped me find three Urgent Cares that were in my plan. (Thank you, btw, Blue Shield). 

What bummed me out is that I had already picked my Urgent Care. Apparently not in my plan, this one, across from the hospital, had convenient office hours AND, the perky phone message offered: Electronic Health Records! I could get a copy of my visit and drop it into my HealthVault account. Some day I might forget about this bloody mess, but my electronic health record would remind me. But the thought of a high deductible and higher co-pay sent me to an in-plan Urgent Care. 

Nice they were, but as I arrived, finger bundled and bored eight-year-old in tow, I was not happy at the prospect of filling out SEVEN pages of paperwork. Stuff I don't need to remember and, as an Urgent Care, stuff they prob don't need to know. Like the date of my last pap smear. Uh, that has NO bearing on my finger. Or the date of my last mammogram. Or whether my mother is diabetic. Had there been an electronic health record, all of that would have been available, I might have been seen sooner and I would not have felt stupid giving absolutely incomplete and inaccurate information (I am not getting into who has asthma and who has high blood pressure and why; I just want my finger sutured).

Luckily for me, the Urgent Care was not too busy and I was out of there in an hour. A fresh shot, a bunch of Steri Strips glued in and an admonishment from the doc (via my husband) to take it easy in the gym for a few days (We wouldn't want this to pop open again. (No, we would not))and I was good to go.

While I was trying to look unconcerned  as the nurse prepped my shot, I asked him how he felt about electronic health records. "I like them. This group doesn't use them, but I can see how they would help." I told him that I am a big proponent for them, and am closely following the health care reform progress. "How's it going out there?" he asked, too busy at the Urgent Care to see all of the town hall coverage. "There's a lot of fear," I offered. "That's too bad," he added, handing me some bandages.

He's right. Slicing open your finger on a weekend and knowing that you'd be in the E.R. for 7 hours is a LOT scarier. As is making important decisions about your health based on your insurance coverage, or lack thereof.