No More Wine Time

I am setting an intention, which means you, dear reader, get to be a part of this.

I have decided to abstain from alcohol for...well, for a yet undetermined amount of time.

Lately several reports have come out talking about how the emerging "mommy drinking" culture has normalized alcoholism for women. The blog post I linked to above is a perfect example of how it happens. And our retailers have helped this along.

These are some photos of a display at PaperSource, a store that specializes in paper products; invitations, greeting cards, gift wrap, and customized invitations for special events. Plus, of course, gifts. This was the majority of the gifts available in the store yesterday, outside of the Easter display.



If I were looking for a gift for a girlfriend for her birthday, I can either refer to her addiction to prosecco, mixed drinks or wine. This is not what I would expect at PaperSource.

But really, it's not their fault. They are just jumping on the bandwagon of jokes about how our kids drive us to drink, right?

I find myself craving a glass of wine around the time I would start cooking dinner. I truly embody Julia Childs' quote about cooking with wine. During the week I used to ignore it, but then the days I would cave and open a bottle went from weekend nights to Thursday through Sunday nights.

Then I would have a glass with dinner. And then a titch more with a piece of chocolate or something for dessert, and the bottle that my husband and I had opened together was gone.

But then...what will I drink with the movie I plan on watching later on?

That is my true downfall — I enjoy having a drink while watching a movie. And sometimes I stay up late to watch a movie all by myself. After all, some days it's the only "alone time" I get. Before I know it bottle #2 is empty or nearly empty.

All without feeling any effects of the alcohol until the very end of the movie.

There are an average of 635 calories in a bottle of wine; by the end of the evening I would have had nearly 900 calories worth of wine. Do that several nights a week and suddenly the weight I'm trying to drop won't drop. Shocking.

Plus the fact that I can drink two glasses of wine with no effect is concerning. It sets a bad example for my kids.

So...I've decided to abstain entirely for a time, to give my body a break from having to process all that poison. I'm paying attention to my "critical moments," those times when I really crave a glass of wine, when they happen, who I'm around when they happen, and choosing a different behavior instead of opening a bottle. Sparkling water and limes will always in my house, so I can get a refreshing drink without need the alcohol to make it taste refreshing.

We'll see how this goes. Who knows, maybe I'll reduce my alcohol tolerance and be able to return to having just a drink or two at special occasions. But for now, this is the intention I am setting and I appreciate all of your support in this endeavor.

Is Online School Right for Your Child?

Lindsey's "classroom," efficiently located across from the frig.

I've had so many people reach out to me when they discover that our eldest attends an online high school. They are interested in this option for their child for a variety of reasons, could it work for them?

The answer?

It depends.

Lindsey's initial reason for attending an online school was to reduce her anxiety, which was like a burr under her saddle, getting rubbed every day that she attended a bricks-and-mortar school. All of her energy was going towards just existing at school; anything the teachers taught went in one ear and out the other. When she came home at night she was so exhausted from the emotional drain of it that she couldn't concentrate to complete her homework.

We considered other options and eventually landed on online school. Sure, it didn't do anything to reduce her anxiety, but at least she could still learn in an environment that was healthy for her.

What's that environment look like, you ask?

Well...honestly, it's a teenager's dream.

She sleeps in as late as she wants (within reason, I usually start coming around to bug her at 10). She has to attend each class once per week (once, not daily). She attends classes via a "live lesson," which is a webinar with an active chat session for students to participate in class. She doesn't have to deal with kids kicking her chair, distractions from other students' bad behavior, forgetting homework or other stressers. There is no high school drama. No one is talking behind anyone else's back, no one cares what she wears every day, there's no pressure to "fit in" because all her classmates are virtual.

She turns her work in on her own schedule. The school has recommended due dates for the work so that students don't procrastinate and leave everything until the end, but there are no penalties for turning work in "late;" it's all about whether or not you understood the lesson and not the timeliness of when you understood it or how long it took you to complete.

She takes breaks in the middle of the day as needed. This could entail laying on the couch with our dog, going for a walk, or running an errand with me. Sometimes she works through a ton of lessons in two days in order to give herself the third day off for a special outing.

Basically, she's works for herself with no "boss" to ask her when she's coming in to the office, how many hours she's worked and when the projects she's working on will be done. They'll get done when they're done, on her own schedule, for the boss' evaluation and grading.

It's a freaking dream. Except.

Except.

She has to be incredibly organized. Self-motivated. Avoid procrastination. Figure things out for herself. Be independent, but know when to ask for help (and where and how).



This photo is of her lesson plan she created for herself before our spring break. Her spring break and Marissa's did not coincide this year, but, since Lindsey's education is online, we agreed that if she could do her week's work in advance then she can work through her own spring break and go on vacation when her school was back in session.

She had to have the motivation to work on these lessons every day, even though she did not have the support of teachers to call or lessons to attend to understand the material. And she did it, she got it done.

This happens every day, not just the times she wants to take different time off away from school.

Math is not a strong subject for her, nor is it for me. The other evening she worked on a single geometry problem for an hour. A full hour. She was determined to solve it. When she had exhausted her text book, recordings of live lessons, Khan academy and (last resort) me, she turned to her friends via text. Being the amazing, helpful and smart kids that they are, they helped her so that not only did she solve the problem but she understood the concept. I was in bed at 11:30 and heard her getting ready for bed, making more noise than usual. I thought she was frustrated, turns out she was elated. She was so excited that she finally figured out the problem and was grateful for her friends' help.

Would you child do that? Would your child work on a single frustrating problem without screaming, without throwing a book, without giving up, for an hour until s/he solved it?

Would you child create schedules for him/herself, follow them, and, if s/he got off-track, find ways to make up the work in a shortened timeline?

Would s/he check in on grades on a weekly basis, call or email teachers as needed and negotiate workload with them?

If not, then you may need to find other options for your child.

The other piece of this puzzle that makes online school a good option for Lindsey is that I'm around and available all day long. When she first started she was working at home, by herself, all alone, all day long. She was unmotivated, somewhat depressed and isolated. We realized early on that there was no way a 14-year-old could be left to her own devices all day long with no human interaction and somehow succeed at school. A large piece of why online school works for her is because I'm here and available, both educationally and emotionally. If she's super frustrated, I recommend taking a walk. If she is taking too long of a "break," I gently encourage her to get back to work. I'll get her out of the house, encourage outings with friends, take her to field trips where she can meet her virtual classmates in person, and help her with the non-educational part of her school day.

When she first began online school she was extremely isolated, but now that she's more confident in the classroom she is branching out, keeping in touch with her friends from middle school, making new friends in her online school, holding down a job and doing many other activities that help reduce her anxiety. She's in National Honor Society and as such has to do 50 hours of volunteer work every school year, which is also motivating to get involved in the community.

Online school did not address her anxiety but it did reduce it. That's not the same thing. We reduced her anxiety by taking away something that made her anxious. As anyone familiar with this condition knows, when you do that you actually increase the person's anxiety about that thing.

Now Lindsey is focused on her singular goal of going away to college. She wants the traditional college experience, even though she knows and we assure her that there are other options available to her. That's not what she wants, she wants to prove to herself that she can manage life in whole. We are slowly working on getting her back into classrooms, a driver's ed class this summer and in-person classes through the PSEO program at her high school. She will remain in her online school throughout high school; she's getting a great education and I see no reason to change it as long as she keeps progressing on her mental health in other areas.

Online school has been a blessing to her and to our family. We already know that it is not an option for Marissa, who will be attending a traditional charter school next year, though she is envious of Lindsey's flexible schedule. Marissa does not want the responsibility of having to manage her own schoolwork, she would rather learn directly from teachers and have classmates in person for her to rely on for help and commiseration.

For anyone who is interested in talking about online education, I am always happy to chat! Hopefully this will be helpful for anyone interested in it who would hesitate at picking up the phone or texting me. Thanks for reading!

Just a Regular Day of Nursing...On A Day Off

Kristi on her birthday breakfast, after finishing another night shift of nursing.

My sister is a nurse. She's pretty damn amazing, and cares for people as part of and outside of her job.

One summer day she was biking back to her apartment from our place. Near her building is a bus stop where bus drivers often park their buses and take a break at the convenience store on the corner.

While a bus was sitting there and the bus driver was inside, Kristi noticed a woman sitting on the corner, her legs splayed into the street. She seemed kind of disoriented and was swaying back and forth. Kristi was concerned she was going to fall forward into the street.

Kristi could have just crossed the street on the opposite side and pedaled on her way. Being a nurse, she stopped.

She spoke with this woman for a bit. The woman was slurring her words, unsure of where she was, wasn't even sure of her name. As they spoke, Kristi noticed that she had a medical tag around her neck and she looked at it. The woman had diabetes, and Kristi immediately associated the woman's odd behavior with low blood sugar.

By this time, the bus driver had come out of the store and was going to start his route again; Kristi asked him to call an ambulance. He went back into the convenience store and guess who he called? His manager. Yep, because a metro transit manager can definitely help someone in a medical emergency! The driver came out and talked with Kristi, told her that this woman rides their bus all the time, they often see her, but they've never seen her like this.

Finally an ambulance arrived, and they began to care for this woman. Kristi stuck around to make sure she'd be all right, and the EMTs told her that the woman's blood sugar was 11. I wasn't sure what that meant, but Kristi said that's near comatose; she shouldn't have been conscious. (Normal blood sugar is between 70-130 when fasting, higher after meals.)

They loaded the woman up in the ambulance and drove off, sirens blaring, to get her the medical attention she needed. Kristi biked the rest of the way home and chalked it up to another day.

Later, when Kristi related this story to me, I was amazed. "Do you realize that you probably saved that woman's life?" I said.

"No, not really," Kristi demurred. "Someone would have stopped."

"No, I don't think so. I think people would assume she was an alcoholic, drunk in the middle of the day. No one would have called an ambulance. Even when you asked someone to call an ambulance, they didn't do it right away. If they did anything they'd probably call the cops to get her out of the street."

After a while, Kristi finally agreed that yes, perhaps, she had saved that woman's life. But, she said, "That's my job."

This story has stuck with me even though it happened last summer, or possibly even the summer before. It's because people like Kristi are in the world, people with goodness in their hearts and a willingness to step into uncertain situations, that I have hope for a better tomorrow for all of us.

Creating A Home Base: Other People's Kids

When I was young, my home was not only my home base but that of my friends. My sister could say the same thing. Our home was close to both the junior high and high school. She and I often walked home with other kids in tow and would noisily descend upon our home to consume popcorn, watch movies, play Trivial Pursuit or — gasp — work on homework. Our parents developed relationships with our friends and with their parents. To this day, my mom's close circle of friends is made primarily of couples who were parents of our friends.

I had hoped to create the same safe landing spot for my kids' friends. Our home is within two blocks of the high school that I thought our kids would be going to, but now neither of my girls are going there.

But apparently Marissa's middle school is still close enough to have friends come over often, and I am happy to host them. They are always welcome for dinner, for a movie or to just hang out.

Marissa and Carolyn baking in our kitchen. 

We have a running joke with Marissa's friend, Carolyn. Two summers ago her house was under construction and she was welcome at our home anytime to get out of the chaos at her place. We like to grill steak in the summer, and it so happened that most times that we were having steak Marissa would plan to have Carolyn over. Carolyn LOVES how Wayne grills steak, she would gobble up every bite. And every time she ate with us, we were having steak. It got to the point that if we were going to have steak I'd ask Marissa if Carolyn was available.

One time her parents told us about the time her dad asked if she wanted steak for dinner. Carolyn's response? "No thanks, you don't make it like Marissa's dad does!"

It's been a while but we still laugh about her carnivorous tendencies at our house.

Marissa and friends after a choir concert. Hanna (far left) came just to support her friends who were performing.

Marissa also has a good friend walk home with her a lot after school. They may work on homework a bit, but usually spend time snacking, chatting and snapping friends. Pretty soon this friend started calling me her "other mother." One time I came home and Marissa was already home with this friend, who called from the front room, "Hi, your other daughter is home too!" She gave me a huge and asked, "How was your day?" We jokingly tease each other about my being her "other mother" and she my "other daughter."

Sometimes she stays for dinner, other times she has to leave to go to hockey or soccer practice. But she and Marissa manage to carve out some time together to joke and laugh together.

Marissa and Hanna (not my "other daughter") ready to chill on yet another snow day.

Recently Marissa had two friends over and they had bought condoms as a gag gift for a mutual friend of theirs (a guy). He refused to accept the gift, saying that his parents would kill him if they found condoms in his room. So the girls brought the condoms over to our house and played with them. They filled one up with water and tied it shut. It eventually burst and there was a literal waterfall of water in our kitchen. I retrieved towels, handed them out, and they all helped clean up the kitchen. No big deal.

"Thanks for mopping my floor!" I joked with them.

Later I found out that one of the girls lives in a very conservative household. She could NOT believe that not only did Marissa buy condoms and bring them home, but that her mom found out and it was just fine. And...they made a mess in the kitchen but hey, it was just water and it cleans up, so it wasn't a problem as well. She was in shock. "I am never coming to your house again!" she declared. "You guys are clearly a bad influence." She was over later that week, of course.

I hope we continue to be a safe home base for my girls' friends when Marissa starts high school next year. It's been fun so far, that's for sure.

A Child's Funeral

Last week I attended a funeral for a child.  I hope to never have to do that again.

This child was 13, a classmate of my youngest, and had taken her own life. As if that wasn't devastating enough, no one — no one, not teachers, family, friends — had any idea that she was suicidal. Friends knew she had been depressed recently, but no one had any idea that she was having thoughts of ending her life. She grew up in a large family with many aunties and cousins, a loving mom and grandparents. She was a talented artist, musician and beautiful in so many ways.

It's difficult to guide your children through grief when you yourself need to process as well. There were some things said at the funeral that really touched me, and I wanted to get them down.

One of the minister had the following message (I'm paraphrasing):

After someone takes their own life, the survivors are left with the question "Why?" Many came to the funeral feeling grief, or anger, or confusion, or any combination of these things. Why? The truth is, we may never know why. 

I took comfort in this, in part because I had been through every one of those emotions in processing the idea of a 13-year-old taking her own life. And...I took comfort in letting go of the "why's." They weren't mine to discover or know, I could let go of them.

During the beautiful euology that one of the aunts shared, she talked about Aria's suicide.

Look around this church, see all the people who loved and cherished her. If only she could see this. But she was 13. She didn't understand the finality of her actions. She didn't have the life experiences to know that pain is temporary. Pain ends; it molds you, it can shape you and make you stronger, and it always goes away. She didn't realize that, and she only saw one way out of her pain.

I've been mulling this one over since I heard it. I never thought of pain as temporary, but it is. It will ease with time, with help from others, with treatment. I have great sympathy for people who live with chronic pain, though I suspect even that pain goes away at times, in the same way that it flares.

The last minister said a message that was difficult to hear, which is that suicide is a sin, in that God's commandment of "thou shall not kill" also means you shall not kill yourself. But he said it is a forgivable sin, as this girl was a child of God, baptized in the church and a follower of Jesus. I still find this hard to digest, because I do not believe you need to believe in Jesus to see God, but that's a thread for another day to follow.

He also said, "Aria was not perfect." This was jarring to hear after hearing so many people recount her many wonderful traits. "But I can say the same for everyone in this room, myself included. No one is perfect. We are created in God's image, but we are human and have our flaws. That is why forgiveness exists, to forgive ourselves for our imperfection."

The music was beautiful, the many messages were heartfelt and incredible. During the time of remembrance they played a video that her good friend had made of various classmates giving their final wishes to Aria. The minute it started people around me began to tear up, just to hear these young voices saying good-bye. Marissa was included in the video and had quite a long clip. I could hear her quietly sobbing form where she stood with her friends while it played.

The final recessional song was "Stand by Me," but the twist was that it was a video of Aria playing her ukulele and singing the song. She had such a beautiful voice. Then the video stopped and the song was taken over by the pianist. What a touching way to end the service.

My Mental Health Education: A Tutorial

Since my eldest was diagnosed with severe general anxiety disorder nearly 5 years ago, my family has learned so much about resources available to help those with mental health issues. The good news is that there is more available today than there were then. The bad news is that there still aren't enough resources for everyone who needs help, leading to long wait lists for specialized services, hampered further by insurance companies' unwillingness to pay. Try telling your suicidal teenager to hold off on acting on those feelings until a bed opens up.

Unlike services for physical ailments, the kinds of options available for mental health care are not widely known to people until they need them.

Develop a weird rash? See a dermatologist. Have a strange skipping heartbeat once in a while? See a cardiologist. Develop life-stopping anxiety? See a...psychiatrist? Psychologist? Therapist? All of the above? Do I need cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT)? Dialectical behavior therapy (DBT)? Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR)? Most people have an idea of the kind of specialist to go to for physical ailments; even if they didn't, they could go to a general practitioner who would steer them in the right direction. But for mental health care? Better start educating yourself.

I have recently helped steer a friend through a mental health crisis for her daughter. She is grateful because if she didn't have a friend to lean on, she wouldn't have known where to turn, and the hospital where her daughter is right now is not about educating her, just getting her daughter healthy enough to leave the hospital.

So I thought I'd share some of the education that I've learned for those who may need it. My disclaimers:

1. These are the terms as I've defined them through our family's experience. They're probably not the "right" ones, but they work for my understanding as a parent and advocate trying to get resources for my children.

2. I'm not intentionally ignoring other mental health conditions like schizophrenia, bipolar, manic disorders and others. I just have no experience with them, so I only speak to those resources that treat depression and anxiety/OCD.

Inpatient care is almost 100% reserved for those whose condition has deteriorated to the point that ending their lives is a viable option to them. Both of my kids' primary diagnosis is anxiety, but at that point in their lives their anxiety was so uncontrolled that it caused suicidal thoughts. Just because your kid does not have depression does not mean you won't encounter these programs in the course of his/her treatment. I have learned that depression and suicidal thoughts can be and often are completely unrelated.

First, the basics of who's who:

Psychiatrist/Psychologist/Therapist: The psychiatrist is the only one who can prescribe medications, the other two can't. We honestly have never used psychologists in our daughters' care, only therapists and psychiatrists.

If your child is in an inpatient program, the psychiatrist is the head of the care team. All decisions regarding your child's care will be run by and approved by him/her. Connect with this person daily if possible for updates and discussions on treatment.

For outpatient care, the therapist tends to head up the care for your child and the psychiatrist is one of the members of the care team.

Kinds of treatment programs:

Inpatient: This is when the child is in the hospital 24/7. There are different kinds of inpatient care, though. We've had experience with two.

Acute or Lock Down Units: This is for children and adolescents who are actively suicidal, meaning they have the thoughts, plans and intent to end their lives. These units have extremely limited visitation hours, limited contact with outsiders, restrictions on clothing and other items that can be used for self-harm. If your child is not actively suicidal, this is not the right fit for him/her. For both of our children, if they have been on a lock-down unit it would have made their anxiety so much worse.

Sub-Acute or Intensive Treatment Unit (ITU): This is a step down from a lock-down unit, still has some restrictions on clothing allowed (no draw strings, no shoe strings allowed) but much fewer restrictions in other areas.

Both of these provide the reassurance of 24-hour care to ensure that patients are safe. Parents of kids who have ever been suicidal know the fear of falling asleep at night and hoping that their children don't do anything to themselves while they're sleeping. Ready for bedtime? Not tonight, thank you, I'll sleep after my kid's gotten help.

These programs also provide group therapy, one-on-one therapy, family therapy and psychiatric care on a daily basis.

Outpatient: Outpatient means that they do not stay overnight in a facility. Both of my kids started with outpatient, went to inpatient briefly, then back to outpatient. Some kids start at inpatient because their mental health reaches a crisis point. Either way, they will go back to outpatient care. These are the kinds of outpatient programs we've learned about.

PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program):  This is an outpatient treatment program that lasts 5-8 hours of a person's day, making attending work or school difficult. Most people take a leave of absence while in a PHP. PHPs can sometimes be in a hospital, but many now are in clinics that are fully outpatient based and look nothing like a hospital. PHPs have daily one-on-one therapy, group therapy, time for patients to do whatever "assignments" they need to do for their mental health, and psychiatric care, as well as family therapy as the family is able.

"PHP" is the biggest misnomer of the entire mental health care system. This term has been around for 50 years or more, it needs a new name.

IOP (Intensive Outpatient Program): This is a program that lasts between 2-4 hours per day. It has many of the elements of a PHP but in shorter spurts. Not every element occurs every day; group therapy may occur once or twice a week instead of daily. It's another step back to normalcy, when mental health treatment no longer takes up a significant portion of each day.

Therapy: The last and usually longest step in returning to full mental health. For my daughter who recently completed an IOP program, she went back to her therapist on a 3x/week basis for a short time, then stepped down to 2x/week, hopefully back to 1x/week at some point. There are so many kinds of therapy, I'm just going to point you to a WebMD article that I think does a great job of summarizing all of the different kinds of therapy available. Click away.

Depending on your child's condition, your child may need to go from an inpatient program to a PHP program to an IOP program. And...the inpatient hospital may not always make the best recommendation. We wish we had known what a PHP program and IOP were back when our eldest was in the hospital. (Although there were very few if any IOP programs in the area at the time.) PHP programs existed then; the hospital she was in had one the floor above her! But they never recommended it for her, they said she would be good going back to once-weekly therapy. I believe she would've had a quicker road to recovery had she received intensive help right after hospitalization.

We also learned that lapses in care are extremely detrimental. We've had gaps in therapy for our oldest, once when her therapist left the practice and it took us a few months to find a new one, another time when the second therapist we connected her with was not a good "fit" and we didn't make her go until we found yet another. Like strength training, if you don't do it, you lose what you build. She regressed in both time periods and because anxiety is an invisible illness, we had no idea how badly her mental state had gotten until another crisis occurred. Now we are paranoid about making sure there are no gaps. If her therapist ever has to cancel we find another day within the week to replace the session, and for the holidays we schedule around days off far in advance, especially because her anxiety is highest around the holidays (like it is for many).

For some, maintenance care means therapy on a consistent basis for years. THIS IS TOTALLY OKAY AND DOES NOT MEAN A PERSON IS CRAZY. I see my chiropractor every two weeks if I want to avoid getting migraines. Why would I ever judge someone for seeing a therapist consistently for decades? Do it if it keeps you healthy.

And there you have it, everything I know about mental health resources in a nutshell. Of course, I wouldn't know ANY of this if I hadn't been open with others about what my kids were going through. Once I started telling friends and neighbors about what was happening, I learned that they had gone through similar challenges and I got educated from them. Many people had struggled with advocating for their child's mental health and no one ever knew to help! My point is...we can't solve the problem when we don't talk about the problem. I hope this guide helps even once person navigate the system.

High Density Housing ≠ Highly Affordable Housing

This is a complicated issue, I'll try to make it brief. So the reader knows I'm not talking out of my ass without making this the length of a novel, I'm using lots of links to referring material.

The city of Minneapolis recently approved a 20-year growth plan called "Minneapolis 2040." It sets a vision for the city of Minneapolis in terms of housing, transportation, living-wage jobs and more, all with an underlying goal of eliminating disparities in our city.

Eliminating disparities?

You know how you drive through one neighborhood and it looks "tough," and you know you wouldn't want to be caught walking down the street after dark there, and you go to another neighborhood and it's got beautifully manicured lawns and luxurious homes? The disparity in which people of color tend to live in the first neighborhood described, whites in the second?

THAT disparity, which was brought about by redlining, which as recently as 50 years ago allowed people to discriminate on the basis of race, not allowing people of color to buy homes in certain areas of the city. This was further strengthened by zoning some areas as single-family and others as high-density, meaning that even if you had the "right" color skin you had to have the means to pay for a larger home. Which, people of color didn't tend to have back then, due to discrimination in job accessibility, transportation to those jobs, etc. There's a lot to fix.

Don't get me started on that weird jog in Interstate 94 that occurs in Minneapolis, either.

I am ALL FOR eliminating disparities. I would WELCOME varied housing in my area, I would VALUE sending my children to a school that is not 85% white.

The main ways in which Minneapolis is addressing this is to eliminate zone housing, making some neighborhoods single-family and others high-density. They would like to see a variety of densities spread across the city, so that people of varying income levels can live in many different areas of the city. The idea is that an apartment is more affordable than a duplex which is more affordable than a house, and if they're all on the same street then people of varying income levels can live there. It sounds great, but in practice, already it is not working.

Take these two homes, for instance. Caveat: they are not in Minneapolis, they are in Edina, but across the street from Minneapolis, and are a great example of how people interpret "high-density."

These are both duplexes. The first was built in the 1950's, the second was built in 2017 and sold in January 2018. The second was built on the site of a cute 1950's bungalow, which lives on in Google Streets memory.

Hey everybody, high-density housing! Surely they are both affordable, right?

According to the listing for the 1950's duplex, it rents for $1,495/month for a 1,350 sq ft. duplex. The latter, built in 2017, is 3,049 sq ft and was sold for $866,000. Zillow estimates that the rent for this duplex is $3,152/month.

On paper, they are both duplexes. In practice, they are wildly different. As a matter of fact, the home that was torn down to make room for the monstrous duplex was valued at $353,000 prior to being razed, an incredibly affordable home in Edina.

The best part? These two are right next to each other. You can see the disparity in size in this photo:

I bet that little duplex is missing the sunlight it used to get from its eastern exposure. No more sunrises for you, little guy!

The same thing is already happening in Minneapolis in light of the move toward high-density housing across the city.

Take, for instance, Ewing Place Apartments, being built just three blocks from us at the corner of Ewing and 51st Street.

Architect's rendering of Ewing Place, currently under construction.

Here's what used to be there:

Three little houses, all in a row.

Awww, aren't they cute?! The perfect starter home for a couple. Check out this cute little guy:

Seriously! One bedroom, one bath, 544 sq feet, built in 1920. So cute! It was sold in 2001 for $105,000.

The person who purchased that home in 2001 also purchased the other two next to it, and they were all rentals. Various families and couples would rent for a time, and he sold all three to a developer who tore them all down to build the coming Ewing Place apartments.

So...how affordable will these places be once the "high-density" housing is available?

According to the website for Ewing Place, they will rent you a 709 sq ft one-bedroom apartment for $1,935 per month. The largest floorplan available with 1,355 sq ft will rent for $3,618 per month.

So, let me get this straight:

We removed THREE tiny little houses, all renting very affordably, to build a high-density apartment building, with rental rates THREE TIMES that of the original homes?

Got it.

I understand the goals of the plan, truly I do, and I also want the same thing, but I do not believe that the changes that were made will have the desired impact. High density does not equal highly affordable. Not to mention the loss of history of homes that were approaching 100 years of age.

There's more, much much more, but I will save that for another blog post.

Undecorating

The Floria-Horsman Christmas tree, 2018

Growing up, my mom used to make sure there was at least one piece of Christmas décor in every room during the holidays. This included my sister's and my bedrooms, which often had to make room for a Santa or reindeer on our dressers. Wreaths on doors, mistletoe hanging, beautiful centerpieces on tables, and, of course, the tree. Our home was warm and inviting all year round, but especially during the holidays.

As a kid, I looked forward to some day decorating my own home with similar items when I grew up. And then I grew up. And I realized that everything that comes out has to be put back away.

The undecorating. Ugh.

Sure, it's lots of fun to decorate the house for the holidays. It's an exciting time, you're looking forward to time with friends and family, and it's nice to spruce things up. But then, come January 1, the holidays are over, gifts unwrapped and put away, meals shared and guests gone, and everything has to go back. I hate the undecorating, it is the worst. Which means, of course, I procrastinate.

We don't procrastinate on the tree, of course, because we don't want a fire hazard in our house. But everything else? It could be February or even March before the last pieces of décor get put away. That is, if I was the only person in charge of the undecorating.

But, if you know anything about my other half, I am not the only one who can undecorate, and this particular person gets incredibly annoyed at having Christmas decorations out in February. So, if the décor is still out by January 31st, he dutifully goes around the house, gets everything picked up, and puts it away.

Therein lies the rub.

I have specific boxes for specific items, and each box has written on the outside what is supposed to go inside. This does not seem to matter, though, as each year, when I start to decorate, what I find in each box is usually different from what is written on the outside.

This year the box marked "Standing Santa" had a reindeer in it. The standing Santa never made its way into a box, while the box the reindeer was supposed to be in was utterly empty on its shelf.

I shouldn't complain, honestly, I appreciate that he does it. After all, he didn't unpack it, so he doesn't know which items came from where. Sure, it's clearly written on the outside of each box, but his goal is to put away, not to put away correctly. Over the years, it has created some funny findings.

I have a nativity set given to me by a family very dear to me, made of fragile ceramic. Each year, I find this set packed into a different box. Four or five, to be exact, all of which have said at one point or another "nativity set" on it, and either had it crossed out (or not), and had something else written over it. Or it still says "nativity set" but what's inside isn't.

If a stranger came into our house and looked at our storage area, he would wonder how many nativity sets one family needs.

But finally, this year, we have a teenager who cares. She cares as deeply as her father that not only does the house get decorated, but that it also get undecorated in an orderly fashion. God bless their genes!

Lindsey helped me decorate the house this year and was horrified by the state of the boxes and packing the décor was in, though she did enjoy reading up on the news of the times from 1997. She insisted that we go through all of the boxes that ever had "Xmas" scrawled on them and pull everything out. We found decorating items that she has never seen in her lifetime; we never use them. We purged the stuff that was never used and put out the items we wanted out. Then, on December 26th, we hit "The Christmas Corner," a pop-up store in Southdale Mall with beautiful Christmas décor and bought some new items at 50% off.

Just this past week, she and I undecorated. She insisted we buy a large RED tote, so we could instantly see which tote had Christmas items in it without even having to read the writing on it. Color coding?! What a novel concept!

We took every piece of Christmas décor down from around the house, put it all in the middle of the living room and began to pack. Okay, so I packed it, she directed from her sickbed, the couch, where she has been suffering from a miserable cold for the past week.

At the end we had two large totes and four small boxes of Christmas decor, and one empty shelf in our storage space.

Now I'm kind of looking forward to decorating next year and putting up the new items we purchased for the first time. And...putting them back where they belong.

The Definition of Anti-Bullying

Marissa on the day she donated her hair.

My youngest daughter is always full of surprises. She is thoughtful, kind, and feels emotions deeply. Yet that side of her is often covered by an outward facade of carelessness and scattered thinking.

This past summer she got friendly with a boy from her school through a game called Fortnite. She had him in some classes the previous year and didn't think much of him. He often interrupted the teacher with off-topic comments and didn't seem to care for schoolwork. But over the summer they would spend hours on this game, chatting and working together on the various quests. She warmed up to him, and not a day would go by that they wouldn't talk. They never got together in person though, which I found unusual for a friendship. I kept questioning if it was more than friends, but the answer was always the same: just friends.

School started again this fall, and their friendship over Fortnite continued. They didn't have too many classes together this year, so she didn't have much of an opportunity to see him except for lunch. They would sit at the same table, a group of boys on one end, girls on another, because that's how it goes in middle school.

One day he called one of her girlfriends "anorexic." Marissa wasn't there to hear it, but she heard from her friend afterward that he had done this. Her girlfriend was really hurt. She already felt out of place with how petite she was — she is shorter and smaller than all of her friends — and he just reinforced how badly she felt about her body.

Marissa was mad. She came home from school that night and told me about the incident and that she was going to talk to this boy about it. I hadn't suggested this course of action, and internally was doubtful she would have the courage to do it, though I told her it was the right thing to do.

The next day at lunch, she marched up to this boy and said, "Hey, you called my friend anorexic yesterday and you really hurt her feelings." He was surprised. "Women and girls already struggle with their body image and being compared to models all the time, that was a really hurtful thing to say." He hadn't ever heard of "body image" before, had no idea girls struggled with it and that he'd hurt this girl's feelings, and he agreed to apologize to her.

The very next opportunity he had, he walked up to Marissa's friend and apologized to her for calling her anorexic. Marissa's friend was surprised and accepted his apology.

Marissa decided that this boy was not nice for having said such a mean thing, despite the fact that he'd apologized, and she no longer plays Fortnite with him or hangs out. If he did it out of a sense of winning back Marissa's friendship, he didn't succeed. But perhaps he did it because he genuinely felt badly for how he made this girl feel, and will not say something like that to someone again.

Marissa's actions are the exact definition of "anti-bullying," and I am so proud of her for inherently knowing to do the right thing.

Outward Appearances

I've run into a certain older gentleman at my local Cub Foods many times over the past few months. He is probably in his 70's or 80's, very spry, and talks to absolutely everyone. He and I have struck up a conversation several times, most recently this past week when Marissa and I were stocking up for Christmas.

He was packing up groceries on one side and I on the other, and he turns to me and says, "Do you know what the difference is between outlaws and in-laws?" A well-timed pause of an often-told joke. "Outlaws are wanted."

He said that people just aren't happy enough, don't laugh enough, and he takes it upon himself to spread a little joy, all year round. I wished him a Merry Christmas and we went on our way.

Marissa and I were commenting about the exchange on the way home. She had overheard him talking in another aisle to another customer about his Christmas plans. His son was having him over on Christmas Eve, he would be spending Christmas Day with his daughter and her family.

"But I'm really looking forward to December 26th," he said to the gentleman. "My wife died 8 years ago, it's just not the same without her. Holidays are difficult."

From all outward appearances he seems happy, spreading laughter to strangers wherever he goes. Yet he harbors grief inside, something that he tries not to dwell on but that is a part of him.

I am thinking of him this Christmas morning and hoping he is enjoying time with his family, while honoring the part of him that misses his wife. People need a little love and understanding, even, and perhaps especially, those who don't appear to need it.

An Unfortunate Error In Fashion

Some months ago a friend of mine gave me some whimsical socks. They make me laugh every time I wear them, which I'm finding is more and more often as the weather gets colder. I realized I don't have many socks that are this thick or nice, so I find myself wearing them every time they are clean.

A few weeks ago my daughter and I went to the chiropractor and I realized, after I had laid down on the table with hot pads on my back, that I had worn my whimsical socks. This wouldn't normally be an issue, except that at the chiropractor I always take my shoes off, so my socks were in full display for everyone to see as they walked by my table. Just the thought of this made me laugh, that kind of uncontrollable laugh that you know is not appropriate so you try to stifle it, which only makes you laugh more. I probably looked a sight jiggling away on the chiropractic table.

Eventually the doctor came over to adjust me, and I apologized in advance for my socks. He laughed and said, "Don't worry about it, I've seen all kinds of socks here, with toes sticking out and all kinds of things." He clearly thought I was apologizing for the state of my socks, not for their whimsy.

Eventually he made his way down to my feet, saw my socks and then started to chuckle. "Oh!" he said with a laugh, "Now I know why you were apologizing. That is so funny."

Because this is what he was looking at:

Normally they read correctly from left to right, but since I was face down on the table, they were backwards.

Thankfully he had a good laugh about it and I made a mental note to remember not to wear those to the chiropractor again.

I also went out and bought myself some decent winter socks that don't have words.

First Job

What was your first job? Mine was as a dishwasher and busgirl at a local restaurant. I worked there the summer I turned 16, lugging tubs of dirty dishes up and down stairs from the lake where there was a float on the water where customers could be seated. Those seats were quaint and relaxing to enjoy as a customer, it sucked to have to take those steps with a heavy load of dishes as an employee.

When I first started, I had to wait a few minutes before touching the hot plates straight from the dishwasher. I saw another worker pull the plates straight from the dishwasher and start putting them away and I couldn't believe it — how were his fingers not burnt? By the end of the summer I was doing that as well, my fingers having toughened against the heat.

Most times I would bring food from home to eat during my break, but once I splurged and ordered something off the menu to eat. When I got that paycheck, I could see that I had worked a full hour to have a full hour's worth of pay deducted to pay for my food. That was the last time I did that, and I was also careful when I spent my money, thinking about how many hours I had worked to earn it.

Lindsey's been wanting a job for a while, but most places don't hire 15-year-olds. The local grocery store hires kids at 15, but she had no interest in working with food in any form.

On a trip to Turnstyle, a consignment shop, the woman ringing up our purchase encouraged Lindsey to apply. "We really need workers before the holidays," she said. Lindsey and I looked at each other and I asked, "Do you hire 15-year-olds?"

"We might, ask the manager," she said, "She's over there."

Lindsey sought out the manager, we went home and she applied online. She was surprised to get a call a few days later asking her to come in and interview. She interviewed on a Monday and by Friday got the phone call that they could hire her if she was interested. Was she? YES!



She's worked a few shifts now and she is loving it. Her co-workers and managers are super nice, and there are a few other high schoolers working there as well. She organizes and hangs clothes, tags new clothes that come in, and has learned how to consign home goods. This week she'll be learning how to consign clothes coming in, and she's excited for every skill she learns.

For the most part the customers are nice, and if they have a challenging customers the manager handles it. It sounds like the back room is filled with snacks and nibblies (brought by the manager) for everyone to enjoy.

She got her first paycheck which only covered one shift, and she's thrilled to be earning her own money. She told us that she doesn't need to get an allowance anymore, she's got her own money now.

First paycheck!

I am so proud of her for getting out of her comfort zone. It takes a lot of emotional energy for her to interact with the public, it would be so much easier for her to avoid people and just stay home. But she's determined to overcome her challenges, and this job is a perfect fit for her.

Two Teens

Marissa playing soccer in this past summer's rec league.

I wrote this post the week after Marissa's 13th birthday party, but I didn't have access to the photos from the party so I didn't post it right away. So now...four months later, here is Marissa at age 13. (Sucks being the second kid!)

Written 7/31/18:

This past Friday was Marissa's 13th birthday — we finally have two teens in the house.

Lindsey jokes that Marissa acts like she's been the teen for years while Lindsey still isn't. Marissa is really, REALLY into makeup. She owns more makeup at age 13 than I did as a 19-year-old during the height of 1980's glam rock. She'll spend an hour perfecting a look, only to wash it all off because we're leaving the house and she doesn't want to go out all made up.

She is into the latest pop music, like Cardi B (shudder) and Post Malone, though she sprinkles a little country like Luke Bryant and Carrie Underwood in there.

Marissa would like to live in the country when she grows up, but she doesn't want a farm. She just wants a few sheep, chickens, and some goats so her sister Lindsey will visit her.

For her birthday this year we rented a few rooms at a local hotel and had friends sleep over. They played pool games, watched movies and ate popcorn. Since they were all so tired from swimming, magically all six girls were asleep by 11:00. Wow!

The way the rooms were set up the girls had two adjoined rooms, and I had the room across the hall where I could hear if the party got out of hand. (It didn't.) The six girls stayed in those two rooms, and the first time they all left to go to the pool, not one brought a room key with them. We had to stop at the hotel front desk to get an extra one and let them back in. I personally thought it was funny and also a great example of where these girls are in their childhood; old enough that you would think they would know better, but young enough that they are accustomed to an adult always taking care of things like that for them.

She is an amazing kid whose charm and warmth engages us all. Happy Birthday, sweetie.

Arguing Without Words

Most couples have some sticking points on things that really aren't worth arguing about. Toilet seat up or down? Squeeze the toothpaste from the end or the middle? They become daily annoyances but in the great scheme of life, really aren't worth arguing about. That's why Wayne and I have these arguments without words. Because the few times that we finally do get a chance to sit down and talk, we'd rather not waste our time talking about these petty arguments.

A recent silent argument we had was about how to store those nifty S'well bottles. Our kids love them, our youngest keeps asking to buy different ones of different styles. (Isn't the point to buy just ONE so you don't create waste?) The bottles have to be hand-washed and every time I put them away I store them with the caps off, because if we store them with caps on, the little tiny bit of water that is in the bottom will mold in the bottle. Yet every time I go into the cupboard where they're stored, the caps are tightly fastened onto each bottle.

I know who's doing this, and it's not the two teenagers who can't be bothered to pick up their socks.

This went one for a month or more. I would take the caps off, he would put them back on. Next time I washed them I'd leave the caps off, he'd put them back on. Finally I left a note in the cupboard explaining my reasoning.

Finally, the caps stayed off the bottles. After a while the note disappeared, I assume because Wayne was tired of being reminded every time to NOT put the caps on.

Next up: the chair in our bedroom.

It's a beautiful chair, we both love it and love the fabric. It is super comfy and gets used practically every day. I especially love the snuggly throw that I bought to go with it. In the winter you can find me on that chair with the throw over my lap, a cup of coffee and a book. Heaven!

But...how to "store" the throw...

I like it casually draped over the chair. (After all, is it not called a "throw?") To me, it says "Welcome! This chair is for you! Sit down, wrap up and get cozy."

My version of the chair in our bedroom.

Wayne thinks the blanket looks messy this way. He likes it neatly folded. But...why? A neatly folded throw says to me that the chair is for appearances, not for sitting. This was an actual discussion that we had one time, because I found the folded blanket on the seat annoying. You always had to move it to sit on the chair, while with the blanket thrown over the edge you could sit on the chair for a few minutes to put shoes on and not have to worry about moving it.

So he stopped folding the blanket. But then he started doing this.

To me, this says that we are embarrassed about the chair. It must be ugly, worn, have big holes in the fabric because we don't want you to see the fabric, we want you to sit on it anyways despite its probable nasty appearance underneath.

And so the silent argument has begun. Every time he's alone in the room, I find the chair completely covered in the blanket. And every time I see that, I whip it off and drape it over the back. He will find it that way later and drape it over the whole chair again — I'll put it back the way I like it.

If this chair could talk!

But here's the thing: I don't have a logical argument for this one. The S'well bottles, that just makes sense, we don't want moldy, stinky bottles. But the blanket? This is just a matter of opinion, and we both think we're right.

And so, I turn to you, dear reader. Which way shall we store the throw on this chair?

When NOT to Tell Someone You're Doing "Well"

The year I turned 40 I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease. Oh My God!! you say, are you okay?!

I'm so okay I forgot to mention it to some members of my family.

Hashimoto's is an autoimmune disorder in which your body attacks your thyroid, reducing the amount of hormone produced naturally by the body. The treatment? Take safe and common hormone replacements to bring the body into balance. But also see your endocrinologist often for a simple blood test in which your hormone levels are monitored so your doctor can determine when you need to step up the hormone replacement dosages, because your body keeps attacking your thyroid until you need full replacement hormones.

For six years I have been seeing my endocrinologist, and once had him bump up my dosage. And then, two years ago happened.

In fall of 2016 at my regular check-up, I reported that I was feeling tired and run-down. I could nap every day, was tired every afternoon, stopped working out because I couldn't get myself up at 5 a.m. anymore to fit it into my day. My chart indicated that I had gained 7 lbs in one year, probably a combination of fewer workouts and more sleeping. But, my dad had also just passed away, which added a new level of stress to life, making all of the above explainable as well.

They drew blood for the blood test, and a week letter I got a letter that my levels were within normal range, and that based on my report the doctor did not see a reason to make an adjustment, see you next year.

I found myself back the following November, giving the same report: I'm tired. I sleep a lot and could sleep more. I don't have the energy to work out. And my hair was falling out in copious amounts. I could see my scalp through my hair and it was devastating. Others said they couldn't tell, but I could and it bothered me.

I had also read the book "Hashimoto's Protocol" by Izabella Wentz, a pharmacist who self-diagnosed her own Hashimoto's in her late 20's. When she reported to doctors that she had no energy she was told that "people slow down as they age." She retorted, "Really?! 29-year-old's slow down?"

This time I had the blood draw done in advance so we could discuss the results at the appointment. But the doctor (and truthfully, I) forgot that I'd done that so we didn't check the results. The doctor walked into the room and said, "Hi how are you?" To which I replied, "Well." Because, as the CEO of a company I used to work at says, replying by saying "good" is not proper grammar. (I partially blame him for my two-year mistreatment.)

I then proceed to tell the doctor of my woes. I'm not sleeping well and can't sleep enough. My hair is falling out. I lack the motivation to work out. My thinking is fuzzy. I am sluggish and can tell I've gained weight. This year's report? Another 11 lbs, 18 lbs in total in two years. I have never gained this kind of weight in my life in such a short period of time. Does this sound like me? No.

He informs me that hair loss is not a symptom of Hashimoto's, nor is the kind of insomnia that I experience.

Really? It's all over in the support groups, the book I'd read, anecdotal stories others with the condition had told me. Well, he informed me, RESEARCH indicated that it wasn't, despite all of that "other" evidence.

He does a blood draw, because I stupidly forgot I'd been there the week before for a blood draw (it was an early morning appointment), and a week later I get the same form letter: levels are within range, no change needed.

Did he not hear a word I said?

Turns out, he didn't. I called the clinic several times and when I didn't get a return phone call I drove down unannounced and had a confrontational face-to-face with him about it, both about the missed blood test and my oral report which he ignored. He finally agreed to make a small adjustment to my dosage, and within a week I felt improved energy.

After this experience I changed from an endocrinologist to a whole health doctor, who informed me that my endocrinologist never tested my T3 hormone level, a key indicator in treating Hashimoto's. I had read in Izabella Wentz's book that this was a common oversight—most endocrinologist's only test the T4 hormone.

My new physician and I also got a chance to review my endocrinologist's notes from the last two visits. In both reports, he wrote "Patient reports feeling well." He noted the weight gain, but not a single word about how I was actually feeling.

I realized that my very automatic greeting of  "well" after hearing the words "How are you?" is what he wrote in his report, and he hadn't listened to a single word I said.

So...word to the wise: if you are talking to your doctor, make sure s/he is clear if what you are saying is a GREETING or a REPORT. There is a real difference.

How am I doing now?

Great. My new doctor, Dr. Richard Sinda, is fantastic. I feel listened to. I am feeling better. He and I review my results together, because he knows I'm a data geek and like data, even though half of it goes over my head. He adjusted my hormone replacement dosage and started a new one because, now that we're testing my T3 level, we learned that it was also low and needed support. I also started a bunch of other supplements and vitamins to improve my overall health. As he says, "I don't want to know how much Vitamin C a human needs to prevent scurvy, I want to know how much Vitamin C a person needs to be in optimal health. There is a different between a lack of sickness and optimal health."

As for the weight, well, I now have the daunting task of losing it. I know what I need to do, I just need to do it. Move more, eat less (and better food choices). Hopefully it will come off as quickly as it went on, I'm giving me two years because that's the healthy way to do it.

So that's the latest. For anyone who is diagnosed with Hashimoto's, I highly recommend Izabella Wentz's book. I did not follow the protocols she recommends, though I am sure that if I did the weight would just fall off. Her dietary changes and supplements were a bit daunting and seemed overwhelming to implement, which is why I sought a whole health doctor who helped me implement the ones that made sense for me.

One more lesson learned that the person who can best advocate for your health is YOU. My health languished for two years; it could have been longer had I continued with my same doctor and hadn't advocated for myself. I'm glad I finally made the change needed for my own health.

"Is It Gone?"

Yesterday afternoon the girls and I had an enjoyable time visiting the Edina Art Fair. This is a fair that closes streets down around us and makes it a pain in the ass to get around. For us, it's a beautiful event that's just 3 short blocks away. We can walk down when we want, go back home, think about a purchase and then go back and buy it.

Marissa, Lindsey and I walked down in a drizzling rain yesterday, which, for us, is perfect, as it keeps the crowds down so we can browse. Lindsey and I had visited the day before and she had her eye on a ring that she really liked. After purchasing that and doing a little more shopping, we decided to go to AgraCulture for lunch, a wonderful little spot that has many gluten-free options and excellent food.

Lindsey's and Marissa's rings from the Edina Art Fair.

Afterward, we kept shopping and went back to one place where we had been looking earlier. While there, Marissa and I noticed that Lindsey had a piece of lettuce wrapped around her retainer. It was just a little spot of green. We pointed it out to her and she went out of the booth to take care of it.

She came back and asked, "Is it gone?" and smiled. The lettuce was now spread across half her tooth, and she had a very green smile. Marissa and I both doubled over in laughter, because it most definitely was NOT gone. We laughed so hard for so long that everyone in the booth started smiling and laughing along, including Lindsey.

Shortly after we walked home, and the image of Lindsey asking "Is it gone?" and then smiling with a green smile kept popping into my head, and I would giggle. The girls would giggle too, and then we would have to stop because we were laughing so hard.

There is much more to this story, from the kind artist who "gifted" additional rings to the girls when they both selected the same one, to the walk home, but overall, it was such a great time together, worthy of capturing in a post for future smiles.

An Observation, by Marissa

One morning I heard a little commotion coming from the kitchen, the sound of many small objects hitting the floor (I assumed it was cereal), and shortly after the sound of it all being cleaned up.

I found Marissa in the kitchen with a look of relief on her face.

"Mom!" she says, "I just realized why you and Dad yelled at us when we were younger."

Hmmm....this seems like an odd leap.

So she explained.

For a little bit of background, Marissa takes an assortment of supplements (my favorite is the multivitamin for "healthy hair and nails"). Every Monday morning she fills her pill case with that week's doses and takes them every day.

She was filling her pill case for the week when an entire bottle of vitamins spilled, scattering little tiny pills all over the floor. Our dog, Beauty, came over to investigate. Thankfully she's been taught to not eat anything off the floor until she gets permission. She usually waits, unless it's an especially tasty-smelling piece of meat. So Marissa told her "no," and then was able to pick up all the pills before Beauty got to any of them.

Can you imagine if our dog had eaten a handful of random vitamins and supplements? I'd be using Dr. Google to try to figure out which ones are harmful or not, and probably taking her to the vet for a second opinion.

"Now I know that you and dad yelled at us, because you wanted to keep us safe," Marissa says. "You didn't want us to do things that would hurt us."

She and I recounted the cactus-touching event, when both she and Lindsey grabbed cacti on display at the local nursery. I spent the afternoon tweezing tiny little cactus needles out of both of their palms. (I believe that story is on this blog somewhere.)

Both girls also had to learn not to touch a hot stove by touching a hot stove. A couple of blisters later and neither of them ever did it again. After that, instructions like "wear your helmet" and "use a lifejacket when on a boat" went over much easier and with less argument.

I liked how Marissa made the connection between what had happened with the pills and Beauty and how her parents try to keep her safe. Now let's hope that lesson sticks when it comes to the really big lessons.

Marissa's Bionic Teeth

Marissa had chronic ear infections the first year of her life. Her nose was constantly running, her ears always aching, and she was a downright miserable kid. When she turned one she got ear tubes, which drained the nasty infectious stuff so at least she could sleep at night, but ironically it didn't prevent the infections. (I will not describe the scene to you of waking her up many mornings with ear drainage smeared across her face, her pillow, and making her hair stick up. Okay, I guess I kinda just did. Plus...it smelled and she needed many, many baths. Her sheets were washed nightly.)

This pattern continued despite the ear tubes. Her nose ran constantly. We stopped wiping it all the time and considered the initial layer a protective coating that kept her skin from rubbing off with every wipe of a tissue. None of the other parents at daycare would set up play dates with her, they thought she was always sick. And, she was.

She would get a cold which would turn into an infection. We would go to the doctor who would prescribe antibiotics. It would clear up eventually, but the minute the antibiotics stopped, it started all over again. She needed stronger and stronger antibiotics, which also did a number on her tummy. Poor kid.

We finally sought the opinion of her ENT who suggested that removing her adenoids may help. He had barely said the words and we scheduled the surgery. He wanted to do one more round of antibiotics "just to see if it would clear up," but she'd practically been on them her entire life, what would one more week do? We were tired and frustrated of having a cranky, unhealthy kid.

Around her second birthday she had her adenoids removed; the change was immediate and dramatic. By the evening of the surgery, she was smiley and playful. I didn't want to put her to bed when it was bedtime, it was such a treat to see her so happy. In the morning she woke up singing! Or babbling. Or something other than the howl we heard most mornings. Looking back, it must've been like waking up with a full-on sinus infection every single morning of her life. Such joy she must have felt awaking without a headache and a clogged skull.

Her nose cleared up, her ears cleared up, and any cold she caught after that stayed exactly that: a cold. No more drainage, no more nastiness, and we had a super happy baby. Yeay!

She grew and grew, and at age 6 began losing her teeth. One of the first teeth she lost was replaced with a tooth of the most unusual yellow, almost chalky white around the edges. Her dentist murmured something about "malformed enamel," and that was that.

Then another tooth came up with an interesting pattern of clear and white enamel. And another. We changed to a pediatric dentist who first used the word "hyoplastic enamel." Thus began our education.

Hypoplastic enamel is enamel that malformed while the adult teeth were maturing in her head during the first years of life. I learned a lot about tooth maturation. Ever see the skull of a child with the dental cavities exposed? It's creepy. I can see where the director got the idea for the creature's mouth hole in "Alien." You are born with adult teeth buds in your skull, and during your first few years of life they grow into the adult teeth that eventually push down into your jawbone once your head is big enough for the fully grown teeth. It's quite an extraordinary feat of human anatomy.

A child's skull with dental sinuses exposed. Creepy!
Especially that canine tooth way up there.

So why do some people develop hypoplastic enamel? Recent studies have pointed to chronic antibiotic use in infanthood as a probable cause.

Let me say that again: Chronic. Antibiotic use. In babies.

My death stare. Is it as intimidating as my kids say it is?

At age 12, Marissa already has 3 fillings, one crown and a capped baby tooth. The baby molar needed a cap because the enamel all around the edge of her gums literally disintegrated. It was like a cavity encircling her tooth; there was no way to "fill" it, and no point in anything more than a cap since it was a baby tooth and was going to fall out anyway. She recently lost that tooth, and we joked about her "cybergenetic" or "bionic" tooth.

Marissa's "bionic" baby molar.

When she had the crown done recently, the dentist told me that as she began to file down the existing tooth it literally crumbled under the slightest pressure of her tool. Her current crown will need to be replaced when she's 18, and eventually she will probably need an implanted tooth because the dentist isn't confident that the root of the tooth can hold.

Remember my last blog post, about my phobia of bad teeth? Marissa is going to face a lifetime of expensive dental work, filling, repairing and replacing her teeth through the years.

I'm angry that her permanent teeth were permanently ruined. all because she had a runny nose when she was a baby. Had we known then what we know now we would have insisted on more aggressive intervention earlier to reduce our antibiotic use.