doc spelled backwards is cod not god

We really like our family doc. He's willing to offer homeopathic suggestions, for one. He's down to earth and friendly, for two., i.e., his ego is not the size of the heavenly firmaments.

So we've been going to our family doc for ten years now. A couple years ago he moved into a brand new building, a condomininum setup, so he now owns his office. Or the bank does. Within his office suite he has established a lab testing unit.

So my husband, Sam, takes an Rx that requires regular lab tests. Over the years, he's been going to one of those large, chain labs. No cost with his insurance card. Lab sends in results to the doc. Doc checks and notifies if there is a problem. All part of the regular check up.

Until recently.

Family doc's office staff instructed Sam to get his blood work done in the on site lab. Requires that Sam set an appointment, return to get blood drawn. Sam gets there, his weight and BP are taken (even though he was just there a few days ago), gets his blood drawn, does not see a physician, but is charged a copay for a "short office visit." In Sam's case, $35 copay. Ouch.

Sam protested to the office staff and the doc came out. Sam told him "I want to go to my usual lab." Doc insisted he get the lab work done on site.

Does this ring of a conflict of interest to anyone besides me? Might this be an ethical violation? We think he's funding his new office. Or has this "short office visit" become prevalent out there in family practice medicine?

stuck in marriage?

Or marriage struck?

After my last post on temporary divorce I worried that some of my readers might question my committment to married life, or at least those who do not get my pathetic attempt at droll wit.

So worried was I, in fact, that I scoured back to the sad beginnings of my blog for an old post, one of my earliest, in order to camouflage my blogger's block shore up any doubts. Because the fact of the matter is, I'm about as emotionally dependent on committed to my husband as I am to inhaling the air around me.

And so here is my repeat post, which, for the record, enjoyed zero comments two years ago. Needless to say, I am hoping for a better comment showing the second time around.

---

For the past several years at Edge, John Brockman has asked scientists and philosophers a provocative question and then posts their answers.

The 2008 question was "What have you changed your mind about?"

One psychology professor's reply reflected on his research. Daniel Gilbert suggested that the decisions which leave us with the ability to change our minds are less satisfying than decisions which are irrevocable.

Not long after he reached this conclusion he went home to propose to his girlfriend. After several years of marriage, he believes he loves her more as his wife than he loved her as his girlfriend.

For me, a longtime married person, its refreshing to learn there are theories out there that support the notion that love can grow precisely because of options lost.

Or make that, the choice to love only one.

---

Because my own personal case study in marriage, my n=1, no double-blind-placebo experiment, has led me to the same conclusion. I felt stark panic considerable uncertainty about the decision to get married. I love him but is he the right man for me? Will it last? Do I really want to make Texas my home?

But once he put the golden band around my finger all doubts fell away. Uncertainty was replaced by a more complete depth of knowing than I ever thought possible.

The divorce rate tells me this isn't everyone's experience. But I do wonder about the satisfaction levels of other irrevocable decisions.

Having a child comes to mind. We all know how powerfully satisfying parenthood can be. I know in my case, I am always awed into silence when an indecisive childfree person asks me whether she should have children or not. My first instinct as a Mom, though not as a psychologist, is to say "You will not regret it. Not even for a half of a trillionenth of a nanosecond. It is the single most life changing and rewarding experience you will ever know."

How about you, reader. Once you put a sealed decision behind you, did your satisfaction grow?

words every mother dreads hearing

And why, every parent who survives the raising of teenagers, deserves an all-expense paid trip to a caribbean island.

No, wait, deserves to be deeded the island. Along with a different cabana boy for every day of the week.

So here is what I heard:

I picked up my son from his after school meeting. He gets into the car.

Mom! You did NOT wear that today!

me: (whose training and work experience means having an answer for everything)

silence.

son: Seriously. MOM! Tell me you did NOT wear that shirt! I mean, look at it! All those swirly colors. And what are those? Are those sequins?!

me: What?!? I like this shirt. The sequins aren't that noticeable ... are they?

son: OMG, Mom. Are you for real? Yes! You can see them. Ughghghghgghghghghg!

me: It adds a little sparkle to my day. So what? And they aren't actually sequins. They are little sparkly bits. And besides, I think the little sparkly bits .... are ... pretty.

young people, look away

Bad Mom posted a funky haikulicious poem the other day a while ago with a 70's theme in honor of You Know...That Blog's Haiku Wednesday.

It made me think of something that freaks me out on a regular basis. Or whenever I allow myself to "go there." Which I don't do very often because it gags me with a spoon.

I was in high school in the late 70's. Back then, it was a big fad to dress up in 50's attire: poodle skirts, bobby socks and saddle shoes. We had a sock hop dance and various other school functions with the 50's theme.

My mom was a high schooler in the 50's. She used to reminisce with us. Especially with the music. Those great 50's songs: That'll Be the Day by Buddy Holly; Earth Angel by the Penguins; Why Do Fools Fall In Love - Frankie Lymon & the Teenagers. Loved those.



But to get to my point. I distinctly remember thinking how ancient it all was way way WAY back in the 50's. A whole two decades ago. Dried up and crusted over ancient.



And now? It's the rad thing to have parties with a 70's theme. My decade. Three decades ago.

So today's high schoolers are looking at me with even more "you're so ancient" disdain than I judged my mom and her chronies?

Is that bogue, or what?



Does anybody out there copy?

who thinks this is perfect?

Motherscribe put together a thought provoking post about some of the more sexually provocative images and products marketed toward our young daughters; and by default, or by design, our sons, too. Please check it out, here.

Coincidentally, just last week I was surfing cable TV when I saw a reality show, "Little Miss Perfect" about pageants for six year olds. You know, where moms make up their girls to look like Fifth Avenue prostitutes little princesses?

Throughout the show I kept thinking, "Who thinks this is perfect?"

It's a trend that the feminist in me finds troubling: Girl as pretty little impractical princess.

Motherscribe's post highlights similar but more disturbing trends aimed at girls and teenagers. The theme there? Teen girl as sexual plaything.

I kept thinking, what do we, as moms and dads, do to protect and prevent our girls from internalizing these messages? From going, "Oh cool. Buy me one, Mom?"

I don't pretend to have the answer.

I do think a healthy and nurturing homelife helps. Being a good role model is important too. Seeing a Dad who respects Mom and doesn't degrade women. Talking about healthy values that apply to girls/boys/women/men, to all human beings, in other words, is an advantage. But more specifically? I'm not really sure.

With my kids, I'm doing what I think will help. I set limits on their clothes, steering them away from provocative attire: no short skirts, no short shorts. I emphasize clothes as comfortable coverings, not showcases for our butts and boobs. I have not yet bought them skimpy bathing suits or string bikini's, aiming instead for full piece suits or tankini's. Of course, they haven't asked yet, either. This is not to say I won't buy skimpy bikinis when they are teens. Just that now, while I still control the purse strings have influence, I talk about the value of diving without having to worry about losing their bottoms. I talk about the freedom of running around the playground without the worry of underpants showing. In other words, here is what you'll like about this choice, instead of focusing on "trashy" or "bad girl" elements, because I don't go there.

Later, I expect, we'll talk about wanting to be taken seriously by boys. Wanting boys to listen to their ideas instead of staring at their breasts. And one way to guide boys in this direction is to dress in a way that is less distracting. But I'm not there yet and know I'll have a lot to figure out.

The other "rule" is no pierced ears until they are sixteen years old. This may seem archaic, and really? It is. But, to my surprise, they haven't complained (much). I tell them that being young is a time to play rough, run fast, ride bikes, do cartwheels and climb trees. They have the rest of their lives to worry about wearing the right color earrings, finding a matching pair, losing the posts, keeping track when they spend the night away, and spending their allowance on jewelry.

With my son? I talk about respecting girls and valuing them as people with minds and ideas, with feelings and preferences, wants and needs. He has a lot of friends who are girls so I know this helps.

Is any of this working? I don't know. But...

Over the weekend our family was riding in the car when we passed a teen neighbor who had just gotten her hair dyed a bright blonde, tinged with blue. One of my daughters said, "Hey Mom, promise me something? One day when I ask to dye my hair, will you tell me no?"

I'd say, so far so good.

my life from now til Dec 25th

Am I right?

As seen over at The Daily Dish. Thanks J, for the email.

short note

I am away visiting the nation's capitol, the state of maryland's capitol, and now, my hometown, a little further north. At the moment I'm waiting for two carloads of my kids' cousins. Some haven't seen each other in two years. My sister is bringing her garden fresh bounty: corn on the cob, tomatoes, lima beans, and cantalope. Plus my sister in law is baking brownies. An elderly neighbor has generously volunteered her swimming pool. She has no idea what she is getting herself into.

I currently owe my internet connection to the fine technology of a state of the art toshiba laptop plus dial up modem. V.....e.....r......r......y.........S.....l......o........w. I'm wanting to check in on my favorite blog sites but it seems to average five minutes per round trip. So I'm giving notice that I will not be stopping by as often as I'd like. Instead I'll just have to make due with the some of the best company I can ask for while munching on some of the best produce the garden state has to offer.

mother of all hugs or that's a mother hugger

Dr. Deb's post on one type of therapeutic hug reminded me of another, quite different hug.

An organic hug.

A spiritual hug.

My social work therapist friend attended one of Amma's hugging events. She flew to the other side of the country, stood in line with thousands, waiting, and then getting, her hug. She was quite in awe and remains inspired.

Below is a video of Amma, "The Hugging Saint," at a visit in New York City.

How do you get your hugs?

has she lost her mind

Or is she using excellent time management skills?

For the first and only time in my life, I seriously wished I had a camera phone yesterday. I was leaving my office parking lot. There in the late afternoon sun stood a woman behind her bright red, shiny pickup truck. The tailgate was down revealing a truckbed full of clean laundry. About two months worth, by my house standards. Ask me how I know what two months worth of laundry looks like.

What was she doing behind her red pick up, you ask?

Why, she was folding her laundry, of course.

That's right. Out of the back of her pick up.

I assume her husband or child was inside the building having a therapy session. And that she was making good use of the empty time that others of us might waste thumbing through Hollywood gossip magazines. Or programming our cell phones. Or staring at acoustic ceiling tiles.

After my initial shock and double take, I thought, that is one (brazen hussy) smart lady! She knows the secret of getting things done, no matter how (ridiculous) odd it appears or who sees her doing it.

The most original time saver I ever came up with occurred when I had infant twins and a three year old. I stopped folding my underwear. And pajamas. Straight into my dresser drawers they went. Who cares about wrinkly PJs? Who even saw my underwear anymore? Not very original, though, now really.

I also started wearing the same clothes two days in a row (underwear being the exception). Occasionally three days in a row when I managed to avoid baby spitup. Leaving the day worn clothes on a chair, waiting for the next day. No folding. No deciding what to wear. Two days for the price of one. But again, no originality. (I do occasionally still resort to the two-days-in-a-row clothes. Ok, I do it a lot now.)

I stopped shaving my legs. Not very sexy.

I also started carrying an empty basket around from room to room, alternating the picking up of stray items and the putting away, in their rightful place, of other stray items. A trick I still employ to this day (and am now the proud owner of three full baskets of stray items waiting months or years to be put in their rightful place). Maybe somewhat original but not terribly effective.

I suppose that's why I was so fascinated with the parking lot laundress. I'm no time manager. In fact, I am the master of taking 3 hours to do something that mere mortals can do in 3 minutes. Just ask SAM. He'll tell you.

Some call it procrastinating. I call it the fine art of piddling and dawdling. And now I call it blogging. Getting in touch with my inner writer (yeah, rrrrrrrrrright).

I am also the master of worrying way too much what others are thinking of me. I'm an unconventional thinker who behaves way too conventionally out of fear of disapproval.

So the folding laundry in the back of a pick up? Probably won't see me doing that. At least not in a red pick up. SAM's is white.

What creative time management inventions have you come up with lately?

good ole fashioned 4th

A neighbor threw a neighborhood wide 4th of July barbeque in his backyard. On his 3-drum bbq pit, he smoked four beef briskets, ten chickens, and "a whole lotta sausage." We neighbors brought side dishes.

The setting:

The participants:

The apparatus:

The fun:

The afterglow, gazebo style:






The neighbors who threw the bbq said, "All these years we've had that gazebo, nobody has ever used it."

I'd say we gave it the proper christening!

should have stayed in bed

Took my kids on a mini-shopping trip to a local thrift store. In search of 4th of July goodies to decorate their bikes. Our 'hood has an annual kids-on-bikes parade. Way more fun than sitting curbside watching high school marching bands.

A little background. Yesterday my daughters and friends had a lemonade stand. Correction: a gatorade stand. They earned $49 thanks to a good marketing scheme (scrolls left on door knobs) and overly generous neighbors. So my daughter KAY stuffed her share into her new wallet. $13 worth of mostly quarters, dimes and nickels.

We entered the store, grabbed a cart, and away we browsed. Only we lost track of the cart. And the wallet went for a walk. We checked with the store manager. Nope. Noone had turned in a wallet. KAY was speechless for the second time in her life (the first time was when she nearly bit the end of her tongue off in a teeter-totter-gone-wild mishap).

She looked so hurt and deflated. I told her to think of it this way: The person who took what was obviously a child's wallet may have been poor and desperate. She may have been at her wit's end, unable to afford (her next crack fix) flip flops or a summer bathing suit for her daughter. So think of that $13 as a gift to some unknowing child.

To her credit and my relief, KAY brightened just a bit.

Then completely forgot about it by the time she filled up her Slurpee cup 15 minutes later.

En route to said Slurpee machine, more excitement. I see a handwritten note has been stuck under my windshield wiper. It's written on a piece of paper torn out from a check writing register and says:

To Whom May Concern:

I bumped into your car.

My name is D---- N-----.

Phone ---- -----

Geico Insurance Policy # ---------

Please call me so we can work this out.

So sorry.

D------

We rush all around the car. We see a big scraping gash and dent along the back bumper and above the rear wheel well. Nothing major. But its not pretty either. Formerly dent free, it now looks like it has a sordid past.

But that note written by D---- ? It restored my faith. I will definately call her with a big thanks for her honesty. I want to reward her with a free pass. But SAM thinks otherwise. He's a man afterall. So annoyingly not prone to magnanimous gestures of gratitude.

Oh, so one more thing. Moments before I started typing this, I heard a loud CRASH. My son was working on a t-shirt sewing project. That crash was the sound of the sewing machine coming loose from its carrying case, arcing into space and flying onto the concrete floors. He SAYS "its just fine." In fact, I now hear him sewing. Ahh. Jangled nerves but false alarm.

But I think I'll go crawl under the covers anyway, just for added measure.

Update: SAM called the honest note writer five days later. She said, "Oh I didn't hear from you so I kind of hoped the wind blew the note away." Yup. Honest.

Top 10 List: How Blogging is Ruining my Life

10. laundry piles growing taller and more sprawling across my bedroom

9. patio plants not getting watered or fertilized

8. forgetting to schedule kids dental / cavity fixes / ob-gyn appointments

7. fewer (zero) trips to the gym

6. worsening neglect of office finance and billing duties

5. very dirty car, inside and out, and smelly too, even with the cardboard hangups

4. fewer tennis matches despite perfect weather

3. less time engaged in healthy back stretches and yoga poses

2. ever increasing clutter piles of papers, unread magazines, school reports, mail outs

and the #1 way blogging is ruining my life:

1. less sex with husband, who seems clueless and entirely disinterested in my newfound addiction. Smart man, I think? Only one blogger allowed per household, right?. Still, gotta work on this one. Who cares about the patio plants, anyway?