Cinema Cuisine
Check out my newest blog, "Dinner and a DVD," on the San Gabriel Valley Newspaper Group website. Each week, I review a newly released movie out on DVD and pair it with a thematic dinner. I also throw in some talking points to spark conversation over the meal. Bon appetit!
I've Moved, and Added
Hi everyone:
I've moved! Check out my new blog at www.kyrakirkwood.blogspot.com. Same content, new address. I've also added a new blog, Doggie Diva, at www.kyra-doggiediva.blogspot.com. This weekly blog discusses all things dog, especially how you can make the lives better for dogs around you. It's an informative, educational, entertaining piece---all about dogs, so what could be better?
Thanks for reading!
Voice of the Animals
In the past, whenever I spent any time at Hollywood-type functions, all I could do was be excited and amazed to live in Los Angeles and cover the glitterati lifestyle. It inspired me to write more cover stories of celebrities, try to get those ever-so-coveted 1-on-1 interviews, to land junket invitations by the dozens. I wanted to be in the beautiful mix.
But last week, something changed.
I attended the 23rd Genesis Awards, sponsored by The Humane Society of the United States. Two of my "Dog's Life Magazine" stories were nominated for honorable mentions in this awards show that honored the entertainment industry and news media for helping highlight the plight of animals. Pretty exciting, considering my company was "USA Today" and the "Los Angeles Times Magazine." Stars showed up by the limo: Emily Deschanel, Michael Vartan, Maggie Q, Ginnifer Goodwin, James Cromwell, Wendie Malick, Marg Helgenberger. And there were more I recognized, hanging out in the Beverly Hilton's International Ballroom.
Before the awards ceremony, we dined on tofu chicken (and I couldn't stop acting giddy about eating a dinner without really knowing what it was. Usually, I'm hesitant to try anything new because I'm not sure if it's made with meat.). The Hollywood talent presented each of the awards, from best TV documentary to most outstanding talk show. Clips of each nominee were shown on the big screen, and the result was explosive. Turning a blind eye wasn't an option; the truth—and all its good and bad points—was broadcast for all to see. Even if seeing hurt.
My emotion and shock took me by surprise. I always felt I knew what happened in the animal world. I became a vegetarian at 16, bought eggs from cage-free hens, voted for Proposition 2, adopted my dogs and never frequented pet stores. But there is so much else that can be done to help the plight of animals, who are often living hellish lives unbeknownst to most of us. Dogs mutilated in dog fighting rings thanks to Michael "Dick," elephants suffering PTSD due to the trauma we humans inflict on them for our own entertainment purposes, chimps chained to trees for decades, people selling exotic animals illegally, lonely whales, the slaughter of dolphins, the damage plastic does to our marine birds, horses killed in New York City as they tow carriages throughout the busy streets. And let's not forget about the baby seal clubbings in Canada. After seeing one photo of that, who ever could?
I usually felt defeated in the face of such tragedy. But instead, this night, I felt empowered.
Through the power of the pen (or computer, as technology has it), I can inform people about these atrocities and encourage them to do something about it. I can do something to help, to stop this destruction and inhumanity.
That's what the Genesis Awards honors. And I felt privileged to be a part of it.
I've always felt a need to do something to help animals, especially dogs. The one thing I can do—write—seemed like a good way. Now, I know I'm on the right track. Whereas there may be more popular appeal in reporting on Hollywood It Girls and gossip, it's not going to make the world one iota better. But if writing about the inhumanities of puppy mills encourages just one person to turn toward a shelter when getting a dog, then a difference has been made and lives have been saved.
Now that I have a daughter, this responsibility feels even more important to me. Seeing how my toddler acts around my dogs is enlightening. She did not have to be taught "gentle" or "be nice." She was fascinated by these creatures and she treated them with respect. Kindness is intrinsic. Children know this. Too many adults do not. Teaching my daughter how to be a voice for the voiceless and give her the knowledge and self-confidence to do that gives me strength. I don't want her or I to be the type of person who closes her eyes, pretends it doesn't happen or doesn't do anything to stop it.
So I open my eyes. And I see not just the cruelty, but ways around it.
--Boycott Canada. (Why do I feel like singing the "South Park" ditty "Blame Canada" at top volume right now?) Until the brutal practice of clubbing baby seals ends, hitting this country in its purse is the way to go. While most of the pelts go to Europe for fashion purposes, we can still boycott other Canadian items such as seafood, the king of the export business. Check out http://www.hsus.org/protectseals.html for more.
--Don't buy from puppy mills. And by that, I mean do not purchase dogs from anyone claiming to be a "breeder," but has yet to show her dog in the showring. And do not purchase anything from a pet store. There are NO farms in Michigan that lovingly breed family pets. These are puppy mils, plain and simple. Turn to shelters, rescues or professional breeders; contact the AKC for information about the latter.
--Spay and neuter—or "Sneuter"—your own pets. Encourage others to do the same.
--Help protect chimpanzees from research purposes by telling your U.S. Representative to co-sponsor the Great Ape Protection Act. Call the Capitol switchboard at 202-224-3121.
--When in New York City, don't take a 20-minute cheese-ball ride through the streets in a horse-drawn carriage. These horses live deplorable lives, and traipsing through New York City traffic does nothing but traumatize them, often to the point of death when horse meets car.
--Boycott circuses and other forms of "entertainment" involving elephants. That means the ride-an-elephant exhibit at county fairs. Even zoos without adequate habitats should be avoided. Yes, Los Angeles Zoo, that means you. Choose animal sanctuaries and wildlife habitats if you want to show your children animals.
--Do I even have to say not to patronize, support, bet on or watch dog fighting? Or any team that picks up Michael Vick?
--Buy eggs from cage-free chickens, as well as meat from farmers who don't "factory farm." Yes, it may be more expensive, but in the long run, it's at a much less cost. Many people want to eat that burger and not know where it came from. If you're going to eat meat and dairy products, then know that the animal who died to sustain you lived a decent life while on this Earth. We owe these creatures at least that much.
Little changes, just like we're doing with the whole "going green" movement, can also make huge impacts in the animal world. Sure, buying free-range beef may not seem like you're doing anything but adding to your weekly food budget. But in the big picture, you're making a difference.
And it is happening. In Massachusetts, voters snuffed out Greyhound racing in 2008. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Services listed the polar bear as threatened under the Endangered Species Act, putting a stop to the trophy hunting of this creature. Then there's Prop. 2, making sure farm animals are not stuck in tight cages for their entire lives. Delaware now requires real fur to be labeled in fashion garments. EBay stopped the sale of African elephant ivory. Virginia adopted some of the most stringent animal fighting laws in the nation. These victories happened on the large scale, but they had to start with one person getting fed up enough to start spreading the word and making changes in his own backyard, so to speak.
Harking back to the Bible (and Oprah, as she paraphrased Matthew 25: 41-45), "whatever you did not do for the least of these, you did not do for me." We have a responsibility to treat all creatures with kindness and compassion, not cruelty and torture just because we have opposable thumbs.
And in the end, why shouldn't we use those thumbs of ours to make life better to the millions of animals who don't just sustain our lives, but make our world a better place? That's just what I'm going to be doing, in work and life. While others might be making more money reporting on the Lindsays and Brangelinas of the world, I'll be penning pieces on dog adoption and seal slaughter. And feeling every bit of power my pen provides.
The Greedy Shall Inherit the Earth--And Our Money
As if looking at our own pathetically dwindling 401K accounts and savings portfolios weren't enough, we're forced to hear how big businesses getting OUR tax money are screwing things up yet again.
Today, President Barack Obama tore into the nimrods at American International Group, known better as AIG. This company, which has taken a staggering $170 BILLION in federal bailout funds so far, now claims it "must legally" pay out millions of dollars in executive bonuses. We're talking about $165
million. At least. To a bunch of people who ran one of the nation's powerhouse companies to the ground before repeatedly asking for financial aid. These are the same people who said, tail between their knees, the company had lost $61.7 billion in the fourth quarter of 2008—the largest corporate loss in history. And these are the same executives who used more than $90 billion of OUR money to aid other banks, foreign and domestic, that received their own bail-out packages from Uncle Sam. Yeah, I'd say these folks deserve a bonus. Sure. A bonus kick in the head.
President Obama spouted fire at AIG today, saying things like: "How do they justify this outrage to the taxpayers who are keeping the company afloat?"
Like they're going to have to. I am not a Wall Street wiz, but I do know when I'm being financially screwed. How the government is letting these big businesses take our money, use it as they please and reward failure is beyond me. Especially when I'm forced to take extra writing jobs, space out my grocery shopping and forgo any sort of entertainment spending because I'm being taxed harder and taking home less pay. I don't understand it.
My favorite parts of the news today were the snippets from Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke and his interview with CBS' 60 Minutes. While he didn't address the AIG debacle directly, he did offer a few choice words about his frustration over the whole mess.
Here's a true gem:
"It makes me angry. I slammed the phone more than a few times on discussing AIG," Bernanke said. "I understand why the American people are angry. It's absolutely unfair that taxpayer dollars are going to prop up a company that made these terrible bets, that was operating out of the sight of regulators, but which we have no choice but to stabilize, or else risk enormous impact, not just in the financial system, but on the whole U.S. economy."
Exactly, Ben.
This whole disaster sort of reminds me of Octomom, another exploiter.
Let's compare, shall we?
-- Both AIG and Octomom took full advantage of the person paying the bills. AIG, us. Octomom, her mother. And us.
-- Both are rewarded for their stupidity and unnecessary risk taking.
-- Both are not held accountable for their actions or their mistakes. And, in fact, are rewarded for them.
-- Both put themselves in trouble, and then looked to others to get them out of it, as if that was their right.
-- Both are handed money, no strings attached, while making no sacrifices. AIG gets fat bonuses and corporate perks. Octomom gets manicures, trips to Disneyland and a new house. Which, by the way, I'm sure my tax dollars are carpeting, furnishing and decorating. Nice to know I can't afford a new dishwasher because I'm buying the Fertility Monster wall-to-wall berber.
You catch my drift. In this day and age, people are beaten down and angry. We are sick of having to go without while others, clueless to the responsibilities of real life, just hold out their hands as if they deserve to be handed the world. I for one am fed up with having to provide for everyone else while being unable to provide properly for my own family. It angers me that doing the right thing is not paying off right now. There are hundreds of small companies nationwide that are struggling to keep doors open each day, that have owners who take out second mortgages just to provide goods and services to the public. Then we have families, big and small alike, who are pinching pennies and going without just so they can remain true to their values, provide the basics for their children and set good examples.
Compare these realities to AIG and Octomom.
In the end, I'd much rather be a hard-working small company that can hold its head up high, or a scrimp-and-save mom who can look her children in the eye and teach them about pride and responsibility. But right now, it's hard not to be bitter and angry when I see that greed, exploitation and irresponsibility seem to be paying off.
Facebook Addict
I'm addicted to Facebook. And I'm not alone. According to a Nielsen study, social networks like Facebook are now more popular than e-mailing. Especially with users in the 35- to 49-year-old bracket. In my PFD (Pre Facebook Days), I labeled such social networking sites as something I outgrew years ago. MySpace seemed so twentysomething, and I had no desire to post pictures of myself online anyway.
Then I got a BlackBerry. Also known affectionately as my CrackBerry. I noticed it had a Facebook function, but I was too overwhelmed with all of the other gadgets (like email) to even give Facebook a second click. Prior to my new CrackBerry, I was on some 2001-era cell phone with a first-generation camera. Hey, change freaks me out.
It took weeks for me to feel comfortable answering my CrackBerry much less exploring the zillion options offered. But once I did, I was hooked. Then one day came an email from my college sorority sister, asking to check her out on Facebook. I did, and didn't think twice about it. I had one "friend," and that seemed silly enough to me.
Then, like how all dysfunctional relationships start, the line between PFD me and the current me became blurred. How did I go from one friend to over 200 in a few
months? I didn't think I knew 200 people. I'm a journalist who works for herself, meaning I don't get out much. At all. Yeah, writers are quite the secluded bunch. Yet once I began adding friends, I became enthralled. As a journalist, I adore research, and the Internet has done nothing but fuel that fire. I found myself night after night perusing Facebook, looking at the friend lists of my friends, trying to find lost friends. It might be 20 years since I last thought of someone form high school, but suddenly, once I saw that name pop up on Facebook, I'd remember exactly where I last was sitting when I saw that person, or I'd remember something funny we did together, and I just had to have them back in my life. I told you—dysfunctional! People would friend-request me, and I'd have no idea who they were, but I'd add them anyway. I was on a mission. And it didn't stop at bulking up my friend counter. Once I was befriended by someone, I'd blissfully check out his or her info boxes and, my own personal favorite, the photos. It inspired me to add scores of my own pictures to my page as well. Once I got started, I couldn't stop. My cousin from the Midwest friended me, and I found out that most of my extended family is on Facebook. Suddenly, I'm chatting daily with my second cousins 15 years my junior, and loving it. I know more about my kin than ever before.
Quickly, I began adding other writers to my friend list, and using Facebook as a marketing tool for my writing and books. I was over the moon when one of my favorite writers, Jennifer Weiner, accepted my friend request (until I saw she had over 2,000 pals, and I didn't feel quite as special anymore), yet I still hold a grudge foodie/travel writer Anthony Bourdain wouldn't be my buddy. He must secretly know I'm a vegetarian. On that famous-and-well-known angle, I sought out other journalists, and what do you know? I found some and they are now on my list. It's still a bit strange, yet amazing, to get posts from Lisa Bloom or Juju Chang about what they'll be talking about on the newscast that day, or where they're flying off to next. It really brings "small world" a whole new meaning.
My husband is also a Facebook addict, thanks to me. I touted its benefits long and hard, and now he's a convert. So much so, he would spend nights looking up old faces in his high school yearbook to figure out who is wanting to be his friend online. He quickly learned the intricacies of Facebook long before I did, and he eventually had to school me on some things (who knew what Updates were anyway?). We're so bad, we'll chat with each other through Facebook---while we're in different rooms of our home and well within speaking distance of each other.
Husband of mine loves the games, and is always sending people Mafia War stuff. Personally, I don't get into that aspect of it. I'm big on the causes, status postings and comments. The first thing I do in the morning is not check my email account anymore, but to check the status postings of my Facebook page. Even if one of my friends posted she is having coffee, I felt like a connection had been made. Sure, it's totally a dysfunctional relationship made possible by the intangible realm of cyberspace, but hey, it makes me happy. Even if it might mess me up someday. But what doesn't, right?
I'd like to focus on what I've gained from Facebook (other than an addiction). I reconnected with scores of old high school and college pals. I'm "meeting" fellow writers. I am able to shout out quick hellos and feel somewhat connected to this world. And, thanks to that handy little trend called "Facebook Notes," I've even learned more about my husband of 11 years. Who knew he was annoyed by mumbling? Good thing I'm a loud talker.
I'm not the only one out there suffering from Facebook addiction. According to Nick O'Neill from AllFacebook.com, he, too, is addicted and found a WikiHow article on how to break the chains that bind. The six steps listed include:
1. Admit you have a problem. I'm already stuck. Is it such a problem to see what funny videos have been posted or whose kids have colds? In the last 10 minutes?
2. Define your goals on Facebook. Goals? My goals are to possibly read a hilarious note or two.
3. Make a Facebook schedule. I have. Every time I feel a lull in my brainpower. Or when I wake up. Or before I go to bed. Or as soon as I sit down at the computer.
4. Think of other things you could be doing. Lame! Of course I could be doing something else. There is ALWAYS something better to be done. Welcome to life.
5. Leave Facebook. I can quit anytime I want to. I just don't want to.
6. Find a substitute. Sure, like MySpace? Twitter? Pringles? Thanks, but I'll stick with the devil I know.
OK, so I realize I'm beyond help. But you know what, in this day age, with everyone living crazy-busy lives, Facebook gives me the chance to reconnect in the simplest, quickest way possible. It brings a smile to my face, a bit of envy at times (Damn those friends for taking vacations right now when I'm stuck with a disastrous water bill!) and a feeling that this huge, impersonal world isn't that big and cold after all.
Octo-Mom Frenzy
I've got to admit, I'm obsessed with the Octo-Mom. Wait--I take that back. I'm not so much obsessed with her as I am the news coverage of her. From mainstream nightly news to the entertainment-based channels, Octo-Mom is a lead story. I've seen pictures of her inhumanly swollen belly (and her reaction to the photos' release), "expert" commentary on did-she-or-didn't-she have her lips done, an endless rehashing of that pitiful and painful 911 call from last fall when her son went missing, and ceaseless debates about Octo-Mom fancying herself a Brandelina clone in manner and body, thanks to some limp plumpers and a nose job. You know it's bad when Billy Bush of "Access Hollywood" calls the coverage "gross." Because we all know when "Access Hollywood" calls the over-coverage is overkill, there's a problem.
It seems viewers and journalists alike are captivated by not just the medical miracle of eight babies surviving, but of the disastrous train wreck of a life lived by the babies' mother. In fact, the medical part of the story quickly faded as soon as news broke that the mom was a single woman with six children under age 7 living in her mother's home because she had no job and no income. That then became the only news. In a way, I feel a bit sorry for the woman. She does seem to love her children, but that's overshadowed by her complete and utter willingness to be taken care of by anyone and everyone: her parents, the government, the taxpayers. Then to rub salt in it, she claims she's not on any assistance or aid. Come on! Tomato, Tom-AH-to, it's all the same thing. You get food stamps, you're on the government's dime. Call it welfare or resources, there's no difference.
This woman picked the wrong time to have eight kids. Society is spinning from too many unending blows. We keep getting hit left and right, with no end in sight. We're all so busy trying to get our feet back under us, we have little time to pour sympathy on someone who seems completely clueless. I just had to pay more for my car registration, my mortgage taxes went up, I can't afford certain medications that my insurance won't cover. All this while working full-time and waiting to have a second child with my husband until we can keep our heads above the water financially. And I'm just one example. Many of my friends are postponing families or additional children because they can't afford groceries due to job loss or forced furlough days. Extra hours or assignments at work are picked up whenever they can be, and frivolous luxuries, like manicures, facials and (ah-hem) cosmetic surgeries are tossed aside in favor of paying for life's necessities and our children's basic needs. Some of us are lucky enough to have parents help out when times pinch painfully, but others are not. Either way, we recognize we're adults and with that comes responsibility. We've got our own families to take care of, so even in poor economic times, we have to find a way and act smart.
That means not having eight more babies when you have six at home you can't take care of.
I'm really tired of hearing the whole soapbox "don't punish the children" speech. Dr. Phil, who has jumped on the Octo-Mom bandwagon the way Nancy Grace relentlessly covers every tiny detail of the Caylee Anthony murder investigation, keeps harping on that point. He says even though we may think this woman is crazy, let's not punish the children for the mother's mistakes. Yeah, that makes some sense, but in this day and age, when people are getting laid off, having to go on food stamps and losing their homes through NO fault of their own but by forces outside their control, it's hard to take pity on a woman who knowingly and willingly put herself in such a difficult position. Add to that this woman's utter blindness to her dire situation and her unwillingness to take in-kind assistance (she allegedly turned down the offer of 24-hour care from Angels in Waiting when they refused to participate in any possible reality-show filming), it all spells disgust in the eyes of the public. Who is helping out the honest workers, the overwhelmed mothers of three, the single dad struggling to keep his house? Who's helping them? Who's offering free food, free daycare, free medical care? Who's rewarding them for doing what is right? Not Dr. Phil, not Angles in Waiting, not the government. It angers me that playing by the rules gets you nothing, while being a fame-hungry exploiter seems to open up all sorts of opportunities.
And I'm not alone in my frustration with this woman hell-bend on becoming Angelia Joliefied. It seems nearly everyone blasted by Octo-Mom's tale is getting ticked off, not just at her greed and irresponsibility (and her unspoken yet obvious desire to be the next "Jon & Kate Plus 8" on TLC. Nice work, multiple breeders, in spawning a whole new franchise of reality TV), but by the way everyone not worthy is getting a get-out-of-jail-free card these days. Um, can we say AIG anyone? Bank bailouts? It's infuriating. People are beaten up and furious. We're tired of working harder for less money, while others can act stupidly and have gold handed to them on a plate (and then get daily Starbucks or lavish golf tournaments for "charity."). Like it or not, Octo-Mom is hand-in-hand with the American economic problems today.
If I'm going to give money or time to someone in need, why shouldn't it be to someone who is put in a bad position due to fate, not choice? I know I'd rather give $40 to a family who is doing everything possible to keep from drowning, and not using $100,000 in disability payments to keep getting pregnant so the taxpayers--like me--can spend more money taking care of her responsibilities. I can't help but wonder, if a woman can't pay for basic medical care or food for her family, how did she pay for IVF? Friends of mine who have gone through that say it costs about $15,000 a pop, without medications. That pays for a lot of health insurance, rent and groceries. Yet so does the $35 she probably spent on her fake nails.
Yeah, Dr. Phil, I'm with you on the whole it's-not-the-kids'-fault mantra. But you know, there are lots of kids in that situation. I find rewarding a woman for being dysfunctional and exploitive in this day and age is also punishing the children. We need to teach kids good values, and how is rewarding being a mooch doing that?
Popcorn OD
Even before I got pregnant, I warned my husband that he would be in charge of all the childhood barf. My friends all said my serious phobia to vomiting would be cured as soon as I had my own child. I doubted it. And I was right.Ever since I was a kid myself, I have feared throwing up like nothing else. In the first grade, during cold and flu season, at least six kids barfed in my class, and with each one, I became more and more terrified. I even stopped wanting to go to school. I never got over it.
As time went on, I outgrew some of my other childhood phobias (fear of the dark, fear of ghosts, etc.), but my vomit trauma never left. When I considered becoming a teacher, the thought of dealing with children throwing up in my class became a serious con against that career choice. I even once talked myself out of throwing up when I had food poisoning. I'm sure I should have gotten some sort of counseling for this, but I self-treated by avoiding anyone or anything connected to barf. In college, I'd run from my hung-over sorority sisters. I'd close my eyes or flip the channel on "ER" if vomit was present. At amusement parks, I race past "Puke Alley," more readily known as the area with the fast-spinning roller coasters. As long as I was fast on my feet and knew areas to avoid, I'd be OK.
Which brings us to last Saturday night.
My child has an iron gut, thankfully. Evan as an infant, the Kid rarely spit up. Heck, I never even got morning sickness carrying her. Nowadays, she puts away astounding amounts of food and she's also ramrod skinny. The doctor told us to feed her until she lets us know she's done. So that's how we've operated for the past year or so, to much success. But I think I've gotten a bit passive, a bit too trusting in a toddler's menu choices.
As part of my job as a DVD reviewer, I often get screening passes, so last weekend, I took the Kid to see "Space Buddies" at the El Capitan Theatre in Hollywood. The film began at 3 p.m., which was already pushing it for us. Afternoons are a bit dicey, especially if no nap has been had. So when the Kid nestled into her chair and began contentedly watching the film and eating some popcorn, I thought we were set. I wasn't too worried about the popcorn because it wasn't overly salty or buttery, and she'd stop when she had enough, just like always.
Well, halfway through the film, she dropped her bucket of popcorn, so I gave her mine. She kept eating. Then I handed her some animal crackers. She ate the whole bag. Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten she ate pancakes for breakfast and half of the Husband's breakfast burrito for lunch. The Kid kept eating, so she must be having a growth spurt or something, right?
At the after-party across from the theater, the Kid kept right at it. A few slices of mini-pizza, then a tiny bean burrito before I could even blink. I gave her a donut hole, not knowing the Husband also gave her one earlier. She grabbed cookies off the dessert table and ate a bit or two. This was all in the span of about four hours, so it wasn't until later I realized how much this child ate! Sure, she got hyper, but no more than on any other non-nap Saturday.
After arriving home, we brushed her teeth and put her in bed, thinking the night was done. So wrong. So very, very wrong.
An hour and a half later, screams summoned us to her room. Always a heavy sleeper and a good self-soother, it's rare the Kid will wake up crying like that unless she's sick or hurt. As soon as I came into the room, I knew the answer. Thanks to the smell. Flipping on the light, I was horrified at what I saw. Popcorn. Everywhere. I'll spare you the grossest details, but let's say it took me washing the Kid and the Husband scrubbing the room to even get things back to normal. I've been ruined for popcorn forever. It's during this time of clean-up that the Husband and I compared notes on what the Kid ate. And we learned another huge parenting lesson: toddlers are not like babies or even some dogs--they don't know when to stop, especially when it comes to yummy food they don't get often. Change is hard for me to accept, so now knowing the Kid is a kid and not a baby, complete with all the kid characteristics, is tough. But part of life.
One clean and happy child later, we sat in the family room, winding down from the ordeal. We didn't think it was anything other than a junkfood OD, and she'd be fine. Yet almost every hour to the hour, the Kid would throw up. More popcorn. What? I thought if you overate, you'd just barf once, make some room and feel good. Nope. Children's small bodies seem to want to purge themselves totally of the offending fare.
This is where I gave up any chance of being Mommy of the Year. I became convinced the Kid was suffering some sort of horrendous stomach virus that would land her in the hospital tonight and us over the toilet the next day. Why was she still throwing up? I called the doctors' exchange and talked to a crabby, 105-year-old nurse who seemed irritated to be dealing with a first-time mom.
"I've never heard of anyone throwing up from junk food," she said. "It's a virus." (What ISN'T a virus in pediatrics? And yes, everyone else I talked to confirmed children can and do get sick from eating junk.)
"What if I can't get her to stop throwing up?"
"Take her to the ER."
What??
So I figured I could solve this problem, like I've tried to do so many, many times with other issues, by buying it away. I ran to the drugstore and purchased just about any stomach remedy I could find: toddler Pepto, regular Pepto, Gatorade, Pedialyte. Anything to make the Kid feel better, but also anything to keep me out of the house. The Husband had no problem with the vomit, and he was the one rubbing the Kid's back as she barfed into a towel and gagged. I felt like the world's biggest jerk, but even that emotion didn't trump my fear of throw up.
The medicines didn't work (why didn't anyone tell me children hate the taste of Pepto?), but the Kid seemed to be on the mend anyway. I wasn't. I still was so scared she was sick, or needed IV fluids, or that whatever she had would rip through us like a flame on a dead Christmas tree. At one point, we all sat on the couch and the Kid made a funny face.
"Oh man! Barf!" I shrieked. The husband handed me a towel, at which point I tossed it AT the Kid and practically flew off the couch. And this was after the time the Kid vomited all over the carpet, and I stood there, 10 feet away, screaming for the Husband.
Not my finest hour.
After about three hours of this, the Kid fell asleep, and I waited up another three hours to make sure all was quiet. The next morning, I reached out to some of my mommy friends, letting them know the Kid was sick last night. One emailed me back right away.
"Popcorn OD?"
I have a lot to learn as a mom.
Welcome to my blog! I really have no idea what I'll write about, but it most likely will involve kids, diapers, dogs, publishing, journalism, writing, and the occasional bodily fluids discussion. Because once you're a mom, all things are deemed common ground for good conversation.
But first, let's ring in the new year. Thankfully, 2008 is behind us, and few people are more happy about that than am I. Although 2009 hasn't erased all of the scars left by the passing year, I'm hopeful things will start to improve. Soon. We have a new president, new pages in our calendar, new healthcare deductibles to meet (oh yeah on that one. I guess the bad taste 2008 left in my mouth hasn't disappeared yet). I have a feeling things, especially economically, may get worse before they start to improve. But what is that they always say? Darkest before the dawn? Let's hope we don't have to wait too much longer for some light.
Anyway, I thought I'd start off this blog with some happy news. "Hotel for Dogs," while not exactly Oscar material, is making its mark. Not only did it promote pet adoption and responsible pet ownership, but the producer used rescue dogs as some of the film's stars. A local favorite of mine, Karma Rescue, supplied some of the headliners. In addition, pit bulls were part of the cast, and not as the blood-thirsty villains, either. "It's the deed not the breed" is a saying I applaud, and its great to see Hollywood finally help quash some of the damaging canine stereotypes out there.
I've never been a big fan of animal movies, namely because they promote impulse buying of trendy breeds and irresponsible pet ownership. Well, that and the animals usually get hurt or die in the film. Thanks, "Old Yeller," for destroying my childhood innocence with that hallmark piece of cinema. Anyway, "Hotel for Dogs' is different. It lauds adoption, in both message and practice, and for that, it gets my paw of approval.
Check out the story that ran on the Best Friends Network webpage. Scroll down to the bottom to see some great links on how you can help better the lives of orphan animals.
So with 2009 looking pretty good for the dogs so far, maybe we humans have some hope after all. Hey, let's dream big.
