Just when I was feeling good about our fun, educational, safe, and successful Girl Scout trip to SeaWorld, Blackfish has to come out. When I heard about this documentary/expose, I meant to watch it on CNN but forgot. So I went to the movie's website and watched the trailer a few days ago.
Oh. Dear.
You know, everyone's aware that whales are migratory animals. It doesn't take a marine biologist to realize that the pools at SeaWorld are not as big as oceans, so it's probably not the best place for orcas. If you're like me though, whether anyone tells you this or not, you believe that those whales had been sick or in trouble somehow and were rescued by SeaWorld as they are known to do a lot of ocean conservation projects. Besides, I'm sure the giraffes at the Phoenix Zoo don't belong on that "savanna" any more than the orcas belong in those pools. Well...that's up for debate, I suppose.
I haven't even watched the movie, and after seeing the trailer I don't know if I'll be able to. This movie was brought to my attention merely three weeks after our great trip and I thought, Oh man. What bad timing. Actually, it's quite good timing because thank goodness I didn't know about it before we went as I likely would have cried my way through that park And when they explained that the flopped over dorsal fin of one of the whales was genetic, I might have stood up and said, "No, it's because he hasn't been able to migrate and strengthen his muscles and he's probably depressed about being forced to do pet tricks for humans all day long, day after day. Stop lying, SeaWorld!" I really don't think I would have been able to keep it in.
I don't know if this movie is animal activism at its best or worst, so that's why I want to see it for myself. I've heard former SeaWorld trainers play an integral part in the storytelling so one would believe that it would show an accurate account of what goes on there. Though I don't think the issue is that SeaWorld is unkind to their animals; they treat them with affection and great care. The issue lies in whether the practice of capturing (which they did a few times about thirty years ago, but they now breed them) and keeping such large animals in relatively small pools is ethical when it seems to go against almost everything in their nature.
Blackfish sounds sad and depressing, but I like to be informed. We should all be informed.
Thursday, November 7, 2013
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Birthday Boy
It sounds terrible to say that the worst day of my life was the day my son was born, but it truly was. It certainly was not because I didn't want him or because I didn't love him. Of course it wasn't. No, it was because a 39-week textbook pregnancy took a turn for the worst ten minutes before he was born. Although it was the toughest time in our lives, the ending could have been a thousand times worse. It helped us realize how precious life is and how we should never take the birth of a baby for granted.
I'll share his birth story now but, frankly, I don't ever want to have to think about this day again until he's in the Olympics and his "against all odds" story makes it into the human interest features. None of us enjoys reliving it.
On November 6, 2006, I woke up early with labor pains so we went to the hospital. Like most expectant couples, we sat around for a few hours as the contractions got closer together and the pain became more intense. At go-time, the doctor broke my water and that's when the mood of the room changed. Back-up was called and before I knew it, the delivery room was filled with people and machines and the doctor was quickly trying to explain to us what had happened. I remember thinking he seemed very agitated. In summary, he said something like this:
When we broke your water, the amniotic fluid wasn't clear. It was filled with meconium (the tar-like substance which is the baby's first bowel movement), so when the baby is born he is going to take his first big breath and aspirate the meconium. The meconium is thick and sticky so he won't be able to breathe. We don't have a neonatal intensive care unit suitable for him here, so we're going to transport him to Banner Desert Hospital in Mesa.
At that exact moment, I saw a helicopter landing outside my window. Matthew's ride had arrived.
I pushed for only ten minutes, and after he was born they let me hold him for just a moment. May you never, ever have to see a baby struggling to breathe. They whisked him away to the ER where one of his lungs collapsed, and they had to insert a chest tube. He was airlifted to the other hospital, and Brian drove to meet him there. Matthew's other lung collapsed on the way, so they had to put in another chest tube. Brian sat up through a long night of periodic doctor and nurse reports.
I don't know everything that happened during the night. They don't tell mothers who've just given birth news they don't think they can handle, and I still don't know about all of it because I am on a strictly need-to-know basis in regards to anything medical. He made it, and that's all I care about. I'm glad Brian was there with him though, and when I got to Banner Desert the following day, the doctors told me that Matthew had given them quite a scare overnight. They kept telling us that he will recover, but he's "going to get worse before he gets better."
They were right. He developed pneumonia and was placed on several different forms of rescue therapy, such as a ventilator and nitric oxide. That's a lot of machines for one tiny, little person to be hooked up to.
As the days passed, his condition improved and slowly the machines were taken away one by one. The ventilator vibrated air with extra oxygen and was so noisy. We were happy when they took it away as the room was so much more peaceful without it. It felt more like a proper baby's room when it was quiet. Matthew was medicated so that he could sleep through everything, but still; it's unnatural to have something that sounds like a jackhammer in a baby's room. We're obviously grateful for the technology, though.
Four days after he was born, we were able to hold him again. His breathing wasn't solid, but he had a more portable C-Pap machine. He kind of looked like my dad when he sleeps.
About a week and a half later, he was starting to look like and act like a normal newborn baby. I always hated waking up my babies so they could eat. Doesn't look like he was too excited about it either. :) And if awards were given out for such a thing, he definitely would have won the Monster Baby award as he looked gigantic in that NICU full of preemies.
After sixteen days in the hospital, we were able to take him home the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Perfect timing. We had a lot to be thankful for.
Matthew is a happy and healthy boy who turns seven years old today. He completes our family of four perfectly. He's cute and cuddly, yet he knows what he wants and likes to let us know that too, especially if we're not willing to give in to his wishes (which is usually more Legos). I believe that's called spirited in today's world. We love him very much and are forever grateful to the team of doctors and nurses who saved his life.
They were right. He developed pneumonia and was placed on several different forms of rescue therapy, such as a ventilator and nitric oxide. That's a lot of machines for one tiny, little person to be hooked up to.
As the days passed, his condition improved and slowly the machines were taken away one by one. The ventilator vibrated air with extra oxygen and was so noisy. We were happy when they took it away as the room was so much more peaceful without it. It felt more like a proper baby's room when it was quiet. Matthew was medicated so that he could sleep through everything, but still; it's unnatural to have something that sounds like a jackhammer in a baby's room. We're obviously grateful for the technology, though.
Four days after he was born, we were able to hold him again. His breathing wasn't solid, but he had a more portable C-Pap machine. He kind of looked like my dad when he sleeps.
About a week and a half later, he was starting to look like and act like a normal newborn baby. I always hated waking up my babies so they could eat. Doesn't look like he was too excited about it either. :) And if awards were given out for such a thing, he definitely would have won the Monster Baby award as he looked gigantic in that NICU full of preemies.
After sixteen days in the hospital, we were able to take him home the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. Perfect timing. We had a lot to be thankful for.
Matthew is a happy and healthy boy who turns seven years old today. He completes our family of four perfectly. He's cute and cuddly, yet he knows what he wants and likes to let us know that too, especially if we're not willing to give in to his wishes (which is usually more Legos). I believe that's called spirited in today's world. We love him very much and are forever grateful to the team of doctors and nurses who saved his life.
Happy 7th Birthday, Sweet Matthew!
Tuesday, November 5, 2013
Words Hurt
My Elizabeth is a great kid. She's an excellent student, kind and polite, and very sensible for staying out of the gossip and drama that surrounds her in fifth grade. She brought home a friend a few weeks ago, and I asked about their day. Her friend went on and on about how "_____ did this...so _____ got angry...now they're not talking to each other...and _____ told me not to talk to _____...and I told her that I can make my own decisions about who I want to talk to and....." The story went on for awhile. When it was over I looked at Elizabeth; she said very matter-of-factly and with a giggle and shrug of her shoulders, "I didn't know about any of that." I'm glad for it. There are times, though, when the mean-girlness finds her and, like anyone who's been the target of ridicule or shame, her feelings are hurt. I remind her often that she can tell me anything, but I know she doesn't like sharing when her friends aren't acting like friends. Although I have to pry it out of her, we talk about it and how it makes her feel and how she should remember the feeling so she doesn't hurt others in the same way. The Golden Rule is the best rule out there and, unfortunately, sometimes we learn how not to act from being hurt by others.
Words can hurt. I can attest to this. We all can. I will always remember the most hurtful words said to me. They don't bounce off like the saying goes. They stick to us like glue even if we try our hardest to forget them. Sometimes there's truth in them, and you can learn from this by becoming more aware of how your own behaviors affect others. Other times, someone is simply being mean and you have to learn from their mistakes. I don't know why she or he chose to say that, but I'm not the kind of person who would purposefully hurt someone with my words.
Fifth grade is a tough time. Junior high and high school are around the corner though, so I fear there are tougher times ahead. Heck, even at my age people are still hurting others. I'm never going to figure out why so I should stop trying. I am trying my best, though, to help Elizabeth deal with these incidents. However, I suppose you have to walk through a few rough situations in life to become stronger. Sometimes people aren't nice to you or they willingly choose to wound you or take advantage of you. The thinner your skin, the worse it hurts. She's a lot like me when it comes to sensitivity, so I'm not the best at teaching her how to let something roll off her back. I hope we can figure it out together.
Fifth grade is a tough time. Junior high and high school are around the corner though, so I fear there are tougher times ahead. Heck, even at my age people are still hurting others. I'm never going to figure out why so I should stop trying. I am trying my best, though, to help Elizabeth deal with these incidents. However, I suppose you have to walk through a few rough situations in life to become stronger. Sometimes people aren't nice to you or they willingly choose to wound you or take advantage of you. The thinner your skin, the worse it hurts. She's a lot like me when it comes to sensitivity, so I'm not the best at teaching her how to let something roll off her back. I hope we can figure it out together.
Monday, November 4, 2013
Bless My Friends
It's hard being my friend, y'all! Why? Because I tend to worry about the dumbest things. Really. But I pick the best friends because they're quick to talk me down and show me in a nice way that I'm being ridiculous. I like to think this goes both ways. True friends listen, understand you, and love you for you. Or just love you anyway.
Exhibit A: an unedited text conversation from last week with my friend Jennifer who is an MSW (that's a masters of social work) and understands people's behaviors, along with the reasoning behind them, better than anyone I know. Her insights are gold. I go to her with nearly every so-called problem that I better put in quotations. She not only helps me understand myself, but she also has excellent insights on why someone would do something they've done. The long and the short of it is that she has all the answers, yo.
Sara: So if I had 2 cups of coffee every day for a week and none today, do you think my splitting headache today is from a lack of caffeine? Am I an addict? Should I stop drinking it except for Saturday mornings?
Jennifer: Is it interfering with your family life or functioning? If no, you are probably not an addict There are many studies regarding the health benefits of coffee. What leads you to think you shouldn't have it everyday? (God, that sounded therapeutic!!)
Sara: It's more like I'm afraid of becoming dependent on something, even if it's just caffeine (and not booze or nicotine or meds).
Jennifer: It will definitely hurt your head if you become accustomed to it. If I had more time we could explore your fear of dependence and addiction on a seemingly benign substance. Doesn't that sound like fun?!? Maybe we can have lunch soon.
See how she spins that to make me laugh and get over myself? Love her. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure I worried about that because I saw a commercial for a news report on "Pill Popping Moms." Oh the power of suggestion. Seriously though, I really don't want to be dependent on anything or addicted to anything, except maybe exercise because that's good for me and everyone around me. Coffee tastes good so I drink it. I don't need it, but if I start getting headaches from not having it then I'm going to need it. Here I go again!
It's coffee. It's fine. Drink it everyday. Yes, have some.
Exhibit A: an unedited text conversation from last week with my friend Jennifer who is an MSW (that's a masters of social work) and understands people's behaviors, along with the reasoning behind them, better than anyone I know. Her insights are gold. I go to her with nearly every so-called problem that I better put in quotations. She not only helps me understand myself, but she also has excellent insights on why someone would do something they've done. The long and the short of it is that she has all the answers, yo.
Sara: So if I had 2 cups of coffee every day for a week and none today, do you think my splitting headache today is from a lack of caffeine? Am I an addict? Should I stop drinking it except for Saturday mornings?
Jennifer: Is it interfering with your family life or functioning? If no, you are probably not an addict There are many studies regarding the health benefits of coffee. What leads you to think you shouldn't have it everyday? (God, that sounded therapeutic!!)
Sara: It's more like I'm afraid of becoming dependent on something, even if it's just caffeine (and not booze or nicotine or meds).
Jennifer: It will definitely hurt your head if you become accustomed to it. If I had more time we could explore your fear of dependence and addiction on a seemingly benign substance. Doesn't that sound like fun?!? Maybe we can have lunch soon.
See how she spins that to make me laugh and get over myself? Love her. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure I worried about that because I saw a commercial for a news report on "Pill Popping Moms." Oh the power of suggestion. Seriously though, I really don't want to be dependent on anything or addicted to anything, except maybe exercise because that's good for me and everyone around me. Coffee tastes good so I drink it. I don't need it, but if I start getting headaches from not having it then I'm going to need it. Here I go again!
It's coffee. It's fine. Drink it everyday. Yes, have some.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
I Mustache You a Question.
Why are mustaches so popular right now?
My daughter's friends have necklaces with them, I've seen recent family portraits where everyone holds up a mustache on a stick, and while shopping for duct tape crafts yesterday Elizabeth and I found mustache-themed tape. Why? Someone enlighten me please.
Maybe it has something to do with the Movember trend that began a few years ago. I suppose in a week or so there will be all kinds of men with mustaches. Health issue awareness is something I can get behind so when Brian received an invitation from his friend to participate in this campaign to "change the face of men's health," I encouraged him to give it a try. I'm apparently what they call a Mo Sista, and from what I infer from the website it means that while I don't have to grow a mustache (great news because the one I've been trying to grow for 37 years isn't coming in very well), it's my job to support him along his Movember journey by not making fun of it. Or anyone else's, I guess. Yes, I'm pretty sure that's all I have to do and I think I can do it. I like when he gets a little scruffy during the weekends anyway, so how bad can it be? Stay tuned.
My daughter's friends have necklaces with them, I've seen recent family portraits where everyone holds up a mustache on a stick, and while shopping for duct tape crafts yesterday Elizabeth and I found mustache-themed tape. Why? Someone enlighten me please.
Maybe it has something to do with the Movember trend that began a few years ago. I suppose in a week or so there will be all kinds of men with mustaches. Health issue awareness is something I can get behind so when Brian received an invitation from his friend to participate in this campaign to "change the face of men's health," I encouraged him to give it a try. I'm apparently what they call a Mo Sista, and from what I infer from the website it means that while I don't have to grow a mustache (great news because the one I've been trying to grow for 37 years isn't coming in very well), it's my job to support him along his Movember journey by not making fun of it. Or anyone else's, I guess. Yes, I'm pretty sure that's all I have to do and I think I can do it. I like when he gets a little scruffy during the weekends anyway, so how bad can it be? Stay tuned.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
Oops. I Did It Again.
Guess who signed up for her second Ragnar? And it's not the Tahoe one. Yet.
My friend Anita asked me last year to join her Ragnar Del Sol team, but I declined. The race was in February, and I was training for a January 20th marathon. I wanted to run the marathon without having to worry about another big race a month later. I'm a bit of a worrywart like that. I didn't know how my body would feel afterwards, and I'm glad I didn't sign up for Ragnar then. I hurt for a while, and it wouldn't have been a good idea to push at that time.
So she's been throwing the idea at me again for the last couple of weeks, and last night I registered. How can I resist with a team name like Let Him Eat Cake? She's a really fun and cool person so I'm looking forward to spending a weekend with her running and driving around in a minivan filled with six sweaty people. The original Ragnar races are teams of twelve so there are two vans with six people each. One van is "on" while the other van is "off" for about six hours at a time. When you're on, you're dropping off runners and meeting them at the next exchange. When you're off, you're sleeping in a school gym or eating somewhere. The only teammate I know is Anita, but there's no guarantee that she and I will be in the same van so I may not even see her much. Hopefully I'll meet some more awesome people who like to do stuff that I like to do, though. I'm breaking through the walls of my comfort zone. Again.
Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.
My friend Anita asked me last year to join her Ragnar Del Sol team, but I declined. The race was in February, and I was training for a January 20th marathon. I wanted to run the marathon without having to worry about another big race a month later. I'm a bit of a worrywart like that. I didn't know how my body would feel afterwards, and I'm glad I didn't sign up for Ragnar then. I hurt for a while, and it wouldn't have been a good idea to push at that time.
So she's been throwing the idea at me again for the last couple of weeks, and last night I registered. How can I resist with a team name like Let Him Eat Cake? She's a really fun and cool person so I'm looking forward to spending a weekend with her running and driving around in a minivan filled with six sweaty people. The original Ragnar races are teams of twelve so there are two vans with six people each. One van is "on" while the other van is "off" for about six hours at a time. When you're on, you're dropping off runners and meeting them at the next exchange. When you're off, you're sleeping in a school gym or eating somewhere. The only teammate I know is Anita, but there's no guarantee that she and I will be in the same van so I may not even see her much. Hopefully I'll meet some more awesome people who like to do stuff that I like to do, though. I'm breaking through the walls of my comfort zone. Again.
Like a drum, baby, don't stop beating.
WICKENBURG, AZ TO TEMPE, AZ
FEBRUARY 21-22, 2014
Friday, November 1, 2013
SVC Baby!
The other night I attended an alumni event in Scottsdale hosted by Saint Vincent College. I know! How weird is it that SVC came all the way to Phoenix? Seems like a long way to go to make (probably) very few contacts. I didn't really want to go, but the alumni director kept sending reminders through Facebook and no one was saying yes...and I felt bad...and we all know I'm a sucker...so a few weeks ago I responded with a yes.
In addition to graduating from college the same year that I did, Saint Vincent's alumni director was also a high school classmate of mine. Mike's a very friendly guy and everyone knows him. He's 6' 7" and very loud. After he found out he and I were both going to Saint Vincent, whenever he'd see me in the hallway senior year he'd yell in his deep, gruff voice, "SVC baby!" Not one to enjoy attention drawn to herself, I'd sheepishly smile and hurry to class. He didn't mean to embarrass me. That's just how he is--enthusiastic. So being the alumni director suits him just fine, and I didn't want him to make the trip for nothing.
I'll be honest here. I was expecting this happy hour to be anything but happy. I knew there wouldn't be a crowd, but I figured there would be some wealthy older guys in suits, maybe even so old that they went to SVC when it was an all-boys school. We have a lot of snowbirds here after all. I was dreading walking into that sports bar for the entire 45-minute drive there. "Sara, what year did you graduate? What was your major? What do you do?" Because what else would someone ask you in this situation? Good god, what do I say? "Well, I graduated in '98 with a finance degree and today I cleaned my bedroom, gutted two pumpkins, and roasted the pumpkin seeds." Given how this week was going for me, attending something like this was dicey at best. I didn't even have a business card that I could throw in for the door prize. Waaahhh! And I'm sorry to say that I am not so advanced in social situations to know how to smoothly work "I do triathlons and marathons and Ragnars" into a conversation without looking as though I'm desperate for validation (even though I was).
When I arrived, I spotted Mike and sat down with him and the two other guys who had graduated in '83 and '91. The waitress came by and asked what I wanted to drink. I quickly checked out the table of waters and sodas and thought, Oh hell no. "Blue Moon, please." Small talk ensued and when they asked the dreaded question I said, "I'm a stay-at-home mom." It was a more well-received response than I thought it would be, and one even talked about how his wife stays home too and that and they wouldn't have it any other way. I asked him how old his kids were, and he said the youngest was thirteen. Then I asked if his wife was restless to get back into the workplace, and he laughed and said something like, "No. Not at all. But she did tell me she wants to work at Pottery Barn for the discount but that's probably going to cost me more money." All the guys heartily laughed. Nevermind. Then the subject shifts to the Tilted Kilt. Ha! And I thought I couldn't be more uncomfortable.
Things took a turn for the better when Autumn, a girl from our class, and her husband arrived. She lived across the hall from me freshman year and she remembered me. Autumn remembers everyone and everything! And apparently Mike knows everything about everyone from our class so she'd name a name and he'd have stories to tell. It was nostalgic to recall so many people that I hadn't thought about in fourteen years. Some I couldn't remember at all though, and I started to wonder if I had even been there. I had my nose in a book quite often so that doesn't really surprise me, and by senior year I had all but given up by going home every weekend for a Friday internship and to see Brian. But still, it was enlightening to hear what's happened to so many of my classmates--from a guy who travels the world procuring for Big Oil to a guidance counselor-turned inmate after she sold heroin to high school students. Huh.
All in all, it was a pleasure to see Autumn and Mike and I'm glad they're doing well. I'm also glad that the evening wasn't as humiliating and awful for me as I had anticipated it could be. And here's the photo from SVC Alumni's Facebook page to prove it.
In addition to graduating from college the same year that I did, Saint Vincent's alumni director was also a high school classmate of mine. Mike's a very friendly guy and everyone knows him. He's 6' 7" and very loud. After he found out he and I were both going to Saint Vincent, whenever he'd see me in the hallway senior year he'd yell in his deep, gruff voice, "SVC baby!" Not one to enjoy attention drawn to herself, I'd sheepishly smile and hurry to class. He didn't mean to embarrass me. That's just how he is--enthusiastic. So being the alumni director suits him just fine, and I didn't want him to make the trip for nothing.
I'll be honest here. I was expecting this happy hour to be anything but happy. I knew there wouldn't be a crowd, but I figured there would be some wealthy older guys in suits, maybe even so old that they went to SVC when it was an all-boys school. We have a lot of snowbirds here after all. I was dreading walking into that sports bar for the entire 45-minute drive there. "Sara, what year did you graduate? What was your major? What do you do?" Because what else would someone ask you in this situation? Good god, what do I say? "Well, I graduated in '98 with a finance degree and today I cleaned my bedroom, gutted two pumpkins, and roasted the pumpkin seeds." Given how this week was going for me, attending something like this was dicey at best. I didn't even have a business card that I could throw in for the door prize. Waaahhh! And I'm sorry to say that I am not so advanced in social situations to know how to smoothly work "I do triathlons and marathons and Ragnars" into a conversation without looking as though I'm desperate for validation (even though I was).
When I arrived, I spotted Mike and sat down with him and the two other guys who had graduated in '83 and '91. The waitress came by and asked what I wanted to drink. I quickly checked out the table of waters and sodas and thought, Oh hell no. "Blue Moon, please." Small talk ensued and when they asked the dreaded question I said, "I'm a stay-at-home mom." It was a more well-received response than I thought it would be, and one even talked about how his wife stays home too and that and they wouldn't have it any other way. I asked him how old his kids were, and he said the youngest was thirteen. Then I asked if his wife was restless to get back into the workplace, and he laughed and said something like, "No. Not at all. But she did tell me she wants to work at Pottery Barn for the discount but that's probably going to cost me more money." All the guys heartily laughed. Nevermind. Then the subject shifts to the Tilted Kilt. Ha! And I thought I couldn't be more uncomfortable.
Things took a turn for the better when Autumn, a girl from our class, and her husband arrived. She lived across the hall from me freshman year and she remembered me. Autumn remembers everyone and everything! And apparently Mike knows everything about everyone from our class so she'd name a name and he'd have stories to tell. It was nostalgic to recall so many people that I hadn't thought about in fourteen years. Some I couldn't remember at all though, and I started to wonder if I had even been there. I had my nose in a book quite often so that doesn't really surprise me, and by senior year I had all but given up by going home every weekend for a Friday internship and to see Brian. But still, it was enlightening to hear what's happened to so many of my classmates--from a guy who travels the world procuring for Big Oil to a guidance counselor-turned inmate after she sold heroin to high school students. Huh.
All in all, it was a pleasure to see Autumn and Mike and I'm glad they're doing well. I'm also glad that the evening wasn't as humiliating and awful for me as I had anticipated it could be. And here's the photo from SVC Alumni's Facebook page to prove it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)