A New Direction: The Philosophy of All of Us

When I first started this blog, I was in a very different place emotionally, physically, and about any other -ly you can think of.

Me in 2014

 Me in 2010

I'm going through some pretty hard-core health drama at the moment, and I have found myself unable to write.  My plan is to move this blog in a new direction, to either write about topics you (my readers) recommend or what I see on the news.  Or maybe the naked guy in a Santa jacket my husband and daughter saw at the ice cream shop yesterday.

If there are topics you'd like me to tackle, please either comment below or read through some of the posts I'm linking and ask for clarification or to look at something from a different angle.  You can contact me at kloud1026 at yahoo(dot)com.  I have got to get rid of this stupid writer's block (I intend to leave a mark on the world in some way), so please, I encourage suggestions for writing topics.

Going back to the beginning of this blog (gulp), here are some things I think might be interesting reads for newcomers ...

*  My sister and I had the most epic Facebook conversation ever.  It gets into horse urine and lettuce and really odd places. I just peed a little when I reread it ;-p

* In 1998, I was raped at a small party at a friend's house.  I can say those words aloud now, but back when I wrote this, I could only write them.

*  Stephen King on writing before he wrote On Writing; in fact, he compares it to masturbation.  Okay, he's a little weird, but best author ever, really!

*  I'm quite amused by my random ramblings about pink tissues.  Who knew?

*  This is where I honor the man my ex-husband used to be.  I forgot some of the finer things about him, and I'm sorry to report that they haven't returned.

* I got caught up on why children's television is so milquetoast these days.  It's a bit soap-boxy, but I enjoyed rereading it.

*  If you know me well at all, you know I am fascinated by Charles Manson.  That is explained a bit here.

* If you are from New Hampshire, you are probably familiar with the name Michael Addison.  I am still bothered by the potential racism in a criminal case here in the Granite State.

*  Way back in 2009, I got rather indignant at the whole "Lipstick on a Pig" debacle during the Obama vs. McCain election.

*  I used Socrates to talk about the Easter Bunny in this post.  That sort of makes it a must-read.

I guess that's a pretty wide variety of posts for you to read, if you're interested. Again, starting tomorrow, I am blogging daily.  I am hoping desperately to find something to write about since I've been blocked for so long.  Please share your ideas in comments or via e-mail and let me know if you read any of those Golden Oldies listed above.

I'm sort of laughing and crying both right now ... and wishing I had a pink tissue.

Be well,
<3 katie="" p="">

Okay, Let's Talk About Breastfeeding

Although the vaccination debate tends to be one I hear a lot about as a thirtysomething mother, breastfeeding is not far behind.

Let me begin with a question ... is this a sexual picture?

I'm sure some will be appalled and think, "You put a large part of your boob online voluntarily? Are you crazy?", and that's okay, I guess.

And some will think it is a sexual picture, which is I suppose a different conversation.

As far as I'm concerned, this:

 is exactly the same as this:

Which is pretty much this:

In other words, Gabrielle is being nourished.

What the heck is the big deal?

And it IS a big deal, whether it should be or not.

The problem with breastfeeding, in my humble opinion, is that there are so many facets; it's so multi-sided in terms of what to talk about that it's hard to know where to begin.

I breastfed all three of my children, and it's been a very different experience each time.

With Addie (her real name is Emily ... I suppose we can drop the pseudonym act since we no longer share a last name), I was very much pressured by the nurses and lactation consultants to breastfeed.  I was seventeen years old, so of course I was going to go along with it.  I never really enjoyed it, though, and Emily had formula when I was at work and I would give her formula instead of nursing if we were going somewhere public.  She got her first teeth at four months, and she made me bleed, so I stopped breastfeeding.  Frankly, I was relieved.

With Belle (real name Ariel and a.k.a. Ari), I had a device I hadn't owned when Emily was a baby--namely, a breast pump.  After my maternity leave was up and I went back to work six weeks after Ari was born, I pumped breast milk for her to have at day care.  I started pumping almost immediately, I pumped on the way to work (my breast pump went into the car lighter ... I think a lot of truck drivers were kind of surprised), twice at work, and then on the drive home from work.  I nursed her at night.

I have been home with Gabrielle, due to medical complications arising from her birth, for nearly five months.  It has been an unexpected treat, to be honest, although the financial hardship is getting heavy. That, actually, is one of the reasons I'm still breastfeeding The Gab ... formula is expensive!  But really, I think the bond I have with her through nursing is strong and legitimizes a lot of studies I've read.  I actually spent a few days in the hospital in late April, and I had to pump milk for Gabby while I was there since I only got a chance to nurse her once a day.

Yeah, breastfeeding is hard.

The funny thing is, I'm not one of those hard core breastfeeding fanatics.  I don't brag about having platinum nipples because I nursed until my kid was 5 or whatever.  My attitude with both Ari and Gabby was one of, "Eh, we'll see.  If it works, we'll do it.  If it's more trouble than it's worth, well ... we know a lot of really smart people who were raised on formula."

Breastfeeding happened to work for me all three times.  I'm glad it did.  If it hadn't, I would have used formula and been equally happy.  So that's where I stand on whether or not to breastfeed.

The stigma of public breastfeeding, though ...

Man, I struggle with that one.

I grew up in New Hampshire, and when I went to college for the first time, I had an interesting epiphany.  Every time I walked by a non-Caucasian student, I'd say in my mind, "Oh, look, there's a black kid." This wasn't negative in any way, just observational ... but the very fact that I would notice the color of someone's skin because it was different than mine ... it bothered me.  It bothered me then, and it bothered me now. I like to think I'm more open-minded (and I think I am, that it's not what it sounds like).

That's how it is with women I see breastfeeding.  "Oh, that woman over there is breastfeeding."  And I am always a little bit jealous because breastfeeding in public is so hard for me.

The first problem, of course, is that I am me.  I am absolutely the clumsiest person in the world.  I was nursing Ari at the mall once, and a high school kid came over and pointed out that the blanket had shifted and my other breast, the one Ari wasn't attached to, had come out from under the blanket.  And because it is stressful for me, milk production is not as easy or plentiful, so its stressful on baby.

I have breastfed Gab while having lunch at a restaurant with my sister and in the coatroom at Ari's gymnastics class.  That's it.  I've spent more time anticipating the need and timing our ventures around her feeding schedule (or nursing her in the car, which always makes me feel a little dirty).

Anyway, Gab and I are still plugging away at breastfeeding.  I do pump, though, as well.  She gets formula through her cereal.  It seems to be a win/win situation, at least for today.

What are your thoughts on breastfeeding?  Feel free to share your stories in the comments below?  Do you think the stress the medical profession puts on mothers to nurse is worth the stress it causes?  How about the stigma of public breastfeeding?  Are you bothered by mothers breastfeeding in public? Why do you think some people have such a hangup about this? Is there anything I missed here :-)?

Gotta go ... time to nurse my baby <3 p="">

Haiku Facebook Challenge

I was thinking last night (uh-oh, right?), and it occurred to me how I have things I want to say to so many people, if only because I wanted them to know I'm thinking about them.  

Further thinking made me curious to see how many people are on FB from different places.  If you are on FB, please consider writing a haiki about a person of your choice then add your location (city, state, province, country, whatev).  I really want to see how far it is possible to make this happen.  

Don't forget the hashtag  #haikuchallengefromklo

Please share  Should be available to everyone now 

Please share this with your friends. Let's see how far it'll get! Directions are below (be sure to tag and #haikuchallengefromklo.

HAIKU CHALLENGE FROM KLO!!!!!!!!!
Haikus are three-lined non-rhyming poems that have 5 syllables in the first line, 7 in the second, and 5 in the third and final line.

What do you do?

1. Choose one of your friends.
2. Write a haiku about him or her and post it on your wall
3. Tag him or her in it and write your location
4. Hashtag it #haikuchallengefromklo so we can see how far geographically we can take this.
5. If you "like" the status of the poet of a given haiku (or of these directions), you must then write a haiku about them. Let's flood Facebook with haikus!

Example (about my dog):
HOWARD HOWE
Mostly brown but white
in spots, he proves that sheer joy
Is a lovely thing.
#haikuchallengefromklo
Manchester, NH

Eulogy ... Statement of Worth ... Tears of Loss ... At Least I Wrote Something

**I changed some names, some of which I've written about in this blog before.  I did not change Ken's name.**

Ken Carroll was a good man.

It sounds almost absurd to sum it up that simply, but I suspect that is how he viewed himself, what he aspired to.  He knew what his strengths were, was aware of his limitations, and he both loved and was loved by many.

And so I’ll say it again … Ken Carroll was a good man.

He was a skilled mechanic, working at a Dodge dealership for many years (and creating lasting memories of himself in their t-shirts).  I can’t tell you how many times Ken rode in a car with me and said, “Sounds like a tie rod” or “Those brakes!”  Ken’s hands bore the scars and stains of a lifetime spent working with cars, but this was generally a source of pride for him, as well it should have been.  He shared his knowledge freely with many, most notably his surrogate son Andy, although I am proud to say that I changed a tires and even installed brake pads with his assistance.

He was a gardener, having an innate feel for which part of a yard or a garden to grow what.  In typical Ken fashion, he never bragged about his crops but instead suggested you go check out the beans.  As you ate the last one because they were the best beans ever and you just couldn’t help yourself, he would grumble at you but you could tell from the look in his eye that he was proud of himself for both growing such epic beans and also for making someone he cared about happy.

He was a unique and irreplaceable friend.  Ken always listened, he never judged, he would give you a metaphorical kick in the ass if that’s what you needed (and he always knew if that’s what you needed), or a metaphorical hug if you were in that place.  He was a man of few words, but the words he spoke were beyond value. 

He was extremely intelligent, but he took pains to keep this on the down-low.  He spoke often of his grammar school education, meaning that he “knew nothing”, but you could tell by looking at him that he was aware that, for some, formal education is not the ideal path.  I know he was ridiculously proud of Andy’s degrees, and I believe that he was very proud that I was a teacher (despite making fun of me for it regularly) with a graduate degree, but he was content with his lot in life.  He knew he did not need a piece of paper to prove his worth.

Ken served his country in the military, worked a job needing extreme precision for many years, and taught much to many people.  He shared his skills as a mechanic and his knowledge of gardening.  He shared his love of music and was open to music from others, such as “The 200-Year-Old Alcoholic”.  His sense of humor was unique, and his laugh, often accompanied by hand-clapping, was contagious.

I call Ken my “third father” because he showed me a lot about the kind of person I want to be.  I am kinder and more patient than I would have been had I never known Ken.  I find the value in simple things that I never would have noticed otherwise.  On a very personal level, Ken is the first person I shared the most traumatic event of my life with, and he told no one.  He did not judge.  He just asked if I wanted to play a game of cards and have a beer.

I will always picture Ken with a can of Bud in a sleeve to keep it cold and a circle of cherry Skoal in the front pocket of the dark blue t-shirt he must have had a hundred of.  He will always be outside in my memory, loving the simple things and teaching those of us who knew him well to take the time to smell the roses.  He could be a cantankerous grouch, but Kenneth P. Carroll had a heart of gold. 

The lessons he taught live on in Andy’s kids.  They live on in my daughters.  They live on in the many and varied lives he touched.  Love is not conditional, it’s not always easy, and it certainly doesn’t have to be in-your-face (I’m pretty sure I never told Ken that I love him … mostly because I never had to).  When people raise their children, they carry—both consciously and sub-consciously—the influences they had.  Thanks to the values Ken instilled in Andy, in me, and in many others, the idea of simple love will live on.  That is a gift without monetary value, and one I will cherish forever

Ken, I hope you’re having a Bud and a chew up in heaven right now … and you can stop laughing at me for crying as I type this any time, you jerk!

I love you.

Legalization of Marijuana: The Philosophy is Different Than What People Think ...

I can't seem to get away from the discussion on legalizing marijuana.  It's on the news, it's on Facebook, it's in casual conversations.  Everyone seems to want to weigh in on this one, yet I can't fully understand why.  I've come to the conclusion that the only people who are going to win on this one are the sociologists.

Realistically, marijuana is less harmful than either alcohol or tobacco, both of which are legal (if heavily regulated).  Using the "it's dangerous" argument is just illogical, unless you're willing to explore making booze and butts illegal.  That whole "gateway drug" theory has long since been disproven.  

So why is it such a big deal?

My theory is that people just like to have something to complain about.  

No, seriously, hear me out.  

I think the idea that pot is this big, bad drug has been pretty much taken off the table.  According to an article I read on WMUR this morning, 60% of New Hampshire taxpayers are in favor of "legal, taxable marijuana sold by licensed stores for recreational use".

The barriers have been eroding for some time, and the legalization of medical marijuana has effectively shown that it's not really that big a deal.

True story ... a man was dying of lung cancer, and chemotherapy was wreaking havoc on his appetite.  His wife was told by the doctor that marijuana therapy would probably help him gain weight, but unfortunately it was illegal in New Hampshire.  His wife was tearfully sharing this with her daughters, and it was quickly pointed out to her that they could run over to UNH and have marijuana for him in about twenty minutes.

So, yeah, it has been moving slowly toward legalization.  The stigma has largely disappeared.  Pot smoking is no longer associated with certain negative stereotypes.

And yet the hold up continues.

Right now, the vocal majority are united in the whole "Let's legalize it" cry.  People from all walks of life are joined against the government, either by speaking out publicly or through regular tokes in the privacy of their homes.  These voices run the gamut of rich and poor, of educated and uneducated, of urban and rural.  In the battle against the government vis a vis legalization of pot, there is a strange equality that has come forth.

As soon as pot is legal for recreational use (and make no mistake, it will be), that unity is going to crumble.

Watching this unfold is a sociologist's dream, really ...

Republicans are going to start slamming Democrats about how this is just one more thing the government is trying to control.  Democrats are going to try to make pot taxes exorbitantly high to finance some sort of social issue du jour.  The wealthy are going to complain about taxes on pot.  The poor are going to complain about taxes on pot.

The same people that sell untaxed cigarettes and alcohol are going to get in on the action afforded by marijuana.  Cops are going to be paid off to overlook the difference between the legal ounce and possession of two or three ounces.  Crooked politicians are going to finance underground pot farms and receive kickbacks from illegal sales.

It's going to be a giant clusterfuck, in other words.

This sounds awful, but I am kind of looking forward to it, just because it will be interesting.  

I have no vested interest in marijuana being legal.  I mean, my own personal relationship with cannabis has ended; high school and college were ages ago.  I feel like it should be legal because there is no compelling reason for it not to be, but it doesn't really matter that much to me.  The truth is, if I wanted to get my hands on pot, it would be easy; however, if pot was legal, I would have no interest in buying any.  That ship has sailed for me.  When I am at social gatherings when bowls are passed, I choose to say no, yet I have no issue with those that choose to say yes.  (This is an awkward paragraph, yet I feel like it needs to be included)     

I am reminded of that old adage, "Be careful what you wish for."  I think, in the case of legalization of pot, it's going to lead to another saying ... "May you live in interesting times." 

I think we will be.

"Hesitating Sharing of the Joy"...or "The Fragility of Life"...or "How I Almost Died Giving Birth": Not Your Typical Birth Story

I almost died giving birth to my daughter Gabrielle on December 16th.  

There, now I've said it.

When my other daughters were born, I shared every detail.  I am a compulsive "over-sharer" on Facebook.  I have had this blog (and mostly written regularly) since 2009.  I am not one to keep my mouth shut (or, I guess it'd be keep my computer keys clickless or something).

But I have been very reluctant to talk about that day despite people asking (and being a bit bewildered by my recalcitrance, I suspect) because frankly I have never been more scared in my life.  Also, it feels wrong to talk about a day of such great joy as being terrible and scary.

Virtually all new mothers have that "first pic", the one where they are holding their baby for the first time.  I have one, too.  

The difference is that Gabrielle had been born some time before this picture was actually taken.  In fact, I'm pretty sure that my husband captured this moment--the first one of my newborn and I--just after her second bath.

I've been struggling with how to write this piece, grappling with whether I should do a play-by-play of Gab's birth or just focus on the strange and intense feelings the extremes of that day brought forward in me, which is of course the philosophical bend that I try to find in everything that happens.

Forgive me if I go too far one way or the other ...

My water broke around 2:30 a.m., and we headed to the hospital pretty quickly as it was almost an hour away and we already knew that I would need to have IV antibiotics during delivery.

The doctor decided to start pitocin right away because I was only 2 centimeters dilated.  I was very upfront about wanting an epidural as soon as possible; this was my third go-round with childbirth, after all, and I saw no reason to suffer agonizing pain needlessly.


The epidural started off okay, with the cold wash, the burning lidocaine, and the need to stay completely still. However, it started to hurt as the anesthesiologist moved the needle then the catheter around. A lot! She seemed to think I was being something of a drama queen as I got lectured on the difference between pain and pressure. I didn't care as long as the contractions stopped hurting.

All of a sudden, my bottom felt ridiculously hot, I couldn't move my feet, and my blood pressure started dropping. The anesthesiologist seemed to think I wasn't trying hard enough to move my feet at first, but I was too scared to be angry as my blood pressure continued to plummet...and Gabrielle's started to follow. I got dizzy and faint and started throwing up with an oxygen mask hooked onto my head...it was terrible.

The scariest part was that the nurses, the anesthesiologist, and my OB were clearly alarmed. I later learned, of course, that my blood pressure had dropped dangerously, had nearly disappeared for a moment or three, that I'm very lucky that ephedrine exists.  

They restarted the pitocin, and I was very quickly in agony.  If you've ever given birth, you know what "it's time to start pushing pain" feels like, and that's what I was feeling.  When the OB checked and I was only at 4 centimeters, I knew something was going on.  4 centimeters just didn't mesh with the frequency and intensity of my contractions, so she did a quick ultrasound. Turns out Gabrielle was facing outward (called "sunny side up" on birth boards), which explained the pain and the lack of quick progress.  (Not to put too fine a point on it, but the back of a head slides down the birth canal a lot more smoothly than a face)

I was kind of at the end of my rope (okay, I was about to scream in pain, with tons of dilating still ahead of me), so the OB said the only option for pain management was reattempting the epidural. Because of the epidural/blood pressure debacle, they did not want to give me narcotic pain medicine.  

The cause of the drama with the first epidural attempt was a bolus, and I was assured that it was incredibly rare and the odds of it happening again were astronomical.  In other words, there's no way I'd have another screwy reaction to an epidural.

Until it happened again...same dizziness, same blood pressure drop, same vomiting into the oxygen, and same fear.

When the OB reluctantly said a C-section was becoming increasingly likely, I was glad. I just wanted it over and the pain and fear to be gone.

This was my first C-section after having two pretty much uneventful vaginal births with my other two daughters. It was scary, to say the least. I was still freaking out over the two epidural attempts, and trusting that there would be no to minimal pain was hard to believe considering the way everything seemed to be going wrong.

They started the C-section, and my husband sat next to me and was very reassuring. I was dizzy and dozy from the medicine, and then my blood pressure dropped yet again and I had yet another round of puking into the oxygen mask.

It was only then that they realized that Gabrielle's shoulder was tightly lodged in my pelvic bone.  They could not get her out for awhile, and finally they had to get very aggressive.  As a result, my uterine wall tore and the OB had to call for backup and order blood for a transfusion...and everyone was very scared again, which of course freaked me out all over again.  I lost a lot of blood, and there was some concern that parts of my urinary system had been damaged.
Once Gabrielle was delivered, she was perfectly fine.  I heard her cry, and I wanted to see her more than anything, but they took her away while they tried to figure out how to solve the problem of me.  They called my husband over and gave Gabrielle to him.  He cut the cord, and they were ushered into a small room where they got to bond and hang out while my blood loss was figured out and remedied and I was stitched up.
It was only later that it occurred to me how serious the situation was as they literally left my husband alone with a newborn baby for an extended period of time.


This was over three weeks ago, and here is my beautiful baby next to me as I write this.

Trying to reconcile this beautiful miracle with the abject terror of that day is just ... well, difficult.  I feel like I should just forget it, get over it, say, "Well, that was interesting, guess she's going to be the kind of kid that keeps me on my toes", but I'm finding that it's not that easy.  

There is absolutely no connection between Gabrielle Rose, my surprise miracle baby, and the terrible events of that day.  But the events are still in my mind.  I have nightmares pretty much every night.  They just aren't connected to the baby.

Which I realize is a very good thing. 

What I can't figure out is where that space is.  Forgive me, I am having a very hard time articulating this, even to myself.  Basically, those hours of labor culminating in the C-section are lost in the Twilight Zone or something.  As soon as it was over, as soon as Gabrielle was okay and then I was okay, the fact that I almost died, almost disappeared from this world, could easily have left my other two daughters motherless ... it is just gone.  Except it's not.

I have these pics of my husband and older daughters with the baby.  We are all very happy.  It's a joyous occasion.  (And I am being 100% serious and non-sarcastic).

 Is it just that I have a better understanding of the fragility of life now?  Am I just struggling to get over an experience that was traumatic and suffering guilt because who wants to say, "The day my daughter was born was one of the scariest days of my life"?  

You see, the bottom line is that I was forced to gain a sudden awareness of how often that "almost" happens.  I think about my oldest daughter driving home from work late at night and just missing a tragic encounter with a drunk driver, my sweet 9-year-old getting into a car with a murderer, my husband getting attacked while walking downtown, and the zillions of other potential disasters the people I love encounter on a daily basis.

It's a scary world we live in, on so very many levels.

But I am so very, very fortunate to have this <3 div="">

So I Had a Baby December 16

I guess that's the easiest way to get back into writing this blog ... her birth was pretty intense and traumatic, but she is beautiful and amazing and already I can't imagine life without her.

Here she is, Miss Gabrielle...

And the first post-Gabrielle post will hopefully be coming tomorrow ...