Making money off your "friends"

I have this friend. Well, I don't know, I thought we were friends. Not close friends, but someone to hang out with and have fun. I started out as her client, though, so maybe she still sees me that way.

Anyhow, let's say this friend is a "baker." She worked for a large, local "bakery" and she made specialty "cakes" that people asked for specifically. I used to "buy cakes" from her twice a week, every week. Then, she opened up her own "bakery." However, she still needs her benefits from the larger bakery so she still works for them and has limited hours and limited selection at her own bakery.

This person wants to charge just as much (or more) for her "cakes" as other, more established bakers charge for theirs. Not only that, but for her regular clients, she expects them to order cakes every week whether they need them or not, and expects them to pay whether or not they even get cakes, because she has to pay her rent and electricity bill and what have you every month no matter how many cakes she sells. Now, her cakes are the best, but let's face it, cakes are cakes and there are many good bakers... some of whom have a better selection, better hours, and cost LESS.

Am I obligated to pay MORE just because I am this person's "friend"? And, is it really friendship if you have your hand in my pocket for even MORE money every damn time I see you? (Particularly if I happen to know that your lifepartner is a greedy little troll?)

Because to be honest, I can get decent "cakes" just about anywhere, and the more you push me for more money, the less likely I am to buy your cakes. Just sayin'.

School Days

Another day (month? year?), another attempt to get this blog off the ground. Today is the first day of the new school year for my son (who attends a cyber charter school, from home) and for me (I attend college courses both online and in person.)

The challenge, as always, comes down to organization. How can I keep up with my schoolwork, help my boy keep up with his, run after the toddler, and maintain some kind of order in the house?

Recently, I've begun flexible meal planning (thanks to my good friend Misty!) Writing down dinners for the week and then shopping for the ingredients, then picking which thing to cook on each day. It sounds simple, but it really makes a huge difference to not be staring into the freezer at 4pm every night thinking "oh, crap, I don't have any food that goes with anything else." The really great thing is that it doesn't have to be set in stone -- like saying "Thursday we're having a chicken and veggie stir fry" and then finding myself too tired/busy/stressed to want to chop a bunch of fresh veggies. I can still pick an easier meal, but I already know I have the ingredients on hand, which makes a world of difference. No more running to the grocery store at 4:30!

I'm also on a pretty good schedule with the kids as far as getting up, mealtimes, naptime (the baby, not the 12yo!), and bedtime. This is a HUGE change from what I've always done, and again, sounds simple, but has made a huge difference. I'd really like to get even more scheduled so that I have a set time and day for laundry, cleaning, etc.

On a sort-of unrelated note, my neighbors moved out this past weekend. The house next to me is one of those classic Northeast Philly horror stories -- the people who bought it live hundreds of miles away and don't care about the property, so they rent it to people without doing a credit check or making sure that the people maintain the property. The property went to hell in the two years that the most recent tenants lived there. Worst of all, their loud, rude, obnoxious teenagers were always out front cursing and playing loud music -- despite how many times we asked them to keep it down for our kids' sake. Now that they are gone, I feel like I finally have my outside back... I don't have to keep my windows shut for the noise; I don't have to stay inside to avoid them. Yay!

So, goals for this month: get on a schedule for cleaning/laundry, stick to the meal plan, and spend more time outside on my patio/front lawn. Let's see what happens. As always, I do mean to update this blog... not that there's anyone reading it just yet....

How I (sort of) broke my Facebook addiction

Facebook.

I really don't understand why it's so compelling to people (and I'm including myself in this group). Why do we feel we must constantly check in and share the trivial details of our lives with people we sort of know? And is it all that important for me to know that Suzie had a lovely turkey and cheese panini for lunch, or that Bob is headed home on the train?

On the other hand, it is rather convenient to have one form of media in which to share photos, announcements, and other information you want everyone to know. In the old days, you had to call or mail each person separately. And I do enjoy knowing, for instance, that my cousin's new baby, who lives in California, just said her first word.

But I realized this past semester that Facebook was taking up more of my time than it should. WAY more. Like, I would sit to nurse the baby, turn on the computer, the baby would fall asleep in my arms, and 2 hours later when she woke up, I'm still reading posts. Or I would be out somewhere and feel that compelling itch to check Facebook on my cell phone.

So I made the decision to turn Facebook off for the remaining 6 weeks of the spring semester. What freedom! I got so much more done -- housework, homeschooling, playing with my kids, you name it. I even got out more. It was lovely. The best part was that when the semester ended, I no longer felt Facebook's siren call. I could now log in, check a few things, and then log out -- without feeling I needed to scroll through every damn thing that had been posted since the previous time I'd been online. My husband also helped me set up filters so that I only saw posts from a handful of people -- my best friends, or my family members.

Now a few months have passed, and I'm doing pretty well. I do check in several times a day now, which I really don't want to do, so I'm working on it. But when I do, I check on a few things and go. I don't spend much time. However, recently I did spend enough time to get myself worked up over a bit of self-inflicted drama. I noticed that several friends posted photos from an event to which I hadn't been invited. Ouch. Now, chances are I wouldn't have attended said event anyhow, as I don't leave my kids much these days, but not being included as a courtesy hurt a bit. But it just drives the point home again to me that Facebook is not worth my time and attention, especially if it's causing me stress and hurt feelings. Lord knows I have enough stress in my life...

My goal is to cut Facebook use down to once a day (30 or fewer minutes) and not at all on weekends. We'll see how that goes.

Side note: (I'm on Google+ now, and it looks like it could be something, someday, but right now it's just really kind of.... blank.)

Hmmm...

Another day, another attempt to get this blog off the ground. I would say that I've been to busy to keep up with blogging, and while that is partially true (keeping up with an almost-walking infant can be rather time-consuming), other issues keep me from expressing myself as much or as often as I'd like. I watched The King's Speech this past week and while I'm not a stammerer, I related so much to Bertie when he had to remind himself that he had a voice and he deserved to be heard. Serendipitously, I read a related quote by Maya Angelou yesterday: "A bird doesn't sing because it has an answer; it sings because it has a song." The point being, I need to feel free to express my thoughts regardless of whether anyone else finds them worthwhile. They are worthwhile because they are my thoughts. They don't have to be profound or didactic; they simply are what they are.

I'm the girl who keeps quiet in the back of the room; the one who fears telling you her opinions -- or even the facts, sometimes -- because she's sure you won't like her anymore. The girl who pretends to fit the stereotype of her hair color because it's easier than having people know she has a genius-level IQ. Too nice for her own good.

But on the other hand, I'm a writer, and as such I need to be able to express my thoughts freely, without that fearful inner censor. Timid writing won't get me anywhere... and yes, eventually, I'd like my writing to go somewhere.

So with that in mind, I'm hoping -- with a bit of self-discipline -- to get back into the habit of blogging on a somewhat regular basis. Of course, I've said that a dozen times before, but let's see how it goes.

Organizing

More than anything in this world, I want to be an organized person. (Okay, not more than anything -- I'd put a cure for Type 1 diabetes and a flat stomach at the top of that list! But I digress...)

I have so much admiration for organized people. My mom is one. She makes it look easy. So why is it so hard for me? I've subscribed to the FlyLady's email list for over 10 years now, have bought endless books about how to deal with clutter and get yourself organized, but I don't really seem to be able to absorb any of it. And to be honest, the task of organizing my home and my life seems too monumental for me to even begin to attempt.

What I really want to be able to do is set some small goals for myself, maybe 2 or 3 goals a week, and then stick to them. I *know* that one of the biggest obstacles to my getting organized is this terrible internet addiction. I also believe that dividing my tasks up by days of the week would be helpful. So for this week, my goal is to cut down my internet usage by at least one hour a day, and to spend that hour in a different room each day, clearing clutter and creating more usable space. (And then to stick to that beyond this week -- but let's see if I can get through this week, first.)

The easiest room (least clutter) is the bathroom, and the most difficult is the dining room. I think I'll tackle the hardest room first so that the easiest one can be my reward at the end of the week. Beginning today, February 4th, I will work for one hour a day in one of the 7 rooms in my house (living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, and 3 bedrooms.) Next Friday, I'll (hopefully) be able to post an update!

The scariest night of my life

While everyone else was enjoying the week between Xmas and New Year's, we were dealing with an illness that wouldn't quit. We thought my 11yo had a stomach bug, but it turned out to be something far worse.

When J started feeling sick on Monday night (12/27), I was concerned, but not terribly so. Although nobody we'd spent time with had gotten the stomach bug, I knew there was one going around, so I figured that was what was going on. He vomited a few times on Tuesday morning, but was feeling a bit better by the afternoon. Wednesday he still didn't have much of an appetite, but he drank some Gatorade and later in the day ate a waffle and some soup. I figured he'd be a brand new man by Thursday morning.

But during the night, he started breathing funny. It sounded like the way someone breathes when they've just run up a few flights of stairs. And in the morning, he started again with vomiting, worse than on Tuesday. I could tell by looking at him that he'd lost a considerable amount of weight -- his sweet chubby cheeks had melted away and his clothes were hanging off him. He had chills even though he didn't have a fever and I had the heat all the way up to 70 degrees. I was scared. I called my husband at work and said we needed to take him to the pediatrician. He came home and I wrote a page-long list of symptoms and timeline of the illness.

My husband took J to the doctor solo so that we wouldn't have to take the baby. He called me after they weighed J -- he'd lost 15 lbs, or about 15% of his body weight. I started to cry. He called me back after the doctor diagnosed strep throat. He said she didn't seem particularly worried about the weight loss or the breathing, and pretty much attributed it all to the strep. (For the record, I've had strep throat a dozen or more times in my life, and never vomited or had trouble breathing. Plus, I always had a high fever and trouble swallowing, and J had neither.)

We gave him the first dose of antibiotic as soon as he got home. He asked for some cucumber slices and ate them all, which I saw as a good sign. But his breathing was still very labored and I was afraid to leave him alone at bedtime. My husband volunteered to sleep on the floor in his room. Before bed, J told me "I'm really worried about myself." I called to speak to the on-call nurse, and she said just to make him comfortable, give him Tylenol for pain, turn on a humidifier, etc.

We all went to bed but J was up a dozen times or more to use the bathroom, so none of us could really sleep. I could hear my husband getting cranky so I said I'd take a shift. When I went into his room I panicked. He was working so hard to breathe that he was grunting. I knelt at the side of his bed and prayed, and it was like something screamed in my ear, this is not right. I said to my husband... we have to take him to the hospital. This is how people breathe at the end of their life.

It was the longest, scariest night of my life...

At the hospital, J was diagnosed with diabetic ketoacidosis. (He'd never been diagnosed with diabetes prior to this.) His blood sugar was over 500, and his white blood cell count was astronomical. He was dangerously ill, septic, and if we hadn't taken him when we did he might not be with us any more. He also had air around his heart and the surgeons said there was a chance he had ruptured his esophagus from vomiting, and they might have to do surgery to repair it. However, he was too ill for surgery. On the other hand, if he did have a ruptured esophagus and we waited too long to operate, he could die. He was admitted to ICU and was barely conscious, lying there struggling to breathe with tubes going into him in every direction, monitors keeping track of his respiration and heart rate. I would ask him, "can you see me?" and he would turn his head weakly in my direction and try to open his eyes, but I knew he was barely aware of what was going on.

Finally, in the late afternoon, his sugars came down somewhat and he began responding to the antibiotics. He woke up and was talking. The surgeons said that if he continued to improve, they could do a non-invasive test to check for the esophageal tear in the morning. My husband stayed in the hospital with J and I spent the night at home with the baby, barely registering the calendar change at midnight. I left the house at 7am to be there for the scan. My brave boy, who only the week before spit out a chocolate and cinnamon cookie I'd made because it was disgusting, willingly swallowed the contrast material while lying under the huge imaging machine and my husband and I both held our breath. When the radiologist said that there was no tear in his esophagus, we both began weeping gratefully. J's nurse came and put her arms around both of us. For the first time, I really felt that he was going to be okay.

He continued to improve throughout the day and the hospital began educating us about Type 1 diabetes and the kind of treatment J would need once we got home. When I think back now, he'd had symptoms of diabetes for weeks but I hadn't registered it because all of my experience with diabetes (my grandparents, aunts and uncles, etc) has been with Type 2 (adult-onset) diabetes. In Type 2 diabetes the body's cells become resistant to insulin, but with diet, exercise, and insulin-sensitizing medications, the cells can become re-sensitized. However, in Type 1 diabetes, the body stops making insulin altogether, and insulin must be injected several times a day in order to sustain life. It's a delicate balance -- too much insulin, and the blood glucose level can drop dangerously low, too little and it can go too high. Both conditions are potentially life-threatening. So, we've had a crash course in how to check blood glucose levels, measure and inject insulin, calculate how much insulin is needed to cover however many carbohydrates he eats, and what signs to watch for in case of potential drops or surges in blood glucose levels. It's pretty overwhelming, and I've spent a lot of time in tears of anger, grief and frustration that this had to happen to my precious boy, who's really never been sick beyond a passing cold or two. I'm grateful beyond measure that he is okay, it's just going to take a lot of adjusting to "the new normal."

We have been through hell and back. You never know just how much you can handle until it happens to you. We are fortunate to have a large support network of friends and family who have seen us through this ordeal, and I am so grateful for them. We have a long and difficult path ahead of us.