We’ve been getting psyched up for the Superbowl. We have a dance, and I’m pretty sure that if E stays up for most of the game, he’ll have to miss school on Monday. We all gotta take one for the team.

My biggest prepping stress was not finding youth jerseys for E and N in time. But we decided to just make them ourselves with iron-ons and puffy paint. Awesome.

He picked 50 because no one else on the Giants is that number. YET.

N is a Purple New York Giant. Obviously.

When I’m not getting craftastic and freaking out over the New York Giants, I’m reading and writing elsewhere.

My Other Hangouts (don’t tell my blog):

• A Yankee’s First Week In Richmond, Virginia: On Richmondmom, I tell how confusing and downright weird the South was in that first week of being here. One of my favorite funny posts I’ve written for the site.
• My Favorite iPhone Case: On This Blogger Makes Fun of Stuff, I review the iPhone case I bought after my cat broke maliciously broke my phone. It’s a wallet and a case, and I accidentally dropped it down the stairs and my phone is fine. Whoa.

Favorite posts I didn’t read, I mean, write:

• T-Rex Trying: Hilarious new website of drawing of T-rex trying to paint, hang curtains and work at the airport. It’s not easy being T. (funny)
• 13 Lies that We Tell Ourselves: From Before The Baby Wakes, I had just told myself #6 and #10. {sigh} (funny)
• 7-year-old Anna Kimball kicked off baseball team just because she’s a girl: From Yahoo Sports, I’m not sure which is worse, kicking the girls off the team or because they want the 7 year olds to join the more competitive league. (ugh)
• Aimee Mullins: From KQEDscience, athlete Aimee Mullins was born without fibulas. An amazing picture of her running. (wow)

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Monday night, I posted on my Facebook page mostly because Scott said it, and I laughed.

Then Scott leapt in the air and called himself my muse.

But that wasn’t the stupid part.

As we cleaned up dinner, I asked: Why are you still wearing your shoes? You’ve been home for an hour.

Scott looked at his shoes and looked at me.

Me: Are you preparing for some sort of invasion? Ready to go at any moment?

Scott: You know me! I got one foot in this relationship and one foot out the door.

{dead silence}

{continued killing of the silence}

Me: What is wrong with you? Who says that as a joke?

Then I glance at the clock, pat him on the shoulder and said: At least you were right about being stupid in less than 30 minutes.

He’s such a giver.

Scott would like to add…

I don’t really know where that joke came from – things just come out of my mouth sometimes.  It’s what makes me such an effective muse.  I love my wife and couldn’t imagine being in a better relationship. I also know that too many of you would love to take my place… Yes, I’m talking to you.

Two stories on cancer nonprofits caught my eye this week, Susan B Komen for the Cure decision to defund Planned Parenthood because of a politically-driven investigation by Congress, and Lance Armstrong’s Livestrong nonprofit helping Lance more than anyone else with cancer.

Let’s start with Lance who is current being investigated for doping and perhaps a Three Cups of Tea type of fraud. Now so far, it seems that the promotion of Lance and Livestrong is a mutual exclusive to making each other look good rather than a money issue as it was for Greg Mortenson.

However the nonprofit helps Lance’s image by creating a positive side to the possibilities of fraudulent wins of the Tour de France, it has a fake image itself. While Livestrong does help families with cancer navigate insurance, raise awareness and inspire, it spent next to nothing on cancer research since its inception and will not be funding any cancer research from now on.

“The foundation gave out a total of $20 million in research grants between 1998 and 2005, the year it began phasing out its support of hard science. A note on the foundation’s website informs visitors that, as of 2010, it no longer even accepts research proposals.” -Outside Magazine

20 million sounds like a lot but it was over 7 years, and in 2005 alone, Livestrong raised $52 million.

It’s actually quite similar to criticisms of Susan B Komen. The brand, the bracelets, the T-shirts, the endorsements become the main focus of the nonprofit as it becomes the face of cancer and giving money to actually change cancer outcomes is secondary.

And while it’s been said many times, people are pretty aware of cancer these days. Even putting aside “awareness,” I think empowering and inspiring people suffering from cancer is important and it’s a big part of the Livestrong mission. But it shouldn’t come at the expense of creating better treatments and cures for them.

Komen spent $1 million of donor money per year going after smaller nonprofits who use “for the cure” in their events because it’s their brand. I guess the nonprofits helping people isn’t as important as the brand name. Livestrong has spent $1.8 million even though it sold off its name and created a for-profit company at Livestrong.com as opposed to the the nonprofit at Livestrong.org.

Now I haven’t given to Susan B. Komen in years and have never donated to Livestrong. But despite me, both groups raised over $300 million and $48 million in 2010, respectively.

But even putting aside Susan B Komen’s branding machine, why are they not working with Planned Parenthood anymore? Even after posting on Facebook about how low income and the uninsured are not getting screened enough for breast cancer on January 27, they end funding for one of the largest providers of women’s healthcare for uninsured, under-insured and low income women.

“Komen has a long history of providing funding to various Planned Parenthood affiliates for such services as manual breast exams and referrals for mammograms and biopsies to check suspicious lumps for cancer. Although that money is not used for abortions, the Komen Foundation may have yielded to demands from antiabortion groups to sever its ties to Planned Parenthood.” -LA Times

Komen’s explanation of the halt is because PP is being investigated by Congress. The investigation is into whether PP uses any federal funds to perform abortion. I guess it’s a guilt until proven innocent stance. Is the funding temporarily held until the investigation is over? It doesn’t seem it like.

Perhaps it is driven by antiabortion groups as many wonder. If that is the case, fine. Komen should admit to it. They should stop any funding going to hospitals which perform abortions (and most do).

Just because antiabortion groups want to paint Planned Parenthood as the face of abortion, doesn’t mean it is. Planned Parenthood helps many women who would otherwise never receive mammograms or be able to afford an ultrasound. They perform 4 million breast exams yearly and for some affiliates, Komen provides have their budget for breast exams and outreach programs.

And if it isn’t driven by the politics of a woman’s body, Komen should’ve waited until they had a plan in place to support the women who will be affected by PP’s lost of funding.

Or is Planned Parenthood just bad for the brand? Maybe low-income families are, too?

They could hire Lance Armstrong to run a Race for the Cure. Oh wait, he’s being investigated by the FDA – does that count?

Further reading:
The best piece on Lance Armstrong and Livestrong is from Outside Magazine.
Susan B Komen’s decision to defund Planned Parenthood from the LA Times
Further details on Susan G Komen criticisms on Wikipedia
Photo credits: Livestrong and Komen

If I could tell a new mom one thing, it would be to trust yourself.

I carry guilt. For the ten times I am patient, I carry the one time I yell. For the ten times I play superheroes, I carry the one time I brush them off.

I carry these for a moment. On a particularly bad day, I carry them for hours.

But what keeps me up at night is not these moments.

Even the day when I thought I would hit my children because I was so tired and angry and lonely. I don’t carry that day because I walked away from the crib or the room or the car.

And walking away takes fortitude. Courage. Strength.

No, what keeps me up at night are the moments I took someone else’s advice.

Not a suggestion on how to make gluing paper easier or whether a 5-year-old can handle Star Wars. But those moments I thought: I am a bad mom. My kid won’t {sleep, eat, stop hitting, listen} and these other’s moms and experts know how and even they though what they suggest goes against ever parenting instinct I have, I will do it. Because I must suck not accomplishing these {sleeping, eating, stop hitting, listening} milestones that prove our worth as caregivers.

Like a child sleeping through the night is a badge for the Mom Scout sash. Like it  proves anything beyond luck and inborn temperament.

It doesn’t. No matter what a mom, a mom board, an article, a doctor or your husband tell you.

My kids eat great, don’t sleep well and are sweet as can be, but my son once punched me in the face.

I didn’t win anything for the triumphs, but I lost at the failures. Not because I should have lost or won, but because I believed I had more control than I do.  I believed these moms who had kids who slept were doing something right. Or more importantly, I believed they were proof that I was doing something wrong.

At night, I lay there thinking of my son crying in his room because I was told that he needed to cry in his room at night. Or when he hit. Because I thought his crying and not sleeping and emotional-ness were my fault.  And so did most people.

And some part of me knew that most people felt this way. So I gave in. Even though my son would just cry harder.  Even though it didn’t help. Even though I sat in my basement and cried, too.

It’s not about whether he had gone to sleep after crying for ten minutes or cried for an hour. My guilt is about not ever wanting to let him cry like that. But doing  it anyway.

And I always knew it wouldn’t work. He’s my son. She’s my daughter. I know them. Not perfectly. But I know enough to know when some well-meaning or well-tested advice is not for them.

But sleep-deprived and sad, I had no backbone.

Today, I know the only time my son should be crying in his room is when I’m going to yell or hit him if I don’t leave. And that isn’t often.

And my daughter figures I must not hear her when she’s crying if I don’t show up and she comes to find me. Even if she’s crying over losing a marker that she used to draw her portrait. On the wall. Repeatedly. She still follows me around crying. And I pick her up. Because my love is not conditional on her use of markers. Because not picking her up doesn’t change whether she draws on the wall. Because we all do things we shouldn’t have done and sometimes we do them twice before we stop.

So if I could tell a new mom one things, it would be to test every suggestion, every book, every well-meaning blog and article against your heart. Against how you want to be treated. Loved. Respected.

When I had my children, I birthed instinct and guilt along with them.

So did you.

Trust your instinct.

And may love win.

A long time ago in blog years, a readers commented on wanting to be a fly on my wall, and it was not a euphemism.

So, of course, I invited everyone home with me.

And now we’re going home again because I have all these tidbits that are too short for anything else except flies.

Scott: Your outfit is so cool. You look like a model! Give me sexy.

Well, that career ended quickly, and I'm pretty sure the Blue's Clues photo bomb was not the problem.

Scott: You’re lucky I love you because you’d make an excellent adversary.

My toddler: Mama, a toe accident!
I look over and my daughter’s big toe is completely covered in butter. Too bad that’s not what “car accident” means.

As I walk into the living room, I yell: Success!
Scott: What, you poop or something?
Me: Actually, yes. I’ve been pretty backed up lately.

After the New York Giants won their second playoff game, my son turns to me and says: I’m so angry you didn’t name me Victor Cruz.

Speaking of the AMAZING NEW YORK GIANTS PLAYOFF RUN, my daughter thinks all the teams playing against the Giants are the bad guys so every time they score, she frets saying: Bad guys can’t get touchdowns. Bad guys never win.

Me to Scott: If you think there’s not a picture of you on Facebook sleeping after I told you to take your grumpy butt upstairs to nap and you told me to leave you alone because you weren’t tired, well, you’d be wrong.

{see photo below. also can be found on Facebook}

Being married to a blogger is exhausting. Or embarrassing. Probably both.

She can't even look at it.

Huckle looked at me, looked at my phone, and batted it off the desk.

I looked at her, looked at my phone, and cried out: Holy crap YOU are the cat who owes me money. Do something cute. NOW.

So while I’m stalking my cat to get a viral video, you can read these super cool posts.

My Other Hangouts (don’t tell my blog):

• No Accent: On Taming Insanity, I guest vlog for her about how if you want to know if you have an accent, ask me. Because I’m the one who doesn’t have one. So if we don’t sound alike, you’re out of luck.
• Want Cool Hair Not Just On The Day You Dye It?: On This Blogger Makes Fun of Stuff, I review my blue hair and the dye that I got me there.

Favorite posts I didn’t read, I mean, write:

• Cracking Teenagers’ Online Codes: From The New York Times, Teenagers’ access to the Internet should not be restricted, says an expert on social research who says she benefited from it herself when she was young. (a reader sent this after reading my 18 years on the Internet piece). (interesting)
• “you are stronger than anything broken inside of you.”: From Moosh in Indy, this is an older piece that she linked back to this week and I fell in love with it. (compelling)
• Evil Guide Plan: From Dark Sites, a helpful set of drop down menus and fill-in-the-blanks for anyone planning to carry out an evil plan any time soon. (funny)
• Years: From Bartholomäus Traubeck, a record player that plays trees. Seriously. (cool)

Is hippie nature or nurture?

Well, my kids know how to wash out and put plastic containers into our recycling “area”. I can’t really call it a bin because it mostly looks like this:

Perhaps we need to practice a little more reduce.

I also attempted to teach my son about why recycling is important by launching into a climate change lecture, and since we didn’t have a white Christmas or any snow in Richmond so far, my son is now terrified that it will snow in on his birthday. Which is in August.

I explained it well. Too well.

But for all my indoctrination of how to be good stewards of our environment, I’m pretty sure there’s a green gene.

Or at least a dirty hippie gene.

Why yes, she did do her own hair after dressing herself.
(Can’t see the photos? click here)

Throw in a few daisies and drumming circle and watch our world. We’re coming to save you.

I didn’t get involved in blogging until 2009, but I have been trolling the Internet (before that was a bad thing) since 1994. I opened an AOL account under a fake name that was the combination of Faile, a character from the Wheel of Times series, and BG, which stood for belly goddess.

Sidenote: Belly goddess is not because of my washboard abs but rather because my stomach has always pooched a bit making me forever love the pot belly’s are sexy speech in Pulp Fiction. It also was fuzzy, and after spend the summer of 1994 bleaching it, I was done. So belly goddess was my (and my friends) way of embracing my worst or at least my least acceptable body part.

I would go on to hang out in chat rooms which were fun and funny except when private chats would turn out to be sketchy 45-year-olds sending my finger to “sign out” and AOL shouted: GOODBYE, and my friends and I would laugh at them.

Eventually, I felt like I was trapped in AOL trying to find the real Internet that took forever to load (beep beep beeeeeeepppp) but never-ended in its people and possibilities.

I recall the first TV commercial (Superbowl 1995) that included AOL keywords.

I also remember the first time a commercial included a www.website.com, and I thought: Wow.They found it.They found our Internet.

Us being college kids sending odd emails titled Long Live the Zamboni (I’ve always been obsessed — it’s the Canadian in me) and finding pictures of the largest labia ever photographed.

I remember in 1999 driving with my friend, C, from Rhode Island to Long Island because I had bought a futon off of eBay. It was so cheap that the road trip was worth it. Plus, ROADTRIP! The guy had just switched to DVDs so he also sold me all his VHS for $10. His feedback on my eBay account was, Great to buy from, and then awkwardly added, hot, but I was too busy marveling at how I could bid on a futon two states away to care.

I moved from AOL to Yahoo and spent time in the Yahoo groups making friends with like-minded people who wandered the Internet. We sent each other real letters as well as email because we were old school and craiglists hadn’t killed anyone yet. The fear was talked about by the mainstream, but I didn’t believe the bad people lived in my computer. I knew they lived next door and down the street.

I was at a very low point in my life, and those strangers kept me going when I couldn’t or wouldn’t talk to my friends. They sent me weird pictures and asked if I was okay today.

He got the belly wrong, but the chicken arms are accurate.

I remember in 2004 listening to a story on NPR about weblogs and thinking an online diary sounded stupid mostly because I didn’t want anyone reading everything about me all in one place. I liked to keep my exploits, ideas and problems split up among my friends, family and ex-boyfriends in the hopes that they would never be in the same room together.

By that time, I had stopped needing the anonymity of the Internet to connect with people, and I only saw it as a tool for research in medical school and to email Scott when he was on away rotations for his 3rd year of medical school.  I still remember debating how to sign off on an email in our first month dating. I was a Love, Alex kinda person, but I worried he’d think I loved him. I worried that I already did.

We still have all our love emails printed out and saved before our medical school email accounts were shutdown.

But I found my way to Facebook for friends I missed and Twitter for politics I missed. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I didn’t know to care.

I think I joined the blogging community like a company buying a website back in 2000. I’m not sure that I wanted it, and I certainly didn’t understand it. The only difference is I don’t need it to survive 2+ years later like they did.

But I want it. I still love the Internet 18 years later. Even with the companies and company of most people I know.

The hipster jokes and drunk vloggers and random ideas people create that make me say Why didn’t I think of that? Like the amount of Sh*t {fill in the blank with anything. seriously anything} Say videos on YouTube because of Sh*t Girls Say video. They didn’t create a viral video, they created a phenomenon. One that is fantastic and will be forgotten in a year.

The Internet has all the time in the world for drama and no time at all. It’s soothing that way. Freeing. Confusing.

Unlike television and magazines, I’m apart of it. I contribute in good, bad and boring ways. I read, write and look for the next moment to be blown away. Or to snort coffee out my nose. Or just to sigh in relief that I’m not so unique. And alone.

I miss AOL chat rooms and anonymity and being a belly goddess and exploring the unknown. I’m less free to screw up today, and there are way more commercials.

But I love my blog, my gmail account, and being recognized in Richmond coffee shops. And truth be told, I’m still a belly goddess even if I go by Alex now.

Thanks to Stephanie for the spam to caption,
to Alexandra for reminding me of NPR’s weblog story,
and to my sister for never giving up her AOL email account.

The problem with graduating from medical school is that when my stomach hurts and I don’t vomit or poop my brains out, I think: I have abdominal fullness.

When I think “abdominal fullness,” I think cancer.

I start to list off the rest of my recent “symptoms,” which all lead to cancer even though I don’t have cancer.

However, I do have a stomach ache.

card source: http://thats-so-meme.tumblr.com

I also have been taking my Internets a little too seriously.

The last time I read a book was when I felt sick enough to not leave my bed for 2 days. That’s a stupid reason to read a book. Okay, it’s a fine reason, but all the reasons in between reading those novels are stupid.

I’ve put myself on a writing schedule that is doable but not reasonable. And then I look for more work. Because I’m insane.

I’m not even sure where I’m going with this except that no matter how much I fight January resolutions, I find myself navel gazing.

I keep eying my life to decide what I like and don’t like, what I can change and what I need to accept as is.

For most of January, I complain that they can’t be reversed, but I eventually decide to change what I can and leave the rest all. Probably.

I don’t like being tired, dirty dishes, being out of shape, not seeing my friends, second guessing my ideas, breaking my eyes rolling them at other people’s ideas. But mostly I don’t like that everything has to go right to be able fit my plans in 24 hours. Kids get sick. Cars break down. (sometimes twice in one week.) Phones ring. Posts don’t go viral. (that’s a daily plan that only happened once.) Annual checkups appear on the calendar and kids feet grow and we eat all the food in our refrigerator 2 days before grocery night. BUT I DON’T HAVE TIME FOR ANYTHING BUT MY TO DO LIST.

I’m not complaining about my life. I’m complaining about my plans not including my life.

I want to not just love the life I have but be in the middle of it. And then I want an email outlining exactly what to do to get there.

All I know is the cure is change and finishing this rambling post at 11:15 p.m. is a place I could start.

Or I could go back to worrying about cancer.

Nugget needs to pay his way around the Iwashyna home because we don’t do lazy here unless “lazy” translates to “not cooking, cleaning or showering.”  And after he fell in the bathtub last week and I didn’t get a photo because I was too busy doing that laughing-consoling thing I’ve perfected over my last five years of parenting, I thought he could at least create a few inspirational posters for us to earn his keep.

Then I thought about how hilarious wet cats are, and I made this poster:

But I just couldn’t do it on purpose because I’m a wimp. A wimp in love.

Also, I’m moving ridiculously slow in make captions for the rest of your funny pictures and now that Picnik is closing I’m going to wait until April to not finish and blame them. Probably.

Meanwhile, I have uploaded two more of your caption pictures to Late Enough’s Facebook page under Inspirational Posters.

I decided to make it up to you by I created a generic Cat in Sink poster in case you wanted to upload something funnier than me onto my Facebook page. Or yours.

Right click to save and have fun.

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