No-migraine~ma to Betsy.

{{MG}} Eat your spinach!

Actually *don't* eat spinach. It will inhibit absorption of iron. [link]

No-migrain~ma to BHP.

Adding to the no-migraine vibes for Betsy.

Laura, those are some awesome boys you have there. It was so strange when they began to get taller than me. Even stranger was the voice change.

Spidra - thanks for the link on spinich - I had been planning on upping that.

Clams, oysters, and mussels are much more do-able than liver. I may give pumpkin seeds a try - I love sunflower seeds (yeah, that baseball fever thing). Love beans and lentils too....

Mmmm spinach! I think I'll have a spinach salad for lunch.

To Betsy's migraine - Get Out! Get Out! Get Out!

Thanks Beverly. The voice change snuck up on me. It must have been gradual because I didn't so much notice it happening until it was changed. I want to keep Bobby shorter than me and keep his little boy voice. Can I do that?

Oh! Brendon Jr. and I went to hear a Zen speaker last night. He has developed an interest in this because of Phil Jackson. The speaker was Peter Matthiessen. He was quite an interesting speaker. He said that he has recently "disrobed" and is no longer a Zen teacher. He cited his anger over our current administration's policies for this departure. He felt it was inappropriate for a teacher to have such rage. His discussion was related more to environmental and war issues than Zen. Brendon found it all fascinating and is up for trying a meditation session next. Whee.

The voice change snuck up on me. It must have been gradual because I didn't so much notice it happening until it was changed.

It's a self-defence mechanism that 'ffista sprog adopt in order to spare themselves net-wide anecdotal embarassment.

Laura, tape his voice now. I neglected to do that, and I've regretted I didn't.

I don't think you can keep him shorter, either. The brick on the head trick didn't work--or he just wouldn't wear it.

Heh. StE's voice changed in a week. He was singing soprano on Beach Boys tunes in the back seat on the way to the lake, and trying to find the baritone line on the way home. Freaky.

Narf. I stayed home today, because I couldn't fall asleep last night (I guess I was more stressed than I thought) and took a whole Ambien (I only ever take half), and when the alarm went off, my brain was mush.

I called in, saying I needed a personal day and that I was going to go over to the hospital to help caretaker!aunt. And I really feel like I *should.* But -- the longer I've thought about it, I'm so angry at her. None of this had to happen, and wouldn't have happened if the dermatologist hadn't removed HIS NOSE. I know I sound like a stone bitch, but I can't believe she thought it would be a good idea, particularly considering all the subsequent bullshit that's happened with the reconstructive surgery.

*Am* I being deliberately obtuse about this? It just doesn't sound to me like the cancerous cells were an imminent danger, not when he's 90 years old.

I don't want to help, I don't want to deal with caretaker!aunt, and I don't want to feel *guilty* for not helping, not when caretaker!aunt has a husband and 2 sisters. It's not my problem that they aren't helping. It is NOT my responsibility to take care of the whole fucking world.

I just want to go back to bed.

Hee, Trudy. Too true. Laura, that's cool. I read a lot of that stuff myself, but I have similar concerns about my volume of anger and snark, because the meditation teachers I've met act as if they don't have either, but I'm going to keep thinking about that because if we are born with inner divinity could it be possible I was born to be a pissed-off smart-aleck? I think possibly anger can be a motivator too, because if the events of 2000 had not happened I may have been satisfied to sit back in complacent, middle-of-the-road Democratness. But maybe I'm rationalizing. Tep, seriously don't blame you.

{{{Teppy}}} Get some sleep and maybe things will become clearer to you when you wake up.