Clothesline Challenge

Browsing through some blog rolls, I came across Gift of Green's Clothesline Challenge, in which bloggers pledge to hang dry their clothes for the months of May, June and July. There's even levels you can pledge to to make it easier. The novice pledges to dry 10% of its wet laundry on a clothesline; intermediate dries 50% of its laundry on a clothesline; and advanced dries 90% of their clothes on a clothesline.
This challenge was made for me. I call my blog "The Clothesline" in part because hanging my clothes out to dry represents my commitment to taking care of our environment. Here is what the web site Tree Hugger has to say about how dryers harm the environment: "There are upwards of 88 million dryers in the U.S. alone, each emitting in excess of 1 ton of carbon dioxide per year. More than that, dryers consume approximately 6% of the total household electricity usage, adding up to nearly $100 in energy costs every year for most of us. The solution? Hang your laundry out to dry."

Pretty scary figures, but how do those numbers translate into day-to-day life? I have to say, there are a lot of environmental changes that I can't make for various reasons. I can't afford to buy energy efficient windows for my house, let alone solar panels and a gray watering system. I also can't give up my car, dish washer, computer or washing machine. But last year, on a whim, I started hanging my laundry out to dry, and I soon realized what a no-brainer this was to do.

I live in suburban Colorado, along the Front Range. Summers here get really hot--up to 95 degrees with little rain. Last summer, my husband suggested we hang our clothes out to dry. As a mom of two boys, I was nervous because we wash A LOT of laundry. But I went ahead and hung up a load on the clothesline in our yard. To my surprise, the laundry dried in 20 minutes. The clothes were a little crunchy, but hey, these are mostly cotton casual clothes--there's no need to impress.

Soon I hung every load I washed to dry in my back yard. In the heat of the summer, I could wash and dry 3 loads, what I would usually do in a day using my dryer. At first I thought I would hang dry my clothes through August, and then switch back to the dryer. But I liked hanging my clothes up so much, I kept at it until I had to stop in late October. By that time, I could only hang one load to dry a day.

This spring, I started hanging my clothes out to dry in March, as soon as I could. Even though we had some rain and snow, there were still enough nice 60 degrees days to make hanging up clothes to dry reasonable.

After doing this for a year, I would strongly encourage as many as possible to take up the Clothesline Challenge. If you're a SAHM with a back yard, you CAN fit this environmental benefit into your day with very little effort.

The Royal Treatment

Mrs. Royal, the speech therapist at Ethan's school, is one of the main people whom provide Ethan's special education services. Throughout the year, she has tried to reassure me that she is on top of the needs Ethan's autism disability creates. But how can you be, I think, when you're the only speech therapist at a school with 650 students? Today's field trip to the zoo, however, finally convinced me that Mrs. Royal isn't just placating me.

I planned on going to the field trip today because I know what a pain Ethan can be at the zoo. Walking tires him easily, and he quickly loses patience and starts to complain loudly. Unfortunately, I couldn't take the school bus with him because I had James with me. So, of course, the bus got to the zoo before me, and Ethan began to stress out. When I finally met up with him, I could tell he was frazzled by the big wet spot on his shirt where he had chewed it. He was waiting with Mrs. Royal. Despite his signs of duress, she was as calm as a cucumber. "See, there's your mommy," she said. "I told you she would be here. "

I took Ethan and we started our zoo tour. After lunch, I planned on taking Ethan and James on the carousel. I got in line for the tickets and then it hit me--I don't have any cash, and I don't know if the ticket station takes credit cards. I pulled Ethan out of the long line and explained to him that we can't ride the carousel because I don't have cash to pay for it. I prepared for a melt down because kids with autism tend to lose it big time when their expectations are not met. Sure enough, Ethan started crying and clinging to me. "We can ride it next time we come," I said. "But I want to ride it NOW," Ethan cried. In my mind, I pictured the rest of the trip spiralling out of control.

Out of the masses of people and strollers comes Mrs. Royal. She asked what was wrong, and I explained the situation. She pulled out her wallet and slipped me a $20. "No worries," she said. "It's a special day, and he should ride the carousel." I gratefully took the money and got back in line, promising to pay her back.

Turns out, the ticket station took credit cards after all. My bad. I got the tickets and managed to find Mrs. Royal to give her back her money. "Thank you so much," I said. We all got on the carousel, Ethan smiled and laughed, and I relaxed for the first time all morning. The zoo was so crowded, Mrs. Royal could have easily pretended to not have seen Ethan, and I wouldn't have known any different. But the fact that she made an effort to comfort Ethan, even with me there to take care of him, reassured me that she really is keeping an eye out for him. Her small gift to Ethan was a huge gift to me.

Poppies

Every year, I look forward to these poppies blooming in my parents' front yard. I thought they would be good photos for "Weekly Winners." To learn more about "Weekly Winners," click
here.

Hair Dye Kits, A Stylist's Worst Enemy

Last Christmas, I made the mistake of letting my new hair stylist, Jean Charles, color my hair.

Jean-Charles, aka JC, is a 50-something Frenchman who dresses in expensive tailored clothes and uses a relaxer to tame his brown, curly hair. Even though he's lived in the United States half of his life, his French accent is still intact. I would not call him modest--he proudly displays pictures of himself competing in the Iron Man Triatholon at his station. At least it gives us something to talk about.

Halfway through cutting my hair for the first time last fall, he shoved a picture book in my lap and started talking about different coloring options. I was interested because I was tired of looking in the mirror and seeing my rapidly increasing gray hair glint merciless at me. The hair cut he gave me put me over the edge--it was the best one I've had in years. I booked a cut and color for my next appointment.

The color lived up to my first haircut. I loved my reddish brown hair with golden highlights instead of drab brown and unforgiving gray. But after five weeks, the grays poked through, and I got worried. I splurged on a cut AND color because it was Christmas, this was a gift to myself, blah, blah, blah. But I can't afford to do this every 10 weeks, and I had a feeling JC thought differently.

Sure enough, at my next hair appointment, JC talked about coloring my hair again. "Zee color has held up well, but I see zee grays," he said. I muttered something about getting my hair colored next time, and he dropped it.

In the meantime, I grabbed a box of Revlon Colorist hair dye in medium brown at Walgreens, and colored my hair one night. Not bad, I thought, as I inspected my rinsed hair. There's no golden highlights, but at least the gray is gone. I felt empowered--I can make the gray disappear for $70 less than it would cost to have JC do it.

At my next appointment, JC tried to take matters in his own hands. He pulled out dye samples and said, "Maybe we should go a little redder this time." It took me a second to register what he was doing. "I only made an appointment to get my hair cut today," I said. "Oh," he muttered, and made a weak attempt to look at his schedule. "I thought it said cut and color." What nerve! Then, as he was cutting my hair, he looked at it more closely. "Have you been dying your hair?" he asked. I gulped and said no, but he knew I was lying. The shame I felt mingled with outrage that I was put in this position in the first place.

It's been a few weeks since our awkard conversation, and I don't know if I'll go back to JC. I love how he cuts my hair, but the damage to our stylist/client relationship has been done. The real reason I'm there--to pay JC for as many services as possible--is no longer hidden under gossomer flattery. If only I had discovered Revlon Colorist before I met JC, then I wouldn't have tempted him to the edge of no return.

Let's Dare to Hope

By Tony Deligio


To truly hope, to feel that tomorrow will be better than today, and the next day perhaps more so, is rare, especially with regards to our politics. But this week, with Barack Obama mathematically clinching the nomination and heading to the general election versus John McCain—barring superdelegate obstruction—the feeling I have is distinctly hopeful.

Cynical, depressed, enraged, or shocked would have more aptly described my attitude toward our political leaders over the last eight years, with the prevailing attitude more recently being apathetic. But as Bush’s term wound down, those feelings coalesced into a determination to do something. I’ve never volunteered for any political campaign, but when Barack Obama pledged many months ago to forego lobbyist money, I was intrigued. Even so, when a local Obama office e-mailed plans for an organizational meeting, I was ready with any number of excuses. At the top of the message, however, a quote from the Illinois Senator stirred me:

“I’m asking you to believe. Not just in my ability to bring about real change in Washington…I’m asking you to believe in yours.”

I was sold, and when I arrived at the meeting, the Obama office was standing-room only with local organizers giving their spiel twice to cycle everyone through. I stayed in touch, and when Colorado’s caucus came, I attended as an observer since my independent registration meant I couldn’t participate. In years past, the caucus for my district had drawn tens, but that night, it was hundreds, with an entire cafeteria filled. Obama’s victory in my home district mirrored the roughly 60:40 win he garnered statewide against Hillary Clinton, and as I drove home, the radio reported similar victories throughout the country. From my bed I turned on the TV and caught the end of the senator’s victory speech, with one line in particular sticking with me:

“We are the change we have been waiting for.”

Indeed we are. The gross incompetence of the last eight years ultimately rests with the American electorate for being disengaged at best and outright apathetic at worst. A president who had his first term delivered to him by the Supreme Court, with the second coming with a 51% “majority” had rendered sweeping, destructive change on a country as if he had carried all 50 states, and all the while, many (including myself), simply tuned out.

My cynical side still mutters from time to time, “Washington is beyond hope…Obama’s words are uplifting, but race and class will keep America divided…” and on, and on, but this past Tuesday from Iowa, Barack Obama said…

“We are ready to believe again”

…and I’m hoping he is right.

What Do Cows, Beer and Bangkok Have in Common?

I was tagged by Eat Play Love to write 13 Boring Facts About Me. Thanks for letting me share! :) So here it goes:

1. I am the oldest of seven kids--five girls and two boys. My mom was so grateful when I got my driver's license.

2. I am half Italian--no one can pronounce my maiden name.

3. When I was an editor at trade magazines, I wrote about stuff like petrochemicals, printing presses and computer chips in identification cards. Blogging is much more fun.

4. My husband and I can thank cows for providing our parents' income. His dad raised beef cattle, and my dad owned a butcher shop in Denver.

5. I grew up in Golden, Colo., home of Coors beer. If you're ever in town, definitely do the brewery tour.

6. I'm a Colorado native, but a horrible skier. Snow shoeing is more my speed.

7. The most exotic place I've visited is Bangkok, Thailand.

8. I miss taking the dirty, scary Chicago subway. Riding around town in my Toyota Matrix just isn't the same.

9. I hope to drag my two boys camping this summer. We'll definitely be taking the portable DVD player.

10. I love to start craft projects and never finish them.

11. I've been subscribing to ELLE magazine since I was 14 years old. I have this weird obsession with designer clothes I can't afford.

12. My favorite restaurant is Mia Francesca in the Lakeview neighborhood in Chicago. I hope to get back there someday.

13. I've gone to Catholic schools my whole life--grade school, high school and college. My parents made damn sure I had many oppurtunities to learn my catechism.

Now I'm tagging A Mom Two Boys and A Hen And Two Chicks to share their innermost secrets--just kidding!

Not So Color Wonderful

What makes kid-friendly products unenvironmental? Plastic. When you have a child, your house becomes more filled with plastic in the form of cups, plates and toys than ever before. It makes sense--your child can throw a plastic toy across the room and it won't break. When your child puts a plastic action figure in his or her mouth, you just rinse it off with soap and water.
But plastic's durability makes it bad for the environment because it takes hundreds of years to biodegrade. Just a fraction of plastic gets recycled, and the rest ends up in a landfill, not going anywhere.

That's what I think of every time I buy my kids Color Wonder markers. My boys, especially James, love these markers and coloring books hands down over regular color books and paper-wrapped crayons. They enjoy watching the colors magically appear on the page when they run the marker over it. "These books have great chemicals," says Ethan. I love them because James can walk around the house with an uncapped Color Wonder marker and not do any damage to himself or the carpeting or walls. Plus, they keep them occupied for hours.
But the markers don't last long, especially when my boys forget to put the caps back on. I hate throwing the markers away, but I can't recycle them, and I don't know of another use for them.

While the only solution to this dilemma is to quit buying Color Wonder markers, I have found a better alternative to another expendable plastic household item--toothbrushes. Recycline Inc., a Waltham, Mass.-based company, (www.recycline.com) manufactures toothbrushes from plastic Stonyfield Farm yogurt cups. When the toothbrush is used up, you can mail it back to Recycline in a postage-paid envelope, and it sends it to another company to be reprocessed into plastic lumber used for picnic tables and decks.

Yesterday I took my kids to Whole Foods and had them pick out their first Preserve brand kid toothbrush. I also bought a Preserve colander, which is made from 100% recycled plastic, and can be recycled at any facility that takes #5 plastics. I hope Recycline does well, and other manufacturers of plastic products follow its example so I can make more guilt-free plastic purchases.

Just Do It

When I heard about Madonna building a zillion dollar gym next to her home in London, I got jealous. I would love to stumble out of bed every morning--or better yet--have my personal trainer haul my ass out of bed every morning, and walk over to my personal gym to get fit and fabulous.

I obsess about fitting some type of exercise into my daily routine. Not only does it work off that glass of wine (or two) I have with dinner, but it also relieves stress and keeps me from getting too twitchy.

When I quit my job five years ago, I had great exercise ambitions--I was going to train for a half marathon, maybe even a triatholon. But trying to fit that kind of time-intensive exercise routine into my family's schedule proved too difficult. My husband tells me to get up when he does, but I don't want to work out at 5 am--I just can't function the rest of the day.

Even going to the gym a couple of days a week got to be too hard because at one point my younger son, James, decided he didn't like the gym's nursery and would cry until one of the staff members had me pick him up.

I was beginning to give up on working out until I came across a workout routine in the Internet. It involves walking up and down two or three stairs over and over--it is the original step class. I decided to make into a circuit training routine, in which I walk up and down the stairs for five minutes then stop and do some situps or pushups, then do five more minutes, etc., for a total of 20 minutes. I then throw in a 10-minute daily yoga routine from Cyndi Lee "Om Yoga" book to get some good stretching in. This was going to be my version of Madonna's mega gym.

Of all the exercise routines I've tried, this one is the easiest to plug into my day. I get my boys their breakfast and then put on my gym shoes and Ipod and hit the steps. After about 10 minutes my heart rate has gone up and I'm sweating. And the best part is if one of the boys yells at me to change the TV station or get them something, I just walk over and do it and then go right back at it.

This routine will keep me going until the fall when Ethan is in school all day and James is in preschool two afternoons a week. Then I will have four blessed hours to myself to go to the gym.

Down on the Suburban Farm

A young eggplant, one of our new ventures in vegetable gardening.

With the cost of food increasing every month, we have high hopes for our garden this summer. Terry just built two raised beds on the south side of our yard to increase our planting area. We've always grown an organic garden. It makes for more weeding, but I like to weed--kind of weird, I know.

Bonus plant: this cilantro sprouted from seeds left in the ground from last year.

Here is what we plan to grow this year: four types of tomatoes, zucchini, peas, green beans, three types of peppers, onions, and romaine and leaf lettuce. We're also attempting to grow some fancy stuff: radicchio, arugula, egg plant and brussel sprouts.

I can't wait until the tomatoes ripen!

We save room in our garden for herbs, too: basil, thyme, rosemary, cilantro, parsley and dill. These picture show our garden at the early stage, when plants are small and tender. In a month, they will hopefully be bigger and we can start harvesting our first peas and lettuce, then peppers, tomatoes and eggplant. Growing a vegetable garden takes up our spare time, but enjoying all that fresh produce is worth it.

Thrill of a Lifetime

Ethan is psyched to ride the roller coaster.
Summer in Colorado--time to explore the great outdoors. When I moved back here four years ago from the flatlands of Wheaton, Ill., I couldn't wait to go hiking and camping. Growing up here, I had done my fair share of hiking in the mountains, but I had still only seen maybe one-fifth of the state. I was going make up for lost time and spend all my weekends in the wilderness, and my kids were going to appreciate its peacefulness and beauty as much as I do.
I wish it had worked out that way. Instead, a year after we moved out here, my son, Ethan, was diagnosed with autism, and we were scrambling to get him speech therapy, occupational therapy and behavioral therapy. We soon learned from these therapists that the reason Ethan crashed into walls and yelled was because his body was understimulated, and he craved constant movement and sensation to regulate himself. His out-of-whack nervous system made long car rides in the mountains excruciating for him, and the tantrums made it unbearable for us.
Soon Terry and I were looking for activities that would take in account Ethan's need for movement. Our former occupational therapist recommended that we take him to Lakeside, a local amusement park. We were unsure--would the crowds overwelm him?--but decided it was worth a try.
We entered Lakeside's kiddie ride section, and Ethan got on the mini-roller coaster. Terry and I held our breath as Ethan zoomed around the miniature course. When the ride screeched to a halt, we looked over and saw a look of pure joy on his face. We were sold.

Ethan and James wait for the mini-swing ride to start.
The next year we decided to go all out and buy season passes to Elitch Family Gardens in Denver. The passes cost $55 each, but it would pay for itself after 2 visits. Ethan loved going there so much we went there almost every weekend. I hated standing in the hot sun, waiting for Ethan to finish a ride, but at least when we brought him home, he was calmer and not trying to turn our house into an amusement park.

The boys enjoy an ice cream cone after a whirlwind of rides.
Today was opening amusement park season for us. We, of course, bought season passes to Elitch's for the summer. When we got to the park, Ethan headed toward the mini-roller coaster. I watched him as headed up the little hill, squealing with delight.
Yes, it will be another Elitch's summer, I thought.

Bumper Stickers

By Gertie Culpepper

Why do people feel the need to advertise their political/religious/etc. views on their vehicles? I distinctly remember back in the fall of '05 driving my husband's grandmother's Cadillac with the "Bush Cheney '04" bumper sticker on it from Ft. Worth to Austin. Every time a car would pass, I would instinctively put my hand up to cover my face and avert my gaze, so as not to make eye contact. There was no way I was going to let total strangers equate my face with Dubya's. NO WAY.
So, now it appears that Barack Obama has wrapped up the nomination. Unless, as John Harwood on Meet the Press said, "There was a secret poker game when Tony Rezko was paying Barack Obama to write Jeremiah Wright's sermons and to organize Muslim English professors for a new Weather Underground chapter, maybe Obama could be stopped." I then felt the inexplicable need to purchase my "Obama '08" bumper sticker. There are several styles to choose from on the various websites. The most popular one from the Barack Obama website is $3 each or 2 for $5. Before I made my purchase, I asked myself why I need a Barack Obama bumper sticker on my car. Why do I need random people to know my political or other views? Back in Indiana, I proudly had my John Kerry bumper sticker on my car (It kept falling off....fortuitous maybe?).

But, that was a different place and a different time. In Colorado, a largely Republican state, driving around a Kerry bumper sticker is a big "F#$@ YOU," especially after his downfall in 2004. Besides, I doubt if someone on the fence would look at my bumper sticker, look at me, my two beautiful children and my fancy-schmancy 1999 Saturn SL1 and say, "WOW! If SHE supports Obama, then I should too." So, I think I will keep my $3 this time, and hope people make the right choice, with or without my obvious support.

Autism, Warts and All

Last night I met with my autism support group to have dinner and watch "Autism: The Musical." This documentary, directed by Tricia Regan, follows Elaine Hall, among many things a director of children's plays and mother of a son with autism, as she prepares a group of autistic children to create a musical and perform it onstage. The documentary appeared on HBO in April, and has received much critical praise.
As the mother of a son with autism, as well as the sister of a brother with autism, I gladly jump on the film's bandwagon because it so accurately depicts this complex disorder. In fact, from now on, if someone asks me to explain autism to them, I would say, watch "Autism: The Musical."
The documentary takes place in Los Angeles, where Elaine Hall founded the Miracle Project to enable children with autism to create and act in a musical. In the beginning of the project, Elaine tells the dubious parents that she doesn't know how it will happen, but she has faith that these kids will make a musical. As you watch the kids running around the room or sitting with their hand over their ears because the noise level, you admire how much faith Elaine and her assistants have in these kids.
As the weeks go by, the group begins to gel and you see the kids writing and acting out dialogue, singing songs and dancing. By the end, the kids begin to overcome the limitations having autism sets on them. They have greater confidence in themselves and become flexible enough in their thinking to put the project first. For example, when 8-year-old Adam is told he can't play his cello onstage, and instead of flipping out, he agrees to sing the song instead.
The kids also become friends. In one scene, Wyatt, a 10-year-old with autism, describes how kids with autism are in their own worlds, and how he wishes it wouldn't be that way. He tells one boy, Henry, that he likes him because he knows so much about dinosaurs. Elaine's son, Neal, who is mostly nonverbal, starts to use a talking machine to communicate, and tells his mom to be better listener.
The movie also accurately describes the toll having an autistic child takes on the parents. In fact, one of couples is going through a divorce during the filming. Another father admits to having a 16-month affair because his wife became so overwelmed by their son's diagnosis their marriage was neglected. Other parents express their fears about what will happen to their child when he or she grows up and they aren't around to take care of them.
These confessions by parents resonated with me. I see so much potential in my son, Ethan, but I also see his limitations, and really have no idea if he'll be able to take care of himself as an adult and make his way in the world. But when I get down, I'll rewatch "Autism: The Musical," to remind myself that everyone, no matter what their limitations, has potential and that you can never give up on them.

Greetings from Southern Arizona

I invited my sister, Adriana, to write about her experiences of trying to grow a garden in Tucson. Here is what she had to say:

A young sunflower enjoys the sun before the onslaught of summer.

Like the first wave of settlers to this Land of Perpetual Sunshine, I thought all this solar power simply meant a longer growing season than I had been used to in Colorado. Like those early westward expansionists, I took the surprising abundance of vegetation in Tucson, Ariz., to mean that things could actually grow in the desert. While they decided that their home crops of cotton, citrus, and pecans would produce that much more with all this extra sunshine and no winter to speak of, I decided that it meant I could grow the vegetables of my red-hued homeland – herbs, spinach, pumpkins, cucumbers, tomatoes, and peas – with little issue. We both ignored the fact that this is a desert, and deserts are, generally, very hot and very dry and any plant seen to survive here has a wicked cache of water-saving and cooling tricks up its branches.

Ripe tomatoes on the vine.

The settlers’ mistaken judgment laid the foundation for our current water crisis and created a cornucopia of pollens perpetually wafting through our air and into our nasal passages. The crops they chose release their pollens into the air, to be later brought back to terra firma by rain. We don’t have rain here – at least not enough to wash out that much pollen – so it hangs out in the air until we breathe it in and sneeze it out (plants native to here spread their seed through burs and stickers that hook onto any passing creature and get transported to a new home). So, in addition to a longer growing season, we have a longer allergy season.

Adriana's cat, Boris, enjoys the garden.

My mistaken judgment resulted in an annual cycle of hope, delusion, frustration, bitterness, resignation, and renewed hope. The first year I called Tucson home, I kept it simple and scattered some native wildflower seeds in the dirt plot on either side of my front walkway. One side of the walk included a short, wide mesquite tree, which I worried might shade the flowers too much and inhibit their growth. Putting faith in that idea of “native” though, and working from the hope and delusion that start my growing season, I scattered, I watered, and I waited. I know some prefer seedlings, but I can’t bring myself to give up the miracle of a seed for the quick-fix of a seedling.
That miracle occurred, and the front of my yard was full of tender, green-stemmed flowers with red, orange, and yellow hats – for a week. And then, May turned to June, which in Southern Arizona doesn’t bring flowers, showers, or anything else cute and endearing. June brings sun – hot, dry, direct sun that beats incessantly down on all creatures for more and more minutes each day.
To say that my wildflowers on the side of the yard that did not have the protective shade of the mesquite “died” would not begin to adequately express their demise. In other places, plants that die curl up, fall over, and work their way back into the game as compost. Here, plants that have been killed by the sun stand like torched sentinels, screaming to all who pass, “Seek shelter! Wear your sunscreen!” with their perfectly erect, perfectly frozen, perfectly burnt shells of their former verdant selves. It happens in an instant but haunts your garden memory forever.

Young shoots get some protection from straw mulch.

Since that first season, I’ve tried to adapt. I start growing earlier. I use straw mulch to ease the evaporation of water from the soil. I add potting soil to the barren soil that seems to best support succulents and the Valley Fever virus. I build raised beds, created emergency shade from lawn chairs, and plead and pray for the sun to be gentle to my garden. And each year, as the first vulnerable green shoots break through the earth, I accept that, as with all miracles, it’s best I enjoy them in that precious moment and hold no further expectations.

No Bargain Basement

My sister recently told me that whenever she shops online, first she Googles for online coupons from the store she's shopping from to get an additional bargain. These coupons include codes for free shipping, 10% your first purchase, etc.
I was all ears--I love to shop online, mainly because shopping with my kids is a nightmare. I can't imagine bringing my two rambunctious boys to the mall and get them to sit still long enough for me to try on clothes at the Gap, even if I did bribe them with ice cream. The only store I take them to is a consignment store because it has toys for the kids to play with while I feverishly go through the clothing racks.
This morning an email from J.Crew tempted me in my inbox. The store offered an extra 20% its sale items. The ad's tag line got my blood pumping: "don't wait ... they really do go fast." Before I could talk myself out it, I was clicking through the sale items while my boys were eating their french toast and watching "Clifford the Big Red Dog."
I found four shirts I liked and put them in my shopping cart. One shirt was marked down to $40 from $88, plus an additional 20% off! Forget the fact that J.Crew's clothes are ridiculously overpriced to begin with, I was lulled into feeling like I was a major bargain hunter.
I checked my total: $91 without tax or shipping. That was more than I wanted to spend. Then my sister's words came ringing back--Google for online coupons! I relaunched my browser and typed in "J.Crew coupons." A list of sites popped up. I discovered a whole new world of online bargain shopping, which consisted of Web sites such as www.dealdigg.com, www.retailmenot.com and http://www.ultimatecoupons.com/.
Was it good to be true? In this instance, it was. The only good coupon I could find was "free shipping on orders for $100 or more." I was only $9 away from free shipping! I briefly thought of putting $25 skirt in my shopping cart to get free shipping, and then pictured my credit card statement with a $125 purchase that I don't need on it. I deleted two shirts from my shopping cart and paid the $8.50 shipping costs, plus $1.41 tax for a grand total of $49.89. It hurt to let those two shirts go, but not as much as paying my credit card bill later this month.

Baby Fat

My son James turned 3 years old recently. At his checkup, the doctor said he was 40 squared--40 inches tall and 40 pounds. Not only is he in the 95th percentile for height and weight, but when they calculated his body mass index, he is technically overweight. What??? I know childhood obesity is a serious issue, let's use some common sense, please, and not scare parents by measuring their toddlers' BMI! As these pictures show, he's just got some baby fat left. My older son, Ethan, was technically overweight when he was 3 years old, and then he thinned out and now looks like a string bean. The baby fat phase goes fast, so I wanted to capture what's left on James on film and submit to "Weekly Winners." For information, click http://sarcasticmom.com/?page_id=137.



I especially love the chub on his legs and hands.

Bisphenal A: Better Safe than Sorry

My brother, Tony Deligio, whom is an editor at Modern Plastics magazine, forwarded me a story he found Standford University's Web site: http://med.stanford.edu/mcr/2008/5q-bpa-0430.html. It's a Q and A with Dr. David Feldman, a researcher at the school who called attention to the possible impact of low levels of bisphenol A on human health back in the early 1990s. This chemical, which is found in polycarbonate plastic, can leach out hard plastic bottles made with it, as well as cans lined with epoxy resin. Here is the interview, which was conducted by science writer Krista Conger.


1. How did you first identify bisphenol A?

Feldman: It was basically an accident; we were not looking for it. We study receptors for steroid hormones like estrogen, and wondered if they had originally evolved in yeast. Although that turned out not to be the case, we were looking for both receptors and hormones when we found what looked like an estrogenic molecule in the yeast tissue culture medium we grew the yeast in. However, the medium had been sterilized by autoclaving (a process that involves very high heat and pressure) in "autoclavable" polycarbonate flasks. We identified the estrogenic molecule as BPA using mass spectrometry, and discovered it was present even in samples of pure water that had been autoclaved in the flasks. At that point we realized that we had identified a molecule that was leaching out of the plastic that, because of its estrogenic hormonelike properties, had the potential to be important and perhaps even dangerous to people who were eating or drinking out of containers made of this type of plastic, polycarbonate. Since polycarbonate has so many uses as a clear and strong plastic, it is ubiquitous in packaging food and beverages, and epoxy resin is used in lining metal cans.

2. What did you do next?

Feldman: We wanted to let people and governmental authorities know what we found. We sent samples to the company that made the polycarbonate flasks to warn them of the problem, but they couldn't find the bisphenol A. Our biological tests were more sensitive than the tests they were using, which were meant to identify levels of more than 25 to 50 parts per billion. Anything under that amount was considered to be safe. In contrast, we were picking up levels, and seeing estrogenic biological effects, at 5 to 10 parts per billion.

3. So, were the former regulations wrong? And why has it taken so long—nearly 15 years—to get attention?

Feldman: It's very difficult to know what "safe" levels are. Although we published our findings in 1993, it was unclear for a long time how much of the bisphenol A was absorbed by humans, how fast it accumulated and even whether or not it was damaging to human health. In fact, to date there have been no studies showing that bisphenol A exposure affects human health. Although subsequent studies have shown that the levels to which humans are exposed do have adverse biological effects in laboratory animals, it would of course be unethical to conduct similar dosing studies in humans.

One thing we do know is that, in the 2003-04 National Health and Nutrition Survey conducted by the Centers for Disease Control, 93 percent of about 2,500 people ages 6 and above had detectable levels of bisphenol A in their urine. So almost everyone is exposed. We also know that bisphenol A is similar in chemical structure to diethylstilbestrol, a synthetic estrogen that has been linked to the development of vaginal cancer and other toxicities in the daughters of women who took the drug during the '50s and '60s to prevent miscarriage. So we know that it is possible for some of these synthetic estrogenlike compounds to have bad effects many years after initial exposure. We also need to remember that the effects of these so-called "environmental estrogens" or "endocrine disrupters" are additive. There are many different ways we can be exposed to these various compounds and they are cumulative.

4. Do you feel it is time for the individual consumer to take protective action?

Feldman: Well, I feel there's enough evidence to support a "better safe than sorry" approach, particularly for fetuses, infants and children. Not only do they weigh much less than adults, making their relative exposure greater, but they are also still developing estrogen-sensitive breast and prostate tissue. In my opinion, the prudent thing for current or expectant parents or those planning a pregnancy to do would be to limit their child's exposure to bisphenol A by avoiding bottles and cups that are made of polycarbonate, and to microwave food in glass containers whenever possible. For adults, however, canned foods and beverages may be the most important source of bisphenol A.
Manufacturers are already responding to this change in consumer demand. For example, Nalgene has just announced that it will no longer make reusable drinking containers with plastic containing bisphenol A, and Wal-Mart will no longer sell baby bottles with bisphenol A. Once these major merchants begin demanding bisphenol A-free alternatives, we can hope the use of polycarbonate to package food and beverages will decline.

5. Have you changed your own habits in the lab or at home because of your bisphenol-A findings?

Feldman: Yes, to some extent. I do strongly advise my children to avoid exposing our grandchildren to bisphenol A. I don't microwave food in plastic containers, or wash the containers in the dishwasher because heat and some detergents cause leaching. I try to limit the amount of canned food I eat, or rinse the food before consuming the contents. Of course, we no longer autoclave laboratory materials in plastic. Overall, it is safest to try to be careful and avoid bisphenol A and other endocrine disrupters.

After I read the interview, I pulled all the plastic sippy cups and containers out of the dishwasher and washed them by hand with my eCover brand biodegradable dish detergent. I also made a mental note to myself to not microwave food in plastic containers ever again. I try not to think about how many bottles of formula and milk we heated up in the microwave for Ethan when he was a baby.

You can find more information on polycarbonates and bisphenal A at Modern Plastics web site at http://www.modplas.com/.

Soccer Recap

Yesterday was Ethan's last soccer game. As we gathered up his soccer ball and water bottle and walked to the car, I had mixed feelings as to whether the season was a success.
As I mentioned in a previous post, I was nervous about Ethan playing soccer. He has autism, and has a difficult time with social activities such as sports. His autism makes it hard for him to read social cues and be part of a team. Therefore he has a lot of anxiety in social situations. He also struggles to stay on task, and he can lose interest in an activity quickly, especially if he thinks it is hard to do.
I saw these issues play out in various scenarios over the course of the season. One time during practice, Ethan started joking around with another player and wouldn't stop, even though the other boy gave him a "stop it" look. During games, the coach had to constantly call his name and physically place him where he needed to be on the field. Instead of following the ball, Ethan looked the other way, and I yelled out from the sidelines, "Ethan, go get the ball! You can do it!"
At times I felt like his personal coach. One time, Ethan refused to come back on the field to play. The coach gave me a beseeching, "Will you talk to him?" look. I ran around the field, and asked Ethan why he wouldn't play. "Well," he said. "The other team is talking spanglish, and I feel shy around them." Actually, the other team consisted of a group of Vietamese boys, but I didn't want to go into that. "Ethan," I said. "You don't have to talk to them. You just have to kick the ball." After much coaxing, I got him back out there.
Then there was his best soccer move, "the flop." Any time a player would fall trying to kick the ball, Ethan spontaneously flopped down on the ground, too. He kept lying there as the other players started playing again. The coach and I often yelled, "Ethan, get up! Get up!" After a few seconds, he would rise and start playing again.
Watching him do "the flop" made me question whether this was worth it. I was hoping over the course of the season Ethan would grow to like soccer and be more self-motivated to play. But even though that wasn't the case, I still saw glimmers of hope. Ethan was always tickled to see his classmates and friends at the soccer field. Plus, my family made a great effort to cheer him on, which he really appreciated. But there was one moment that made me think he really wants to play soccer, despite "the flop." I would practice kicking the ball around with Ethan in the back yard. One time, as I was practicing passing with him, he said, "Mommy, you take good care of me." My heart swelled hearing that, and the next day I signed him up for the fall season.