All There Is To It

To All My Super Duper Charged-Up Friends

Dear Pharmaceutically- or Otherwise-Alternate-Substance-Super-Charged Friends:

If you know me and my history, you know that I teeter in the middle of a lot. If you think you know me and you don't know my history, you often think I'm way on left side of that middle, and you're sometimes shocked to find otherwise on occasion. So this is fair warning that one of the filters through which you'll perceive this piece is how well you really know me.

The topic at hand is one about which I tend toward the shocking middle. (That's right: I shock people because I'm in the middle. Must be the hair. Go figure.)

My 12-year-old's on drugs.

Now, let me just apologize right here to him for outing him. Actually, he doesn't seem to mind talking about it openly; sort of like he used to be about his "miracle foot" (a long story that a lot of you don't know) before the approval of his peers was tantamount to his pleasant existence. See, now those very peers are "cool with" his "issue" or "condition" or "diagnosis"... or maybe it's just drugs. So, sorry kiddo, for chatting online about you being on drugs, but you know me: I love you more than my own life.

So on to the story. About my kid on drugs. They're prescribed by his lifelong pediatrician for his new diagnosis of ADHD Inattentive type.

Those closest to me know the emotional struggles I went through to arrive at this point, that being a Mom With A Kid On Drugs. For those who were fortunate enough to not witness it, I'll cut to the chase and say it was one of the most wrenching brain-fucks I've ever put myself through, and this from a woman who's been BF'd an awful lot. 

So here we are. And after a month or so of drugs, the end result is that my kid -- who was beating himself up severely in his first year of public school ('what?!' you're saying. 'he's 12!' yeah: private school and homeschool after that) for being a slug at math (like his Mama) -- has achieved a final 6th grade report full of A's and B's. 

We're all ecstatic.
And of course, there was that little Middle Way voice in my head that said, 'There's always another side.'

In this case, in my opinion, and just trust me, it's an experienced one, the "other side" of this Happy Drugged Ending is this: the strong likelihood that my kid will derive Drugs = Success from this life episode.

Yes, you're wondering why I addressed my Super-Charged Friends at the top of this, aren't you?
I love you people, really, I do. And some of you know what I'm going to say. And lots of you really don't care. But it's my blog so I'll whine if I want to.

Every time I hear "adult" friends of mine chirp about how this chemical or that plant has made their life better in any way, I think of my kid. Every time. 

Every time I hear someone say that they purposefully ingested or otherwise took into their body something with the express intention of producing a particular sensation, frame of mind, or other experience, I think of my kid.

And in my opinion, so should you.
(This is me, wagging my finger.)While you *could* think of *my* kid, what I'm suggesting instead is that you think of either (a) your own kid/s or (b) yourself as a kid.

Remember all That Crap People Told You about how you can Be Anyone You Want and Do Anything You Want?
Is it really crap? Were they out to shut you up at the moment, make you feel hopeful in spite of the unreality, or did they sincerely see in you the seeds of any and every thing -- even if they had given up on nurturing those seeds in themselves?

Imagine sitting my kid down and telling him this instead:
You have abilities. You have propensities. You have challenges. You have within you some of what you need. And the rest, you can get by adding chemicals to your body.

G'head. Just visualize that for a minute.

"OH, but he's just a kid," you'll defend, "and we all know things are different when you're an adult."
Really? Like what? Now that you're a certain age, what: you don't get selfishly angry? Now that you're "adult," you don't want to cry over myriad insults from life?
What *is* this difference between one age and the next that makes us drop our belief in ourselves?

Why do we think that a "grown up" way of thinking includes the realization that, in fact, you cannot do whatever you want or be whomever you want and that, in fact, we're all just struggling to make do with what we've got and it's never enough so the best way to muddle through is by obscuring our true emotional paths with chemicals?

And at this point, I bet some of you are wondering if I'm talking directly to you, and some of you are conjecturing that you know who I'm talking to... and I'm telling you that you're all wrong. 

I have no problem with people who do drugs (including alcohol and prescribed medications) as long as they are clear with themselves about their motivation and they also do not assume that their motivations are necessarily the healthiest. One thing about being an Adult is true: you do have to answer your own karma, or consequences. And if you're one of the ones who does, that's cool with me.

But even for you responsible drug users, my heart sinks just a little bit, on behalf of my kid, when you tell me about your choices to steer your experience with Stuff From The Outside. Again -- if you know that's your motivation, and you understand every single inherent ramification, *and* most importantly, you're more than just willing to stand up and be held accountable, then bully for you. Truly.

But I'm telling you right now that part of that accountability is to the kids who, like mine, are watching you. They're watching you say, "Man, this week was shit. I'm gonna get plowed now and make it feel better!" They're listening to you say, "I know I'm gonna have a long night, so I took an extra one."
 
And they're watching the relief suspend around your face as your tense shoulders soften at hearing that you've found an answer -- and that answer is not from within, it's from outside of you. Hallelujah.

They're really smart kids.
Just like you used to be.

Do I use drugs? Yes, I am a caffeine fiend (within certain hours of the day) and I occasionally drink alcohol. Lately, that could be called 'rarely' actually. I also take allergy meds seasonally and aspirin/acetaminophen for headaches now and then. And daily thyroid meds. I'm one of those people who actually truly enjoys the taste of alcohol, and I use it whenever I know that I won't likely have to answer to duties that pop up. Hence, the 'rarely' label of late. I've been busy and slim in the pocketbook. During times like this, I tend toward meditation, yoga, and running to ease my mind. And ranting. /grin 

I've had numerous experiences since the 1970's that have shown me I can, indeed, bring about the feelings and thoughts I desire without external agents. I happen to think everyone can, if they want. And from here, we could get into complex debates on neuroscience. And I'd possibly already have explored your points.

Finally: The other day, a friend of mine in the oil business quipped this when I had no personal references to add to banter about that industry: "Just keep driving."

My version for the purpose of this blog topic: Thanks, on behalf of me and all the other marketing writers in the world, for believing what we tell you to think about yourself, your abilities, and what you "need" to add to your life so you can be better than you really are. You can get off the merry go'round any time you like. Until then, thanks for keeping corporations afloat.

You know that old saying about "just because you're paranoid, doesn't mean they're not out to get ya"?
Just because I'm old and crabby, doesn't mean I don't have a point.

On the Verge of TMI: Crunchy Mamas Need Their Juice, Too

As a Sorta Sociologist, I dig watching how people change over time -- individuals and groups. I like looking backwards with a little hindsight and I like how change unfolds in front of us, even if we're not seeing it. 

An example: the word "hippie" isn't necessarily synonymous with "dirty" any more. In fact, hippies used to live an "alternative" lifestyle. Now, it's not only cool to call yourself a hippie, but if you don't, there's a segment of society that's gonna assume that you must be a Fascist instead. What was outlandishly resurrected in the late 60's (and let's be honest -- none of it was introduced by "the hippies"; all they did was re-tread clothing from the Middle Ages and 1800's American West, plus a few other lifestyle and hygiene preferences) is now considered "Green," the Latest Way To Be.

Take intimate lubrication products, for example.

(Yes, it's an important issue, I know. That's why I get paid the big bucks, to talk about life-altering, civilization-changing events.) 

Okay, here's how this goes: I get sent product review pitches every day. 95 percent are of no interest to me. Many are steered toward the baby-making market, naturally. Well, I'm not into baby-making any more, personally, even though I write about it. In fact, I'm so old that if I were into baby-making right now, I'd be making local news. 

Recently, Aloe Cadabra® wrote me to suggest that men and women who are trying to conceive might need a little help now and then in the lubrication department. True enough, I wrote back, but what about those of us who are done procreating but not done with related activities, so to speak? 

SO, I wound up with a few bottles of the stuff. Three different scents, too: Natural Aloe, French Lavender, and Tahitian Vanilla.

Without going into nitty gritty -- or rather slippery smooth -- details, let's just say that I can vouch for these products.

They work.

But then so do a lot of other lube products. So what makes these worth the $10.00 for a 2.5 oz bottle? (Free shipping.)

Besides the fact that I find everything more visually appealing about their box and graphics than Brand X (which is what was already -- ahem -- on hand), and in spite of their clever name, and that their scents are pretty pleasant without being overwhelming... it's what's behind the cute moniker that makes Aloe Cadabra a superior product.

It's 95% organic aloe. In fact, as Someone Who Shall Remain Nameless said, virtually everything on Aloe Cadabra's ingredient list is plainly readable. Yes, you could eat this stuff. I wouldn't recommend it, but like the box says, only food grade ingredients go into the recipe, "so no worries if ingested." 

Okay, the edibility of a personal lubricant may not be a selling point for you, but I'll divulge one highlight that might be: the stuff absorbs into your skin. Not right away, because that wouldn't work so well. But if you've had any experience with mojo juice, you know that sometimes when you're done, well, it's not so good. Sticky and flaky later = bad. Soft and smooth later = good.

That brings me to another point Someone Else mentioned: the stuff won't last forever. Food grade preservatives, ya know. But the boxes I was sent have Sell-By dates two years down the road, which is good enough for me. And it is a little more encouraging to know that a product that's gettin' all in the middle of everything isn't super-amped with weird chemicals. Some of those other brands seem more appropriate to lube machinery than people parts.

Another bonus, also pointed out by Someone Else, was that the bottle's got an inverted shape. No jamming a near-empty bottle against your palm at an inopportune time. 

So does this really tie in to how this post began, about dirty hippies and how they've changed and how now it's all cool to be Green & Crunchy? 

Only if you stretch it pretty thin. But I really did owe these folks a post for all that great lube they sent. And I'm not really prude, but I'm definitely no Pamela Madsen when it comes to talking about sex in public. So there ya go.

(NOW you want my job, huh?)

Disclosure: Aloe Cadabra provided me with the information, including 
product sample/s, for this post. I was not required to write a 
positive review. Any expressed opinion is completely my own. View my official Disclosure 
Policy.