Monday, February 11, 2019

Dear "Insurance Company"

The following is the introduction portion of my first Appeal to "Insurance Company"
to reverse their decision to deny the butt-load of bills I have from all the recent medical hoorah.  The following will stand temporarily, with the name of my insurance withheld in case it affects my appeals process. I have just this past Saturday received the denial of my first appeal attempt. I have one more internal, and then a Federal External appeal to go. trust me... if I end up paying, I'll let ya know the name of the *%$#@ers who pulled this crap, and I'll do it loudly.

 We live in a complex age, the age of information. As a matter of fact, in some ways we live in an age of too much information. Google “information overload” and you are immediately overloaded with information: more than 7m hits in 0.05 seconds. Some of this information is interesting: for example, that the phrase “information overload” was popularised by Alvin Toffler in 1970. Some of it is mere noise. But it seems certain that there is too much information for the regular citizen to be aware of everything that is pertinent to their lives.
  Civil liberties lawyer Harvey Silverglate estimates that the average person unknowingly breaks at least three Federal criminal laws every day. Federal crimes!
If you use an iPhone or an Android based smart phone, then you have likely on the regular acceded to all sorts of things that you may not be aware of when you “agreed” to the terms and conditions just to be able to activate the device. Most people don't read what they are agreeing to, they simply  assume that there is nothing untoward or unusual in what they are agreeing to. They assume that they would hear through their fellow citizens if there was anything too burdensome or bizarre.
  When it comes to insurance, I have a basic understanding of what would and would not be covered. When I wasn't sure if Bariatric Surgery would be covered, I called the phone number on the back of my "Insurance Company" card and had a conversation with a representative. Before the conversation occurred, I was informed that the call would be recorded, and apparently it was. I mention this because it is important to know that my recollection of the conversation lines up with what was said, and more importantly what was not said in that recording. I assume you, the reader, will look up and listen to that call the same as has already been done by my client representative for Blahblahblah Insurance. You will hear me ask about my coverage for Bariatric Surgery and discover that it was not covered. You will hear me then ask if went the self-pay route, whether any of what I paid would be able to be applied to my deductible. I was told “no,” but nothing past that. Not one single mention of the very pertinent information that any and every complication from any self pay procedure or surgery would also not be covered by Selecthealth until a year had passed.
  You will hear me weeping in disappointment and frustration by the end of the call, and it is possible that the representative didn't want to give me any more bad news in that phone call. 
I can assure you, I would much rather have heard the full facts in that phone conversation, as opposed to when I heard them, looking at the first denials of coverage of hospital bills, after the fact.
  I was well aware of possible complications to the Gastric Sleeve surgery, I did after all, do my homework. In addition to doing my due diligence, I had eight years earlier, watched as an acquaintance had the VSG surgery, and found herself a little over a week later in the ICU for a month, with a leak. Her leak was especially bad, and very nearly killed her, and had she not had insurance to cover the bills, it would have ruined her family financially.
  Because of the failure of "Insurance Company" to inform me of the grave financial risk I was taking, when I asked them about self pay surgery in the phone call,  I made a decision I would not otherwise have done.
  It did not occur to me that such a policy was a possibility, and because of that lack of knowledge, I made my decision in good faith, thinking I had the best information from "Insurance Company". Like any modern American I trusted that the insurance company with whom I had a relationship and reasonable expectation of fair treatment, would have informed me of such a huge financial risk when I was actually asking questions about it on the phone.
  Because of the informational vacuum in which I made my decisions, I did go and get the Gastric Sleeve surgery on October 22, 2018. Interestingly, had I waited just a few months, I would have been covered by "Insurance Company", as apparently January first of 2019 the policy of not covering complications to surgeries not covered by "Insurance Company" has changed.
   The point to my appeal, is that even though it is apparently in my policy that "Insurance Company" will refuse to cover any and every complication for the Sleeve surgery that I’d had done, that I was treated unfairly in that this vital information was withheld from me. There was simply no other reasonable way for me to know of that policy if "Insurance Company" refuses to inform me of it when I call and actually ask for information about self pay bariatric surgery.
  If that is something that cannot be done, then I request that the new policy as of January first, of covering complications, please be extended two months to retroactively cover my situation.

Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Before, During and After....


In the hospital with Birdie before I got the Nasojejunal feeding tube.


The freaking tube.




The second drain and the fun of medical adhesive allergies! Open sores along the edges.




One regular sized hand and one fat hand from the IV! It actually took only 36 hours till I had matching hands again.



Christmas Eve with my beautiful girls... Everything is gone but the drain on the side you cannot see.






The "before" pic is from June of 2016... the "after" is today. It's been a little over three months and 60 lbs lost... although I think it's 75 lbs less than the "before" pic.

Sunday, January 27, 2019

The Long and Dark Nights

Here is the goofy thing about the time I spent in the hospital and was laid out on the couch in the family room, feeling sick and generally not having much fun.... oddly, most of the time I was okay.

By that I mean, I wasn't too afraid and I wasn't too freaked out most of the time, even though what was going on with my body was painful, scary and freaky! Please to note, I say most of the time, because I am a human being, and that's how most humans roll!

I can tell you, I am not, nor will I likely ever be one of those people of whom is said at their funeral, "they never complained or were down!" Seriously, I hear that about folks who die of cancer and I just don't buy it. Pain sucks, and hospitals are scary and frustrating and if you ever hear that said about me feel free to call out whoever says it! I assure you, it won't be Dadguy saying that kinda crap. He knows me too well!

BUT.

The thing about what happened to me. I had prayed about getting the surgery before going, and received a very strong and clear answer to go and do it... right then- when I did, and right- there where I did. I don't often get that clear of answers, and when I do, it's usually a clear "NO!" So I was pretty sure that I was going to be just fine...

...and then when I wasn't just fine, I was pretty sure that I'd be just fine... eventually.

This knowledge opened up some very interesting doors for me. Especially amazing was what went on during the long and dark nights.

Up to this point the only nights I'd spent at a hospital were either for my daughter, Pearl, or in recovery from giving birth to my three girls, or the  C-section for the Boy-o. For Pearl I wasn't the one in pain or undergoing procedures. For the birth recoveries, that was simple, and frankly about five seconds after giving birth all four times I would feel so much better, I could dance a jig... stitches, IV pole and all! 

Okay...probably not the c-section. They dosed me up on morphine and I was on the nod for a few hours after the procedure! But the point is, I FELT pretty good!

The room I was in on the surgical unit was ridiculously tiny, there was really no place for Dadguy to stay, and I'd have sent him home even if there'd been room for him. The kids needed the continuity of having him home at night, and he needed to sleep. I knew enough to know that the nurses would be in multiple times a night, not great for getting rest. Hospitals are just not a great place to try and heal! Plus I was very sick and very weak, I needed to get as much rest as I possibly could.

So I was alone during the nights. 

Only I kinda wasn't. How to explain what went on when the lights went out? It was amazing! I was surrounded by Beings? Spirits? I was ministered to by these beings, watched over and prayed over by them. I knew my Granny only when she called me "dolly." There was also a very tall, raw-boned man with greying brownish hair who sat on my bed next to me. Those were the only ones that I could tell individually, but there were many others there, and they comforted me and helped to understand that this was all okay. I could tell they weren't mortal people, they didn't have regular bodies, but they were humans nonetheless. I could see and sense them moving around the room.

That first night in the hospital it began, and it continued every night, even when I went home. I was also having visions of traveling over the earth. I saw mountains and oceans from a birds eye view, but I was unafraid. It was the most natural thing to be traveling the way that I was and seeing snowy valleys and high peaks, to sense the living creatures, to sense the hibernating trees and plants. There was a sense of glory and awe along with the visions.

You may be thinking to yourself.... niiiiice! That musta been some good drugs! But I only ever took a single, two hour round of the strong stuff once a night four of those nights when I was in the hospital and never at home. The visions and the visits went on for hours.

Whatever I am supposed to learn and experience from this I hope I've done my part. But I can tell you for sure, I am grateful for the tender mercies I was shown. I don't think I will ever forget the feelings of peace and wonder of those long nights...

Now I'm starting to feel better, and it's on to the next trial and challenge. How the flying flippity are we gonna pay for all this!?! Seriously... if y'all are the praying type, pray for a miracle for the Chaos Family Finances! Who knows what might happen? 

I most def believe in miracles!

Monday, January 21, 2019

Where I Have Been?

Soooo.... last October 22nd I went to TJ, Mexico, and had a gastric sleeve procedure done. I'm not ashamed of it, I know why I chose to do what I did... but I did want to keep it more or less private. Some of my immediate family knew about it before hand, but that's about it.

I did my homework and had it done at Pompeii Surgical and I had an amazing experience! The staff, the doctors and the other patients were so fabulous. I felt great, I felt strong and when I came home on the 25th, I was tired but happy. That lasted till around Halloween.

I started running fevers with crazy-bad sweating, and had massive chills where I couldn't get warm and was literally shaking violently. I noticed on my apple watch that my heart rate was sky-high (tachycardia) but my fevers never got any higher than 101.

Finally on November 5th, after consulting with Pompeii, they told me that even though my fevers weren't high, that I should go in to the doctors. I got a doctors appointment at my PCP office and they tested me for influenza and a UTI. After both tests came back negative they sent me to the local hospital to get a CT scan... and there they found a huge abscess in my chest.

Privacy was now over.

I had a leak. It happens. Not often, but it happens and it sucks.

Spent the next 5 days in the hospital sick out of my mind having horrible things happen to me. I promise you, you do NOT want to know... just be aware that after one of the procedures I came back to my room and told poor Dadguy that I would rather die than ever have to undergo that procedure again.

Finally, weak and sick with a feeding tube down my nose, a stent in my stomach, and a drain coming out of my left side I was sent home to try and heal. Less than a week later the drain that was supposed to be draining the abscess failed, so they pulled it out hoping that it would be okay. It wasn't. A few days after the drain came out, the course of antibiotics was done. Less than a week later I was back in the hospital with an abscess possibly even a little larger than the first.

That procedure? The most horrible one I'd rather die than endure again? Yup. I had to do it again.

I spent all of November sick, either in the hospital or sleeping on the couch set-up in the family room,  that Dadguy had arranged for my convalescence.  I spent all of December sick, though a week or so into the month, after a CT scan, and an x-ray as well as the material they pulled out of my abscess showed that nothing was getting from my stomach to the abscess (though whether that was because the leak was healed or just that the Stent was doing it's job was unknown) the doctor started me on a liquid diet. He had to pull the nasojejunal tube (feeding tube down my nose) because I couldn't drink with it in; too nauseating. That was the first relief I had. I could all of a sudden talk, and read, and drink!

The next relief I had was December 20th they pulled the stent out via endoscopy. Oh! Sweet relief! That thing freaking HURT! Imagine a steel cage stapled into the lining of your stomach constantly holding the upper part of your stomach open, constantly pressing and burning inside your chest.

On December 26th, after nearly a week of eating and drinking (still mostly liquid diet) and no change in the material from the drain in my side, they pulled the drain. All of a sudden I could shower without a huge plastic sheet covering the drain site, I could sleep on my side (sort of) and the agony of the drain was over. If you think I'm being over dramatic, perhaps I should explain that I developed an allergy to medical adhesive a week after the second drain was places, and I had open sores all along where the drain was taped down. They had to remove the adhesive, meaning the drain was being primarily held in my body by a suture where the drain went into my side, along with the interior suture. That last week it was constantly shifting and pulling at the suture in my skin.

Also, it ought to be said that outside of the hospital there was no relief other than Tylenol, as the bariatric surgery meant no ibuprofen or NSAIDs, and I cannot handle most of the opiates that they are willing to prescribe (they make me sick), and the stronger stuff I wouldn't take even if they would prescribe it to me!

That Friday morning, two days later, I woke up pissing blood. Not a happy day, but I called my PCP and crossed my fingers that the simplest explanation was the most reasonable explanation. Both Dr. Google and I assumed I had a UTI. LOL! Nope... apparently I had one bugger of a yeast infection. Shocker, what with the two months plus of antibiotics I'd subjected my body to.

The next weekend, January 5th, I finished the last of my antibiotics and I settled in to wait. I've frankly, been half convinced that I would be back in the hospital with yet another abscess and yet another chance to experience the fun of being stabbed in the guts while still conscious. 

Today I finally dare to think that I really am done. Please, oh please let me be done. I mean... other than healing and recovering from two months of illness and loss of muscle tone. I guess there is all of that!

List of things I missed while in the hospital both times.... Pearls 13th Birthday, Henry's 10th Birthday, T'Amy's wedding. Blah!

*Up next... pictures of "Before, During and After"... "The Crazy Business That Went On During The Dark Nights".... also the continuing saga of "How The Flying Crap Are We Gonna Pay For This?!"

Tuesday, January 01, 2019

Snow Therapy

Two years ago I went to a therapist for the specific purpose of addressing the panic attacks I get around icy and snowy driving. It had gotten to the point where I was obsessively checking my weather app to monitor the forecast and temperature. I would hyperventilate (quietly as I could) when on the road in any kind of messy weather.

I did all this work with the therapist and in writing.... and then last winter it never really snowed. Like, at all. This year hardly at all either. So, I'm not 100% sure how much I got out of it. 

I don't check the weather nearly as often and not as obsessively... but I do tend to check several times a day when snow is somewhere in the 10 day forecast. I justify myself because the kids want some snow so bad. I'm keeping track on their behalf. 

Riiiight.

But if I'm honest, I'm specifically looking for snow or stormy weather forecast on Tuesdays, the night that Birdie drives herself to Salt Lake City for her guitar lessons and band practice. I'm delighted when I see snow forecast on weekends. Like, maybe we can get all the snowing done with on days where no one has to go anywhere.

Blogging is some good writing. I'm glad to do it when I can make myself do it nowadays... but daaaang, the writing I did for therapy. I'm using the back half of the notebook I used to write in as a food journal. I'm keeping track of calories and protein etc. I was thinking of snow this morning, and how nutty I probably still am, so I re-read what I'd written down two years ago.

Reduced me to tears within the first two pages. That stuff is the real business. Pure poison and pure truth. 

Wow.

Wednesday, August 29, 2018

Medical Cannabis

Sooooo... I'm about to get political and Utah-specific. 

 I'm still trying to wrap my head around what my Church has done/allowed to happen in regards to a Proposition that is going on the ballot to be voted on by Utahns in November. Proposition 2 is a long fought, and in my opinion, relatively conservative Act to legalize Medical Cannabis for Patients in Utah.  What my church has done is incredibly confusing and demoralizing to me on so many fronts, I'm almost at a loss as to how to write a blog post about it.

But here goes.

My Church has sent out an email specifically "urging" all members to vote NO on the Proposition. 

I find myself in the interesting position of the fact that my husband and I give cashy-money to Libertas Institute, the think tank lobbying group that helped Prop2 become what it is. We donate to them every month. I agree with darn near everything that has come out of the institute, and most of the things that Connor Boyack (head of Libertas) has done or taught. I have, in fact, paid tuition 
for three of my kids to take a class he taught last fall at a homeschool co-op. A class on Systems of Government. 

Connor has, along with a few State legislators, tried to get a medical cannabis bill passed for over four years. Efforts which have been stymied for years by a combination of elected representatives refusing to move on it, and the interference by the lobbying arm of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. My church.

The refusal of the Legislative body to move is extremely frustrating, especially since polls indicate that a substantial majority of Utahns support legalizing medical cannabis. Not just legalizing pot for recreational use, but only legalizing it for doctors (and only the doctors who also essentially have the right to also prescribe opioids) can have the ability to prescribe ("recommend"is the term because Cannabis is still illegal at the Federal level) cannabis as a therapeutic drug.  To be clear... this is not smoking pot. Smoking it is STILL illegal.

Look, I believe in personal liberty.

I come at this from the angle of a person who is a self-described drug addict/alcoholic in recovery. Coming up on 21 years clean and sober this October 7th, thankyouverymuch! I come at this as a person who has personal experience with the chemicals in question who now adheres to her Church's code of health and eschews use of any and all mind-altering substances, plus coffee, tea, and tobacco. 

I believe that keeping my faith's health code, the Word of Wisdom, is a great idea. But I also believe that making drugs, and I mean pretty much any and all drugs, illegal, makes the abusers of the drugs into criminals, and once criminal, they become our American Untouchables. It is hard to help someone who has to conceal their disease for fear of imprisonment. I see the USA's "War on Drugs" as a hellish travesty, one continuous, vile, overreaching  "unintended consequence."

I come at this as a person who has seen first hand the disaster that Opioid addiction (prescription primarily) has had on people in this valley as a Facilitator for the Substance Abuse Recovery Program of The Church Of Jesus Christ Of Latter Day Saints. I have seen the trainwreck it is for faithful members. 

I've seen this first hand through the struggles of my late Brother in Law. Every single struggle that man faced was exacerbated, not helped by his "criminal" status.

Two years ago I lost my nephew to Heroin overdose.  Honestly, this is a tender point for me. Please know that I'm fully aware of the costs of addiction. FULLY aware, and yet I fail to see how my nephew being a criminal in his drug use helped him one tiny iota.

I come from a medical history of rampant ignorance and harm done to me via medical doctors prescribing FDA "safe"medications and procedures to me that have trashed and permanently maimed my body. I've had surgeries that were complete cluster-cusses that ended up with medical doctors  giving me the equivalent of "erm, I dunno." I started far too late in trusting myself. I gave far too much trust to medical "science."  

On Friday of last week the church that I belong to sent out an email via their official church emailing lists, on official church email letterhead, so to speak. When I got the email I went into a tailspin. I desire to be obedient, and I desire to follow the word of my God as revealed through His ordained Prophet.... 

For me this is important. Of utmost importance. 

In the Book of Mormon, there is a story about a people who were bloodthirsty and violent. They thought almost nothing of murdering people, and they didn't believe in Christ, or that He (this was in approx 90 BC) would come. They were the enemy of the Nephite peoples, who believed in Christ.  The Lord sent missionaries to the Lamanites, and whole kingdoms of Lamanites were converted to Christ during some amazing and faith-filled events.  These people, in turning to the Savior and repenting, had a sore and difficult time of repenting of their many murders. So much so, that they literally buried their weapons of war.

They buried those weapons so far down, in the depths of the earth and in their Christian hearts, that they didn't pick them up to defend themselves or their families when an army of unbelieving Lamanites fell upon them. These believers allowed themselves to be slain by the sword as they knelt in a field. Over a thousand lost their lives that day, but an even larger number of the unbelieving enemy threw down their swords and joined them. These people who refused to pick up weapons, even in their own defense became known as the Anti-Nephi-Lehis. 

There are even more incredible stories about what happened to these people in the writings of Alma in the Book of Mormon, but my point here is that in some ways I consider myself an Anti-Nephi-Lehite. I have buried my weapons of war, and like them, I fear if I ever take them up again, I will never survive the repentance.  I dare not return to my weapons of war. My disobedience. My self will.  My favorite drugs. My favorite sins.

So here I am.... 

You should know also, that in recent years I have had a serious struggle, and I wrestle with certain points of doctrine that frankly, hurt my heart and confuse me. I have been wrestling for over three years and have found no rest, nor understanding past the answers that I have received to my prayers. The answers have been essentially "it is as it is, sorry you don't understand, and sorry you don't like it."

I am used to answers like this.

When I got the email, I was sure that this was another case of the above. As I wept bitterly, I hit my knees and prayed for guidance because everything in my mind and my heart says YESYESYES to Prop 2. I hit my knees, willing to be wrong. Willing to vote NO if that was the Lords will. Heck, the Church and the Gospel does all sorts of thing that I cannot wrap my head around, that hurt my heart even. I am okay with obedience. I WANT to be obedient. In many ways I must be obedient. 

I asked with a broken heart and received a personal revelation that I must vote YES on Prop2.  The answer was unmistakeable and unequivocal that I MUST. 

I know that the Holy Ghost requires me to vote what I know to be true, and I know it the same way that I know President Nelson is the Prophet of God on the earth, and the same way that I also know the the Church is for reals the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. His Church. 

I figured that this was enough. This was my answer, and only MY answer.  I sat in discomfort for several days before I finally asked if I was expected to say out loud and publicly what I have had revealed to me.

After all, I'm not a prophet. I certainly DON'T receive revelation for anyone but myself and those I have stewardship over.... basically my family. Plus I really don't want to make a target of myself. But I am seeing people all over the internet essentially saying that the email that was sent basically means that it is prophetic revelation from President Russel M. Nelson himself.

I don't believe that.

Why would I have received the answer that I did if it was?  I can hear people now, trying to convince me that I am wrong, or that I was mistaken in my answer. 

No. I know what I know, and I know the means by which I know it. 

It became clear, to my great discomfort, that I was required to speak.

But take my word for it? Please don't. I claim nothing past my stewardship, and I have zero stewardship over you.... but I do plead for you to do your homework. 

Here is the legal "analysis"  that the Church has based it's stance upon.

Here is the rebuttal.

plus more information.

This whole cluster-cuss is made even more complex by the fact that now the church apparently supports Medical Cannabis, but only if certain impossible standards are met. What exactly does this mean for faithful LDS members in one of the other 30 States that have legalized (and far more liberally, I might add) medical Cannabis, and are taking doctor recommended medication that contains marijuana? Does this mean they should stop? 


So as far as I can tell, my church has been the victim of some very poor information. Hey, back in the day they thought that Hitler was doing some pretty great stuff.... before the truth was discovered. Wayyyy back in the day, Joseph Smith practically bankrupted the Church and many members through his uninspired, non-prophetic and crappy money management. Not everything is Revelation. I'm sorry that they moved in the way that they have. 

I'm positive that this (email and stance of the Church) was not prophetic, yet if the Prophet does, in fact, come forward with an actual statement I will revisit the whole thing.

There. I have done what I was asked to do... If you choose to comment, please keep it above the waist. You should also know that I am COMPLETELY uninterested in anything that smacks of bashing my faith, my Church or my Prophet. I don't ask you to believe me, or agree with me, or vote any particular way. But if you are a member of the Restored Church, I would hope at least, that you'd take some time to educate yourself and ask the Lord your God. People are on the line here. Suffering and sick people who can be helped. 

Full disclosure.... I don't have a dog in this race. I have NO medical issues that Cannabis can help, neither do I have any family members who will be helped by having access to medical cannabis.


Friday, August 17, 2018

Cheeser Wobbin

I didn't grow up with Winnie The Pooh. Sure, I probably could have identified the character if shown a picture of him, but the movies and books weren't a part of my childhood lexicon. But boy-oh-boy was the Pooh family a large part of my children's lives, starting with Birdie. 

For her first or second birthday (maybe Christmas?) I went online and found super cheap VHS copies of both The Many Adventures of Pooh, and Pooh's Grand Adventure. The songs became our songs, and to this day many of the quotes are still heard in the Halls of Chaos.

You never can tell about bees!

I don't suppose you have a balloon about you?

Tut-tut! It looks like rain!

I think the bee's S-U-S-P-E-C-T something!

Heave Ho! Heave Ho! Heave, Heave, Heave, POP! Hooooooooooo!

The gentle theme song was sung nightly as part of the bedtime routine, and I can still remember how the Bird mispronounced some of the names when she was very, VERY young.

Mee dah Pooh, Cheeser Wobbin, and Pliddit for Piglet, while both LaLa and Pearl both called the little pink guy "Piggit." They all called Tigger "Tidder."

Even Henry, who has eschewed all thing cute and "little kiddish" from the age of five, will still sit and chortle through nearly any Pooh movie. Mind you, not the insipid little TV programs that have been bastardized from the originals...but they will all watch the movies with a grin of expectation and joy on their faces. Springtime With Too, A Very Merry Pooh Year, The Tigger Movie, Piglet's BIG Movie, the Heffalump Movie... there is just something so gentle and funny about them. 

Enter the new live action film Christopher Robin.

Life has been moving on in the House of Chaos. Everyone has been growing and growing up at a prodigious pace. Birdie is 16 now, old enough to drive and date. LaLa is 14 and Pearl is 12... they are all three in the Young Women's program of our church. Only Henry is still in Primary... but even he will turn double digits at the end of this year. 

Honestly, I'm not terribly sentimental about their young childhoods... not often in any case.  It was in some ways a rough time for me.... going through having four babies within seven years as an older mother. Trying to get everything figured out and to be honest, I lost whole sections of myself in the process. I'm still not clear whether the parts I lost will ever be found and whether it's a good or bad thing.

But oh. That movie hit me in a spot I didn't know existed. 

So, this summer Birdie got her first real-and-for-actual "Jobby-job" at the nearby movie theater. It's been hard on her. The shifts are longer than anticipated, the place isn't big on actually training their employees, and it's a little overly "big corp" for my tastes, but it has been a growing experience. One of the perks of the job is that she can go see movies for free, and get one other person in for free as well. So far she's taken her siblings to see shows, but when Christopher Robin came out, we both knew that show was mine. 

A no-brainer, Mama and Birdie event!

No spoilers... But the film kept true to the original Pooh gentleness and managed to keep the sweetness while never stepping over the line into saccharine. But it was also a little heart-breaking and just a little dark in places. Growing up is one thing... but being a parent, a good parent who provides the important things for little humans, things like a home, and food, and boundaries, and regular bedtimes... that changes us all, doesn't it? Sometimes I kinda wonder, does it kind of dim us as humans? I don't know. I'm not really one to romanticize childhood much. My own was in no way terrible, but I for sure don't miss it. 

At all.

But, erm.... well, I may miss my own children's childhoods. Maybe a little. Perhaps I will miss it bitterly.

I sat in the darkened theater, courtesy of my employed oldest, and thought of how she had just gotten her drivers license the day before. Thinking about how I pushed her into it, that last bit. 

Pushed hard.

How she really didn't want to grow-up and drive herself places. I recalled the relief on her face when earlier, as we were leaving to see the movie I offhandedly said, "Oh, I'll drive us to the theater."

The growing up does have to happen. The driving pretty much does too. Eventually everyone really is potty trained and apparently, for the Mama, the ugly crying is gonna be happening right along with some of these events, once the reality hits. And holy crap, the weeping may continue off and on for days.

Hello, uglycry headache, what a pleasant surprise. How 'bout lunch?  And, help yourself, Pooh.