Johnny's First Music Video

Come On, You'll Have Fun...Really

I'm known for dragging David to all manner of social events that he knows absolutely nothing about. Despite his predictable initial reticence, he almost always comes away well fed, intellectually and creatively stimulated, and glad he went. Since I've been working at the Foundation, a lot of the choice social encounters we've shared have been related to work. Like the time in 2005 when we smoked cigars with two of the annual conference guest speakers, a dred-locked visual artist and a Nobel Peace prize nominee from Cyprus. Or when we spoke at length to a set designer from the Sorpranos or like this past Friday night when we had dinner with a documentary filmmaker from Pittsburgh and her young, very talented, very handsome and charming, three-man film crew from New York. It's not that we have to have out-of-towners come in to make for fascinating conversation (there are plenty of people right around me that I enjoy talking to), but it's the element of newness--them to us and us to them--that makes the excitement factor rise. Us asking them about their childhoods spent in Paris, and them inquiring about how David and I met.

Having David there is always better for me in these types of social situations because we play off of each other, and in a strange way are two for one. If you're talking to David and know that I'm with him, essentially, you're also talking to me. Whenever I'm in the presence of interesting, funny, creative people (especially if they're tall), I immediately want to lay the cards down about David's endeavors because he's all of those things too. It embarrasses David when I gush about how his successful High School artist best friend still credits David as the one who inspires and is the silver spring overflowing with raw creativity (oops, I did it again), but I can't stop myself because the world needs to know.

At work ,we often talk about mixing successful academicians, artists, and mental health clinicians with "plain old people" at our events and gatherings. I have no problem with being one of the "plain old people" but it is fun once in awhile to be in the presence of those who are not.

Oh My Gee!

Dear Grace,

I've been thinking about you all morning ever since I dropped you off at school today where you hugged me goodbye and flashed your million-dollar grin. We've had a rocky week but you amaze me with your indefatigable spirit to keep going at school despite your difficulties. I wish I knew how you felt inside when the letters of your beautiful name don't appear on the page like you know they should or how it feels to not be able to leap across the living room because your legs won't do what you'd like them to. I do understand, though, that you have to work much harder than many kids your age just to do the things that kids your age do. And it truly blows my mind how positive and interested you remain in school, an environment that I'm afraid is going to get increasingly frustrating as time goes on.

I wish someone, an expert, could tell us exactly what you needed, but I'm finding that the experts don't always agree. There's the whole private therapy versus public school services and the cost/benefit involved with both. And the dilemma, ok, I'll say it--guilt--I feel by being away at work and school when perhaps I could be spending more one-on-one time with you...but then understanding the reality that my working allows us to better pay for the sky-high private therapies that some of the experts are recommending. I want you to understand that nothing is more important in my life than you (and Johnny and Daddy) and I will never give up in the quest to figure out what makes you tick.

I'm fully committed to doing my part, but you need to do your part too. I know you're frustrated and this completely frustrates me as I see you reacting by throwing scissors because cutting got difficult, shattering full-length mirrors because Johnny made you mad, and hitting me and telling me I'm the "worst Mommy you never had" because we ran out of gum. Understanding the roots of your outbursts makes it a bit easier for me to deal with, but come on, your part has got to involve something other than shards of dangerous broken glass.

So much of life with you is pure pleasure like pretending to live on the Weatherby Farm, discussing with you your school-girl crushes, hearing you adopt new phrases (currently, it's "Oh, my gee!") and sharing with you funny things that you used to say, like "Beef" for "Steve" "dat-dowel" for "girl" and "purple circus room" for "multi-purpose room." Seeing you delight in all of this and everything else that a 6 1/2 year old, long legg-ed, skinny girl delights in totally delights me. As we were walking up the sidewalk to your school door a few weeks ago, you said, "Mommy, you're my favorite lady." Hearing that made my heart so happy. I know that's not always going to be true and I want to take advantage of it while it is true and "plaaaaaaaay" doll-house, and school, and animal doctor, and everything else you want to play when I can. One of my New Year's resolutions is to stick to firmer boundaries of when I can and cannot play with you at any given time. That and also to play with you more.

You don't understand this yet, but your name, Grace, is very important to those of us who believe in the Methodist tradition. God's grace is a gift of pure love from God given freely and unmerited (meaning, we didn't have to do anything special to deserve it) to those who have faith. You, my little "Oh my gee!", are a complete gift of love that I did nothing to deserve and you will forever be my favorite lady.

Love, Mommy

My Heritage

For one of my classes tomorrow, we've been asked to bring in an item or something that represents our heritage, where we come from. I knew immediately I'd be brining this photo of the Ballantines, my mom's family. Even if I didn't know any of these people, I'd love this photograph. I could stare at it for long periods of time, and I have. Taken in the early 1960's, I'm guessing, (if anyone reading this knows the year this was taken, please e-mail me!) this represents a golden period in our family's history. With my great grandmother in the middle, my grandmother and her siblings standing behind, their children seated, and the oldest of the my generation being the youngest in this photo, here are four generations of happy, healthy, and beautiful Ballantines. Click on the image to get a bigger view. Can you find my mom? My two aunts? My grandmother?

Dancing the Night Away

David: (looking at the clock the other night after the kids were asleep) Is it really 9:45 PM? We danced too long tonight.

So Very Larry

I dislike grocery shopping. I find the whole affair extremely mundane and tedious, and I resent the fact that it's an activity that I'm required to do every single week. And if my kids are with me? It's downright torture. Yesterday was my first 2008 Sunday afternoon of yoga, Starbucks studying and grocery shopping. Luckily I did not have my kids along or the Larry David-esque story that I'm about to relay would have been 100 times worse!

Harris Teeter had some good BOGO's yesterday and I took advantage where I could. Buy one package of frozen shrimp, get one free. Buy one pint of blueberries, get one free. Buy one container of Arm & Hammer laundry detergent, get one free. I try not to bag items that don't need to be bagged. I didn't bag the Arm & Hammer detergents and put them on the bottom rack of my cart. Loading groceries into my car is almost as loathsome to me as shopping. (But neither tasks are as despised as unloading and putting away at home; that's the worst!) So as I unloaded the many bags into my car, it struck me that only one laundry detergent made it in. What a pain in my butt, I thought. Since I'd only bagged half of my items before a bag-boy took over, I couldn't claim with confidence that both detergents had been on the bottom of my cart. This shadow of doubt propelled me to look through every single bag at every single item I'd just purchased to determine that I'd made it out to my car with only one detergent. There was a part of me that wanted to say, screw it, I'm not going back in. They were half-off anyway so it's not like I've lost any money. It's just too much trouble. I came to my senses and marched back in and on the way in, saw a curious act.

As I walked back in, I passed the man who had been behind me in line (who, coincidentally, looked a whole lot like Larry David). Just as I passed by, he was loading into his car an unbagged container of Arm & Hammer laundry detergent. Just one. I don't remember him having that exact laundry detergent in his cart as he was checking out. In fact, I recall him only buying four or five small items. Hmm, curious indeed. I put on my best Larry David face and stared the man down, right in his eye, as he got into his car. I didn't question him, but my mind began racing as to whether he was carrying off my laundry detergent!

I went back in to my check-out line and told the young man that even though I'd bought two laundry detergents, I only made it out to my car with one. And by the way, the man that was behind me loaded the exact same detergent that I had. Was that just a coincidence that he bought the exact same detergent that I bought or was he getting away with my detergent?
This kid couldn't remember what he'd just scanned, much less the cart contents of two customers ago. So he called his manager over. I explained to the manager hoping she would believe me, because in the end, I was determined to leave with two detergents not one! "I bought two detergents, buy one, get one free, but there was only one in my cart when I got to my car. I think maybe it accidentally didn't get put in my cart." I wondered how many people try to get free stuff this way, because, really, we had no way of proving it unless she came out to my car to inspect the contents of all of my grocery bags. To add to my case, I shared, "And what's really strange, I saw the man behind me with the same detergent, but I don't think that was his detergent, I think that was my second detergent." The manager just looked at me. "Maybe," I continued, "the cashier accidentally left it out of my cart and put it in that man's. "

"Or maybe, " the manager said, "it fell out of your cart." What? I hadn't thought of that. Could that be? That the exact moment I pushed the cart down the curb, one of my detergents fell out? And upon seeing an unbagged carton of laundry detergent on the ground, in the dark, the Larry-David-look-alike thought, "Hmm, someone lost their laundry detergent. Guess I'll take it. Cool!" For a split second I panicked. There would be no way to prove that the detergent fell out of my cart. And if it did, was I just s.o.l? Nope. The manager saw my distress and told me to just go get another one.

Whew. Harris Teeter lost on that particular sale, I broke even, and the Larry-David-look-alike came out ahead. You better believe that I ever see that guy again...

Die-it

I've been on this Anti-Candida diet for 5 weeks now. I can't say that I feel 100% better yet, but I can say that I've lost over 10 pounds! All the stuff you hear and read about the high protein/low carb formula for weight loss? It's true! I never thought I'd be following a strict low-carb diet in my life, but I'm now convinced sugar is the body's enemy, not fat. Do you know how hard it has been for me to not have one single bite of candy or dessert all during the holidays and my awesome trip to Asheville? Very hard. But have I cheated with the sugar? Nope. Not until this past Friday when the only thing my stomach would keep down was ginger ale and saltines. But guess what? I was so congested that I couldn't even taste the ginger ale, so that hardly counts as cheating. People have been so sorry for me that I've had to start this diet during the holidays and have encouraged me to cheat here and there. But when I cheat on this diet, I'm the one who gets cheated.

The toxins have built up so much in my body that they've been released into my bloodstream causing fatigue, lethargy, migraine headaches, muscle pain and weakness, dizziness, sensory disturbances, hypoglycemia, PMS, acne, hives, confusion, irritability, inability to concentrate, ringing in the ear and depression. Trust me, getting rid of all of the above far outweighs the pleasure I'd get from licking a candy cane.

The meals in Asheville were hard, yes, especially when I was the only one at the table who declined dessert. While everyone else was eating their pieces of peach pie and ice cream, or oreo cake drizzled in chocolate, I was biting into my third helping of roast beef. Other people binged on brownie bites and ginerbread while I stuffed myself with bacon-covered scallops. I've tossed low-fat to the wayside and have been eating as much meat as I please. No cheese, pasta, or bread, but bring on the eggs, bacon, sausage and grits. And add olive oil to that please. I can't have salad dressings with vinegar or commercially-made mayonnaise, or anything processed, but I can have as much extra virgin olive oil as I want. I've been eating lots of grilled chicken on greens with olive oil laced with salt, pepper and garlic. I've been putting olive oil on everything. Even my olive oil needs a little drizzle of olive oil here and there. I've eaten cashews and pistachios freely but have had to give up all fruits except apples.

Being on a restricted diet sets me apart from the 'norm' as I'm always needing to explain to those who eat with me what is and what isn't allowed. Getting a simple lunch at the spa at Grovepark proved to be more difficult than I would have thought. Although full of delectable treats, nothing on the menu was 100% fair game. The head chef and I spent a good ten minutes scouring the menu to find something that would work, and I finally settled on the beef tenderloin salad while asking them to hold the German potato salad (and its vinegar). When the chef handed me my salad, he whispered, "I threw some mustard sauce in there for you to try. Don't deny yourself too much," and sent me off with a wink. That was the best $20 beef tenderloin salad I've ever had.

As some of my symptoms went away, that of course encouraged me to live a little and take a chance on a tamale or two (or ten) on New Year's Eve. But it didn't pay. The spaciness came back. I've read that symptoms can actually get worse as the yeast 'dies-off' and I'm feeling that die-off period now. It's tough when you try to do everything right and you still don't feel well. One of the signs of systemic yeast is ringing in the ear or tinnitus. Reading that and reading that people with systemic yeast often break out in hives convinced me that this is what my body is going through. Mid-way through last semester, on the eve of a paper due, my whole body broke out into hives. I thought it was stress. My days are filled with noise and activity but several months ago, when I would lie down at night, I noticed a ringing in my left ear. I've stopped sharing every last ailment with David because how much more of this can actually be going on with me that he can believe in?

The road to wellness has been highly personal. People don't know how bad it gets sometimes, and I don't expect them to. Human nature expects problems to have answers and solutions and timelines. I get asked a lot how long I'll have to be on this diet. I wish I knew. When the ringing in my left ear goes away, then maybe I'll consider eating that Hershey's Kiss.

Fired Up! Ready to Go!

I'm really glad Barack Obama won the Caucus in Iowa. And I'm officially endorsing him as my presidential hopeful right here and now. I've felt somewhat torn between Obama, Clinton, and Edwards. But in the end, we voters are going to have to pick one to vote for, and I'm going to vote for Obama. I haven't read his books yet and I haven't even followed his campaign extremely closely although in a way I am part of his campaign. Since late October, I've been getting several e-mails a week from the Obama Campaign, including, in fact, a message just this morning from his dear wife Michelle. See, they want my money. I've given $15 and they want more. I gave $15 back in Oct. in order to attend the rally held at NC Central's campus on Nov. 1, 2007. It was energizing and cool to see Obama's humor, confidence, grace, style, charm, and sincerity in person. For some pictures of that event and some quotes from Obama's speech click here.

The rally was fun although poorly organized, I thought. Around 4,000 attended and maybe 1/3 of those got to sit down on the bleachers in a stadium that could have seated 3 times that many. I met two of my Social Work classmates there and they arrived early enough to get seats. I wouldn't have minded standing to hear Obama speak (he only spoke for about 15 minutes) but I didn't really enjoy standing as a sardine for the 45 minutes or so waiting for him to come on. That's when the fighter in me came out. I looked at my classmates as I spoke to them on my cell phone and I asked them if there was room for me to sit with them on the bleachers. They said there was but that security wouldn't let me through. I looked over at the tall man in red letting some people in while saying no to others, in an unorganized, haphazard way, and I pointedly told my friends, "I'll be sitting with you soon. Watch this." Three minutes later I was sitting between G and D while they scratched their heads and called me a rebel. Campaign posters for change were being passed out like candy at a parade as we all clamored to grab one. G, D, and I each eventually scored a poster to hold up and wave but an older woman in front of me didn't. I gave her mine. G and D looked shocked. I told them she looked like she wanted it more than I did. G said that was very social worker of me.

I stuck out in that seated crowd as the majority were black, including G and D. Not only am I not black, I'm very, very white. D (who herself usually gets mistaken for a Latina) looked at me, then looked at G and said about me with a chuckle, "She definitely couldn't pass," meaning I couldn't pass for being black. We'd been learning in class about African American social work pioneers in the early 1900s who accomplished what they did in large part to their unsuppressable tenacity for change, but also because many of them could pass for being white. A black president of the United States of America? A woman president of the United States of America? What an amazing time for our country if either of these unthinkables are elected.

I'm not voting for Obama because he's black and if it comes down to it, I wouldn't vote for Clinton because she's a woman. I agree with and believe in the things Obama's been talking about. (Admittedly, most of the ideas are the same ones Clinton and Edwards are talking about too). But of the three, Obama strikes me as being the least crushed if he didn't win the Democratic nomination or the US Presidency. This is precisely why he's getting my vote.

In 2008...

I will practice yoga more. When I do it, my body is so grateful. When I don't do it, my body is so hateful.

Before the year's over, I'd like to be able to master the 'scorpion pose.'

My Favorite 5 One-Liners Heard in the Last Month

#5 Kate on the dark charter bus (it was eveningtime) on the grounds of Biltmore while the guide was giving us directions on what to do: I can't hear when I can't see!!

#4 Me at the outdoor jacuzzi at the Grovepark (with outdoor temps in the teens) to a woman who was visiting the spa from New York with her identical twin: Oh, hi, we just met your sister in the eucalyptus inhaling room. The twin: No, that was me.

(What is it with me and twins anyway?)

#3 Grace opening her first gift from Granddabs: Ah, LIGHTBULBS!!

(There was actually a sweet little leather purse in the lightbulb box but I wouldn't have been surprised if there had been lightbulbs).

#2 Johnny after swinging a bat and missing the baseball that I pitched him: My bad, Mommy, my bad.

(When did he learn that term? Stop growing up so fast, Johnny!)

#1 Johnny telling me about David's morning run where he saw a shooting star: Daddy saw a shooting star outside when he was running. Me: Oh, really? What did he wish for? Johnny: That the bumps on your face would go away.

The Perfect Punishment

I've been searching for over six years for the perfect punishment for Grace when she behaves badly (like pulling Johnny's hair because we've run out of eggs) and I've finally found it: A New Year's Eve party full of grown-up and little Venezuelans, Mexicans, Germans, and Americans, tooting horns, screaming, laughing, eating, drinking, hugging, kissing, dancing, spilling, all in the final minutes of the year, counting down as the ball drops. For an overly tired 6-yr old girl who's highly sensitive to auditory input, this is pure torture. Next time she throws a book across the room, that hits me in the leg, because it's time for her to get off the computer, I'll tell her, "Grace if you do that ever again, I'll make you go to a New Year's Eve party for a long time."