Drive By This

All the cool kids are following (or contributing to) the debate at Chez Miscarriage over mothering drive-bys. I'm not suprised. As I told a pregnant friend when I saw her in December, "You will be amazed at how shitty women are willing to make each other feel when it comes to parenting."

I hope I have never made another woman feel shitty about her choices. If I've ever been the perp in a mommy attack, I'M SORRY. Because I think there are a lot of right answers when it comes to parenting.

But I also think there are wrong answers.

(Let the stoning begin.)

Now I'm not talking about breastfeeding vs bottle feeding. Or cosleeping vs crying it out. Or staying home vs working. Like I said, I think there is room for a woman to define a style of motherhood that reflects her personality, beliefs, values and abilities. But I also think it is possible to screw things up royally.

In the kumbaya version of mothering (where we all hold hands and no one feels bad), I hear a lot of "If it works for you, then it's good enough." Well, what "works" in the short term doesn't always "work" in the long term.

EXAMPLE: Letting a child eat crackers at every meal* works in the short term because the kid is happy that she is in control of mealtime and she never has to eat anything that has a weird color, texture, shape or smell. The mom is happy that she doesn't have to deal with a pain-in-the-ass kid crying, screaming, or throwing a tantrum. (And crackers are cheap!)

Things fall down in the long term when the kid becomes a spoiled, demanding picky eater, and the mom is forced to carry sleeves of Saltines* everywhere so she doesn't run the risk of a meltdown from a screaming, squealing seven-year-old who won't eat food that anyone else has prepared.

Things really fall down in the long, long term when the kid becomes an adult with terrible eating habits who will only order fried chicken sandwiches on white bread* in restaurants.

(*I have combined several real-life individuals into one character for this example, which is a collection of true stories.)

Also, things only "work" if a woman is happy with the choices she's made. If a mom spends all her time complaining about the ramifications of her mothering, then I would venture that her parenting style isn't working.

I've heard women talk themselves silly about how wonderful breastfeeding is, only to catch their breaths and bitch endlessly about how awful it is that they can't leave their babies for more than three hours at a stretch. I don't really give a flying fuck whether women feed their infants breastmilk or formula, but if women spend a lot of their time complaining about the decisions they've made, then their choices are clearly NOT "working."

I'm a big fan of the Supernanny and her rules, routines and consistency mantra. But I'm willing to admit that it doesn't work for everyone.

On the other hand, it is a total disservice to women every to swing 180 degrees the other way and say that everyone's choices are always okay.

So love, sing, sway and lift each other up, mommies, as we find the parenting styles that work for each of us. But if you see something that isn't working, don't be afraid to say the emperor's not wearing any clothes.

I mean, who wants to walk around naked while everyone PRETENDS not to see your coochie coo???

Mama Pajama Party

I'll be pulling single mom duty for the first part of this weekend, and I'm really looking forward to spending some time with my daughter - which is not always the case.

(Do you want the number for social services or what?)

I mean, she's sixteen months old. Sometimes she's whiny. Other times she's clingy. There are days when she won't nap. Or eat. She gets stir-crazy when we spend too much time at home. She hates to cuddle. She has started to throw temper tantrums when I don't let her do what she wants.

So you can understand why I might be planning to put her to bed early on Friday night, grit my teeth through the chaos of swim lessons on Saturday morning and then watch a LOT of VeggieTales that afternoon.

But instead, I am counting on getting out of work a little early tomorrow so she and I can get out in the snow that fell today and build a snowman, and I plan on having her "help me" make breakfast when we get up together on Saturday. I can't wait to watch her explore the YMCA locker room in her little rubber pants, and I plan to try to convince her to go under water like she did for the first time (!) last week with her dad. I'm sure there will be plenty of time to dance and color together after swimming.

That probably sounds like what parenting should be like all the time. All craft projects and peekaboo. I know there are women who just bask in the glow of motherhood from the minute their newborns tear out of their wombs. (They are probably the same bitches who "loved" being pregnant.)

Not me.

I *love* my daughter, but sometimes I get really annoyed with her toddler attitude. And sometimes, I just feel like having some time to myself - so I make my husband do all the parenting. But this weekend, I plan on being a Norman Rockwell painting of a mom, all selfless and cheerful. Hopefully, my daughter is planning on doing her part to make my Parents magazine cover story fantasy a reality.

My Pain, Migraine

It is supposed to snow tonight. I can pretty much confirm the weather prediction because I can feel a migraine coming on.

I started getting migraines my freshmen year in college. One night, I had this horrible headache. I thought I was going to vomit. I crawled into the bathroom in the dark and sat perfectly still with my face pressed up against the cool tile of the wall. When my roommate opened the door to check on me and the light from the hallway came flooding in, I thought I would die from the searing pain.

Since then, I have had migraines infrequently. I have not bothered to keep a "headache diary" but I seem to get one every month or so. Unlike many people I know, my migraines are not triggered by red wine, dark chocolate or my period.

(Thank God...since I love red wine and dark chocolate and am nowhere close to menopause or getting pregnant again.)

As best as I can tell, my headaches are triggered by changes in the weather. Whenever there is a major storm rolling in and the barometric pressure starts dropping, I can pretty much count on a throbbing migraine that starts in the back of my head, wraps around my jaw and ripples through my neck and shoulders. I get sensitive to light, to noise, to heat, to strong smells. If I don't take any medicine - or if I don't take enough in time - I will inevitably end up sitting on the bathroom floor, feeling like I am going to barf and/or pass out.

The best treatment seems to be a combination of caffeine, pain reliever (Tylenol or Advil), vigorous massage, stretching, visualization and relaxing in a cool, dark, quiet place. With good treatment upfront, I can usually curb the headache's symptoms and limit its duration to a half-day or so. If it's a really insistent migraine or if I mismanage it early on, it will linger for a few days, with symptoms waxing and waning during that time.

I have wondered if I should see a doctor (I've self-diagnosed these migraines and I self-treat them as well) about my headaches, or perhaps an alternative therapist. Whenever a migraine comes on, I always have these images of how soothing acupuncture would be. But with my general wariness toward medicine, I think I will continue to manage my pain myself for now.

Just think of me when it starts to snow.

A Little Perspective

My church, of which I am always proud to be a member, recently hosted a conference to launch the American Friends of the Episcopal Church of the Sudan (AFRECS). Sunday's 11 am Holy Eucharist Rite II service was the conference's conclusion, and our normally staid, formal celebration was turned a little bit on its head.

There were a holy ton of people in the procession and sitting on the altar. A former U.S. bishop, closely affiliated with mission work in the Sudan, and a current African bishop celebrated and preached. The Old and New Testament lessons were said in Dinka and Nuer, and the offertory - usually a traditional piece performed by my able and very classic choir - was replaced by a collection of tunes in Arabic, accompanied by joyful dancing.

Many of my fellow parishioners hosted attendees for the conference, and one generous woman who had opened her home to two young men told me of her experience. The men who stayed with her were two of Sudan's "lost boys," taken from their villages as children and forced to work as slaves and train as soldiers with rebel armies. They eventually escaped their homeland and found their way to America where they now live and work. They do not know how old they are because they were taken from their families at such young ages.

Hearing those stories and being part of the service where so much deserved attention was paid to the horrors of war in the Sudan made me feel pretty sheepish and spoiled about the things I've been worrying about lately: buying a new house, sending my daughter to a good school, spacing my children appropriately. I felt so guilty for being this upper-middle class white girl with a good job and a happy marriage and a nice home. I wondered if I should alter my comfortable lifestyle to be a little more cognizant of the people who truly are struggling in this world.

After a little reflection, I decided that what I am supposed to do - what God really wants everyone to do - is to take care of myself. All people are not supposed to suffer just because some people do. The path that humans should try to live is the joyful one, where we appreciate what we have, we use our abilities and gifts to provide for ourselves, and we do not get greedy. God has enough real troubles (like the Sudan) weighing on his big mind without people screwing up their stable, secure lives by doing something overly emotional, rash or ill-thought-out.

In the words of Jesus (according to lyricist Tim Rice), "There will be poor always, pathetically struggling/Look at the good things you've got!"

White Fright?

In our exciting and ever-intensifying quest to buy a new house, my husband and I are actively educating ourselves about the quality of the local public schools.

We live in a municipality in Virginia where the elementary schools are a mixed bag. And buying a new house in the wrong district could doom our poor little toddler to a primary education fraught with high teacher turnover, distracting discipline problems, few extracurricular opportunities or a limited curriculum. So we are trying to be responsible parents and good consumers by researching school districts before we buy a house.

There is one neighborhood that we are particularly interested in. There are good-sized homes on large lots. There are plans underway for revitalizing the shopping centers and restaurants nearby. The housing prices have not escalated at the crazy rates in the more trendy parts of the city. But we have heard mixed comments about the neighborhood elementary school.

Some very good sources tell us the school is on the way up, that it's very diverse, that it's got an active PTA, that it's situated in a neighborhood with an active civic association. On paper, the school looks fine. The test scores are okay, and the school is fully accredited. There is an assistant principal, as well as two music teachers, an art teacher, a technology teacher, a talented and gifted teacher, a library media specialist, and a host of kindergarten paraprofessionals. There seem to be a variety of after-school activities offered, and technology is a major facet of the students' experience.

Yet, some of the "buzz" around the school is negative, from people whose kids go to the best schools in the city system. These people don't seem to have any direct interaction with the school in question, and I'm not even sure that they know anyone who has had a firsthand experience. Yet, they have some vague "hmmmmm.....I would stay away" comments on tap and some big wide eyes when I mention that we're thinking of moving to that district.

I can't help but wonder if we're talking to people who have been part of a veiled modern-day white flight.

The best schools in the city system seem to be majority white. The school we're considering is a real mix of ethnicities...no race is a majority there. (It's a pretty even split between black, white and Hispanic with a strong Asian population.) The neighborhood is more middle class than upper class, and - as a result - the neighborhood itself is more diverse than the lily white neighborhoods with the best school districts.

It seems implausible in the year 2005 that racism could still be so rampant - if subtle. But I really can't think of another reason for the uncredited negative comments. And maybe it's not that 1960s-black-versus-white tension, but I definitely feel like there is some sort of prejudicial fear working here.

I think we're going to trust our gut on this one and listen to people that have either interacted with the school OR work in education and have an "inside track" on what's going on.

It's a....3BDR Colonial!

In starting the process of seriously looking to upgrade our house, I had the realization that buying a house in the crazed DC real estate market is like trying to get pregnant:

• There are regular small windows of opportunity for success. In buying a house, it's a week-long cycle. The listings show up on Thursday/Friday, the open houses are Saturday/Sunday, you write a contract on Monday/Tuesday and then wait a day to see see how you did. In trying to get pregnant, it's a month-long cycle. You track your temperatures and cervical fluid (ewwww) for 10-14 days until the signs point to ovulation. Then you fuck like rabbits for three days and wait two weeks to see how you did.
• There is only so much you can do to ensure success. In buying a house, you try to have the most attractive contract, which is a totally subjective determination. You have some idea what makes an offer good (price, financing, contingencies) but there is no guarantee that what will be accepted in one sale will be accepted in another. In trying to get pregnant, you try to time things perfectly and make conditions as favorable to conception as possible. Yet even when you screw six hours before you ovulate and lay flat on your back for three hours, there is no guarantee that you will get pregnant.
• Even when you achieve success, there is still a chance that things could fall apart. In buying a house, you breathe a HUGE sigh of relief when your contract is accepted. But until the deal is closed several weeks (or months) later, there are junctures where everything could fall apart - the inspection could turn up huge flaws, the seller could die, etc. In trying to get pregnant, your heart leaps at the sight of two pink lines on a pee stick. But until you hear that baby's heartbeat around 10-12 weeks, you just pray everyday that you don't miscarry.

But in the end, I think both experiences are worth the ride. You have to accept that you can't completely control either outcome, and sometimes certain situations are not meant to be. But, with persistance, the help of skilled professionals, and a little nod from Lady Luck, it is possible to end up with a baby. Or a split-level with a remodeled kitchen.

There's Something About Money

Why does money wield such power in relationships? It's a subject to be avoided among friends, it's not to be loaned among family and it can tear marriages apart. Yet, money in and of itself does not seem to be evil and - in fact - seems like it can do some very good things for people sometimes.

So what's the problem?

It's hard to talk about money, for one thing. Among my closest friends, we don't talk about salaries. We dance around house prices, even though it's public information. The notion of "affordable" varies from person to person, and group vacations or outings can get tense very fast when someone feels that things are too expensive.

Many people seem to feel represented by their money, or lack of it. (Or perceived lack of it.) Their income, their assets, their debts...all facets of their finances combine to create a snapshot of how they're doing in life:

• Lots of money = doing well.
• Lack of money = doing poorly.

I would argue that this isn't true at all, but it is a translation many people accept. Sure, earning a good salary can be an indication of a good career, but not necessarily. I know a lot of people who get paid well and simply George-Costanza their way through the working world. I know others who love their jobs and feel fulfilled every day, yet have to scrimp and save because they've chosen a path of service.

And having money does not necessarily equal being happy or having an easy go in life. How many couples struggling with infertility have spent tens of thousands of dollars on treatments or international adoptions? How many trust fund babies inherited their fortunes from parents or grandparents lost too young, too tragically?

Yet, because money is a fixed constant, it seems so easy to compare. It is easy to quantify how much more or less something costs, how much more or less someone makes.

(Happiness is a little harder to rack up.)

I have found that it's always best to compare how I'm doing with what I'm capable of doing. Could I be earning a better salary by working harder or smarter? Could we afford a house that would give us more space to live the way we want to live? Can we make our pipe dreams into retirement realities by planning and saving more aggressively?

There will always be people who have more than me, and there will always be people who have less. It is not a reflection of success, ability, or merit. It is a distribution.

If I'm doing the best that I can for me and for our family, then I don't really need to worry about anyone else.

Priceless.

Space. Period.

Thanks to the miracles of birth control pills, my monthly visitor is regular as a pocket watch. So when my period was several hours late today, I panicked.

(Exhale. It's okay. Aunt Flo arrived by COB.)

Now, it's not like I am an unwed college student. And it's not like I just had a baby. My daughter is sixteen months old, yet the idea of being pregnant right now paralyzes me with fear and dread. I know people whose children are the same age - or younger! - and who are pregnant with their next child already. Or they are contemplating another baby. Or the idea of an unexpected pregnancy would be a pleasant surprise.

Not me. I plan to put a solid 3+ years between my daughter and her first brother or sister. If I had my druthers, I think I would put about four years. But I start to wonder at what point I am doing a disservice to my children by spacing them too far apart.

The child spacing issue is a tricky one. It seems that the conventional wisdom when I was growing up was two years between kids so they could "grow up together" and "have a playmate." My sister and I were two years apart, and most of my friends with siblings were two or two and a half years apart. If I were to observe that pattern, I would be getting pregnant right now - instead of breathing a HUGE sigh of relief that I have my period.

When asked why we're putting so much space between our kids, I feel put on the spot. As though it's not a perfectly valid decision to wait until my daughter is at least potty-training before getting pregnant again. As though it's selfish to want my old body back, at least briefly, before subjecting it to the rigors of pregnancy again. As though it's impractical to think about paying for two kids in daycare, two sets of swim lessons, two seats on the airplane to visit grandma, two college tuitions to plan for.

Also, I feel like our little family is hitting a nice stride right now. We're doing okay financially, and we're getting ready to buy a bigger house. My daughter is so much fun right now, interacting and playing with us in new ways every day. Why rock the boat by turning myself into a nauseous, over-tired, hormonal mom?

No thanks. We've got some time to go. I've got at least one more New Year's Eve to drink champagne and one more summer season to look fantastic in my swimsuit. Aunt Flo, don't go anywhere soon.

Coco Loco

I returned home from a short midday shopping excursion to learn that my dear, sweet husband had paid me a surprise Valentine's visit during my absence. According to my department's assistant, he "left something for [me]" in my office. Upon closer investigation, there was a travel mug on my desk with a note: "I hope it is still hot! Love, ME"

Oh, how sweet, I thought. It is a cold rainy day, and he brought me a nice cup of hot coffee. But then I opened the lid. And it weren't java at all.

I just had my first experience with Chantico, the new drinking chocolate from Starbucks. Holy cow. I am still swooning. A friend of mine called it "drinking brownie batter" and she is totally, totally right.

Clearly, I am not giving up chocolate for Lent.

I don't think I could ever give up chocolate for any length of time. It is part of the fabric of my life. It is a food group. Even when I was in the midst of losing weight and reforming my lifestyle a few years ago (proud to say that I lost almost 35 pounds in about 10 months), I still ate chocolate when I wanted.

I grew up in a house where we kept semi-sweet chocolate chips around to eat by the handful as snacks. My mother owns more M&M dispensers than I thought they even manufactured, and we used to keep Cocoa Krispies, Cocoa Puffs and Cocoa Pebbles in our pantry. Tonight to cap off our Valentine's celebration, my husband and I are having chocolate fondue with pound cake for dinner.

Why does chocolate make me so happy? I don't know. It is a drug, for sure. Once I start eating chocolate, I have to eat it all...until it's gone. It just tastes so good, and I enter that Homer Simpson state of glazy-eyed drooling and moaning when I'm finally finished.

If only every holiday made chocolate part of the celebration like Valentine's Day!

Deny Thyself

The purple, green and gold beads have washed down into the sewers of Bourbon Street already. Lent is here early this year.

Ash Wednesday came so quickly that my priest joked "they had just finished sweeping up the needles from the Christmas trees" when it was time for the Shrove Tuesday pancake supper. Yet, four days into the holiest season of the Christian church, I have not yet decided how I will observe the occasion.

The expectation, of course, is that something be given up for the duration of the Lenten season. I have been thinking and praying about an appropriate sacrifice. I think that is really the purpose of the self-denial...to find a mechanism to constantly call to mind the supreme sacrifice made by our Lord at Easter.

So I think that a Lenten abstention should be something meaningful, in that it should be a real challenge. And it should also be something that is denied frequently throughout the season.

One year my husband I gave up TV...we limited ourselves to 2-3 hours per week, and we were forced to find more constructive ways to spend our free time. The sacrifice affected the way we lived our lives for those seven weeks. And so I was constantly reminded of the time of Lent.

Well, I've been struggling this year. Giving up food or drink seems too obvious. Yet giving up a way of thinking or speaking seems too subtle. I need to find something that gets at my lifestyle, that challenges my comfort. It's not an easy thing to identify an appropriate sacrifice, but the clock is ticking and I'm already late.

Initial Public Offering?

To date, this blog has been pretty much a private affair. Actually, it's been silently sitting in a very dark closet somewhere. I have done nothing to draw readers and have shied away from opportunities to even acknowledge this blog exists.

Is it time to make the leap?

I started Elevated Umbrella as a way to gather my thoughts, to journal when I needed to, to vent about things that bother me. This space is still serving those purposes, but I wonder if it's time to have go public. Clearly, anyone could stumble across this blog at any moment (or my husband could just out me), but I'm seriously considering fessing up to the blogosphere that "I am one of you." I'm thinking about joining DotMoms under "Moms Who Blog" and asking some friends to link to me on their blogs.

Exposing myself to others (not like that, you pervert!) would force me to post more regularly and would probably hone my writing skills. It might give Elevated Umbrella a more defined scope and style.

And perhaps...just maybe...there are people out there who would be interested in what I have to say! Maybe my thoughts would help germinate some ideas in other people's heads. Working moms (and others) might find comfort in hearing from a kindred spirit.

(Because, of course, there are no other working mom voices in the blogosphere.)

One reason I hesitate is because my writings are pretty personal. I don't think I've ever mentioned people's names or tipped my hand on identifying details, but - to date - I haven't shied away from writing about other people here. Would that have to change? Or would my friends and family hate me if they found out I was writing about them?

I also worry that I have nothing original to add to the already deafening chorus of voices online. If I open my doors to the public, will anyone come? This site is basically a diary. Who wants to read someone's diary?

(I think the format can work, and dooce is a terrific example. Heather rarely provides links to or comments on the outside world, yet her site has a HUGE readership. But the "diary blog" a tough format to really do well.)

And if readers do come, will they like me or hate me? As tough as I try to be, I am still vulnerable deep down and would hate to be criticized or ignored or mocked.

If I open myself up there's no going back, but it may just be time for a leap from the lion's head...

Nice Asset

My husband and I are about to embark on a terrific adventure. We plan to buy a new house and sell our current one.

I'm sure it will be a journey fraught with pitfalls, frustration, false hopes and - ultimately - happiness. The whole process could take a month. It could take three or four months. But we have decided that we are DOING THIS no matter what it takes.

I get the questions: Why now? What's wrong with your present house? To which I answer, The interest rates are still low and the market is still strong, and Our current house is not a long-term house; we are at capacity already.

While we are definitely excited at the prospect of more room, a better parking situation, a possible yard, some extra storage space, etc, I am also really excited at the financial opportunities that buying a new house brings. Cause let's face it, a house is an ASSET. It is something that builds value over time, that you own! It is a golden egg that can be tapped or cashed in during the event of a personal catastrophe.

The trendy financial advice these days for twentysomethings is Invest in your 401(k). And while people should invest in a 401(k), they should buy real estate too. Getting in the market early enables people to trade up later (as we're doing) and to build equity that can be borrowed against later in life. It's not just about deducting the mortgage interest on your taxes.

So while I'm excited at the prospect of a three bedroom house with a kitchen that accomodate two or three people (gasp) comfortably, I'm also excited at the idea of making an investment that will work for us in the long-term. It's not quite as emotional, but it makes me happy nonetheless.

Parenting

My husband and I go through hot spells with TV shows. Something will become our new favorite, and then we watch it to death. Every rerun, every chance we get. Then we tire of it and drop it like last season's fashion fad.

("Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" was the poncho of last year for us, and now it is cast in the pile of super-pointy shoes ["West Wing"] and long scarves ["Iron Chef"].)

Well, our new favorite hour of boob tube is "Supernanny." We love to watch the train wreck families whose toddlers and preschoolers scream obscenities, refuse to go to bed, throw food, etc. It makes us feel very superior about our own parenting skills because our daughter doesn't say curse words. Yet.

But we also love the show because Jo-Jo's rules and guidelines fit our parenting style to a tee. We find Jo Frost to be in line with the only parenting book we own and use: The New Basics by Dr. Michel Cohen. Both Jo and Dr. Michel have a pretty clear position on discipline: Rules, routines and consistency are not mean; to the contrary, they are necessary to create a safe, reliable world in which children can grow and thrive.

We have rules. We have routines. We reward good behavior. We discipline bad behavior. And yes, our daughter is 16 months old.

When I was pregnant, I thought the idea of being so strict with such a young child was overly harsh. But the more I read, the more I paid attention, and the more I reflected on parents and children that I've known through the years, the more that rules, routines and consistency made sense. And they have worked really well. I credit our early establishment of a bedtime routine AND our willingness to let our daughter cry it out with her quick transition to sleeping through the night.

Also, our firmness about what is offered for meals and snacks (as well as when they are offered) has contributed to the terrific eater our daughter is. She either eats what is offered or she is really hungry when the next mealtime rolls around! As a result, we never have to pack "special food" for her when we are going somewhere, and she eats beans, broccoli, peaches, bananas, peas and squash without quibble.

When I see parents who are having trouble with their children, it seems like it is always a lack of rules, routines and consistency that is to blame. These parents don't want to "be too strict" or "hem their kids in." So instead their kids end up running the house, and the whole family revolves around the child's whims. The child learns no boundaries, and has no limits that she can rely on.

It's a nightmare when you see it in action.

Sometimes it is hard to maintain rules, routines and consistency. But in the end, it is worth it. Just call me Supermommy, TV show coming soon.

Cure for What Ails Ya

After being on business travel last week, I have been sitting in my office all week with a head so full of mucus I can actually feel it pulsing in my sinuses sometimes. It's pretty disgusting living these days.

The good news, I suppose, is that the head cold has really curbed my appetite. Since I have managed to lose the weight I gained during the holidays, this is good news. Hopefully I can continue my downward spiral on the scale.

The bad news is that I sound like I have a clothespin on my nose, to the point where people actually ask me to repeat things on the phone. Also, my hearing seems to be a little muffled, and I have a wicked headache that ebbs and flows.

What am I doing about it?

(That's the real question, isn't it?)

I did take two doses of Tylenol Flu the other day when it was really bad. And today I tried an Advil Cold and Sinus, which seems to have had no effect. Only reinforcing my gut: to avoid the medicine.

Now, I'm not some crazy Christian Scientist or new-age herbal remedy pusher, but I feel like medicine just gets in the way of getting better. The only substance I've taken to using reliably when I get a cold is Zicam, which is a homeopathic zinc nasal gel that claims to shorten the duration and reduce the severity of a cold. My husband says I might as well sacrifice chickens in the backyard, that it's a load of well-marketed bunk. I think it works.

Does it work because of the zinc? Or does it work because I believes that it will work? Either way, I don't care. I have no problem paying $10 for a placebo that actually makes the cold more bearable. But cold medicine just seems to drag the process out. For a few hours, I am devoid of troubling symptoms but feel spacey and disconnected from the world, only to be plunged back into the cycle of my body's natural response to the virus when the pills wear off. The process seems to be ultimately shorter when I just things run their course without interfering. Again, that could all be in my head (along with 55 cubic inches of snot), but who I am to know?

Anyway, be it zinc gel, dead chickens or a good night's sleep, I hope that something kicks this cold to the curb soon.