My Pregnancy with Liam (At home) - Part 1

My pregnancy with Liam started really still feeling the loss and sadness from the miscarriage I'd had five months earlier. I took a pregnancy test thinking that I probably was since I had the same symptoms as the last time - painful breasts, missed period, and really exhausted. I brought the positive test out to Jay, who was washing his car. Trepidatiously I told Jay, who I could see felt as scared about it as I did, bu for altogether different reasons - he was scared to watch me go through the pain of it all over again. Last time, we had gone to Argentina on a family vacation so that I could introduce my family to him right after the miscarriage that had happened the week of finals in one of our graduate school semesters. This time, we didn't have anything to snap us out of it, should it happen again.

I convinced my doctor to do an ultrasound at 6 weeks to make sure everything was fine. But then at 8 weeks, I started spotting again. So immediately the doc examined me and it seemed everything was fine. I would just have to get used to it and see if it would stop. It didn't. We went on a family trip to Ohio to see my husband's family when I was 10 weeks and bleeding a lot. I was so scared. Every time I went to the bathroom I would make Jay come in with me in case this was the time when I found it in the toilet. Not to say how I didn't want to participate in anything.

Then at 14 weeks I went to NY City to visit my sister, who was in her second trimester of a great pregnancy. While I spotted off and on, we walked from the upper west side to the lower east, up one hill and down the other. Yes, I was still really frightened. Two weeks later I went back to help throw her baby shower and still bleeding, still very much scared.

At 18weeks, two weeks later, I went in for the ultrasound at a special clinic where the problem finally showed up. The baby was perfect. I just had almost no cervix, an "Incompetent Cervix" they call it. While I was not comprehending what was being communicated to me I was trying to tell the doctor that I had to go back to work. It was Friday, I'd take the weekend easy. It was so surreal, like if someone was speaking a different language in slow motion while their head was wrapped in a water bubble and all I heard was Blah, blah, blah blah, blah blah. Luckily Jay was there once again to be my rock when I couldn't be.

So I went home and straight to bed, until the next morning Dr. Jamison met me in the operating room and performed my cerclage. The whole time I had been telling him that woen usually have nine months to prepare for a needle going up their back, while he responded, "Well my dear, you have less than 24 hours, sorry." He was really wonderful with me. The cerclage went really well and we spoke the whole time. Although being a librarian, I'd gone home and laid in bed with the computer wildly researching cerclages - when are they performed, exactly the type of stitching with the best odds, the likelihood of going into labor from it, etc. The most incredible thing happened immediately following the surgery. While in the recovery room, the baby started to kick for the first time. The butterflies were real kicks now, small, but so sweet. That was all the impetus I needed to make sure this baby was born safely into the world. My world had just changed. I was no longer just me, he was no longer just my fetus. I allowed myself to love him, openly every second of every minute of every day.

The first two days of bedrest were hell. At the end of the third I made Jay take me for a drive until I felt guilty and afraid to lose the baby before insisiting he brought me home. For the next three weeks I waited. The doctor then said that my cervix had not fully stretched yet so I had another three weeks. Then another. Then another. The Fruitville Library was amazing. They found work that I could do from home on my laptop in bed - ordering all of the Audio Visual materials for two library, paper work that they didn't have time, extra research, etc.

The end result was that I ended up in bed the remainder of the pregnancy, full of contractions that came much too often. On the way to the bathroom, on the way back, while showering in a plastic chair in the bathroom before Jay came home, both being the highlight of my day. My mom was an angel, heaven sent. I learned then the love of a mother and why teh meditation of the love of a mother in the Buddhist tradition is my favorite, next to the one on death, both very important in my life during this time. She made my lunches, did our laundry, cleaned my house, kept me company while knitting next to my bed. Made our dinner sometimes so Jay wouldn't be so overwhelmed. An amazing woman with a lot of love. My dad would actually take lunch breaks a few times a week and come over, or on his days off and make me lunch and sit with me in bed watching traveling shows he didn't get at home. Jay did everything else, including, worry about me, the baby, go to school three times per week after working all day and studying for those crazy MBA classes.

But we pulled through, until the day that we had new carpets installed in the bedroom. That night, the contractions kept comig one right after another, they wouldn't stop. So as a precaution I asked Jay to take me to the hospital......Continue to My Pregnancy with Liam (in Hospital) - Part 2.

The Importance of Girlie Fun

When is the last time you had girlie fun? Do you even know what that is - or what it is to you? I grew up with a sister two years and ten months younger than me. And while we are very different in some respects, we are intimately close in others that count far more. She was and still is the more chic, girlie girl than me, I was the tomboy climbed on top of the tallest branch of the tree with my long fingernails painted red. But she was the one that from the age of 3, color coordinated her outfits, pony tails, shoes, and purses. In high school she would spend one hour every night picking out the next day's school outfit, only to change it three times the next morning. Still, we had so much fun together. We could just make a party out of getting ready to go have a night on the town.

My most memorable girlie fun night happened 17 years ago (God I'm getting old, especially because I remember it like it was yesterday). I was 19 and she was 17, we had just arrived in Buenos Aires earlier that day without our parents, we were supposed to meet them a week later in our native Mendoza. That night, our cousin flew in from Ushuaia, Tierra del Fuego, Argentina. Carolina was (and is) 16 days younger than me. She had lived with us in Florida for a year the previous year. We spent all night drinking champagne and getting ready like only girls can, walking around with hair in towels, taking turns at the bathroom mirror, sharing hair dryers, picking out and modeling the best evening outfit for a hot night club in the city of B.A. Since it was July, freezing, and raining, and this was B.A., leather was it. Black leather pants, leather jackets, long straight hair and great makeup that we'd all worked onto each others' faces. All the while, dancing around to Madonna's Immaculate Collection, replaying over and over our theme song, "Holiday." It was the most perfect girlie fun night ever.

But now being older and a mom, girlie fun has taken a different meaning. Going out with your best girl friends to have some wine and sushi on a weekend night to an outside restaurant that with luck, will place some cool jazz, dressing up in our sexy clothes for no one but ourselves is my idea of a girlie night.

Equally, staying in on a Saturday night with your best girl gal in pj's with some wine watching The Bridges of Madison County, after a night of chatting, exchanging ideas, painting each other's toes, and having a bitch session about whatever is not going well in your life is equally appealing. One afternoon I had a great time putting blond streaks on my friend, Vanessa's hair, which ended up needing professional touch up. But the value in that was that she trusted me to do that when I'd never done it before. But after a couple of glasses of wine we thought it was okay for a first try. The fun is what counted.

So do yourself a favor, for just one night, quit reading to your kids, quit giving your best to those you love and give your best to yourself and your girl friends, whom are also flowers in your garden that need tending to, so that when your garden is old and beautiful, you will still have those beautiful flowers holding steadfast on those strong roots for you to cherish. Much love goes out to my best friends who support my craziness despite my rigid ideas.

Pan Seared Tuna with Soy & Ginger

Ingredients:

• 1 lb. tuna steaks
  
• 3 tblsp. soy sauce
• 5 tblsp. olive oil
• 1 -2 tsp. fresh grated ginger (preference)
  
• 1 tsp. minced garlic
• 1 tsp. sugar

Directions:

1. Mix soy sauce, ginger, garlic, 2 tbsp. olive oil, and sugar in a small bowl and pour over the tuna. Marinade in refrigerator for half an hour.
2. Heat the 3 tbsp. oil and on medium-high heat place tuna steaks in oil. Depending on preference, cook one to 4 minutes per side. For well done cook for 4 minutes, for raw for only one minute. Delicious!!! Serve on fresh spinach and pour left over dressing on top.
   

3 Wonders of a 3 Year Old

True to the wonders of a precarious 3 year old boy, I am constantly marveling at the rapidly changing obsessions of my son. I really think there is a difference between the inner wirings of boys and girls. One month before his 3rd birthday, most of our conversations or observations revolve around 3 things:

• Bugs,
• Boo Boos, and
  
• Poop.

Warning: There will be too much discussion so please read at your own risk and comfort of disgust level.

Bugs - There is not a bug that goes undetected in our outside our home. There is really no need for pest control treatments, my son will spot them all and won't stop until we either take them outside or stomp on them. Ants, spiders, roaches, you name it, they cannot live unnoticed. Ants are "bad, bad, bad;" bees are "it stung me," followed by a pinch, spiders make Liam get his fingers in climbing position and he starts singing, "The Itsy Bitsy Spider," as to where roaches are, well, something worth investigating. When Liam finds a roach, alive or dead, they are usually with their legs up, still moving. He will run to get me and on our way to see it, he stops at the bathroom and retrieves toilet paper. Then we go and look at, discuss whether it's dead or alive and proceed to picking it up. Yuk is right!! I cringe, but I don't let him know it. Why kill my son's sense of wonder? I have to admit he is a little cruel with it. He will pick it up, then drop it, then pick it up again a few more times. Then he will take it and throw it in the toilet, flush it, and say, "bye, bye, see you later." The most disgusting thing occurred the other day: he walked up to me with open, sweaty hands and there, stuck was the evidence of the last few minutes - roach legs pasted onto his palms. Trying not to freak out, remembering how horrified my parents were with my love of snakes, I just took him to the bathroom and cleaned him off.

Boo Boos - All of a sudden last week Liam became obsessed with anything that will hurt, him or anyone else, by stating "it's a boo boo, it hurts" with the most pitiful look on his face. I think he may even try to hurt himself so he can show us, although he refuses to wear a bandaid or screams bloody murder if we spray anything on it. His knees and legs are more evidence of his boyish nature and I dread his third year checkup with all his bumps, bruises and scrapings.

Poop - Thanks be to poop for it got Liam potty trained very quickly. While he was in the process already of peeing in the toilet, not a potty, he refused to sit on the toilet out of fear. But once while he was standing up peeing in toilet he started holding his butt cheeks together, saying he had to poop. The minute I saw it coming, I immediately sat him on the toilet and when he looked, he got so excited. That was early one Saturday morning and he spent the whole day trying to poop. I told him he had no more in him but he persisted. In no time, potty training was a success. Yippy!! Now, the funny thing is that he makes us go in there with him to see it because he is so proud to inform us that, "Look mommy, it looks like snakes!!"

Now why can't we enjoy every small, insignificant thing in life? Wouldn't it be great if we could!!

Parenting Your Parent - Part 1

I will start this blog entry by stating that I am a very lucky woman because I have two wonderful, living, loving parents, who are still together and who must have raised me well. Now that I'm a mother do I finally realize all of the selfless sacrifice parents do for the unconditional love of their children (most of them). If we are lucky, they raise us with good values and an open mind, not to mention with open hearts. Mine certainly did that.

When I was ten years old, my father decided that we would be leaving our home in Argentina to live in the United States, regardless of whether my mom or us really wanted to. Not that my dad was a selfish man, but he knew a good opportunity when he saw one. I will not go through all of the acculturation challenges of moving to a land where you may only know one person, cannot speak the language, have no job, and know nothing about the culture, just some vague idea that your value system completely clashes with the new one and that while you embrace it, you only do so very reluctantly, fighting it all the way. Constantly comparing everything, finding that nothing measures up. It's a pretty lonely place. That is where my parents found themselves, but mostly my mother was the one who suffered. My father went to work immediately, and while busy learning a new trade as a baker and excellent cake decorator who arose every morning at 2 a.m. and went to bed at 9 p.m., did not leave him any time for feeling emotions of any type, other than exhaustion. Thank you daddy for working so hard.

Back to my mother. My mother gave up a passionate, prominent career as a neo-natal surgical nurse at a hospital, where saving babies and assisting in deliveries was the only place she wanted to be. Being very happy there and very close to her family, she didn't want to come here, but did so at the insistence of my father. So what do you do when you can't stay home, need money, and don't know the language in a foreign land? You go clean houses, nice fancy ones that you know you will never live in. In short, this was the first contributing factor to killing her spirit. We moved from NJ to Florida a year later in hopes of warmer weather and friendlier people than those in the north east. Not to say that they are unfriendly, but to a Hispanic culture, at the risk of sounding offensive, they are as cold as the snow they live in. But going back home was not an option, so we plugged on.

Between preparing meals, keeping our home clean, dealing with the loss of her family, and working, my mother never took the time to learn English. She got comfortable in her pain and the only source of happiness came in the form of letters from back home, or tape recordings her family recorded once a month, sent by mail. In not learning English, my mom made no American friends, hardly any Hispanic ones. She was sad, lonely, and very tired. Within a couple of years, my sister and I were fluent in both languages, and often used it against my parents like all bilingual children do.

So here is where my parenting my parents started. I remember the first time. I was 10. I had already been translating everything for my parents, especially my mom. Every time we went to a store or anywhere she needed a question answered, I asked it. Then my parents were fortunate and bought our first home here. I translated all of the bank paperwork, both for them and for the bank, who had no translators. Did I state that I was 10? Very quickly, I was translating and explaining the concept of credit cards to my parents, who didn't have those options back home, soon I was translating and talking to bill collectors, I guess I hadn't explained the concept of credit to my parents very well. I was translating when my teachers told my parents I wasn't doing well enough in class, all the mail that came to the house, all the things my mother had to write, translating at the purchase of a new car, etc.

Fast forward 25 years....September, 2000. My mother was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma. A cancer of the plasma cell within the bone marrow, rare. After seeing different doctors who offered multiple protocol options and very little hope, being the controlling person I am, and loving my mommy, mami as I call her, I had to take matters into my own hands. I called around, I learned to do research on my own with the wonderful help of the Internet, and trained myself at medical research by reading medical journals and interpreting the medical language, especially in the form of oncology. I had to save my mami, no one else was going to love her like I did. That is when parenting my mom went to a different level. I loved researching so much I changed careers, went back to school and got my masters in Library & Information Science, and kept researching. Clinical trials, medications, alternative medicine, you name it. I translated everything at every appointment she had. I went in with my legal pad with 2 pages of questions, doctors hated me, I treated them like they worked for me, imagine that, they being resentful to that, my saving my mami. I made all the calls to the insurance companies to pay for all of these expensive ($7,000 a month medications), pharmaceutical companies to see if they would sponsor the medications. I learned to interpret all of the blood levels in all of the tests and questioned when I thought the treatments weren't working. I researched what the top doctors treating Myeloma were doing. I even asked the doctors to switch medications when I knew others had come to market recently, before they gave us the option. Did I say that they hated me?

Unfortunately, this taught my mom that someone was responsible for her, that someone would always fight for her and take care of her. She no longer had to do it herself. Unfortunately, I was also her daughter, and I needed my mami. So we traded. She became my child who had this life depending project, and I became her savior, in exchange for keeping her alive to love me. Being Hispanic, this would not be anything strange. In fact, it's common. We don't put our parents in a home when they are old and can't care for themselves. We simply move them in with us. But being partly of this culture, I know there are other options to the way I was raised. Even if these ways go against what I believe it, yet I can't ignore them. But did I say that my mom is only 59? She is not old, she has just grown helpless and I've enabled her to lean on me far too much far too long.

So now I'm a mom to my sweet little 3 year old son, Liam. I have my own family, my own problems, my own dreams, my own responsibilities. And I still have my mom depending on me. And I am so conflicted on so many levels I can't write them down fast enough without thinking there must be some I forgot.....See Parenting Your Parent - Part 2.

Preschool

All preschools are not created equal, I'll start by saying that. After placing Liam in a Kids Day Out program last September, I've watched Liam grow socially in ways I never thought he would. I know, I need to give my smart little boy some credit. He has learned everything I had set out as essential in this first schooling endeavor: sharing, playing nicely with others, following directions, sitting in a circle, and one of the most important, being away from me from time to time - for his own good.

His teacher Amber has a heart of gold and the patience of a saint. She put up and helped ease him out of headbanging, horrible tantrums thrown by Liam in his separation anxiety from me, which at the beginning lasted the whole 3 hours, 3 days per week. Since September, he now hardly struggles to separate, with the occasional tactic of delaying my leaving with "Big hugs, mommy," over and over. But now, I've also seen Liam grow out of this environment and in need of more structure. His behavior has changed to some of the older children that his class gets to spend too much time with because of financial reasons of the school, and because some teachers who have children there (older) allow their children into the classroom, disrupting the smaller ones. So witnessing this, I have been once again sent off, much sooner than I wish and not ready to face another difficult task, into research something long term for my son- finding another preschool.

I went on the hunt once again with my friend, Thelma, who was the one that suggested I try the KDO program, her daughter was already enrolled and I trust her judgment. This time, we learned terms like "Looking for the Stars," a system that rates schools based on a 5 star rating that has five elements they strive for in excellence, "VPK," Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten that they can go to free of charge at the age of 4, being that some preschools offer this and some do not. There's the issue of trying to not switch them around, meaning, the pressure is on you to find a great school that has all of these and that you choose well the first time so you don't have to disrupt them and switch them again later. Ay, ay, ay, ay, ay. Too much pressure. And if that's not all, Liam is still missing the MMR, which I still don't want to give him yet, and the chicken pox vaccine and I have to make sure that the school we choose is okay with us opting out. This is all before calculating the cost of these places. Hugely expensive.

Then let's look at the environment, is it nurturing, loving enough? Do they have a great playground? Yes, that is important both to Liam and to me. I want him to want to go there. Not like now where he wakes up saying, "I not go to school today mommy." Then, does creativity flow freely there, do they have structure, will they learn what they need to learn, will they be kept busy and not bored, are the activities varying, are the classrooms center based, etc. Is the teacher friendly and will my perceptive, highly intuitive 3 year old bond with her, he doesn't with everyone. Will the teacher work with me and my goals for my son, will she be accepting of his sensitivities and know how to handle them like his previous teacher did? All these and a million things I can't think about but will stress about anyway?

I have known for some time that this is the hardest job a person can ever have, being a mom, particularly, because all of these diffffffffffficult decisions rest on our shoulders. But now I see how we will be held accountable for our choices. And while this is not a job that we can get fired from, reasonably speaking, we will reep the rewards or the havoc that we have created and instilled in these tiny creatures. They will be there for us to see and hear for the rest of our lives, and these, seemingly not yet so trivial decisions really do mark our children from very early on.
For every time I have thought, what's the harm in this about anything, I have seen it very quickly. Children need positive stimulation, creative play, loving nurturance from those around them, discipline and unwavering limits for them to navigate around the appropriate perimeters, along with choices they can make that will instill self-esteem and confidence. This is all I have to find and provide for my son. Does this not sound like the hardest job ever?

I mean, unlike another job where if I don't perform I will get fired yes, but I can always find another one and forget about the last one. At this job, the consequences of my work will be self-evident reminders of correct or incorrect choices I made for my son for the rest of my life and more importantly, he will be a person out of those choices, influencing everyone he encounters and has relationships with. So with love, courage, and most of all, with faith, I go forward asking the universe and my Buddhas to guide me in this endeavor, for as silly as the term preschool seems, it will be invaluable in shaping this little tiny person whom I love most in the world.

Egg/veggie Dough Wrap Recipe

My sister gave me this recipe she created between one she'd found in "Deceptively Delicious" and modified it a bit. It's healthy, filling, and a good meal for a picky eater.

Ingredients:

• little bit of flour
• 7 eggs
• 1/2 zucchini or another veggie on hand
• 1 Pillsbury Doughboy Croissant roll tube

Steps:

1. Separate and beat the eggs (I only use 3 yolks and all the whites - I have high cholesterol)
2. Separate the croissant rolls and use some flour (so they don't stick) and a rolling pin to roll them out a little more to give more space for the eggs.
3. Slice the zucchini (or whatever veggie) into very small pieces.
4. Saute the eggs and the zucchini, making a frittata.
   
5. Scoop two tablespoons of frittata into the croissant.
6. Fold the croissant like a little diaper and put into the oven for 11 minutes at the temperature stipulated by the croissant directions.

These can be stored in the fridge and reheated later. They are full of protein and for a child it can be a meal all by itself.

Play Therapy

While his tantrums have most gone, he still was suffering anxiety every time we went to a park or somewhere where small children were present. Because he has a big personal space area, if a child came too close to him, or God forbid, touched him, he would lie down on the floor, head into the dirt. He would stay in this position until we rescued him, and when we did, he would be covered in tears that had soaked up the dirt into his face. It was horrible to see our little boy suffering. So after researching books, internet, you name it, I called my old therapist, to see if she could help. She is the only certified Play Therapist in southwest Florida and is amazing. She already knew me from a year of intense counseling so it was an amazing fit to bring him to her. We have been meeting with her on a weekly basis now for a couple of months and while we do play therapy with him, she also coaches us on techniques to build Liam's self esteem so these anxieties will lessen. That, combined with him going to preschool three mornings per week where he gets a chance to practice what he's learning (without knowing it) has completely changed our lives. There is a real science to Play Therapy and it really works. I would have never believed it. We are so proud of Liam because every single day we see the strides he is taking to be more confident in his ability to make choices and integrate himself without fear into a setting that would have paralyzed him before.

Headbanging & Tantrums - Part 2

According to Baby Center:
"Head banging is surprisingly common. Up to 20 percent of babies and toddlers bang their head on purpose, although boys are three times more likely to do it than girls. Head banging often starts in the second half of the first year and peaks between 18 and 24 months of age. Your baby's head-banging habit may last for several months, or even years, though most children outgrow it by age 3."

We took Liam to a child psychiatrist, after he'd been evaluated for his overall development and he scored the highest in all areas, speech, cognitively, gross and fine motor skills, etc. Through the psychiatrist we were recommended a child behavior specialist. We hired a great specialist who came to our house on a weekly basis. First, she evaluated him through us and then in his own environment. She learned what my sister had already told me, we were not being consistent with him and he was ruling our home. He was also so stubborn and persistent and us so laid back and easy going that the combination was toxic. We were negatively feeding from each other and Jay and I were exhausted with him, so we gave in......way too much. The behaviorist said we had a child centered home, where he and his wishes came first and then we did. We needed to turn that around. So she armed us with tools of "calm down" times and limit settings and told us to prepare for the next two weeks of hell he'd put us through.

Because the headbanging was bad at this point, putting him in calm down time didn't work, we knew it wouldn't. With her, we watched him bang over and over. Until she said that he needed to learn to calm down on his own in a safe place. So I went to the fabric store and bought $100 worth of upholstering foam, the stuff is really expensive. I came home and completely covered his entire crib full of foam, wrapped around with tape and quilts in a way that he couldn't pull it off. The bed also became too difficult to jump out of, like he used to when he was really upset. Every time he made the most minor infraction we had to put him in there until he realized it was wrong and until he calmed down. The reasons he headbanged, which I haven't yet mentioned until now were: he wanted something we wouldn't give him or took something away,
or a child took something from him or he didn't want to share, etc.

Although the next two weeks were no fun days at the park, the improvements came quicker than we had anticipated. Liam went from calming down in one hour to 30 minutes, to 15 minutes, to 2 minutes in just one week. One of the ways that we started to prevent his tantrums was by using his bike helmet, like his psychiatrist had suggested. So we kept it inside the house and when he started to headbang we would restrain him and put it on him. He hated it. So soon he learned that the minute he started to headbang we'd show it to him and he would stop, even though he'd still have the tantrum by crying. This was such a nice change.

Another method, this one suggested by the behaviorist was to allow him to headbang, thus taking the control from him and using it against him. Although we were doubtful, it worked. It enraged him that he couldn't use his favorite control method against us. When he'd bang his head, I'd take him to the carpet and put a pillow down and say, "You're mad mad mad, bang your head, bang your head, make it hurt." He would look at me like "wow, why are you letting me do this." Then he'd get upset and slap something but would stop banging. Even though he still persisted pushing our buttons, he knew now what would come of it. During this time, he had just started school (last Sept.) and he also headbanged there when I left him because he had severe separation anxiety. But with the loving structure that his teachers provided him he started to have really good days there. These two methods worked for us and soon he stopped for the most part. Now he has learned to hit, or slap us when he gets upset, instead of headbanging. Even though he still will do it once, for attention, every once in a while, and we just ignore it or tell him it won't work and he doesn't do it again. He has come such a long way and we are so proud of the daily progress he makes through the hard work he does and we do together, as a family, being consistent, loving, and nurturing. We will never cease to try anything that will help him be the happiest, self-secure and loving person he can be. This was and is our only goal for him.

The thing that I've learned is that sensitive children is that their emotions range strongly in either direction and keeping them in the middle is hard for them, especially at this age. It is important to teach them about our feelings, labeling them when they are angry, sad, scared, happy, etc. And the more their communication improves and they learn to recognize and integrate these feelings to tell us what they're feeling, the less these tantrums will occur. After we stopped seeing the behaviorist we knew of another resource that would probably work better long term in identifying and helping us cope with some of this social anxiety, especially with children his age or slightly younger. Play Therapy. I will discuss these in another blog entry since it is quite extensive.

Ditched Bank of America

Yea!!! I finally ditched Bank of America once and for all. I'm so excited to have broken a financial relationship that had become so toxic. Foremost, I am grateful to my friend, Sue, who pointed me in the way of the local credit union. Like most politically charged liberals, I am pissed at all the bailouts for companies whose primary goal is executive pay and bonuses. I got tired of hearing all of them come in and ask for money and then turn around and shit on it. We work hard. They just go to meetings to find ways of ripping off the working folk. Through it all I watched the car companies be held accountable but not the banks. They needed and got special treatment. They got to fail at their job, keep their job, and with their heads held high (morally corrupt bastards), as if it wasn't their doing, ask us for money to fail again.

For us, it all started with a letter. Bank of America sent my parents and me a letter about raising the interest rates, because like states in the tiniest fine print at the very last paragraph of the back page of your statement, "they can exercise their right to do that at any time." Not only were they raising the rates on the credit card but they were instituting new fees,

1. a transaction fee per credit card usage, both for cash advances and purchases,
2. a transaction fee if you overdrew from your checking to savings account,
3. a fee just for having a checking account,
4. a fee just for having a savings account.
   

Not to mention that they had been charging me erroneous fees for the past few months that I had to keep calling them to take off. So after banking with them for 18 years, I cancelled all of our accounts with them. And I am proud that I will not be bullied by a big banker anymore. They can get their moneys from other idiots but they won't get it from me.

So good bye Bank of America. I only wish you bankruptcy. Unless you fully become nationalized.