Well great

There's a lot of drama going down at a Mommy Board I belong to. I don't understand why, other than when that much estrogen gets slinging around it's usually inevitable.

This is why I hate working with women as a general rule. Not always, but with most of the jobs I've had where the staff was predominantly female the shit hit the fan on a regular basis. I'm a person who keeps to herself and doesn't enjoy gossiping at work, so usually my only indication that anything was up would be when I was called into the "office" and asked about what was going on. I usually had to reply that I was unaware of anything, but once the floodgate opened suddenly ALL I was aware of was the crap going on.

And often that gossip involved me. Or the backstabbing. Or the general pissiness.

I remember at my very last job being called into the office all of the time and informed that I was not being friendly enough to my co-workers and that people were complaining. I was there to work, not to make friends, and the idea that someone would complain about me for not being cuddly enough was just amazing to me.

Now, granted, I wasn't on my meds at the time, but I can GUAR-AN-TEE you that if I were to be working there now I would have the same mindset. There to work, not to cuddle.

And to be blindsided by drama when you have no idea what's going on? It's just dreadful.

So I think that I might have to start really living my life instead of hanging out on the internet a lot. I love my internet friends very much, especially the ones that are "off board" if you will. However, I think I really need a break. Which is a shame, because I really thought that the purpose of these forums was community and support.

I need to edit this to include that there is one board I belong to that is completely drama-free. It's a board for care givers of diabetic cats. It's an amazing group of caring women and I would be lost without them, even though my diabetic is no longer on this earth. They still welcome me. They're wonderful. And again, lost without them.

OCD and Clumsy

There are 2 parts of my personality which provide endless amusement to those who know me.

The first is an OCD quality in which before having a child I couldn't handle food on myself. I also couldn't stand things scattered around on the floor. My best friend used to throw paper on the floor when I was mid-rant because she knew it would shut me up long enough to pick up the paper and throw it in the trash. At this point, I would forget what I was ranting about in the first place. Having a child has removed some of these quirks, but I discovered one more this morning. I had to take the pile of bills to the mailbox. Before walking them out there I stacked them in order from largest to smallest. Now, I used to do that when folding laundry without even looking at it, but it really hadn't crossed my mind in awhile. Until I noticed myself doing it today.

My second quality is complete and utter clumsiness. I have ZERO grace. I can walk, usually, and I can almost always manage to sit down without falling down, but other than that, you'd better watch out. I'm like Godzilla swishing his tail through Tokyo. I have fallen off sofas, fallen out of my car into a mud puddle while attempting to extract my X-Box from said car, and walked smack into door jambs. Last night I ended up tripping over a broken glass that I KNEW was outside. I had placed it there. I had been waiting to throw it out into the trash bag when the bag was closer to full so that it wouldn't slice through the bottom of the bag. I was stupid. I ended up trying to sever 3 toes from my foot, and bled everywhere. So I staggered up the steps to the kitchen door and pushed the door open and hollered to Darling Husband "I need a paper towel RIGHT NOW." His response?

"Why?"

My response?

"Just get me the fucking towel!!!!"

He brought me 5.

Today I have a sore foot and a perfectly stacked pile of bills. Good day or bad day? You tell me.

My truck

That's Haldir. yes, I named my truck after a dead Elf.

Haldir died yesterday. Haldir has been the best and most favorite vehicle of my adult life. He's fun to drive, and I can actually use the bed to haul things. That's been great fun. I once hauled 3 large tanks of rats from one end of town to the other when I was moving in here with Rich.

Yesterday while I was driving Livvie around on errands I started to lose control of the wheel. By that I mean that the entire truck attempted to get into the right lane repeatedly, when the safest thing to do was to stay in the left. I attempted to communicate this to Haldir by yanking back on the wheel and throwing all my weight into staying to the left.

When we reached the grocery store I smelled burning. I popped the hood and couldn't locate the source of the burning. While I was there I also checked the power steering and coolant levels and both are fine.

So there it is. My truck is no longer safe to drive, and I have no other vehicle.

Guess we'll stay inside and watch TV every day.

Back to the doc

Today I have to go back and pick up some more drugs so I can up my dosages even more. Yeah, she finally called me last night to find out why I was wigging. I let her know that I'm currently swinging as fast as Britney and that it doesn't seem like a great place to be.

The cool thing is that until we know these meds will work long term she'll keep giving me samples so that I don't have to pay for something that doesn't work.

The not so cool thing is that I really don't see this particular combo of drugs working. I really don't. Which leads to:

Lithium

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

From Wikipedia:

Lithium salts such as lithium carbonate, lithium citrate, and lithium orotate are mood stabilizers. They are used in the treatment of bipolar disorder, since unlike most other mood altering drugs, they counteract both mania and depression. Lithium can also be used to augment other antidepressant drugs. It is also sometimes prescribed as a preventive treatment for migraine disease and cluster headaches.
The active principle in these salts is the lithium ion Li+, which interacts with the normal function of sodium ions to produce numerous changes in the neurotransmitter activity of the brain. Therapeutically useful amounts of lithium are only slightly lower than toxic amounts, so the blood levels of lithium must be carefully monitored during treatment.
Common side effects include muscle tremors, twitching, ataxia, nephrogenic diabetes insipidus (polyuria and polydipsia) and seizures. Most of the side-effects are a result caused by the increased elimination of potassium.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And yes, this is the same chemical that is used in batteries and also nuclear weapons.

So please keep your fingers crossed that this dosage on my current meds works. I'm now at the max prescribed dosage of both.

Shoulda knocked wood

Yep.

Today sucks. I have a call in to the doc to talk about possibly changing my meds.

On the plus side my kid took her naps WHEN she was supposed to. She's sleeping now, in fact, or I wouldn't be typing this as she could have given Ripley a run for her money this morning.

I'll post more after I talk to the doc. Right now I'm just too pissed.

ETA-- Still pissed. No call back.

And away we go...

I saw the doc on Thursday and we bumped up the dosage on both of my ridiculously spendy drugs. It worked practically instantly. I am in the low level of mania now where everything seems just peachy and nothing is really bothering me. I actually like my kid for a change instead of feeling like I was given the biggest demon seed ever.

This is the dangerous part of the disease. When you feel like this it's very easy to decide not to take your meds because you feel so good. Also, once the meds REALLY kick in you won't feel nearly this amazing. You'll feel normal.

And who wants to be normal, right?

It's a hard thing to keep on keeping on even though you know the dire consequences if you don't.

But I'll be good and keep taking my meds and wait for these super duper happy dappy feelings to go away. It'll be a shame when it happens, but worse is what I was. And I was reaching the point of intolerable.

Thanks for your support, everyone. It's received with much love.

Well feh.

My kid slept well most of the night last night.

I, however, woke up with her at 2 something and then couldn't get back to sleep until sometime after 4am.

Sigh.

The Chicky Nacho

Starts with chips. Lovely homemade chips with just the right amount of salt on them. Then they put shredded chicken and a VERY small amount of tomatoes on. The chicken is marinated in God's own sauce. They're topped with a white creamy cheese sauce and then jalapenos if you ask. I always ask.

To eat them you need 8 hands because they always fall all over the place when you try to get one to your mouth. I have very rarely ended up with chicky nacho on myself though, so I consider myself an expert.

I used to be able to eat an entire order of them by myself. Not so much anymore now that I have a kid. Today I had to spend most of my lunch time cutting up a chicken nugget and fries for my kid, who LOVED her lunch. Who the hell knew that a Mexican place would serve chicken nuggets?

I hate myself

I hate being Bipolar. I hate not knowing what's going on in my brain. I hate that meds seem to work for a short time only and not knowing if I need to bump up the dosage or switch meds altogether. I hate that when I get this way the slightest thing like my dog not peeing or my kid taking longer than 15 min to fall asleep will put me in an honest to God, seeing red level of rage.

I hate needing meds at all, and I especially hate needing meds that have no generic equivalent and cost about a gazillion dollars. I hate not having the gazillion dollars to pay out.

I hate that I have to go to the doctor today and I absolutely am furious that the only appointment I could get is a 15 min one. FIFTEEN MINUTES to deal with all of this shit. What the fuck ever.

I hate being a member of this "special little club" although we certainly do have some prestigious members.

Baudelaire

Beethoven

Churchill

Kurt Cobain

Richard Dreyfuss

Patty Duke

Emerson

Carrie Fisher

The Fitzgeralds

Hendrix

The list can go on, but I honestly don't feel like going all the way to Z.

And I am HATING the fact that my child will probably end up this way too. But hell, maybe she'll end up an Emerson rather than a Julie.

WooHOOO

I had actual adult company this morning. My friend was down from Manhattan for teachers' meetings at Sweet Little College and she stopped by. This is awesome, because I haven't seen her since Rich and I got married. The other awesome part was that I had genuine adult conversation when the kid wasn't butting in (And she butted in a lot).

So I realize that I do need to spend more time with other adults. Rich is an adult, but he lives here and so doesn't count in this case. I do realize now though that spending 90% of your time either with an infant or desperately seeking someone on the internet to talk to doesn't make for a healthy frame of mind. Neither does sitting and watching the Wiggles for 6 hours a day, interrupted only by naps. And those naps could run anywhere from 30 min-2 hours depending on how agreeable the kid is being. Which means I occasionally only get a half hour break from The Wiggles. Which is unacceptable by anyone's standards.

So I'm going to attempt to get out of the house more and associate with other people. Even if I have to take Livvie with me, at least I'll be interacting with others. Right?

I'll start with my shrink appointment tomorrow.

Maybe I'll even swing by Borders sometime this week and visit Ted. Livvie is wigged by his beard though, so I'll have to ask him to put a bag over his head like the unknown comic.

Yeah, that'll work.

Well

My kid walked today.

She's been taking a few steps here and there for the past week or so, and that's been freaky enough. This morning, however, while I was on the phone she pushed herself up off the floor and took 14 steps to walk from one side of the living room to the other.

The last 3 steps were more like running, because she was getting ready to topple over, but hey. It was walking.

My life is about to become a LOT more interesting.

Night of the Lepus

With thanks to Joss Whedon-

Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes
They got them hoppy legs and twitchy little noses
And what's with all the carrots?
What do they need such good eyesight for anyway?
Bunnies, bunnies
It must be bunnies



I figured out what the bunnies were doing in my yard. They were plotting the best way to consume EVERY ONE of our ornamental grass plants.

You know, we have an entire yard full of grass. WHY these little buttmunches need to eat our $1.75 per plant ornamentals is beyond me. However, apparently their plans consist of moving counter clockwise around the circle of the garden. They could be trying to raise a demon for all I know.

I'll totally be not surprised if I walk out there and find an upside down pentacle in the center, traced around the lilac tree.

Add the bunnies to the list of fauna that I need to shoot with the Taser. It'll be for the greater good. Who wants a giant Hell-Bunny running amok?

Men (Part 2)

For heaven's sake.

Yesterday I heard banging outside while Livvie was napping. The dogs thought someone was at the door and started their quiet "wuff" barking. Thank goodness they didn't wake her up. I went outside and Rich was out there. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was kicking plywood because there was a snake in the shed. He then went on to tell me that this snake was at least 5 ft long and was "not a blacksnake" so was probably poisonous. Possibly could even be a copperhead or a cotton mouth. I told him I was going to go look. I was informed I was not.

"That snake is 5 ft long, which means it can strike 5 ft. You're not going down there."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Rich. He's not gonna bite me."

Back and forth for about 5 minutes. I was informed that if I was bitten I could lose part of my leg.

So we stood on the deck and peered into the shed while drinking beer. Eventually I saw our little friend come slithering out of the room in the shed that was under construction. He had been nowhere near the plywood that Rich had been kicking.

"There he is, honey. Oh he's beautiful!"

"Where? I don't have my glasses on."

I retrieved Rich's glasses and he put them on.

"Honey, that snake is nowhere near 5 ft long. He's 3 at the most."

"Well it's still a really big snake."

I went online and googled our snake. He's a harmless milksnake.

Rich didn't believe me.

We continued drinking beer and watched him slither into a corner.

I then informed Rich that since I was the one wearing jeans I was going to go down and take a look at him.

"There is no way I'm letting you go down there first."

"Honey, let me???!!! I'm not afraid of him"

"I'm not either, I just don't have time to go to the hospital and possibly lose a day at work."

Nice to see you care.

So I got my shoes on and ran down to the shed to find Rich already down there poking around at things. Our snake was gone. I'm a bit sad. I would have loved to see him up close. Like in the process of picking him up and throwing him at my husband.

Men

After a conversation with BFF Xris via email last night while we watched Shark Week together, it has come to my attention that there aren't enough men in the world.

Oh, there are plenty of boys, and there's a ton of girls running around masquerading as men, but there aren't enough True Men. You know, the kind that can cut lumber without worrying about the saw, replace the spark plugs in a car without wondering where they go, and dig a hole fully expecting to get dirty. As far as that goes, there aren't enough men who know how to properly use a shovel in the first place.

I happened to marry one. Yep. I did. He can do anything that he decides to do, and his competence is a total turn on. The other day he framed and built a wall, cut a hole in the shed and turned it into a window complete with frame, and also actually put studs in the afore mentioned wall because the lumber he bought was a small bit warped. The man knows where and how to place studs. He also managed to find a nest of cockroaches in the shed, and even though he was completely skeeved by it he managed to kill them and remove the nest.

He wasn't self conscious about the fact that he was shirtless, he was covered in sweat and sawdust, and he was totally sexy.

Where are the rest of the men like that?

This conversation with Xris came up because we were watching Mike Rowe of the Dirty Jobs show on the Discovery Channel. Mike is a pip. He's hot, he's hilarious, and he shills for Ford which automatically kicks him up a notch. He can also do anything on the Dirty Jobs show that is required of him, and as the title of the show clearly states, he's not afraid to get dirty doing it. Last night he was testing shark bite suits and chopping chum. Stinky, old, decaying fish. Without gloves.

So Mike and my husband rock. If there are anymore of you out there, pipe in. And if any gals reading this know of some, pipe in too. I have an overwhelming need to know that these men exist. Because otherwise my daughter will end up with a pansy when she settles down.

To the cashier at Babies R Us

You know what? I've been there. I worked in retail for 17 years, and I get that the job sucks. I also understand that first thing in the morning sucks. Know what else? I don't care.

I'm sorry I interrupted your conversation with the other cashiers this morning so that I could check out. I'm sorry you felt as if I was beneath your hospitality. I'm sorry you felt as if you had to be surly to a woman who had been dealing with a whining, misbehaving infant for the past 30 min while she searched high and low in the store for what she needed.

I think it's time you found another job. Really. One of the most important aspects of being a retail worker is your ability to put on a happy face and act better than Meryl Streep. Making your customers feel as if they'd just trodden in dog shit is not in your best interests. Because I got your name. Yep. Read your name tag. And the store's phone number is on the receipt...

Tipsy Insects

It's time for more Adventures in My Back Yard.

Yesterday I went on the deck to smoke and was witness to a race war in my driveway. There was a catbird on the gravel surrounded by three Brown Thrashers. Thrashers are larger, brown versions of catbirds. Same family. Regardless, the catbird was surrounded and displaying much like a teeny ostrich. He splayed his wings out, puffed his tail, and rocked back and forth to make himself equally as large as said ostrich. The thrashers were unimpressed, and continued advancing on him. I was a split second from screaming, "Are you a bird or what??" when the catbird apparently remembered this was so and took off straight up into the air to escape. The thrashers then went about their business, which was rolling in the sand in my garden.

The next thing also happened on a cigarette trip. I was on the deck and a swallowtail butterfly landed on my recycling bin. It then hopped down and perched on a beer can and began drinking the beer from the rim of the can (no, we don't rinse first, yes we suck). He hopped from can to can draining each rim, and then he promptly flew smack into the side of the deck.

The third thing actually happened overnight. I have caladium planted in the garden. Gorgeous, full, red caladium that were a stunning set piece in the garden. Caladium that currently have no leaves because some JACKASS DEER decided to use my garden as a buffet last night. He or she also tried gnawing on my lilac tree, but it apparently didn't taste as good because there's not much missing. Either that or the JACKASS DEER filled up on the caladium first and then used the lilac as dessert. Either way, this was the first time in my life I've considered sitting on the deck with a rifle to shoot Bambi between the eyes. I think I'll turn the sprinkler on overnights from now on and douse the JACKASS DEER when he or she tries to snack.

A new home?

Rich has found a home on four acres in the lake area for $128k. Yes. $128k. It IS a 12 year old doublewide, but we aren't proud. Given that a lot of doublewides put our current home to shame with all of their amenities, I think if this one proves to be a gem we can happily stick "Trailer Trash" hats on our heads and call it a day.

The reason the price is so low? Duke Power has a tower on the land that the home sits on. It's putting people off. I don't think we care. It depends. We'll do a bit more research first, but we're going to drive out today just to see if this is actually a pipe dream or a dream realized.

FOUR ACRES. No traffic. Fenced in half acre of yard for the dogs to run around. HUGE outbuilding. Carport. FOUR ACRES. You can't BUY four acres of land for $128k these days. But we might be about to.

Please please please let this all work out. Let us get a loan. Let us sell this house quickly. Please let this be The Thing to do.

UPDATE---

Yeah, so this is SO not The Thing to do. We drove through EBF Wake County, which is not terrible, but then we turned on a gravel lane that was exactly wide enough for ONE vehicle at a time. Also not terrible, although my truck would never make it with the suspension problems I have. We drove and drove, sometimes close enough to people's home that we could see inside their windows. We got to the very end of the lane and there stood The Tower. Close enough to the front door of the house to be hit with a rock. It was FUGLY, and I'm assuming that having electrical pulses being sent out that close to one's home isn't a great idea. Also, the neighbors were about 100 ft from the front door of the house. Um, FOUR ACRES and you put the house right there? That was a wee bit retarded. So after being accosted by an insane country dog who tried to eat the tires on our Jeep we beat a retreat. Both of us are disappointed, but we'll keep looking.

Koko

When I was 19 years old I got myself a kitten. She was 7 weeks old, and I got her at a yard sale. She was free to good home. I drove home with her crying in the back seat, and the very first night she punched me in the eye while I was sleeping.

She used to fit into roller skates, that's how tiny she was. My roommate and I would put her in a skate and cruise her around the hardwood floors.

When she was 9 mos old I got Clancy, another babycat, and Koko was VERY unhappy. Koko was a tortoiseshell you see, and they do NOT like other animals. I was unaware of that before I got Clancy. Now I know.

Eventually Koko and Clancy reached an accord, and lived for 15+ years together. Clancy used to torment Koko by staring at her and not touching her. You could almost hear 2 kids in the back of a car. "Mom! He's looking at me!" "So? I'm not touching you!"

Koko like canned food and water. She loved yarn. She loved curling up next to the space heaters and when I was lucky enough to have a fireplace she would camp out right in front of it.

Today I helped Koko cross from this world. She was 17 and ill, but it was one of the hardest things I've ever done. The vet, Dr Mullins, deserves a special mention, because she did a wonderful job with the actual procedure. But my babycat is gone, the last bit of my 20s is gone, and I'll never see that pissed off catface again.

She will be most assuredly missed, every day, for the rest of my days.

Yeah, that was stupid...

Disregard the previous post.

I was an utter moron for even typing it in the first place.

As of this moment the kid has been whining and crying in her swing for 31 minutes. Yep. THIRTY ONE minutes.

She woke up early this morning so I tried to put her down early.

I won't make that mistake again.

The Beast Who Does Not Sleep

Is sleeping. Every day. In her swing she takes a 1030 and 230 nap. EVERY DAY.

Now if I could just get her to sleep at night...

Update on The Book

Thanks to some decent napping on the part of my child, it took me THREE days to read The Book.

And it was FABULOUS.

Go buy it. If you've read the first 6, you won't be disappointed.

Convenience or Compassion?

I was supposed to have my 17 year old cat Koko put down this morning. She has hyper-thyroid disease, is wasting away, and has been crying in pain for weeks. I attempted to treat her thyroid with pills, but they made her sick and pilling her was a nightmare. I had decided that at the age of 17 it might be better to just let her go with her dignity intact.

Only, her dignity is gone anyway. She doesn't use the litterbox other than to hide in it because the other cats sense her weakness and torture her mercilessly. She won't allow me to show her any affection, preferring to hide away in the "cat bedroom" unless it's time to eat. She's absolutely miserable. So what's my problem?

Rich had to work today and tomorrow and I couldn't figure out how on earth I was going to be able to take a baby with me to have this done. This will be a very private moment between Koko and me, and I can't imagine a screaming child in the room for it. I had to call and reschedule for Thursday when Rich will be home.

The other trouble I'm having is that Koko is crying so loudly overnight that last night she woke Livvie twice. This is where the Convenience part comes in. I'm having trouble reconciling my annoyance with that with the fact that she is truly suffering. Am I doing this for her or for me?

It pisses me off that she didn't get the chance to just lie down and go to sleep one day and not wake up. It pisses me off to be the one to make this decision for her. Is she ready? Maybe not. Am I ready? Not especially. Can I bear to watch her suffer any longer? Hell no. Do I want her to wait for a crisis situation like Clancy, my Cat of a Lifetime had to? Screw that.

All I'm really saying here is that this sucks. The big one. And I'll always second-guess myself.

An Exercise in Futility?

Today I am getting my hands on The Book. I'm sure you know which book I mean, and if you don't you're living under a rock. Suffice it to say that with each of the previous 6 books it has taken me less than a day to read them. For this one, I'll be lucky if it takes me a month.

Which leads to the halfassed point of this blog. If ANYONE has the nerve to tell me what happens in said book, I will cudgel them to death. And I am NOT joking.

The Wiggles

Yes, I'm finally going to write about the creepy, Star Trekkie outfitted Australians who entertain our children. Oh, I know not ALL of our children, but I'd say that given how much money these guys have made (about a bajillion dollars) and how many DVDs they have out, a large portion of the tot population is zoning out on them.

We have their Wiggles Show episodes DVRd. This is because I'm too cheap to buy the DVDs. Also, they seem to have a lot more music on them, whereas the DVDs have a great deal of little talking bits, interviews with people and field trips and such. My only exception might be the Wiggles Safari, because they have a large bit with Steve Irwin, and I miss him desperately.

Livvie adores the songs. Us? Not so much. Some of them aren't too bad, and the music is usually very catchy. But the LYRICS. My God. A song called Calling All Cows contains the lyric, "We've got some news in from the city. They need some milk 'cause it's white and pretty." HUH? However, unlike some children's performers these guys actually do play their own instruments. We're even on a first name basis now. I know Greg (yellow) is in charge, Jeff (purple) sleeps, Anthony (blue) eats, and Murray (red) doesn't do a whole lot of anything except look somewhat skinny and a bit freaked all of the time. Oh, he's also their guitar man. Whatever dude. You're a bit odd.



They also have animated bits where everyone is bug eyed and full of leering teeth. If you never knew teeth could leer, I'm telling you right now that they can.

We watch upwards of 6 half-hour episodes a day, sometimes more than once. Given how annoying these are, it tells you quite a bit about what it does for my child. Even when she's not paying attention to the TV their music in the background seems to keep her calm and playing happily. And for this, as much as it pains me, I will always be grateful to the Wiggles.

And scarily enough, if they ever make it to our little corner of the world I'll take Livvie to the concert. Everyone always looks like they're having a blast.

Oh dear

I am not a shopper. I hate shopping. If I could get every single thing, including groceries, online or on ebay I would.

Today I had the urge to shop.

I had to run Livvie to Kohl's because she was outgrowing all of her PJs and had only 2 pair that fit her. It is a foul thing to take your child out of the bathtub and dress her in yesterday's PJs. So this morning I threw her 2 pair in the wash and ran her to the store. They were having a huge sale on Carter's, which is the only brand that won't shrink in the dryer for some reason, so I bought her 6 pair and then 2 pair of stretch pants. My kid is going to be all purple, all the time at this point, which is good because I can't stand pink.

On my way out of the store I happened to glance over at ladies' clothing. Brown. As far as the eye could see there were fields of different shades of brown. Brown is my black. It always has been. In fact, my closet used to greatly resemble six of the clothing racks I saw today. I had Rich's debit card. I paused. I struggled mightily with myself, staring at the peasant tops and cotton pants, looking at sun dresses and long flowy garments.

And then I remembered two things:

We're broke this week

and

I don't frigging work anymore. Where the fuck would I wear these outfits? I currently live in 3 pair of camo shorts and multiple super hero tshirts.

But for a blissful moment I imagined dressing like a girl, wearing makeup, sporting strappy sandals (or "sandles" as I saw at the grocery store yesterday), and having actual jewelry on. You know, more than my rings which no matter how hard she tries the kid can't manage to get off of me.

WTF??

Yes, another post about sleeping, or lack thereof.

Livvie just will NOT sleep. She's currently in her swing, crying, whining, and generally making it known to Wake County that mommy sucks for expecting her to nap.

I also expect her to let me get some sleep at night, but that's another story.

How do you get to be a person who refuses to sleep? Imagine sleep, if you will. Imagine getting drowsy, sinking into your blankets, letting your eyes close, and then finally going to sleep. Awesome, isn't it? Now why would anyone NOT want to feel that way? Why would a kid prefer to cry and carry on and give herself a headache rather than get some rest?

Every nap is a battle. She refuses to let me rock her during the day anymore. Driving her around town sometimes works, sometimes doesn't. The only thing that is surefire most days is the swing. The swing can hold up to 30 pounds of child, so I don't know what we'll do when she grows out of it. For now though, it's saving my sanity.

So lets hear it for the Graco Lovin' Hug swing. I might end up having the damn thing bronzed.

AFTERNOON EDIT: Now she's on hour 2 of a swing nap that involved no fussing whatsoever. I'll be damned if I can figure this kid out.

Brief

If you could have any job on the planet, what would it be?

And if you had that job, do you think you'd be happy?

I thought being a stay at home mom would be an amazing and fulfilling job. And it is. But the hours suck, and so do some of the benefits.

That's all for today. Feel free to tell me whatever you wanted to be when you grew up, especially if you actually became it.

Land of the Free

Home of the moronically stupid.

I like fireworks. I like going to large firework displays where trained professionals are setting them off for the enjoyment of huge groups of celebratory people.

What I don't like is when chuckleheads drive down to South Carolina and buy bagsful of them and set them off in their backyards. These things are illegal for a reason, fucknuts. And I'm not talking about the ground types that fountain and whatnot. I'm talking about the huge, cannon types that fire into the air and zoom god knows where to possibly set fire to someone's roof.

And yes, I'm talking about the ones that make my dogs go nuts and hide under furniture, make them scratch at the door to escape, and potentially wake up my sleeping infant.

Apparently the yuckyucks in the subdivision across the street weren't that wealthy, because they only managed to shoot off three cannons last night. Those puppies run about $25 each. Some people in the subdivision down the road though, they must have won the lottery. Theirs went on for 45 minutes.

Forty FIVE minutes of my soothing my dogs, who were listening to every other dog in a 5 mile radius going ballistic. FORTY FIVE minutes of my panicking that the kid that I JUST managed to get to sleep would be woken by my wigging dogs. And FORTY FIVE minutes of my hoping that wherever those showers landed, it wouldn't be our house.

Happy Fifth of July. I sure as shit hope it's all over.

I'm tired

Tired of everything being the same all of the time. Tired of never getting to do anything I "used" to do, like reading a book.

Today I am tired of being a mom.

You know, this little nugget of an essay is awesome: http://jennyquarx.livejournal.com/#asset-jennyquarx-16989

And it's all true. There's nothing like being a mom. It's the greatest joy and responsibility a person can be given. But some days it's downright exhausting. And when those days run into each other, end on end, week after week, well...

Yesterday the kid gave me a break. It's like they know when they're about to cross a line and they back off a bit. I couldn't have asked for a better child the first part of yesterday. By the second half though, we were back to the realm of nightmares. Screaming, not sleeping, inconsolable. The child that's referred to as "high need."

Well you know what? I'm high need too. I have many, many needs that aren't being met. Sleep, cleanliness, food, exercise...

I'd give anything to be able to brush my teeth without her attempting to follow me into the bathroom. Hell, I'd give anything to be able to PEE without her following me into the bathroom. Even when Rich is home she's following me around everywhere; screaming when I'm out of sight. As I type this she's standing with one hand on my knee as if she's claiming a seat.

The only way I keep myself going is to tell myself that when all is said and done, as the years pass, I'm very likely to have a wonderful, sensitive child. But right now, I'm damned tired.

Animal Farm

There's something inherently creepy about large numbers of animals gathered together. And I'm not talking about herd animals, because that's expected. I'm talking about animals that you normally see solitary, suddenly grouped together looking like they're having a conference.

At the beginning of spring Xris and I happened to look out her living room window to see literally HUNDREDS of robins gathered in her yard poking around in the dirt for bugs. I looked it up online and apparently we were privy to a very rare sighting, a leg of the robin migratory path. While it was cool, it also had a Hitchcock element to it that we could have lived without.

Before we sold the pool we had a frog problem. There were about 6 small frogs gathered on the sides of the pool, staring at us, and while that might not sound like a problem, the fact that one or all of them had laid hundreds of eggs in the pool water was in fact a large problem. The fact that my big, strong husband wouldn't catch the frogs bare handed and let me do it instead was a smaller problem, because it was at least humorous.

And this morning I got up and went outside to smoke, turned the corner of the house and found 3 rabbits in the back area where the pool was, all staring at each other, and while rabbits might not typically be thought creepy, several communing together was kind of disturbing. They eventually hopped off in different directions, and I assume it was to gather their respective pieces of the Acme Dog Destroyer. Or maybe one was calling in the order.

So I'm pretty certain we had all better look out. Even animals that normally don't "play well with others" can band together to complete a common goal, and before you tell me that rabbits are in fact social animals, let me ask you a question....

When was the last time YOU actually saw more than one wild rabbit in your yard, standing less than 3 feet apart, facing each other?

Nagging?

I'm trying to figure out why every man I have ever known has told me that they can't remember to do something unless they're reminded to do so, and yet women are categorically referred to as "naggers."

I don't know how many of you out there have had this experience, but Rich and I have had to work out a system where I need to remind him weekly that I need time to clean the litter boxes or he simply doesn't remember to offer me that time.

I also have to remind him to watch the baby to give me time to take a shower, make dinner, take out the trash, etc.

Now, I understand that it wouldn't occur to him normally to say, "Hey honey, why don't you go take a shower and I'll watch the baby," although he has done that a few times after I've reminded him throughout the day that I need a shower. And while he has only rarely snapped at me that "he knows" when I tell him something needs doing, he has never called me a nag. So I appreciate that in him.

What I don't understand is that I have polled some guys and most of them have replied that they in fact won't simply remember something unless reminded. So why are we called nags at all?

I have a feeling the answer lies with the fact that men (and all people) can have a tendency to project their feelings onto others. I might be wrong, and if so, feel free to remind me of that or I'll never remember.

Husbands

Yeah, husbands.

Last night I asked Rich if I could take a short nap. He said sure, and I went in to lie down. It took awhile to get to sleep, and I didn't sleep more than an hour. While I was in the bedroom Rich:

Vacuumed.
Cleaned the stove while holding the baby in one arm
Took the dogs out
Played with Livvie
Fed Livvie mashed bananas
Gave Livvie a bottle
Rocked Livvie to sleep
Put Livvie to bed

Now. That was alllllll awesome. I appreciated it so much.

What I want to know is why he can't do more than one of these things in a day usually. I did thank him rather than ask him that question, but honestly....

We sold the pool!

And I've got $100 in my pocket.

The child in me wants to spend it on Angel, Seasons 2-4.

The adult in me is taking it to Home Depot to buy plants and shrubs.

Being an adult can suck, but I guess plants and shrubs are sort of unnecessary...

Near Death Experiences

So Rich nearly died on Monday. He was pulling up to our driveway and about to make a left and a woman behind him doing at least 70, talking on her phone, never saw him until she was about to slam into him. He saw her coming and gunned all 8 cylinders, zooming forward, and she tried to pass him on the left where there was an oncoming car. She zipped back behind Rich somehow, gave him the finger, and he ended up pulling over to her in a subdivision to go up one side of her and down the other.

So now we're looking for a new house. Xris and I were hit making the left into the driveway several months ago, and two incidents in less than a year is a little more than Rich and I can handle.

And now every time I go to make a turn into the driveway I panic a bit if there's a car behind me. Awesome.

Dogs

My dogs are going to be sold for parts if they keep this up. Last night after we got the baby to sleep a thunderstorm rolled through. I used to love storms. I'd watch out the window or stand on the porch and just enjoy the show. Last night Emma, who has I-S-S-U-E-S woke the baby up by doing her Emma song, which might be impossible to translate into print, but let me try.

"Errw errw ERRRW. Errw Errw ERRRW."

I think that's as close as I'm going to get.

Anyway, the storm was coming so Emma needed to wig out, woke up the baby, and it took over an hour to get her back to sleep. Thunder still going on. Emma STILL wigging. So once the baby was asleep again, instead of watching the storm and enjoying it I had to police my dog. (Mind you, I'm lying on the sofa by this point...)

"Errw wrrw Errw." GLARE. Dog retreats.

"Errw..." Fist raised in the air. Dog retreats.

"err?" Stand up and make self imposing while leaning forward. Dog retreats.

Now I know, I KNOW so don't frigging tell me, that this is counterproductive to her storm phobia being addressed well, but if given a psychotic dog who hides under furniture during storms or a dog (also psychotic) who wakes up my baby when I haven't slept since 3am the previous night, well...

And I need to also say that I adore this dog. She's a goof, but she's MY goof, and even with her issues such as storms and going on pee strikes when the grass is too wet/long/green I love her to death. And given what Jmac is going through with her BooBoo Dante right now I need to thank everything and the maker that Emma is healthy and well.

Small Sacrifices

This morning I was driving Livvie around and we crossed over a small creek. I looked over at it and all I could think about was, "I wonder where that goes?" Then I realized that if it had been a few years ago I would have followed it. Even if it took hours. Now I can't. Even if I strapped her on me, there's no way I could do something like that alone. It made me a little sad. I realized that someday as a family we can all go hiking and camping and go for nonsensical walks, but in this day and age I can't take the chance of wandering off with my child into the woods. So sometimes I miss the days when I was unaccountable to anyone other than cats, and when if I wanted to I could risk myself for the sake of adventure. But not enough to go back.

Click click click

I have to go to the gynecologist this morning. Yep, I was SUPPOSED to go 6 weeks after Her Majesty was born, but I couldn't figure out childcare OR who I could leave her with whose soul she wouldn't attempt to consume. So I go today, and not a moment too soon. I need birthcontrol. Yep. I NEED it. I know there are scads of people who want or have more than one child, and they have my undying amazement and respect. But I'm pretty sure, as in you could pump me full of sodium pentathol and I would STILL say, that Livvie is going to be an only child.

So I showered this morning while Livvie slept, because we all know that you can't go to the doctor all skank. I mean, ew. And yes, Livvie was sleeping, because after not sleeping most of last night she decided a fine time to get all grumpy over being woken up was 7am. So there she lies, sound asleep, while I silently muse poking her repeatedly so she knows how it feels. I actually lie in the dark and contemplate how I will behave when she's a teenager. I know there will be some nights where I'll just throw open her bedroom door, snap on the lights, holler, "Just kidding!" and then leave her to try to get back to sleep. Repeatedly.

She has to go with me this morning, and that should be interesting. Rich will be here prepping the SS Minnow (ok, the McYacht, but she's a beast of a boat) for our first voyage as a family this morning, and I know the doc will love to see her, so that won't be a problem. I am, however, attempting to figure out the logistics of having a mobile infant in a room full of medical equipment. Wish me luck.

Dear Disney Channel

Do me a favor, ok? When you play back to back episodes of Little Einsteins, try to avoid playing the same music in each episode. Yesterday you did back to back episodes with the William Tell Overture as the featured music. While I get that you considered this a "theme," I need to let you know that I did NOT intend to have that piece of music stuck in my head, and now I have in my head, "get the pigs get the pigs get the pig pig pigs" etc and I am not a happy camper.

Now I command you to RAISE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEADS AND SHAKE YOUR WHOLE BODY!!!!



That is all.

Poison Ivy

Not the song by The Coasters, and not the super cool chick in the Batman comics.

I spent my entire overnight last night scratching my hands. I couldn't stop. I had no idea what was going on. Then the brilliant rays of the morning sun fell across my fingers and I saw blisters. Many, many blisters, all over both hands, but especially on the sides of my fingers and palms. It looked like poison ivy, but where the hell would I have gotten it? My plants are potted on the back and front decks. I don't go into the weeds at all. But wait! The dogs do. So I was playing the old game of Blame the Dog when Rich pointed out that I had been mulching said potted plants yesterday and it might be an allergic reaction to something in the mulch. Duh. I came inside and googled "Mulch Skin Reaction," and you know what? APPARENTLY POISON IVY FINDS ITS WAY INTO MULCH. Alllllll over Google are people who have gotten poison ivy from pine mulch. So this is my public service announcement for the week. If you're gonna mulch, wear gloves.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Poison_ivy

Tiptoe through Your Own Damned Tulips

I think this sucks. My kid is napping, finally, and I have to be quieter than a mouse. I say quieter because dammit, I've had mice as pets and they are most certainly NOT quiet. Especially if you don't use olive oil on their frigging wheel.

Every night she falls asleep between 7:30 and 9. This has put a serious crimp in TV watching. Rich goes into the bedroom and watches with sound. I watch via lip-reading and DVR what's important. Turns out not much is. I've discovered that I'm primarily DVRing and saving The Wiggles and Higglytown Heroes on Disney so that at any time of day I can play Playhouse Disney for my kid and calm her down. My stuff? Never gets watched, ends up being erased, and I don't care. This is good, because all of my shows have either had or are having season finales and I won't have to give a shit all summer. It'll be interesting to see if I go back to anything save Bones, Idol, and House.

Back to being quiet. I can't even flush the damn toilet without it waking her up. I have to time potty trips for when she's awake or there will be no flushing, which given my OCD tendencies drives me bugshit. Coughing? Forget it. I have to run outside and cough and make sure the door doesn't close loudly.

Know what I really don't get about all of this? She can fall asleep in the white hot light of a super Walmart and sleep the entire time with a shopping cart with a rattley, shaky wheel, and she can't sleep at home.

Ralph's World

Another short on the Disney Channel is Ralph's World. Ralph used to be in a band called The Bad Examples in Chi-Town, and I have never heard of them. I do know that Livvie loves Ralph, so I do too. Our current favorite song is "At the Bottom of the Sea." However, I downloaded good ol' Ralph today and found THIS gem:

The Coffee Song

(Ralph Covert - Waterdog Music / © 2002 ASCAP)

M-O-M-M-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E
D-A-D-D-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E

I love my kid... I love my kid
Gosh, I really love my kid
But I need what I need, and I need a lot of what I need
C-O-F-F-E-E

M-O-M-M-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E
D-A-D-D-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E

I want a latte, a cappuccino
And tonight I think I’ll have a little vino

M-O-M-M-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E
D-A-D-D-Y needs C-O-F-F-E-E

I think I love this man. He GETS it.

I'm going to scream

And believe you me, I know how.

I'm on a cocktail of Lamictal (a mood stabilizer/anti-convulsant) and Abilify (an atypical anti-psychotic) to treat my Bipolar disorder. I'm currently getting samples because my faboo doc believes that one should never pay for meds until positive they will help. Good for her. Let's give a shout out to good old Melvania.

So today I priced my meds on the internet. I have no frigging clue what we're going to do. My Lamictal is about $100 a month. Okay, not gawdawful. Bad, but not twitch inducing bad. The Abilify is $500+ per month. Insurance will not cover either of these meds. So let's talk about the insurance companies and the pharmaceutical companies.

First, the pharm companies. I understand how much R&D goes into each drug. I also know that it's subsidized with our tax money. So we're paying twice.

Insurance. SOMEFUCKINGBODY needs to explain to me why an insurance company would rather deny preventive care when they could end up with a certified crazy person such as myself hospitalized long-term and having to pay for the costs associated with that. I shit you not, I could hurt someone. Truthfully. The disease I have is hallmarked by self-destruction and violent behavior. I've never had a full psychotic break, but that's been through the grace of everything holy. I have NOT been a compliant patient prior to the birth of my child, and many people and relationships have paid for this. Speaking of, let's also give a shout out to Xris and my husband, who have REALLY been patient with me.

I'm absolutely furious.

Something Bugs Me

These are the lyrics for Charlie on the MTA, a song by the Kingston Trio, which musically is a very cool song. However, my whole life something has bugged me about this song.

Spoken:
These are the times that try men's souls. In the course of our nation's history, the people of Boston have rallied bravely whenever the rights of men have been threatened. Today, a new crisis has arisen. The Metropolitan Transit Authority, better known as the M.T.A., is attempting to levy a burdensome tax on the population in the form of a subway fare increase. Citizens, hear me out! This could happen to you!

SONG BEGINS

Well, let me tell you of the story of a man named Charlie
on a tragic and fateful day.
He put ten cents in his pocket, kissed his wife and family,
went to ride on the M.T.A.

Chorus:
Well, did he ever return? No, he never returned and
his fate is still unknown.
(What a pity! Poor ole Charlie. Shame and scandal.
He may ride forever. Just like Paul Revere.)
He may ride forever 'neath the streets of Boston.
He's the man who never returned.

Charlie handed in his dime at the Kendall Square Station
and he changed for Jamaica Plain.
When he got there the conductor told him, "One more nickel."
Charlie couldn't get off of that train.
(Chorus)
Now, all night long Charlie rides through the station,
crying, "What will become of me?!!
How can I afford to see my sister in Chelsea
or my cousin in Roxbury?"
(Chorus)
Charlie's wife goes down to the Sculley Square Station
every day at quarter past two,
And through the open window she hands Charlie a sandwich
as the train comes rumblin' through.
(Chorus)
Now, you citizens of Boston, don't you think it's a scandal
how the people have to pay and pay?
Fight the fare increase! Vote for George O'Brien!
Get poor Charlie off the M. T. A.
(Chorus)
He's the man who never returned.
He's the man who never returned.
Ain't you Charlie?

OK. WHY THE HELL DOESN'T HIS WIFE HAND HIM A NICKEL WITH HIS EFFING SANDWICH??????

That is all.

Wonder Tube is Dead

Long Live Wonder Tube.


Yesterday afternoon a wicked storm came through and a bolt of lightning hit the transformer in our driveway. When it did, a surge of power electrified the house and then everything went black. We were without power until 11:45pm when the wonderful men from Progress Energy finished fixing the transformer. They are my new heroes, as 8 hours of no power with a young baby is just about more than any sane person can take.

When the power came back I attempted to turn on the TV. Nope. Nada. Zilch. Zip. The Big Donut Hole.

I tried every outlet on the surge suppressor. I tried the wall itself. Nope.

Everything else plugged in right there is fine.

Rich is hoping it's a fuse inside the TV. So am I. It sounds stupid, but that TV was one of very few things that came with me when I got divorced. I received almost nothing. I've had it for 7 years, and loved her. She was beautiful. Football was ENORMOUS on that screen. Rich loved her too.

So RIP to my boon companion of my 30s. We enjoyed many a L&O together.

UPDATE:

Battle scarred, yes. But still alive. The surge blew her fuse, which we replaced. There are some dead pixels in her corners, but she's still watchable. If the pixels spread, well..... But for now, it's all good.

Tiny waistlines

Ok, so I'm watching the Disney channel, again, with the sound off and I have ZERO clue what show this is but the chicks in this animated debacle have the fabled "wasp waists." What up wit dat? OH OH! No wait, the nerdy chick group has straight as a plank figures. Apparently they are in high school or somesuch, and what I'm discerning is that the cool chicks have Barbie bods and the losers have Skipper bods. Remember Skipper? She was way too tall for a 10 year old.

Anyway, I've decided that I'm going to review the shorts they play on the Disney channel. No one asked me to, I don't make money off it, but I need to get my biased opinions out somehow so here goes:

Emily Yeung--
Emily is a spot that lasts maybe 3 full minutes. Tomorrow I'll time it. In her spots, Emily, who appears to be 8 or 9, learns lots of things by going on mini field trips. Today she went to a pioneer village and learned how to make bread. Emily is VERY precocious, and asked a lot of adult questions that I'm certain were NOT on flash cards behind the camera. She made whole wheat bread, and pioneer chick made white. They baked together in perfect harmony. Emily also got to meet an elderly Clydesdale who I'm certain was NOT being put to use pulling plows being that he was only one of two horses in the "pioneer village."

I actually really dig these shorts because Emily gives me hope that my super nerdy to be kid won't necessarily get the tar beaten out of her, and in fact might end up being seen every morning on some channel like Discovery Kids.

Redneck Pool Filling

Sleep

Ok, all of you are probably aware that we (meaning me and the child, not DH) are not sleeping. This has gone WAY beyond the time when one expects to not be sleeping with a "newborn." I mean honestly, the kid is practically playing field hockey already.

So she's been waking up every 1/2 hour recently. By recently I mean the prior four nights to last night. Last night I gave up. I rocked her to sleep and was holding her. I needed to scratch my itchy tick bites. I made to scratch. SHRIEK. Ok, fine. I'll sit here in misery, hoping this colossal itch doesn't indicate that the baby tick injected puppy serum into my abdomen and giant wolf hound babies are getting ready to erupt.

She finally got to sleep and I moved her into her travel crib. I went to bed 15 minutes later on the sofa. 2 hours later the fiend awakened. I got her, rocked her back to sleep, put her back in her travel crib. Went back to bed on the sofa after eating a yogurt because that rocking back to sleep? Took ONE FUCKING HOUR.

3 hours later she woke again. Got her out, rocked her back to sleep. Put her back in her travel crib. Went back to sleep on the sofa.

2 hours later, again. By this time it was after 6am and I figured WTF and got up and made coffee. I walked over, handed her the bottle in her crib, and by God went and made coffee and took the dogs out. I walked back into the house to find her lying on her side, drinking formula, watching the Disney channel. And lest anyone imagine otherwise, no, I turned the TV on for her before I walked away. She's only managed to chew on the remote and switch the language to French so far.

I'm back!!!!

So for over a week Safari wouldn't recognize the web address for me to update my blog here. Whatever. It's working now, and so far this is my only bad experience as a Mac owner. I'll take it.

I got bitten by a tick this past week; we bought an inflatable pool that's supposed to be 15x3 ft, but currently due to a sloping yard is only maybe 13x2 ft. Being rednecks in training, in order to keep the pool upright we wedged the lawn mower handle under one side to keep the water in.

OH!!!!! We have DVR now. This is VERY exciting. I actually got to see most of LOST yesterday evening. Until the Diva started shrieking. We'll finish the episode tonight.

What else?

Let's see, I went shopping last weekend with Xris and her cousin Taylor. For makeup. I have no money. I was manic. So I spent Xris's money for her. Let me tell you, for a manic depressive, spending someone else's money is just as good, and in a way I'll get to enjoy the fruit of the shopping spree because I'll get to watch Xris enjoying it. That's a perk. I had a BLAST chucking stuff at her to buy, but alas I couldn't talk her into the $90 Steve Madden Richh pumps just yet. I did spend time froogling them yesterday and found them on sale from $75-$80 in various online locations, and I think she needs them. Yesterday even. I mean, LOOK at them! How hot are those???? EVERY woman needs a hot pair of peeptoe pumps.

A rebuttal (and this is for YOU Xris...)

My best friend recently complained that I used her to test my mother for shortness in my kitchen last week. Granted, I did. I know how tall Xris is, and I couldn't very well stand back to back with my mom and SEE how much bone loss she's experienced. Also, it's easier for me to judge how much larger something is than something else rather than the opposite. Shut up. I know what you're thinking...

In her complaint Xris listed all of the great things about being wee.

She's right. So now I'm going to list the suckass things about being tall.

---As a child my mom almost always cut my head off in photos. There are loads of cute pictures of an adolescent torso in my photo albums.

---Jean shopping sucks. Do you remember the kid's size "slim fit?" They don't make those for adults. And even if they did, they'd be too fucking short.

---Speaking of, in school, due to the rapidity of growth, every shithead short kid asked me when the flood was coming. Har de fucking har.

---Speaking of, at Jr High dances, no one would dance with me because I towered over their Munchkin heads. It had nothing to do with the fact that I was a spaz.

---It SUCKS to always have to get shit down for people. Somedays at the shelter I was tempted to just pick up this itty bitty co-worker I had and just throw her at the upper cabinets to get her own damn sticky notes. No Mondy, not you.

---Speaking of, when you walk past cabinets in the cat room and suddenly a cat that was hiding on TOP of the cabinets reaches down and grabs your head with his claws, that sucks too.

---Tree branches.

There's more, but the kid just woke up.

Time to turn in my ovaries

Especially since I'm done with them.

I was leaving Food Lion today, pushing the kid in the shopping cart, and watched a pickup truck pull in. It was a painting truck, and the bed was full of gear. It was also the most awesome 4-Door Frontier. Ever. I drive a pipsqueak 2-Door Frontier. I approached the driver and said, "What year is that?" He said, "2003." I told him I liked the body style and he agreed that the old style was better than the new. I asked him what his mileage is without payload, and he told me it had been so long he had no clue.

So. I'm turning in my ovaries. Whoever calls dibs can have them.

Time for a drink

You know the world is hopelessly fucked when you witness two crows beating the shit out of a turkey vulture.

I shit you not. I thought the cardinals and sparrows were bad. I chalked it up to males and springtime. This was out of control. I stepped outside in time to see two crows in pursuit of a turkey vulture, pecking at him mid-flight. I assume the issue was whose carrion was whose. I honestly didn't care. What I did care about was that one of them managed to chase the vulture into a tree and start whaling on him. Now, you need to understand that a crow is roughly 8 times smaller than a vulture at full wingspan, and their beaks are probably 15 times smaller. I'm out there screeching, "You pussy! Turn around and snap his head off!" The vulture was standing in a tree like a girl lifting her skirts, shrieking, while this crow whomped his ass. Finally, the vulture attempted escape, and tried a low flight across Six Forks Road. In rush hour. A woman talking on her cell phone looked up at JUST the moment the vulture crossed in front of her windshield and nearly plotzed. I could see her face. She didn't hit him, but she did manage to aid his escape by providing a barrier between the pursuing crow and the vulture.

I finished my cigarette and went inside.

Bubba-

Nothing funny here

Just some observations.

I'm dreading my child becoming mobile. And sure, part of it is because I'll be moving non-stop to keep up with her, but most of it is because she won't be attached to me anymore. My role as momma-monkey with a baby clinging on will end. She's already preferring to feed herself with her bottle, and she already hates being cradled "like a baby," so this will be one more way for her to pull away from me. The moment she takes her first step, which all signs indicate will be fairly soon, will be harder on me than her first day at school I think. She sits in her highchair or stands in her walker eating Cheerios, bottle in front of her, and pretty much ignores me unless she wants to be somewhere else. As soon as she can get there on her own, well, I think I'll go have a drink and flip through the electronic photo album of her wee-ness and sob like a soap star.

That's my girl...

Yesterday Livvie attempted to dive headfirst off of the bed onto the floor. Only my Gatito like reflexes saved her ass. Then, when we were out at lunch, she grabbed a napkin and managed to chew off and swallow a small corner before I could get it away from her. THEN, last night, she was sitting in her swing, swinging her bottle around like a drunken pirate, and she bonked herself in the eyebrow with it, leaving a small bruise. Hysterics ensued. I informed her the mark would fade, but clumsiness lasts a lifetime.

*cough*spraypaintballoon*cough*

This doesn't include the myriad number of times yesterday that she just bonked her head on whatever wasn't moving.

Yep, that's my girl.

The Double Standard

Why is it ok for guys to talk about gross things but they wig when chicks do? That said, if any guys are reading this STOP READING NOW.

So the Today Sponge is back on the market and I loved it in my early 20s so I bought some. I had the opportunity to use one last night (yay me!) and after the nasty is performed you're supposed to leave it in for several hours to be certain all stragglers are dead. This morning I woke up and had 2 cups of coffee, and then eventually the coffee did its job. I went into the bathroom and sat down and unfortunately had my wee'un in the room with me. I have no choice these days. So I'm sitting there, going about my bidness, and know what? After childbirth things really DO change in the Netherlands. The sponge shot out of me and bounced off the toilet rim and then bounced off the bathtub and landed next to my daughter on the floor. I had to lunge for it, ass in the wind, before the kid could grab it and start teething on it. Nowhere in the instructions is it mentioned that this form of birthcontrol can be applied as a projectile weapon.

Also, I'm back on psych meds. I'm on an Anatypical Antipsychotic called Risperdal. In the VERY long list of possible side effects it mentions that it can increase the levels of Prolactin in the blood. Prolactin is the hormone that causes women to lactate. My ever loving husband declared that I'd better not lactate on him, so I keep running around the house squeezing my girls at him making "Skishskishskish" sounds. He finds this disgusting, but it makes me laugh, and hey, that's all that matters at this point.

It's Springtime

When young birds' fancies turn to thoughts of ass-whomping.

Earlier I went on the back deck to smoke and saw three male cardinals engaged in a turf war. It went on for quite some time, and took up most of our back yard. Eventually they flew off in pursuit of each other into the next yard. I thought the excitement was over. Until I saw two male sparrows tumble out of a tree engaged in actual fisticuffs. They landed in a leaf pile, and were pecking and screeching and squeaking like crazy. Feathers were actually flying. I hopped off the deck, walked over, leaned over them and yelled, "HEY!!!!!!!" and they flew to corners.

It was an odd morning.



Wrong Sparrow. Too Bad.....

Thanks a lot, Meth Heads

It's March in North Carolina. Specifically, it's Pollen Time in North Carolina. When I moved here 12 years ago it totally fucked me up. I was a mess for years. 3 or 4 of them. Eventually, I got used to it. Luckily, I had tested as NOT being allergic to pine, because this is pine:



That's the accumulation since yesterday afternoon. However, I really haven't had too much trouble in years. Until today. My face feels like it's about to split open, letting loose that annoying bowler wearing mucus dude from the commercials. My teeth hurt, the pressure is so bad. All I could think was, crap. Do NOT let me get a sinus infection. So off to Kmart I went to buy Claritin-D. Yep, that's right, the only thing left that still contains actual Sudafed. This meant that not only did I have to present my driver's license, but I also had to sign my life away. For sinus meds. As I was signing I said, "This is so retarded." and the lady at the counter said, "yes it is." I said, "the new stuff doesn't work," and she said, "It sucks."

So thanks to a handful of morons, innocent, law abiding people have to record exactly what meds they're buying and when.

Fuckwads.

Shut up You Stupid Twat

Can I use the T word here? I guess we'll find out.

So I was eating a yogurty bar thing and all of a sudden my brain formed the phrase, "Shut up You Stupid Twat." This naturally led me to wonder what kind of a day my best friend is having at work. I got the feeling that since I wasn't engaging in any type of discourse with anyone that she might have been dealing with her moronic co-worker and her internal venom was so overwhelming that it traveled 9 miles down Six Forks Rd and whomped me in the head. THIS led me to decide that each and every one of us should be granted one Shut up You Stupid Twat per year. With this (and you'd have to make sure you used it wisely) all of us would be exempt from any repercussions from using the phrase when dealing with the truly lame. So, best friend is listening once again to complaining, bottom feeding co-worker and can take no more and lets loose. Since she's using the freebie, and would present a card at time of utterance, Bottom Feeder is obliged to look contrite and say, "Okay," and leave. Let's face it, how many of us wouldn't love this?

So after my yogurty bar thing I went outside to smoke and saw a Jeep Wrangler drive past. It's being engaged in the service of the post office, which is a bummer, because while I watched it go by I decided that if I had super powers I'd have launched myself the 200 feet and pulled the driver out and stolen the Jeep for said best friend. I mean, why would anyone press a Jeep into civil service? It's unseemly. Unfortunately because it had sticky letters on it that said, "U.S. MAIL" I would have committed a felony and ended up doing hard time.

So, since I can't steal her a Jeep to make her day better I will take this moment to utter the phrase she so badly wants to use on the Bottom Feeder. "Shut up You Stupid Twat."

Here's my card.

How to lose an argument with your husband

Snark at him, "Yeah? Well I'm not privy to what makes your mind work."

Apparently "privy" isn't used that often these days.

Today was NOT the day

Dear Suave-

Fuck off. That's right, fuck off. You know your new commercial about the percentage of women who "let themselves go" after becoming mothers? It sucks. Do you know why it sucks? It's because you seem to think that a bottle of shampoo that costs a couple of bucks will suddenly turn a haggard and harried 8 month pregnant mother with two children already into a frigging supermodel. Do you know what will turn a mom without a full time childcare staff into a supermodel? Nothing. That's right, not one fucking thing. Know what might get her close? Rozerem. But Rozerem chooses to show chess playing beavers in their ads. I have a bottle of your shampoo in my shower. Know what? I haven't used it in three days. That's right, three fucking days. My pits are growing enough hair to get me into a Phish concert for a flash of the titties and a beer. Here's an idea, maybe I should use that miracle shampoo in my pits. The closest I've gotten to a shower was last night when it was raining and I had to take the dogs out and I had a split second of considering taking the shampoo outside with me.
And since my child is screaming her head off again today, it looks like we'll be approaching day 4 without a shower. So you can bite me.

Proof That Canada Hates Us...

I've managed to keep my child away from PBS because of an overwhelming Barney anxiety that I developed in the 90s when my cousin's son was a toddler and the only way we could get him to eat his salad was to tell him the purple cabbage was Barney and the lettuce was Baby Bop.

So we watch the Disney Channel. Her favorites are The Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Little Einsteins. Little Einsteins isn't too offensive. They find themselves in great peril every episode, but through teamwork and a fairly high tech rocket ship for pre-schoolers to pilot, everything always works out well. I'm disturbed that I know all the words to the theme song, but the show keeps Livvie happy, so that's great. (As a matter of fact, as I type this a giant flower just ejected a harpsichord out of itself, so maybe it's more disturbing than originally thought...) However, the Disney Channel is also home to The Doodlebops, which is where Canada comes in. For every Michael J Fox they send us they also dump someone like Priceline's Whore, William Shatner. They've inflicted my home with the Doodlebops. I don't think I've ever encountered a more annoying half hour of television. Here they are in their costumes: I used to be able to change the channel and Livvie never even noticed. However, one day I couldn't get to the remote in time and the kid was fascinated. They're now a daily staple, and I'm even more disturbed to find that I know the lyrics to their songs too. I know when to holler, "Don't pull the rope!" to Moe, the yellow Doodlebop, and I know that he's always hiding at the start of every episode. So. At least it isn't Teletubbies, right?

In retrospect, I have to admit that I had some odd choices of favorite shows as a kid. Absolute favorite of all time was Da Man, Ultraman. I religiously watched every episode. As a four year old my very first crush of all time was on Shin Hayata, the dude who turned into Ultraman. To this day I have a deep love for sexy Asian men, and I think it's Hayata's fault. Bastard. I also loved The Space Giants (are you sensing a theme here?) and watched every episode of this until it got canceled too. So I sit here and wonder if 'tis better to love singing popsicle colored doofuses or giant rubber monsters. And why did it take me 36 years to realize that Japan clearly hates us more than Canada?

Babies Are Not Bling

Ok, it's been enough months now that I think I can get off my ass and start doing this again. Usually the reason I stop writing is because life gives me something metaphorically shiny that distracts me, and in this case the shiny object is my daughter. Which brings me to the title of this entry.



Know what pisses me off? Movie stars (or anyone) having babies and treating them as accessories. My latest pizz is the Jolie-Pitts, because GOD KNOWS they needed another frigging kid to tote around when their own child is only almost a year old. I know they have the money. That's what pisses me off. Having scads of children (or worse, just one) because you have the money for a frigging nanny. An ex-boss of mine got her comeuppance when she squirted out twin daughters with a nanny waiting in the wings, and one child had a birth defect that required she take time off from work anyway to trot said infant to NYC because by all that's holy we certainly don't have any good doctors in the City of Medicine that's located in the adjoining county.

I secretly suspect that the only reason women aren't purchasing oversized diaper bags and toting their infants around in them like chihuahuas is because of that pesky bit where infants can't support their own heads. I also suspect that someone is attempting to invent a harness for the interior of diaper bags which will allow the above to actually happen.

In fact, the reason I resisted "wearing" my daughter while out in public for so long was because I had seen so many granola-bar women doing this and my first thought was always of Ms Hilton and her ratdog. It pains me to say that Livvie loves being worn when we're out shopping, but that was before she discovered the joy of the shopping cart seat.

As far as accessorizing, the fact that I suck at being a girl was driven home this afternoon when I put actual clothing on Livvie. It's an outfit that Rich's mom sent her, and I figured she should wear it at least once. It's black velvet pants and a red peplum shirt with a scotty dog on it. It has black velvet cuffs and collar. And I was wearing....Levi's, a faded brown t-shirt, and 3 year old Tevas. And I left my child barefoot. Screw you, Church Ladies. And you know the type I mean. Nasty old biddies can't mind their own beeswax.....

What a sap...

So yesterday I was out on the deck filling litter boxes and I looked over into the next door neighbor's driveway and saw a small kitten very close to the road. Cars were whizzing past like crazy. I panicked, because the baby was asleep in the house, and I had no idea how I was going to manage this one. I stared a few moments and then ran inside. I grabbed the baby and put her in the bedroom, praying she wouldn't wake up and start screaming. I crated the dogs, and then grabbed every cat I could find and then put them in the back bedroom. I then put on shoes and ran next door, only to be ready and willing to rescue a large pine cone.

That pine cone could have been in serious danger you know.

I think I should start wearing my glasses regularly.

And another piece of my past bites the dust

http://www.courierpostonline.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20061010/BUSINESS/610100333

I started working at Tower Records in 1990, and worked there until 1992. I helped build this store before it opened. We put racks together, stocked all of the shelves, and told a lady to go away when she walked into the middle of the construction and asked if we sold batteries. Um, hello, do you or do you not hear hammering and see sawdust?

This was the store that said, on all of its printed invoices, that we were open 368 days a year. We always wondered where the other 3 days were. We could account for leap years, but what about the other 2 days?

This was the store where, one night in late December at 11:45pm, a woman approached me and asked me if we would have extended holiday hours. I asked her since we were open until midnight every day anyway, what the fuck did she want?

One day in mid-summer the management team (of which I was a member) bought a bunch of water pistols at Kiddie City next door and ran around the back employee area squirting the daylights out of each other. I thought I would be smart and run into a closet to hide. My general manager locked me in.

We had a kid named Omar Hassan who worked in the classical department, and he was going to school to become an engineer. He brought falafel with him for dinner one night, his mom packed his dinners for him, and I walked in to find him eating a small container of plain yogurt with a spoon. He was making faces, and he told me that for some reason his mom had sent yogurt for dinner. I told him the yogurt was supposed to go on the falafel. He was amazingly embarrassed. I adored Omar. I'll never forget how he had no idea how to use a manual can opener, and how he was so ticklish that you could stand in another room and make tickle motions at the window and he would collapse into giggles.

And this is where my friend Mike, bass player extraordinaire and ex-love of my life, has worked for over 15 years, and I wonder what the hell he'll do now.

A Dingo Ate My Rice Sock

Well, Ginny ate the rice anyway.
I made a rice sock for Livvie's belly today. She's had tummy issues for the past couple of days, and other than the glycerin suppositories, which I'll get to in a minute, all I could think of was to make her a rice sock. I decided to do this in the living room, since that's where the baby was. I naturally got rice all over the floor. And Ginny, who will eat Anything That Is Not Celery, snarfed up every grain she could find. Still is, because I'm too freaking tired to haul out the Dyson.

Back to the suppositories. Yay, right? Poor Livvie was constipated. Constipated infants are NOT happy, and hence NO ONE is happy. I sent my sweet, wonderful husband to the drug store where he purchased infant sized suppositories. He brought them home, and I proceeded to do the hardest thing I've ever done, which was deliberately make my daughter uncomfortable. Granted, the result was wonderful, she's happy, we're happy, everything is quiet now, but for about 3 minutes there I felt like Mengele.

The Master Manipulator has arrived...

And boy does she kick ass.

Last night Livvie refused to go to sleep. She fussed and threw tantrums and worked it for all she was worth.
At one point the three of us were on the bed, I had Livvie sitting up on my lap, and she drew in some air and screamed. Then she stopped, opened her eyes, looked at Rich, looked at me, saw that neither of us were jumping up to call the president, and screamed again.

I told her that Jimmy Carter is not on speed dial.

She drew another big breath and then....fell asleep.

This is all so odd.

I have a question

If Intelligent Design is actually true, and I'm not saying it is (and it isn't), wouldn't the asteroid that supposedly hit the Yucatan 65 million years ago and wiped out almost everyone be considered the biggest act of animal cruelty in history?

I mean, HOW can anyone in their right mind find a god that would do something like that to "make room" for the next go-round worthwhile?

I can see God spinning the universe and then just sitting back to see what happens. I can also see him drinking too much coffee one morning and spending an inordinate amount of time in the cosmic lavatory only to wash his hands and walk out to see a giant fireball where Mexico was, and thinking, "Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have taken the paper in there with me."

But I just can't see this being incinerating and scalding millions of animals to death. Unless he's a psychopath. And I'm not even going to go there.

40 + 1

In the doctor lingo, that's how pregnant I am. Forty weeks and one day. Based on my last menstrual period. This morning, however, I realized what I had known from the get-go. My due date is tomorrow based on my ovulation date. It also corresponds quite well to the full moon and we just happen to be having a lunar eclipse today.

When I realized this I completely and utterly relaxed. I can't explain it. Maybe it's because rather than giving myself up to the medical wonks this allowed me to acknowledge nature.

We'll see what happens now.

39 weeks and 4 days

And I'm wondering when, if ever, this kid will come out. Yeah, maybe the previous post asking her to wait was a bit stupid.

I jump up and down in front of Rich occasionally just to hear him freak and yell, "STOP THAT!!!" You get your kicks where you can.

Last night I discovered a mini-Marathon of Law and Order SVU. It's the only one of them that Rich will watch. He's not a fan of the others. I don't think he realizes that I have the hots for Stabler. What chick doesn't? He's an actual MAN. And although he has odd features, they really work for him. I was up past 1am since I was sick anyway, and I kept myself entertained by staring at those shoulders for hours. Again, get your kicks where you can.

Oddly, Close Encounters is on SciFi right now, and I also have a huge crush on Richard Dreyfuss. Always have. And he's the Anti-Stabler. This is, I think, why men have no idea what women want.

Dear Yankees-

No offense intended, but I am never moving "home."

I was 20 years old when I had my first boiled peanut. I was on a camping trip in Cherokee, NC with my roommate Mary, and we found a roadside boiled peanut stand in the Reservation. I bought a bag. Mary and I sat on the hood of my car and ate the whole bag, tossing shells in front of us on the ground. We immediately bought another bag "To Go."

Every day for the rest of the trip we would get another bag and demolish it within minutes. Then we went home to NJ, where there are no boiled peanuts, and if we mentioned them we would get disgusted looks.

I moved down here when I was 24, and when I was 25 my ex-husband and I drove into Eastern NC where I saw a sign on the side of the highway that said, "BOILED PEANUTS." I slapped him to get him to stop the car, and we ran in. They were sold in tiny bags, so I bought three. The lady in the stand said I must be from down here, because no one from "up north" would even touch them. I told her I was from NJ. I think her mind was blown to bits.

I went on a mission to find out how to do this at home. I discovered that it's actually very simple. Buy a ton of raw peanuts. Throw them into a giant kettle with about a half a canister of salt, and then boil the fuck out of them for hours. When they finally sink, turn off the heat and let them sit for a bit. Keep tasting them to see if they're salty/mushy enough. Drain, and store in the fridge.

This worked well until I moved into an apartment on my own where the kitchen was tiny and had no air movement. I went on a boiling spree one night, and walked into the kitchen to find the ceiling raining salty brown water from the condensation that had developed. I learned to put a box fan in the room when craving.

In emergencies I would buy canned. Yes. They sell canned boiled peanuts down here. They're pretty good, but they don't have the same smoky aroma coming from the shell that fresh ones do. This brings us to today.

This morning I suddenly jumped off the sofa, grabbed my keys, and drove about 100 yards to the Exxon station down the road with a ten dollar bill. I KNEW I had seen canned boiled peanuts there, and I was right. Horrifyingly, every can said, "Cajun Style." Huh?? I picked up a can. Put it back down. Picked it up again and said, "Fuck it," and walked up to the counter where the clerk, bless her heart, said not one word about someone purchasing one can of boiled peanuts at 9:30am.

I brought them home, drained them, and dumped them in a bowl. They were COVERED in wet, crushed red pepper. Here goes. CRACK. Munch. CRACK MUNCH CRACK MUNCH CRACK MUNCH. I had red salty water running down my arms and pooling in front of me. My fingertips were getting numb from a combination of brine and splitting shells. I finished the entire can in less than 10 minutes.

Satisfaction. It's a wonderful thing. And I'm never moving back home. I think I'll have my leftover Brunswick Stew for lunch.

http://whatscookingamerica.net/History/BoiledPeanutsHistory.htm

Make Your Own Kind of Music...

Rich is On Call this week for work. He has to carry a little gadget on his keychain that generates a series of numbers on it that are a kind of password/code.

Every morning when he gets up he has to read the numbers and punch them into a field on his computer.

So I couldn't take it anymore this morning, and when I walked into the kitchen I said, "Good morning Desmond. Hatch not blowing up today?"

He didn't find it as amusing as I did.

Socks

Yep. Socks.

A few months ago I read in one of The Books about how it's necessary to pack socks for the baby to go home in when you pack for the hospital.

I love socks. In my match.com listing, one of the main items that attracted Rich's attention was where you're supposed to list your favorite things and I listed Socks first. He loves socks too. He can go through 2-3 pair a day, and one night I counted over 100 pair of his clean socks that I was folding. To me nothing feels better than clean socks on clean feet. Summer annoys me because I wear No Socks.

So. Zoom to the past few weeks. Ever hear of nesting? I'm not nesting. RICH is nesting. He's tearing parts of the house apart, cleaning them out, bleaching, scrubbing, vacuuming, building. Me? I'm panicking over socks. Last Monday when it was discovered that I had begun dilating I told Rich it was ok because I should probably receive some socks at my work baby shower that night. Not ONE pair of socks. Ok, no big deal. There's time to buy socks. Yesterday I touched my Target gift cards repeatedly throughout the day as if they were talismans. Socks could be acquired with those.

This morning I had leakage that concerned me and caused the doc to tell me to come in for an exam. Let's check to see if the water has broken! Sure! WAIT!!!! I don't have the socks!! Would it be ok to send Rich to Target with me in the hospital? Honey, buy a six pack of socks? No. No fucking way. I get home from the doc, no water breaking, everything fine other than the same "Well, let's hope for a few weeks more but probably not..." and I grabbed my Target gift cards and went to buy socks.

It took me FIFTEEN minutes of staring at different socks in the infant sock area to find some I could live with.

Well then

On Tuesday morning I was driving to work, and I passed a very wiry young black man walking down the street.

Wearing a pair of lowriders and a wife beater.

Carrying a purple umbrella over his head to keep the sun off him.

I've been laughing about him ever since. THAT'S a man who has no doubts about his masculinity.

Plus, if you gave him cheek about it he could either beat you with it or stick it through your ribs. He COULD. But I have the feeling he'd just smile and shrug and go about his business.

Dear Baby-

Yesterday you caused quite a sensation. I lost my mucous plug and started having contractions, and at one point they were every ten minutes for a few hours. They did calm down, but I'm still 1cm dilated, and I have some things to tell you.

First of all, I am not done shoving omega-3s down my gullet to make sure you become a Super Genius. I ended up eating salmon salad on a hamburger bun for breakfast this morning Just In Case. I'm eyeing the container of ground flax seed and trying to figure out if I can sneak it into spaghetti sauce without your father realizing it. If you could wait a few more weeks so that I can choke down some more of this stuff that would be great.

Second, your father is a chickenshit. I know, that's mean, but I needed to get that out there. When I was telling him what happened yesterday he practically covered his ears and sang "Lalalalalalalala I'm Not Listening..." It amazes me that a man who would pee with the bathroom door open TWO WEEKS after I started dating him is so grossed out by bodily functions. (To give him credit, I only had to tell him to shut the damn door once.) Also, last night you got the hiccups, and since your head is engaged every time you hiccupped my crotch bounced. I thought it was very funny, but your Dad refused to look to tell me what it looked like. I tell you all of this so that you'll not feel hurt when your dad spends your entire birth behind my head so that he doesn't see you come out. He does love you, but frankly, I prefer that he do this his way and not have to ruin his psyche by never being able to look at you without seeing your head squishing out a hole half your size.

Third, if after this week you despise spinach/artichoke dip and hummus I will totally understand.

Fourth, your room isn't done yet. Hell, your room isn't even a room yet. It's currently a storage depot for bags and boxes full of Your Stuff, and also Daddy's Drum Room. I think we should leave the drums in there for you, but your father is freaked out by the metal bars and such sticking out. I told him there's Very Little Chance that you will bonk your head or put out an eye on them for the first year, as you A) won't be able to walk for almost that long, and B) when you do finally walk you won't be that tall yet. However, your dad wants the rug in there professionally cleaned before you get here, and the drums will have to be broken down. Bummer.

So. If you could manage to hold out for a few more weeks so your slacker parents can get their game on, that would be fantastic. We do love you, and we're anxious to see you, but we both suck.

Thanks babe!!

So here's something new

I don't know if any non-pregnant people have experienced this, but for the first time in 35 years of life I sneezed while peeing.

Two things:

When you sneeze mid-stream you pee very fast, very suddenly

and

Ow.

I have 40 days left. How Biblical.

This morning I opened Rich's Igloo cooler to pack his lunch and discovered that he only ate half of his sandwich yesterday, and the remains were floating in the water left behind by the melted ice. In a Rubbermaid container, but still. I nearly beat him in the head with it.

Considering that last night I was very affectionate with him because he had decided to have a child with me, and I with him, and it had struck me what the implications are for our relationship, I would have to say the moods they are a-swingin...

6 More Weeks

Six more weeks of pregnancy left. Back in January it felt like it would never get here. Then it seemed to be moving faster. Now that the temp is usually in the 90s, it feels like it will never get here again.
Yesterday we went to Target to buy the car seat and the travel crib/play-yard. While we were there another couple was standing a few feet away. I had asked Rich to watch my purse in the shopping cart while I read the info on a box, and he overheard this conversation from the other couple:

"Honey! Where's my pocketbook?"

"It's right over there."

"You're supposed to be watching it!"

"It isn't going to walk away!"

"But someone could take it...."

He was very amused, since we had just, almost word for word, had the same conversation.

BUT. BUT!! I had a secret sarcasm weapon. We were leaving the store, and he was continuing to harp about how wives don't trust their husbands to take care of these things, and I told him that most wives might, actually, but my reason for doubting him is that I know for a fact that he set his check card down on a counter, walked away from it, and proceeded to throw away $500 to some slimeball.

He told me to shut up.

I cackled quietly.

Nice.

Conversation with husband:

"I'm fat."

"So what?"

"I'm UNCOMFORTABLE."

"Oh."

...


"Well at least you look good."


I've managed not to chuck anything at his head during this entire pregnancy. Let's see what happens in the final stretch, shall we?

Whatever.

I just nearly burst into tears because I couldn't find my dish sponge.

Raging hormones? YA THINK????

There's a freaking SQUIRREL stealing birdseed out of my feeders. They haven't noticed the feeder for over SIX months. NOW he decides to realize it's there? A) I can't afford to feed the motherhumper, and 2) The birds won't come to the feeder while he's there. If I had a fence I would SO let the dogs out to chase him up the maple tree.

Buttmunch societally acceptable rat.

My boys are Ok.

Diana, one of my very best friends, and the mom of my almost four year old twin Godsons, lives in Murfreesboro, TN, not too far from Nashville.

I called them last night, and when they got home she called me back. They're all ok. Baseball sized hail dented the daylights out of her car, but it's all ok, no window/windshield damage. She had cleaned out a hall closet and had plans to stuff herself, the boys, her two dogs, and the cat if she could catch her into that closet if a tornado came up where they are. While I was on the phone with her a tornado had been spotted 30 miles from her.

The boys, bless them, were totally unaffected by everything going on around them. Yukon, her 13 year old Spitz mix, has a lifetime phobia of thunderstorms, and when they got home last night she couldn't find him anywhere in the house. She finally located him under a bed, and once he realized they were home he dodged her heels the entire rest of the evening.

This was the second round of major storms in a week in her area. She is trying to find a job here so she can move them all and be close to us, and I wish sooner rather than later. A couple of years ago a tornado touched down a block away from her and destroyed the entire street. I want her out of there.

I'm very grateful that everyone is ok.

Serenity when?

Abdul Rahman could die because of his beliefs. He believes SO strongly in his faith in Christ that he's ready to die for it. So I've been sitting here watching the news each day wondering if there's anything I believe that strongly.

I haven't come up with a thing.

I feel sad about that. In my mind I feel completely secure in my opinions that the universe is random, that we evolved from apes, that everyone is entitled to personal freedom, that animals need our stewardship and care, but I don't know that if anyone held a gun to my head and told me to renounce my beliefs that I'd be willing to let them pull the trigger.

To quote a famous poster: I Want to Believe.

My mother would die for her beliefs. I know that as well as I know that my husband believes in nothing. My mother is dead certain that her faith will be rewarded, and that she is on the Right Path. Rich cannot believe in anything that can't be proven. So I muddle through life, HOPING that there's something bigger than all of us, having a tiny glimmer of certainty that I know sort of what it might be, but always feeling doubt.

I wish for the serenity that my mother has. I wish for the ability to "let go and let God." I wonder if this child that is coming will change my mind.