Cut off from its rootsThe fragile bloom stays lovely
Defiant to fate
Monday, July 31, 2006
Friday, July 28, 2006
Oh. My. God.
So I know I'm sometimes a little mentally slow... like REALLY, HORRIBLY, haven't had a full night's sleep in at least a year, been living on coffee and gummy bears kinda slow... but how did it just now dawn on me that I live within mere hours of both Amy of Amalah and Tracey of Sweetney. And why do I have to realize this now, when they are both far far away at (*sob*) BlogHer, and totally out of range of my charming internet stalking?? How can I lure them to coffee with me if they are on the other side of the continent?!
AND WHY AM I USING ALL THESE PUNCTUATION MARKS?!?!?
*sigh*
I am arriving so late to this "Kickass Women Bloggers" party, I feel like the new kid at school all over again. I refer, of course, to the ethereal "party" in an existential sense, not the actual (*sob*) BlogHer party, which I won't be arriving at this year at all... but next year? Next year I will be there if I have to sell my husband in a time-share to lonely widows to get the cash. (He cooks! And I'll throw in a discount if you can teach him the proper way to fold socks!)
It's like being a kid all over again. We moved every 2 years or so until I was in high school, so one might think this would have made me more adept at quickly getting to know people and making friends. One would, of course, be totally effing wrong.
Somehow or other, I ended up with serious trust issues and a raging case of self-conciousness. Because see this flaw -- right here? I know you see it. Don't you see it?
Okay, so you probably don't see it - but the thought that you might see it could totally consume me for the course of an entire conversation. I sometimes have to smack myself upside the head (mentally, that is) to bring myself back to the present and realize that - that other person? The one I'm talking to? They might actually be interested in what I'm saying. They might not, in fact, have noticed the mole on my jaw or the fact that my eyebrows are not perfectly tweezed today. And if they did? They might even be thinking "Thank God, I'm not the only one". Because I didn't even stop to look at their jawline, or eyebrows, or the pimple on the end of their nose. And if I had, I would not have judged them half as harshly as I imagine they are judging me. In fact, I would probably have thought... "Thank God, I'm not the only one."
Which brings me back to my original line of thought, and helps me formulate a plan.
Step 1: Get Amy and Tracey to check out my rantings here so they can scope me out at a safe distance. How to begin this? Begin commenting on their blogs (both of which I read daily, but due to my general "new people" skiddishness I have not really been an avid commenter on. I'm a little bit "comment constipated", what can I say?
Step 2: Begin operation "Must Be Irresistable and make them wonder where I have been all their lives" wherein I woo these incredibly funny, intelligent, verbose women so they will totally love me and let me mock them as lovingly and mercilessly as I mock all of my friends.
Step 3: Get both of them to meet me for coffee. Or margaritas. Or to fold socks, because really? I don't see how I could possibly fail to have a great time with women like these. As long as I don't have a sudden anxiety attack and develop the dreaded diarrhea of the mouth, wherein I tell them my entire life story and why I don't own any red underwear within the first 5 minutes. (It's an old defense mechanism I developed as a tween to establish the playing field as quickly as possible. Needless to say, I spent a lot of those years holed up with my dog-eared copies of Agatha Christie.)
Step 4: Declare victory and start working on getting Kelly of MochaMomma to come visit so she can lick me, followed immediately by a raid of the Discount Shoe Warehouse. Becuase I suspect, for some reason, that she could stay there as long as I can and would forgive me for trying on 54356 pairs of shoes and buying only 2.
Step 5: Join a support group to learn to stop using so many quotation marks and italics. Yeah, I noticed. But with all the people who won't be blogging until they get back from BlogHer06, we'll just pretend I borrowed their extras. (Just go with me on this.)
AND WHY AM I USING ALL THESE PUNCTUATION MARKS?!?!?
*sigh*
I am arriving so late to this "Kickass Women Bloggers" party, I feel like the new kid at school all over again. I refer, of course, to the ethereal "party" in an existential sense, not the actual (*sob*) BlogHer party, which I won't be arriving at this year at all... but next year? Next year I will be there if I have to sell my husband in a time-share to lonely widows to get the cash. (He cooks! And I'll throw in a discount if you can teach him the proper way to fold socks!)
It's like being a kid all over again. We moved every 2 years or so until I was in high school, so one might think this would have made me more adept at quickly getting to know people and making friends. One would, of course, be totally effing wrong.
Somehow or other, I ended up with serious trust issues and a raging case of self-conciousness. Because see this flaw -- right here? I know you see it. Don't you see it?
Okay, so you probably don't see it - but the thought that you might see it could totally consume me for the course of an entire conversation. I sometimes have to smack myself upside the head (mentally, that is) to bring myself back to the present and realize that - that other person? The one I'm talking to? They might actually be interested in what I'm saying. They might not, in fact, have noticed the mole on my jaw or the fact that my eyebrows are not perfectly tweezed today. And if they did? They might even be thinking "Thank God, I'm not the only one". Because I didn't even stop to look at their jawline, or eyebrows, or the pimple on the end of their nose. And if I had, I would not have judged them half as harshly as I imagine they are judging me. In fact, I would probably have thought... "Thank God, I'm not the only one."
Which brings me back to my original line of thought, and helps me formulate a plan.
Step 1: Get Amy and Tracey to check out my rantings here so they can scope me out at a safe distance. How to begin this? Begin commenting on their blogs (both of which I read daily, but due to my general "new people" skiddishness I have not really been an avid commenter on. I'm a little bit "comment constipated", what can I say?
Step 2: Begin operation "Must Be Irresistable and make them wonder where I have been all their lives" wherein I woo these incredibly funny, intelligent, verbose women so they will totally love me and let me mock them as lovingly and mercilessly as I mock all of my friends.
Step 3: Get both of them to meet me for coffee. Or margaritas. Or to fold socks, because really? I don't see how I could possibly fail to have a great time with women like these. As long as I don't have a sudden anxiety attack and develop the dreaded diarrhea of the mouth, wherein I tell them my entire life story and why I don't own any red underwear within the first 5 minutes. (It's an old defense mechanism I developed as a tween to establish the playing field as quickly as possible. Needless to say, I spent a lot of those years holed up with my dog-eared copies of Agatha Christie.)
Step 4: Declare victory and start working on getting Kelly of MochaMomma to come visit so she can lick me, followed immediately by a raid of the Discount Shoe Warehouse. Becuase I suspect, for some reason, that she could stay there as long as I can and would forgive me for trying on 54356 pairs of shoes and buying only 2.
Step 5: Join a support group to learn to stop using so many quotation marks and italics. Yeah, I noticed. But with all the people who won't be blogging until they get back from BlogHer06, we'll just pretend I borrowed their extras. (Just go with me on this.)
Public Display of Lactation...
Oh Dear. To find out how I ended up on this topic, one has only to check out this cnn article.
At the risk of alienating most of the people who actually read my mental spew, allow me to say that I believe a woman has a right to breastfeed anywhere she is comfortable doing so. I don't believe in the "let it all hang out" philosophy but I, personally, do not use a blanket or napkin or other covering most of the time. I wear loose, blousy shirts that leave plenty of slack to cover anything not already blocked from view by the baby's enormous head. Places I have nursed publicly include coffee shops, restaurants, shopping malls, and movie theaters. Not once has anyone made a negative comment to me. At a mall once, a young businessman (presumably on his lunch hour) did do a triple-take before going wide-eyed and staring dumbly for a moment before politely averting his gaze. What did he see that made him react in this way? 2 inches of my ribcage.
It wasn't that any "indecent" part of me was on display.. it was the mere idea, the suggestion that somewhere? Under that baby's head and the layer of fabric? There was a breast. And that kid whose head he could see? His mouth was touching that breast.
I would submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the court of public opinion, that it is not, in fact, the actual breastfeeding which persnickety folks take issue with. It is the fact that, in our still somewhat victorian society, many people are more comfortable with a public displayed fire-arm than with the merest hint of mammary flesh.
The magazine cover featured in the CNN article is a perfect example -- it's less revealing than many women's (or men's) magazines I've passed in the grocery store, and the breast is shown in an entirely non-sexual way. And even so, that's more boob for your buck than anyone has seen of me while nursing my baby out on the town.
So, to boil it down, here's my official position: I'm all for the Utah Law (shocking, I know) that says that anywhere a woman is legally entitled to be, she has a legal right to breast feed. I would hope all women would exercise a modicum of decorum and attempt to be as discreet as possible (really, nobody needs to see nipples while they're eating their Cobb Salad), but as long as the woman who is nursing is casual and comfortable with it, more power to her. And if a women is not comfortable nursing in front of God and everybody, there's always the option of a lounge area or (as I've done in extreme moments of need) sitting in the passenger seat of the car with the a/c running. (Mostly because my 3 year old was asleep in the back of the car and I didn't want to have to wake him up until the baby was fed and settled so we could head into whatever store we were at.)
Moms have enough on their plates without having to be embarrassed about the fact that their child needs to eat. Lots of things make people uncomfortable. I've seen people freaked out by obese people in restaurants, by seeing-eye dogs in restaurants, and (especially in Utah) gay couples in restaurants. There will always be people who find something to make them uncomfortable -- SOMETHING to whine about. The crux of the matter is this: their problem? It's THEIR problem.
Something is seriously wrong when it's okay to show a model's boobies on the cover of Cosmo or Maxim with the nipples airbrushed out (because you KNOW they are) but NOT okay to see women's breasts used for their biological purpose. Something is even MORE wrong when there are people who equate the one with the other. One is Sexual, the other is simply Physiology. Get over it, haters. Me and my super milk boobies are here to stay.
At the risk of alienating most of the people who actually read my mental spew, allow me to say that I believe a woman has a right to breastfeed anywhere she is comfortable doing so. I don't believe in the "let it all hang out" philosophy but I, personally, do not use a blanket or napkin or other covering most of the time. I wear loose, blousy shirts that leave plenty of slack to cover anything not already blocked from view by the baby's enormous head. Places I have nursed publicly include coffee shops, restaurants, shopping malls, and movie theaters. Not once has anyone made a negative comment to me. At a mall once, a young businessman (presumably on his lunch hour) did do a triple-take before going wide-eyed and staring dumbly for a moment before politely averting his gaze. What did he see that made him react in this way? 2 inches of my ribcage.
It wasn't that any "indecent" part of me was on display.. it was the mere idea, the suggestion that somewhere? Under that baby's head and the layer of fabric? There was a breast. And that kid whose head he could see? His mouth was touching that breast.
I would submit to you, ladies and gentlemen of the court of public opinion, that it is not, in fact, the actual breastfeeding which persnickety folks take issue with. It is the fact that, in our still somewhat victorian society, many people are more comfortable with a public displayed fire-arm than with the merest hint of mammary flesh.
The magazine cover featured in the CNN article is a perfect example -- it's less revealing than many women's (or men's) magazines I've passed in the grocery store, and the breast is shown in an entirely non-sexual way. And even so, that's more boob for your buck than anyone has seen of me while nursing my baby out on the town.
So, to boil it down, here's my official position: I'm all for the Utah Law (shocking, I know) that says that anywhere a woman is legally entitled to be, she has a legal right to breast feed. I would hope all women would exercise a modicum of decorum and attempt to be as discreet as possible (really, nobody needs to see nipples while they're eating their Cobb Salad), but as long as the woman who is nursing is casual and comfortable with it, more power to her. And if a women is not comfortable nursing in front of God and everybody, there's always the option of a lounge area or (as I've done in extreme moments of need) sitting in the passenger seat of the car with the a/c running. (Mostly because my 3 year old was asleep in the back of the car and I didn't want to have to wake him up until the baby was fed and settled so we could head into whatever store we were at.)
Moms have enough on their plates without having to be embarrassed about the fact that their child needs to eat. Lots of things make people uncomfortable. I've seen people freaked out by obese people in restaurants, by seeing-eye dogs in restaurants, and (especially in Utah) gay couples in restaurants. There will always be people who find something to make them uncomfortable -- SOMETHING to whine about. The crux of the matter is this: their problem? It's THEIR problem.
Something is seriously wrong when it's okay to show a model's boobies on the cover of Cosmo or Maxim with the nipples airbrushed out (because you KNOW they are) but NOT okay to see women's breasts used for their biological purpose. Something is even MORE wrong when there are people who equate the one with the other. One is Sexual, the other is simply Physiology. Get over it, haters. Me and my super milk boobies are here to stay.
tags: Lactivism,Breastfeeding
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Blogher Blues
So while I'm sitting on my sofa this morning, watching Toby figure out how to climb over obstacles (it's my own little baby boot camp of sorts) and reading Sweetney, I'm doing my best to forget that Blogher is only days away and I will be here. Scrubbing toilets, mopping floors, and wiping butts. Instead of lollygagging around California, squealing like a schoolgirl, having mind-altering conversations, and drinking way too much.
There's really nothing to be sad about, though, right? RIGHT?! I mean, it's not like anything terrible is happening this weekend. Just nothing great, either. See? That's not so depressing. ...*sigh*... Or so I will continue to do my level best to convince myself.
On the brighter side? The last week I have been down again, wondering if I need an adjustment of meds or perhaps just an extra session in Therapy. Today, though, I'm feeling a little better and I may even venture out with the boys. Because, ya know, it's just about August and it seems like a pertinent time to actually realize that IT IS SUMMER. Yes, I know... shocking. But that bright stuff? Out in the Big Blue Room? It's Sunshine. Yeah, it was a revelation for me, too. Somehow, I managed to spend 90% of the last 2-3 months indoors. Which explains my total lack of pigmentation, and perhaps also the downward trending of my mood.
Our planned trip to Nag's Head next month could not be more timely. Of course, vacations never go quite as planned, but with an entire week to find relaxation time I'm bound to get at least one hour of total sloth time, relaxing on the sand and listening to the ocean. I haven't heard waves crashing into shore in waaaaay too long.
Random Note Of The Day: I managed to reconnect with one of my nieces of late (Hi Andrea!). It's a little bizarre that the 4 eldest of my nieces are actually closer to my age than any of my sisters. Even more bizarre??? She's married with a snugg-a-licious baby boy of her own. And one of these days, we will have the chance to sit down in person and, over a bottle of Cabernet, talk about the long road to here. That's enough to bring a smile to my face, even if I'm not in California. And that's really saying something.
There's really nothing to be sad about, though, right? RIGHT?! I mean, it's not like anything terrible is happening this weekend. Just nothing great, either. See? That's not so depressing. ...*sigh*... Or so I will continue to do my level best to convince myself.
On the brighter side? The last week I have been down again, wondering if I need an adjustment of meds or perhaps just an extra session in Therapy. Today, though, I'm feeling a little better and I may even venture out with the boys. Because, ya know, it's just about August and it seems like a pertinent time to actually realize that IT IS SUMMER. Yes, I know... shocking. But that bright stuff? Out in the Big Blue Room? It's Sunshine. Yeah, it was a revelation for me, too. Somehow, I managed to spend 90% of the last 2-3 months indoors. Which explains my total lack of pigmentation, and perhaps also the downward trending of my mood.
Our planned trip to Nag's Head next month could not be more timely. Of course, vacations never go quite as planned, but with an entire week to find relaxation time I'm bound to get at least one hour of total sloth time, relaxing on the sand and listening to the ocean. I haven't heard waves crashing into shore in waaaaay too long.
Random Note Of The Day: I managed to reconnect with one of my nieces of late (Hi Andrea!). It's a little bizarre that the 4 eldest of my nieces are actually closer to my age than any of my sisters. Even more bizarre??? She's married with a snugg-a-licious baby boy of her own. And one of these days, we will have the chance to sit down in person and, over a bottle of Cabernet, talk about the long road to here. That's enough to bring a smile to my face, even if I'm not in California. And that's really saying something.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Entirely Useless Information
- I just successfully spilled 3 drops of diet pepsi on my brand new white shirt. First time out of the drawer.
- It just now dawned on me, as I was paying bills, how odd the person at our bank must think it when they process the payment made out to "Weed Man". I took a moment to imagine that the cashier gives the check a discreet sniff, which made me blow air out my nose in a most ungenteel sound of amusement.
- My now 3-year-old son didn't even start crawling until he was 10 months old. Which was fine by me. His little brother, though? At 9 months has been crawling for over a month and, the last week or so, started pulling up on anything he wants to. Which means he will quite possibly be walking soon. I think I need a hug. And a Xanax.
- Gummy Worms are Good.
- I'm looking around at all the leftover inflated balloons from Jack's birthday and debating whether to pop them one by one or draw faces on them and pretend they are my evil henchmen. And order them matching jumpsuits.
- Note to self: that second cup of coffee might have been a mistake.
- My house is still full of flies from Saturday. There are 6 of them dead on the fly paper (which is disgusting, by the way) and at least that many more still taunting me as they enjoy free reign of my house.
- Flies are Bad.
- I did mention that this would be useless information, didn't I?
Lather, Rinse, and (especially) Repeat.
This morning, Jack was giving Chloe his affections in a suprisingly gentle manner, and she was contentedly allowing him to pet her. Usually, she tolerates his attention for a minute or so before escaping to the basement when he gets too rough. This time, though, he continued gently stroking her fur. Tentatively, hopefully, offering some positive reinforcement, I said "Oh! Look how nice you are being with the kitty!.."
He smiled sweetly up at me and said "I'm pretending to wash her. Hand me the soap, please."
A few minutes later he came up, tapped me on the shoulder (to show me the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer DVD he was holding) and said, "Hey Mommy, Sweetie? I need to watch this on your laptop."
The child has got to stop watching me so closely. And listening, too, for that matter. His father will never forgive me if he grows up obsessed with celebrity trivia and completely incapable of properly frying an egg.
Then again, this trend could come in handy....If only I could teach him to do laundry.
He smiled sweetly up at me and said "I'm pretending to wash her. Hand me the soap, please."
A few minutes later he came up, tapped me on the shoulder (to show me the Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer DVD he was holding) and said, "Hey Mommy, Sweetie? I need to watch this on your laptop."
The child has got to stop watching me so closely. And listening, too, for that matter. His father will never forgive me if he grows up obsessed with celebrity trivia and completely incapable of properly frying an egg.
Then again, this trend could come in handy....If only I could teach him to do laundry.
Monday, July 24, 2006
3 years or 36,000 miles.....
Happy Birthday Jack! Today, our Big Little Man turns 3. Which is funny, considering I know he was only born about a week ago. Right? Yeah, just go with me on this.
But if he was a car, the warranty would be expiring today. Which is normally when I get ready to trade up for a new model, but in this particular case I think we just might be in it for the long haul...
We celebrated on Saturday with a Pirate Birthday Party (per his request) and I got in touch with my inner Domestic Goddess and made him a Pirate Ship Birthday Cake. And just because it so kicked the ass of the birthday cakes I used to get, I present it here for your inspection.
AND, because I'm a big softie for the Froo-it of my Loy-unz, here is a quick retrospective of the glory to behold that is "The Jack".
And, even though it's Jack's special day, here's one of Toby for the hungry masses...
If the next 3 years pass as quickly as these, I'm in big trouble... Because that means I'll wake up tomorrow and be 30, and Jack will be in 1st grade. And I am SO not ready for that.
But if he was a car, the warranty would be expiring today. Which is normally when I get ready to trade up for a new model, but in this particular case I think we just might be in it for the long haul...
We celebrated on Saturday with a Pirate Birthday Party (per his request) and I got in touch with my inner Domestic Goddess and made him a Pirate Ship Birthday Cake. And just because it so kicked the ass of the birthday cakes I used to get, I present it here for your inspection.
AND, because I'm a big softie for the Froo-it of my Loy-unz, here is a quick retrospective of the glory to behold that is "The Jack".
And, even though it's Jack's special day, here's one of Toby for the hungry masses...
If the next 3 years pass as quickly as these, I'm in big trouble... Because that means I'll wake up tomorrow and be 30, and Jack will be in 1st grade. And I am SO not ready for that.
Sunday, July 23, 2006
Keeping Tabs on the Humanity.
I posted some of my thoughts on this war the other day.
Here is a story that spoke to me today. Just looking for the humanity in all of the madness. This story could have come from either side of the battle.
It's days like this I can imagine an alternate reality in which I became a doctor, stayed single, and went into the "Doctors without Borders" program. My admiration for all medical professionals who give all they can without concern to personal glory or even (as in this case) their own lives... knows no borders or bounds, as well.
Here is a story that spoke to me today. Just looking for the humanity in all of the madness. This story could have come from either side of the battle.
It's days like this I can imagine an alternate reality in which I became a doctor, stayed single, and went into the "Doctors without Borders" program. My admiration for all medical professionals who give all they can without concern to personal glory or even (as in this case) their own lives... knows no borders or bounds, as well.
Friday, July 21, 2006
Tattoos and Identity
I posted this comment over on BlogHer today, and I decided to share it here as well. I know, I know.. that's cheating. But other than the fact that I just mowed the back yard for Jack's birthday celebration tomorrow and am currently waiting for the sweat to dry before I take a long, hot shower... well, I have a house to clean, presents to wrap, a cake to bake, and kids to feed. SO this will have to do....
*********************************************
Tattoos are an ancient tradition, a rite of passage in many cultures. I think that, in the US especially, we sometimes struggle to identify "what is my culture" - especially as it gets swallowed up in Wal-Marts and McDonalds as far as the eye can see. Most of us have lost touch with our ancestral roots and the countries of our familial origins. I think that this goes a long way towards explaining why, even though corporate, social, and religious groups put a high premium on fitting a certain mold, many of us put a higher value on our individuality. We attempt to create a "culture of the self".
I actually posted a while ago about my tattoo. I got it when I was 22, before marriage and my two kids. I have very strong feelings about my OWN tattoo, and because it is somewhere discreet people are always surprised to learn I have one after they get to know me. It is symbolic of a life lesson I learned at the time, and continues to be a reminder of where I have been and where I am going.
I'm planning to get a second tattoo after my second baby boy is weaned (sometime the end of this year) and am currently busy designing it.
As a child of devoutly Mormon parents, it was several years before I was able to talk to my mother about it. Once I explained the meaning behind it, I think she was better able to accept that it was something meaningful to me and a positive force in my life, rather than a simple childish act of rebellion. She still doesn't like it, but at least she seems to have come to terms with it.
I'm tentatively planning to get the next one on my ankle, where it will be somewhat more visible to the general public. This one will be no less meaningful and symbolic for me personally, and I am looking forward to the whole experience again.
I plan to go back and finish Nursing School once I'm done with this babymaking business, and I know there will be patients who may have pre-judgments about me based on something like a tattoo. The challenge (and a positive one, as I see it) is that it is then my goal to help people learn to reassess their value-judgments. If I am the best nurse I can be, and give the most compassionate and capable care -- how many people, at the end of the day, are going to REALLY care that I happen to have permanent ink?
*********************************************
Tattoos are an ancient tradition, a rite of passage in many cultures. I think that, in the US especially, we sometimes struggle to identify "what is my culture" - especially as it gets swallowed up in Wal-Marts and McDonalds as far as the eye can see. Most of us have lost touch with our ancestral roots and the countries of our familial origins. I think that this goes a long way towards explaining why, even though corporate, social, and religious groups put a high premium on fitting a certain mold, many of us put a higher value on our individuality. We attempt to create a "culture of the self".
I actually posted a while ago about my tattoo. I got it when I was 22, before marriage and my two kids. I have very strong feelings about my OWN tattoo, and because it is somewhere discreet people are always surprised to learn I have one after they get to know me. It is symbolic of a life lesson I learned at the time, and continues to be a reminder of where I have been and where I am going.
I'm planning to get a second tattoo after my second baby boy is weaned (sometime the end of this year) and am currently busy designing it.
As a child of devoutly Mormon parents, it was several years before I was able to talk to my mother about it. Once I explained the meaning behind it, I think she was better able to accept that it was something meaningful to me and a positive force in my life, rather than a simple childish act of rebellion. She still doesn't like it, but at least she seems to have come to terms with it.
I'm tentatively planning to get the next one on my ankle, where it will be somewhat more visible to the general public. This one will be no less meaningful and symbolic for me personally, and I am looking forward to the whole experience again.
I plan to go back and finish Nursing School once I'm done with this babymaking business, and I know there will be patients who may have pre-judgments about me based on something like a tattoo. The challenge (and a positive one, as I see it) is that it is then my goal to help people learn to reassess their value-judgments. If I am the best nurse I can be, and give the most compassionate and capable care -- how many people, at the end of the day, are going to REALLY care that I happen to have permanent ink?
Thursday, July 20, 2006
The Politics of Motherhood
I'm not going to begin to rant on the actual politics of the "conflict" (fuck that, it's a WAR and if CNN and FOX can't call it that, I will) in Israel and Lebanon because I'm just not informed enough about it yet. It's not simple, it's not black and white, and if there was a simple solution to the whole muddle, I have no doubts someone far more intelligent than I would have thought of it already.
One could spend a lifetime trying to understand why the divisions of humanity there hate each other; the wounds are so old and run so deep, it would probably take another lifetime to be able to make sense of it all.
The one thing I can talk about with some authority is the humanity of it all. T posted this video on his blog yesterday. I finally got around to watching it this evening, and I nearly threw up. Be warned, it is graphic. This is not the stuff they're showing you on the major news networks; these are the gritty, bloody photos and many of them are of children. Specifically, one of them is of a tiny, broken body with a face that could be Jack's.
Whatever your politics, whatever your sympathies... the basic truth that sticks in my brain and will not be dislodged is that the innocents caught in the middle (and make no mistake, there are many of those on both sides) will bed down tonight not knowing if they will wake in the morning. I know there is suffering all over the world, but it's a lot easier to marginalize that fact, mentally, when those people have very little in common with you.
Not so in Israel and Lebanon. These people are modern; a photo I saw of a young mother in Lebanon with her baby and small girl could have been of any of the women in my neighborhood - save for her head scarf. I think I own the same pair of jeans. These people, the ones who were simply born into that unfortunate part of the world and of the "wrong" denomination or nation, are intelligent, modern, and very aware of the trap in which they now find themselves.
And tonight, half a world away, they are dying. Some are dying quickly in a rain of fire and ash. Others will die slowly, as public works and supplies of basic necessities are cut off. Mothers will bury children who will die from lack of shelter, clean water, and medical care - as well as from scalding death that pours from the sky.
As the pundits and the talking heads debate the politics of this war, the justifications from both sides, and how this will effect the effing GAS prices, this young mother feels the crushing sadness of the families who have no where to run to and no place to hide from the storm that rages around them.
It's past my bedtime, but I can't lay my head down tonight until I hug and kiss my boys and thank providence that we are all safe under our roof tonight. Our world may be, at times, an uncertain one - but at least tonight I will rest without the fear that at any moment all of our tomorrows could be swallowed up in one instant of white-hot destruction.
One could spend a lifetime trying to understand why the divisions of humanity there hate each other; the wounds are so old and run so deep, it would probably take another lifetime to be able to make sense of it all.
The one thing I can talk about with some authority is the humanity of it all. T posted this video on his blog yesterday. I finally got around to watching it this evening, and I nearly threw up. Be warned, it is graphic. This is not the stuff they're showing you on the major news networks; these are the gritty, bloody photos and many of them are of children. Specifically, one of them is of a tiny, broken body with a face that could be Jack's.
Whatever your politics, whatever your sympathies... the basic truth that sticks in my brain and will not be dislodged is that the innocents caught in the middle (and make no mistake, there are many of those on both sides) will bed down tonight not knowing if they will wake in the morning. I know there is suffering all over the world, but it's a lot easier to marginalize that fact, mentally, when those people have very little in common with you.
Not so in Israel and Lebanon. These people are modern; a photo I saw of a young mother in Lebanon with her baby and small girl could have been of any of the women in my neighborhood - save for her head scarf. I think I own the same pair of jeans. These people, the ones who were simply born into that unfortunate part of the world and of the "wrong" denomination or nation, are intelligent, modern, and very aware of the trap in which they now find themselves.
And tonight, half a world away, they are dying. Some are dying quickly in a rain of fire and ash. Others will die slowly, as public works and supplies of basic necessities are cut off. Mothers will bury children who will die from lack of shelter, clean water, and medical care - as well as from scalding death that pours from the sky.
As the pundits and the talking heads debate the politics of this war, the justifications from both sides, and how this will effect the effing GAS prices, this young mother feels the crushing sadness of the families who have no where to run to and no place to hide from the storm that rages around them.
It's past my bedtime, but I can't lay my head down tonight until I hug and kiss my boys and thank providence that we are all safe under our roof tonight. Our world may be, at times, an uncertain one - but at least tonight I will rest without the fear that at any moment all of our tomorrows could be swallowed up in one instant of white-hot destruction.
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
PANIC! At the Doctor
I think I need to trade my brain in for the upgraded model. It's the only way I can begin to explain what occurred yesterday. One of my worst nightmares came true, though with a fortuitous ending, and then I killed my cell phone.
Yesterday morning was Toby's 9 month check-up with the pediatrician. He is, of course, beautiful and perfect and developing right along schedule. I greeted this news with cheer and blithely exited the doctor's office and headed out into sweltering 103 degree afternoon.
Being the good mom that I am, I used the remote starter and got the air conditioning running so as not to put the boys into a veritable oven.
Jack, who is totally obsessed with car keys (a genetic trait inherited from his father, who is unreasonably proud of this behavior) threw the beginnings of an ear-shattering tantrum trying to get his hands on mine. So, I tossed them into the front seat and out of his view - which solved the immediate problem.
Once Jack and Toby were both safely buckled in and settled, I closed the rear doors and reached for my door handle. Just in time to realize that I had started the remote-start with one of the doors open. Which meant that as soon as all doors were again closed, the car automatically locked itself.
With my keys inside.
Now, our remote start will run the car (which also means the air conditioning) for 5 minutes before shutting itself off. Which meant I had roughly 5 minutes before the greenhouse effect began warming the interior of the car to a lethal temperature. And just that morning T had sent me a link to this horrible article.
I tried all the door handles again. I tried to open the trunk. I tried to get Jack to let himself out of his seatbelt (which I had just taught him NEVER to do) and unlock the car from the inside. The clock continued ticking down. I checked my cell phone. No signal. I glanced at the office building 50 yards or so away. I could run back to the doctor's office and use their phone, but that would mean leaving the kids all alone while I tried to explain the situation. I started to feel dizzy, like the ground had suddenly moved underneath me and I might fall over.
Just as I felt the bile rising in my throat, a handsome man with an Italian name and an accent to match pulled up in his SUV. He asked if I needed help, and I explained my situation as briefly and coherently as possible. (More the former than the latter, I'm sure.)
He pondered for a moment, then checked his car for something with which to jimmy the lock. When he came up empty-handed, he thought for a minute then ,in a burst of inspiration, unscrewed the antenna from his car and bent a hook into the end of it.
The auto-start finished and, as the engine clicked off, my stomach dropped to somewhere below my navel. Toby was screaming now and Jack, seeing the look on my face as I peered helplessly at him through the window, began to cry and tried again to free himself from his seat harness.
In that moment, I realized exactly how devestating it would be if anything happened to my boys. I knew I would break through the glass of the window with my bare hands if I had to, but I was going to get my babies OUT OF THAT CAR.
I looked at my good samaritan and said "should I call 911?" He handed me his cell phone but said "Not yet.. just give me one more minute."
I watched the sweat beading up on Jack's forehead. I could hear Toby screaming through the door. I put my thumb on the 9, trying to decide whether to dial or pick up a big rock to smash the window.
And as suddenly as my nightmare had begun, it ended. With a click and a sigh of relief, my rescuer popped the lock and opened the door.
I flew to Toby's side and wiped the sweat from his brow. In the 3 or 4 minutes since the air conditioning stopped running the car had heated to a sweltering temperature and both kids were soaked in sweat. I pulled Toby from his seat and held him to me while Jack looked at me expectantly, happy to see I was no longer upset.
Lost in my own little world, I faintly heard a throat clear. It was my Italian, who had just finished reaffixing his bent-beyond-repair antenna to the hood of his SUV. "Okay.. I'm going to head out now."
I turned to him sheepishly, embarrassed to have forgotten my rescuer. "Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. I can't thank you enough. Thank you for saving us." He waved me off, grabbed his cell phone, climbed into his car, and pulled away. I didn't even get his name.
In the grand scheme of things the fact that, when I finally pulled out of the parking lot, I left my cell phone on top of the car to be thrown violently off and into the road, then run over by half of Purcellville before I realized what had happened and went back to retrieve the sad little pieces... well, it hardly seems worth mentioning. It was merely the doo-doo icing on a horrid sequence of events, and it's easily replaceable.
Not so quickly put aside is my eternal gratitude for the Shining Knight who stopped to assist me, a complete stranger (not to mention a wild-eyed woman pounding desperately on a car window) and reunited me with my babies, safe and sound.
Wherever you are, from the bottom of my heart - Thank You. My Hero.
Yesterday morning was Toby's 9 month check-up with the pediatrician. He is, of course, beautiful and perfect and developing right along schedule. I greeted this news with cheer and blithely exited the doctor's office and headed out into sweltering 103 degree afternoon.
Being the good mom that I am, I used the remote starter and got the air conditioning running so as not to put the boys into a veritable oven.
Jack, who is totally obsessed with car keys (a genetic trait inherited from his father, who is unreasonably proud of this behavior) threw the beginnings of an ear-shattering tantrum trying to get his hands on mine. So, I tossed them into the front seat and out of his view - which solved the immediate problem.
Once Jack and Toby were both safely buckled in and settled, I closed the rear doors and reached for my door handle. Just in time to realize that I had started the remote-start with one of the doors open. Which meant that as soon as all doors were again closed, the car automatically locked itself.
With my keys inside.
Now, our remote start will run the car (which also means the air conditioning) for 5 minutes before shutting itself off. Which meant I had roughly 5 minutes before the greenhouse effect began warming the interior of the car to a lethal temperature. And just that morning T had sent me a link to this horrible article.
I tried all the door handles again. I tried to open the trunk. I tried to get Jack to let himself out of his seatbelt (which I had just taught him NEVER to do) and unlock the car from the inside. The clock continued ticking down. I checked my cell phone. No signal. I glanced at the office building 50 yards or so away. I could run back to the doctor's office and use their phone, but that would mean leaving the kids all alone while I tried to explain the situation. I started to feel dizzy, like the ground had suddenly moved underneath me and I might fall over.
Just as I felt the bile rising in my throat, a handsome man with an Italian name and an accent to match pulled up in his SUV. He asked if I needed help, and I explained my situation as briefly and coherently as possible. (More the former than the latter, I'm sure.)
He pondered for a moment, then checked his car for something with which to jimmy the lock. When he came up empty-handed, he thought for a minute then ,in a burst of inspiration, unscrewed the antenna from his car and bent a hook into the end of it.
The auto-start finished and, as the engine clicked off, my stomach dropped to somewhere below my navel. Toby was screaming now and Jack, seeing the look on my face as I peered helplessly at him through the window, began to cry and tried again to free himself from his seat harness.
In that moment, I realized exactly how devestating it would be if anything happened to my boys. I knew I would break through the glass of the window with my bare hands if I had to, but I was going to get my babies OUT OF THAT CAR.
I looked at my good samaritan and said "should I call 911?" He handed me his cell phone but said "Not yet.. just give me one more minute."
I watched the sweat beading up on Jack's forehead. I could hear Toby screaming through the door. I put my thumb on the 9, trying to decide whether to dial or pick up a big rock to smash the window.
And as suddenly as my nightmare had begun, it ended. With a click and a sigh of relief, my rescuer popped the lock and opened the door.
I flew to Toby's side and wiped the sweat from his brow. In the 3 or 4 minutes since the air conditioning stopped running the car had heated to a sweltering temperature and both kids were soaked in sweat. I pulled Toby from his seat and held him to me while Jack looked at me expectantly, happy to see I was no longer upset.
Lost in my own little world, I faintly heard a throat clear. It was my Italian, who had just finished reaffixing his bent-beyond-repair antenna to the hood of his SUV. "Okay.. I'm going to head out now."
I turned to him sheepishly, embarrassed to have forgotten my rescuer. "Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU. I can't thank you enough. Thank you for saving us." He waved me off, grabbed his cell phone, climbed into his car, and pulled away. I didn't even get his name.
In the grand scheme of things the fact that, when I finally pulled out of the parking lot, I left my cell phone on top of the car to be thrown violently off and into the road, then run over by half of Purcellville before I realized what had happened and went back to retrieve the sad little pieces... well, it hardly seems worth mentioning. It was merely the doo-doo icing on a horrid sequence of events, and it's easily replaceable.
Not so quickly put aside is my eternal gratitude for the Shining Knight who stopped to assist me, a complete stranger (not to mention a wild-eyed woman pounding desperately on a car window) and reunited me with my babies, safe and sound.
Wherever you are, from the bottom of my heart - Thank You. My Hero.
tags: motherhood,life
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Choking On The Splinters
You may remember that several weeks ago I had a cold. A bad one. It got worse before it got better...before getting worse again.
As of today, I am coughing up things that look like small parts of an alien race. I've decided that an extra-terrestrial must have formed its egg sac in my chest. The little baby aliens are now in their larval stage and working their way up my bronchial tubes. Eventually, a slimy green alien will emerge, full-grown, from my gorge and say something to the effect of "we come to destroy your race and harvest your spleens, which are a delicacy in our culture - best enjoyed with a spicy Pinot Noir and fried potatoes."
This theory gives me something to ponder while I lay awake at night with the coughing. It also helps distract me from the vague impulse to perhaps go to the doctor and be cured of the new species now incubating in my chest cavity.
I'm wondering, as I sip the delectable tea I'm sharing on AlternaMom today, what lengths others have gone to in convincing themselves to put off going to the doctor. Tea is my favorite home remedy, but I've also been known to load up on chicken soup, coffee and, in extreme cases, Krispy Kreme Donuts.
Because the calories totally don't count if they're medicinal.
I recognize this tendency may be genetic. My 67-year-old father mentioned, during his recent visit (and while eating his nightly bowl of ice cream), that he hasn't been to a doctor in over a decade. I could only stare at him in amazement, silently pondering the likely size of the man's prostate. Which, considering he is my father, is really going to give me something new to discuss in therapy.
As of today, I am coughing up things that look like small parts of an alien race. I've decided that an extra-terrestrial must have formed its egg sac in my chest. The little baby aliens are now in their larval stage and working their way up my bronchial tubes. Eventually, a slimy green alien will emerge, full-grown, from my gorge and say something to the effect of "we come to destroy your race and harvest your spleens, which are a delicacy in our culture - best enjoyed with a spicy Pinot Noir and fried potatoes."
This theory gives me something to ponder while I lay awake at night with the coughing. It also helps distract me from the vague impulse to perhaps go to the doctor and be cured of the new species now incubating in my chest cavity.
I'm wondering, as I sip the delectable tea I'm sharing on AlternaMom today, what lengths others have gone to in convincing themselves to put off going to the doctor. Tea is my favorite home remedy, but I've also been known to load up on chicken soup, coffee and, in extreme cases, Krispy Kreme Donuts.
Because the calories totally don't count if they're medicinal.
I recognize this tendency may be genetic. My 67-year-old father mentioned, during his recent visit (and while eating his nightly bowl of ice cream), that he hasn't been to a doctor in over a decade. I could only stare at him in amazement, silently pondering the likely size of the man's prostate. Which, considering he is my father, is really going to give me something new to discuss in therapy.
Monday, July 17, 2006
Blog Me, Baby...One More Time. (Long)
So BlogHer '06 Conference is just under 2 weeks away, and I'm not going to be able to make it this year. BUT, that isn't going to stop me from joining in where I can, which means that for today I am subjecting others to an interview with.. Myself. Because I'm lame, and feeling too shy at the moment to approach another BlogHer to interview them. So Sue Me.
SO, here it is. In all the shining glory. I have too much time on my hands today, so I answered way too many questions. Which makes this inexcusably long. Feel free to skip to the part where I talk about my spectacular breasts.
1. When did you start blogging and why? Or Talk about your blog. What can I learn about you in under 5 minutes?
This is best answered by pointing to my Bio. In under 5 minutes you can find out all that is there. Here's a few more tidbits: I don't know what my natural hair color looks like any more, and my eyes were once coffee brown.. (*mmm coffee*) but are now mostly green. Yeah, it confuses me, too.
2. How do you use blogging to build friendships?
It keeps me in touch with old friends who live far away. Because I have this phobia of the phone. No, SERIOUSLY. Making phone calls freaks me out, so I avoid it as much as possible. Apparently meds can only take the edge off this particular neurosis, they can't cure it completely. And anyway, I'm much more articulate in writing than in person. Especially after a few margaritas... in both cases.
3. Who do you read every day, rain or shine?
Dooce of course. And I loves me some MochaMomma. For the rest, it's a hodge-podge, and I like to check 2 or 3 of my favorites every day rather than checking them all at once. Since some folks seem to be a little wonky on posting frequency, it lets me keep something to look forward to. You know, rather than hitting refresh 20 or 30 times a day in the hopes that someone updated and can give me a reason to crack a smile.
4. Why did you choose to share that piece of yourself in a photograph?
That would imply that I actually had a good reason. Or any reason at all, really. I dunno, I always fixate on my eyes because they're my one really striking feature and I've always thought I have a small mouth, not really worthy of attention. So why not be fair and play to the underdog? I mean, small or not, these lips put up with a lot. I've been known to chew them till they bleed when I'm nervous or deeply engrossed. And I've got them totally addicted to Carmex and Burt's Bees Lip Balm. The level of dependency is truly astounding. My lips need a twelve-step program.
5. How would you describe your writing style?
Ecclectic at best, disjointed and nauseating at worst. I used to write a lot more, and the words came much easier then. I suspect it's because I used to also READ a lot more, and reading prolifically seems to be the key (for me anyway) to coherent writing. I'd rather hear someone else describe my writing style; it's always fun to see myself through someone else's eyes.
6. What don’t you write about? Anything considered a no-no in your book?
I don't complain about my husband (at least not in any serious way) or talk about a fight we've had or reveal anything about him that is overtly personal for him. I don't give out too much specific information about where we are, etc, because my kids are insanely cute and there are psychos out there. I don't talk about things that family members would consider a breach of trust or privacy. There's a lot going on in our lives that it would be wrong to discuss until the dust has finished settling, but some day I will open that can of worms and vent it all out into the ether.
7. So soon we’re going to meet each other at BlogHer. Important question. How do you party?
*SOB* Alas, I will be missing the event this year. Next year, however. Is it wrong that I'm actually planning my next pregnancy around BlogHer 2007 so that I can drink everyone under the table and hopefully leave a bra hanging from the rafters in a bar somewhere?
8. What is your favorite thing that you wrote? What got a strong reaction from readers? Links please?
Love my Tattoo Story ("Permanent Ink")It's probably my favorite blog entry to date, even though it's not the most articulate or artistic one.
See the link over there ---->
9. Are you and your blogging persona the same person?
They each represent several parts of the whole puzzle which is "Me". I think the blog gives you a pretty good idea of what I am like in person. Except in person, I'm a good bit more hyperactive and my breasts are much more spectacular.
10. If you had a super power, what would it be?
The ability to totally change my hair just by thinking about it. Today would be short and red, tomorrow long and blonde, and maybe Wednesday would be a kick ass pink mohawk.
SO, here it is. In all the shining glory. I have too much time on my hands today, so I answered way too many questions. Which makes this inexcusably long. Feel free to skip to the part where I talk about my spectacular breasts.
1. When did you start blogging and why? Or Talk about your blog. What can I learn about you in under 5 minutes?
This is best answered by pointing to my Bio. In under 5 minutes you can find out all that is there. Here's a few more tidbits: I don't know what my natural hair color looks like any more, and my eyes were once coffee brown.. (*mmm coffee*) but are now mostly green. Yeah, it confuses me, too.
2. How do you use blogging to build friendships?
It keeps me in touch with old friends who live far away. Because I have this phobia of the phone. No, SERIOUSLY. Making phone calls freaks me out, so I avoid it as much as possible. Apparently meds can only take the edge off this particular neurosis, they can't cure it completely. And anyway, I'm much more articulate in writing than in person. Especially after a few margaritas... in both cases.
3. Who do you read every day, rain or shine?
Dooce of course. And I loves me some MochaMomma. For the rest, it's a hodge-podge, and I like to check 2 or 3 of my favorites every day rather than checking them all at once. Since some folks seem to be a little wonky on posting frequency, it lets me keep something to look forward to. You know, rather than hitting refresh 20 or 30 times a day in the hopes that someone updated and can give me a reason to crack a smile.
4. Why did you choose to share that piece of yourself in a photograph?
That would imply that I actually had a good reason. Or any reason at all, really. I dunno, I always fixate on my eyes because they're my one really striking feature and I've always thought I have a small mouth, not really worthy of attention. So why not be fair and play to the underdog? I mean, small or not, these lips put up with a lot. I've been known to chew them till they bleed when I'm nervous or deeply engrossed. And I've got them totally addicted to Carmex and Burt's Bees Lip Balm. The level of dependency is truly astounding. My lips need a twelve-step program.
5. How would you describe your writing style?
Ecclectic at best, disjointed and nauseating at worst. I used to write a lot more, and the words came much easier then. I suspect it's because I used to also READ a lot more, and reading prolifically seems to be the key (for me anyway) to coherent writing. I'd rather hear someone else describe my writing style; it's always fun to see myself through someone else's eyes.
6. What don’t you write about? Anything considered a no-no in your book?
I don't complain about my husband (at least not in any serious way) or talk about a fight we've had or reveal anything about him that is overtly personal for him. I don't give out too much specific information about where we are, etc, because my kids are insanely cute and there are psychos out there. I don't talk about things that family members would consider a breach of trust or privacy. There's a lot going on in our lives that it would be wrong to discuss until the dust has finished settling, but some day I will open that can of worms and vent it all out into the ether.
7. So soon we’re going to meet each other at BlogHer. Important question. How do you party?
*SOB* Alas, I will be missing the event this year. Next year, however. Is it wrong that I'm actually planning my next pregnancy around BlogHer 2007 so that I can drink everyone under the table and hopefully leave a bra hanging from the rafters in a bar somewhere?
8. What is your favorite thing that you wrote? What got a strong reaction from readers? Links please?
Love my Tattoo Story ("Permanent Ink")It's probably my favorite blog entry to date, even though it's not the most articulate or artistic one.
See the link over there ---->
9. Are you and your blogging persona the same person?
They each represent several parts of the whole puzzle which is "Me". I think the blog gives you a pretty good idea of what I am like in person. Except in person, I'm a good bit more hyperactive and my breasts are much more spectacular.
10. If you had a super power, what would it be?
The ability to totally change my hair just by thinking about it. Today would be short and red, tomorrow long and blonde, and maybe Wednesday would be a kick ass pink mohawk.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
Bittersweet Goodbyes
We had the chance to see the folks tonight at my brother's place before they head out tomorrow morning to return home. It was strange, to pull away in the trusty family car and wave goodbye. I was instantly transported back to the day they drove away in the family minivan, waving goodbye to me as they left me at BYU for my freshman year.
In so many ways, that time seems longer ago even than my memories of High School. It's like that time at BYU exists in my memory outside of time.. "the long day's journey into night" if you will. It was a dark time for me, one of loneliness and confusion... but at the same time, it was the beginning of everything else. It was the catalyst that changed my life, opened doors, and eventually led to the freedom to really find myself.
The regret and wistfulness I felt today as we headed down the road towards home was of a totally different sort than that first day in Provo, though. It gave me pause, to realize the distance I have traveled, and just how far I have come from the broken spirit I once was.
Rather than being a lost and frightened girl, unsure of myself and aching for the comfort of the familiar, I felt only a tugging longing for more time... time enough to really get to know my parents and let them get to know me- my children, my life - the woman I am now.
The woman I am now. Deeply flawed, often misguided, sometimes petty and selfish... but also so much stronger, more confident, and infinitely more honest and open to the wonders of the world around me. Steady in a way that skiddish girl never was. Content in a way I never could have imagined possible. Blessed. Infinitely blessed. At peace. Finally, at peace.
In so many ways, that time seems longer ago even than my memories of High School. It's like that time at BYU exists in my memory outside of time.. "the long day's journey into night" if you will. It was a dark time for me, one of loneliness and confusion... but at the same time, it was the beginning of everything else. It was the catalyst that changed my life, opened doors, and eventually led to the freedom to really find myself.
The regret and wistfulness I felt today as we headed down the road towards home was of a totally different sort than that first day in Provo, though. It gave me pause, to realize the distance I have traveled, and just how far I have come from the broken spirit I once was.
Rather than being a lost and frightened girl, unsure of myself and aching for the comfort of the familiar, I felt only a tugging longing for more time... time enough to really get to know my parents and let them get to know me- my children, my life - the woman I am now.
The woman I am now. Deeply flawed, often misguided, sometimes petty and selfish... but also so much stronger, more confident, and infinitely more honest and open to the wonders of the world around me. Steady in a way that skiddish girl never was. Content in a way I never could have imagined possible. Blessed. Infinitely blessed. At peace. Finally, at peace.
Friday, July 14, 2006
Alternative Lifestyles
I've been toying for a while now with the idea of starting another blog - not to replace this one, but in addition to it. Yes, there's just not enough crazy to go around on this one little forum, so I have officially opened AlternaMom!
Go to the site for my Packaged Description, but basically it's where I will be posting links and goodies for items and/or ideas that keep me from going completely nuts (insert "Short Trip" comment here) and help me overcome the little aggravations of life as a Stay At Home.
You know, a sort of shopping-blog-meets-Dear-Abby-meets-cleaning-tips deal. And because I have waaaay too much extra space in my brain (apparently I have been using very little of it lately) I'll even toss out there that if anyone wants to email me questions on any of the above areas, I'll do my best to answer them.
Be forewarned, I don't promise to be coherent and I have absolutely no relevant trainig, but I have been known to give out the odd piece of good advice. (Like don't mix Ameretto and Beer, and Dryer Sheets make excellent car air freshners and will remove the smell of mildew from old fabric. See? Don't you feel smarter already?!?!?)
Also, a picky toddler will eat almost ANYTHING as long as it's dipped in ranch dressing or ketchup. Unless they don't happen to like ranch dressing or ketchup, in which case you should get them into therapy NOW because there is most definitely something wrong there. Amen.
So, click on over and find out where to buy cool funky socks (which are now an established part of my therapy) and find a quick and delicious breakfast idea that my 3 year old adores.
Go to the site for my Packaged Description, but basically it's where I will be posting links and goodies for items and/or ideas that keep me from going completely nuts (insert "Short Trip" comment here) and help me overcome the little aggravations of life as a Stay At Home.
You know, a sort of shopping-blog-meets-Dear-Abby-meets-cleaning-tips deal. And because I have waaaay too much extra space in my brain (apparently I have been using very little of it lately) I'll even toss out there that if anyone wants to email me questions on any of the above areas, I'll do my best to answer them.
Be forewarned, I don't promise to be coherent and I have absolutely no relevant trainig, but I have been known to give out the odd piece of good advice. (Like don't mix Ameretto and Beer, and Dryer Sheets make excellent car air freshners and will remove the smell of mildew from old fabric. See? Don't you feel smarter already?!?!?)
Also, a picky toddler will eat almost ANYTHING as long as it's dipped in ranch dressing or ketchup. Unless they don't happen to like ranch dressing or ketchup, in which case you should get them into therapy NOW because there is most definitely something wrong there. Amen.
So, click on over and find out where to buy cool funky socks (which are now an established part of my therapy) and find a quick and delicious breakfast idea that my 3 year old adores.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Check Your Head
You may have noticed that the title of the blog, as well as the header, have changed. "Innocent when you dream" no longer seemed to fit my current state of mind, although there is no bad time to listen to Tom Waits. And so, I changed it to "Somewhat Damaged, Holding On", which fit my mental state a bit better. At least, I thought so, but T protested mightily.
He didn't feel it was an accurate representation of where I am at, nor was it an optimistic look at where I am headed. And so, I reconsidered and finally relented.
Staying home with the kids is the basis on which all of my perspectives are currently built, and I am doing my best to salvage some kind of mental stability in this insane role and even more insane world.
And there you have it. Aum... That Hindu ideal, the meditation of reality and the states of consciousness. Because, you know... a mom drifts somewhere between the waking and sleeping state most of the time, and in my case the dreaming is more of a waking thing. And usually the dreams involve a hot beach and a cold margarita. But I digress.
Things evolve, and the metamorphosis continues. If there's anyone out there in the ether, fear not. I won't reach nirvana any time soon, so you can look forward to more of my insane ranting as my scrambled brain attempts to sort itself out. Cheers!
He didn't feel it was an accurate representation of where I am at, nor was it an optimistic look at where I am headed. And so, I reconsidered and finally relented.
Staying home with the kids is the basis on which all of my perspectives are currently built, and I am doing my best to salvage some kind of mental stability in this insane role and even more insane world.
And there you have it. Aum... That Hindu ideal, the meditation of reality and the states of consciousness. Because, you know... a mom drifts somewhere between the waking and sleeping state most of the time, and in my case the dreaming is more of a waking thing. And usually the dreams involve a hot beach and a cold margarita. But I digress.
Things evolve, and the metamorphosis continues. If there's anyone out there in the ether, fear not. I won't reach nirvana any time soon, so you can look forward to more of my insane ranting as my scrambled brain attempts to sort itself out. Cheers!
Going Under, Coming Up
Not that I technically went anywhere, but nonetheless I am back. My parents were here for a few days, and got to see the glory that is Toby for the first time, live and in person. They were understandably weak-kneed at the experience, and we spent a few days mostly lounging and chatting about the pleasant things that adults and their parents chat about.
Noticeably absent from the conversation was any mention by me of the fact that I have officially resigned the religion of my upbringing.
In the end, I decided that it was best to just enjoy the rare visit while they were here, and break the news to them later - when they'll have time to deal with their own fallout - without being on the spot and having to figure out what to say to the news. All in all, I think it was for the best.
And so, to anyone still here with me, I say... (and now for something completely different)...
I am totally and completely addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance".
There. I've said it. And I don't care who knows it. Just don't attempt to get me to discuss it in public, because I will deny, deny, deny.
I love the cheesy judges, including Nigel-the-token-brit. I love the overly dramatic tone of the whole thing, the indefensible sentimentality of the video montage for the booted contestants, the ridiculousness of the whole concept of a competition around every conceivable form of dance rolled into one.
I especially love that the "winner" gets a one year contract to be a backup dancer in Celine Dion's Vegas show. It's like winning a job cleaning the cages at the zoo.... useful, and sure you get to hang with the animals, but the whole thing leaves a lingering stink on you...
In the midst of the Entertainment Death Valley that is Summertime television, it's good to know that at least two nights a week I have a reason to tune in to something in prime time.
If I admit that I spend most of the other nights working on crochet and knitting, will it seem that I have TOTALLY lost my edge???? What if I listen to The Killers while I do it... does that help at all??? Or not? ... I guess not. *sigh*
Noticeably absent from the conversation was any mention by me of the fact that I have officially resigned the religion of my upbringing.
In the end, I decided that it was best to just enjoy the rare visit while they were here, and break the news to them later - when they'll have time to deal with their own fallout - without being on the spot and having to figure out what to say to the news. All in all, I think it was for the best.
And so, to anyone still here with me, I say... (and now for something completely different)...
I am totally and completely addicted to "So You Think You Can Dance".
There. I've said it. And I don't care who knows it. Just don't attempt to get me to discuss it in public, because I will deny, deny, deny.
I love the cheesy judges, including Nigel-the-token-brit. I love the overly dramatic tone of the whole thing, the indefensible sentimentality of the video montage for the booted contestants, the ridiculousness of the whole concept of a competition around every conceivable form of dance rolled into one.
I especially love that the "winner" gets a one year contract to be a backup dancer in Celine Dion's Vegas show. It's like winning a job cleaning the cages at the zoo.... useful, and sure you get to hang with the animals, but the whole thing leaves a lingering stink on you...
In the midst of the Entertainment Death Valley that is Summertime television, it's good to know that at least two nights a week I have a reason to tune in to something in prime time.
If I admit that I spend most of the other nights working on crochet and knitting, will it seem that I have TOTALLY lost my edge???? What if I listen to The Killers while I do it... does that help at all??? Or not? ... I guess not. *sigh*
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Fame and Infamy...
In the last year or go, our Adelphia cable went digital, which affords us the wonder that is Video On Demand. In addition to saving me the headache of figuring out what time the new movies for the month are starting on HBO, this gets us some cool new channels to watch when we want - 0ne of which is called "Expo TV"... and basically covers big Expos... including E3.
Tonight, while we're sitting around putting off going to bed, T decides to check it out. SO we're watching a special on E3 and there's a segment on a company that T has worked with recently called "WebZen"... guy X interviews guy Z on their new MMOFPS "Huxley".
"Hey!" T calls from the recliner where he is convalescing with the same virus that has had me cursing phlegm in all its forms for a good week. "Check it out, these are the guys we were talking to out there -- in the background, behind these guys..."
I look up from my studious review of Important Things (Okay, so I was surfing the Entertainment section on CNN.com, so sue me) just in time for him to say "Hey! That's ME!"
More accurately, it was first his gesturing hands (which are unimistakably his), then his nose, and finally his entire profile as he gesticulated wildly to emphasize some point about the graphics quality of the game, or some such.
Okay, now seriously. What are the chances???
Tonight, while we're sitting around putting off going to bed, T decides to check it out. SO we're watching a special on E3 and there's a segment on a company that T has worked with recently called "WebZen"... guy X interviews guy Z on their new MMOFPS "Huxley".
"Hey!" T calls from the recliner where he is convalescing with the same virus that has had me cursing phlegm in all its forms for a good week. "Check it out, these are the guys we were talking to out there -- in the background, behind these guys..."
I look up from my studious review of Important Things (Okay, so I was surfing the Entertainment section on CNN.com, so sue me) just in time for him to say "Hey! That's ME!"
More accurately, it was first his gesturing hands (which are unimistakably his), then his nose, and finally his entire profile as he gesticulated wildly to emphasize some point about the graphics quality of the game, or some such.
Okay, now seriously. What are the chances???
Monday, July 03, 2006
The Toxic Crusaders...
Reference to a really screwed up 90's cartoon show, by the way.
So the hoodoo virus is back. Or some variation thereof.
Jack spent yesterday morning alternating between puking into a towel and demanding waffles. By noon, after sipping on peppermint herbal tea for about an hour, the vomiting had ceased and we gave in and made him a whole-wheat toaster waffle. And then another. As of today, so far, so good.
What IS it about this time of year? The rain finally stops, the sun comes out, and everyone is too damn sick to get out and enjoy it. You'd think that all the time spent outdoors would clear the system of the germs that festered all winter, but apparently not in our case.
The one bright spot in the past 24 hours? With the exception of one wake-up at around midnight for about ten minutes, Toby slept for EIGHT WHOLE HOURS last night without a feeding!!! My boobies were a'hurtin' this morning, but it was for a good cause. The bags under my eyes lost at least a pound or two, and for the first morning in a long time I didn't wake up looking 80 years old. (I'd say not a day over 50!) HOORAY!
Random Weigh-In Update: 10 pounds down, only 40 to go.. *cough*
So the hoodoo virus is back. Or some variation thereof.
Jack spent yesterday morning alternating between puking into a towel and demanding waffles. By noon, after sipping on peppermint herbal tea for about an hour, the vomiting had ceased and we gave in and made him a whole-wheat toaster waffle. And then another. As of today, so far, so good.
What IS it about this time of year? The rain finally stops, the sun comes out, and everyone is too damn sick to get out and enjoy it. You'd think that all the time spent outdoors would clear the system of the germs that festered all winter, but apparently not in our case.
The one bright spot in the past 24 hours? With the exception of one wake-up at around midnight for about ten minutes, Toby slept for EIGHT WHOLE HOURS last night without a feeding!!! My boobies were a'hurtin' this morning, but it was for a good cause. The bags under my eyes lost at least a pound or two, and for the first morning in a long time I didn't wake up looking 80 years old. (I'd say not a day over 50!) HOORAY!
Random Weigh-In Update: 10 pounds down, only 40 to go.. *cough*
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)