What you would have read/overheard this morning as we carried on conversation both verbally and via AIM because he's working from the home office and yes, we truly have reached that level of dorkdom:
Him: Can you brew a fresh pot of coffee? I've got to go get on this conference call....
Me: Sure.
(1o minutes later)
Him: Coffee?
Me: Oh! Shoot. Totally forgot....
(2 minutes later)
Me: Brewing now. I'll yell when it's ready.
Him: No yelling! On a conference call.
Me: Oh. I meant yelling as in "CAPITAL LETTERS VIA AIM"... but I'll bring you down a cup. But only because you love me with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns!
(20 minutes later)
Him: Coffee?
Me: Oh shoot. Totally forgot, trying to design the web site....
Him: My love is diminished to the level of 500 hundred suns....
Me: 500 Hundred would be 50,000, which would mean you love me more when I ignore you. Which I have totally suspected all along....
Him: Seems to work that way....
Tuesday, October 31, 2006
Monday, October 30, 2006
The Plague Descendeth...
Ode to the sinus, how thickly it flows
Ode to the children, how whiny they grow
With crusts of green slime hardened thick on the nose
Of husband and children who wail in their woes.
Which is my roundabout way of saying that everyone in this house but me is in the throes of some virulent and exotic head and chest cold. And me? I feel like crap, didn't get enough sleep, and am stressed to the point of freaking out in a very "Mommy Dearest" sort of way because DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW HOW LOUD THEY ARE BREATHING, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY?????
Good times, people. I tell ya.
On the up side? These pills might actually be the right ones, at long last. And thanks to my brother, I am one step closer to rocking the new business. And? My parents left for Africa today. Which is in no way good news for me, but the up side of that is that I made it through the day and DID NOT CRY. Well, at least not because of that bit of news. As for the rest? I plead faulty memory. Because you will totally buy that. Especially when I do this....
Hey look! The neighbor is dressed as a Naughty Librarian for Halloween again!
See? Totally distracted you. So predictable.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have humidifiers to refill......
Ode to the children, how whiny they grow
With crusts of green slime hardened thick on the nose
Of husband and children who wail in their woes.
Which is my roundabout way of saying that everyone in this house but me is in the throes of some virulent and exotic head and chest cold. And me? I feel like crap, didn't get enough sleep, and am stressed to the point of freaking out in a very "Mommy Dearest" sort of way because DO THESE PEOPLE NOT KNOW HOW LOUD THEY ARE BREATHING, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY?????
Good times, people. I tell ya.
On the up side? These pills might actually be the right ones, at long last. And thanks to my brother, I am one step closer to rocking the new business. And? My parents left for Africa today. Which is in no way good news for me, but the up side of that is that I made it through the day and DID NOT CRY. Well, at least not because of that bit of news. As for the rest? I plead faulty memory. Because you will totally buy that. Especially when I do this....
Hey look! The neighbor is dressed as a Naughty Librarian for Halloween again!
See? Totally distracted you. So predictable.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have humidifiers to refill......
Friday, October 27, 2006
To The Batcave...
The last week has been a flurry of everything and nothing. The HOA meeting was a resounding success, and ended with the ejection of the old board and the election of a new board. One that will, hopefully, be able to enact changes to the benefit of all. The new secretary, though? She seems a little wonky. And this morning, when it was a frosty 40 degrees outside? She could be seen running down the street in her bare feet and pajamas... carrying an infant... and chasing a very fast puppy.
In case you haven't figured it out yet? That would be me.
So the week was wrapped up in working on and thinking about a variety of HOA matters. And for some reason, there was a completely out-of-proportion-to-reality sense of immediacy about everything I did. No matter what I was involved in - typing minutes, chasing the dog, feeding the kids, tossing in a load of laundry - I felt a sense of overwhelming urgency and guilt about all of the other things I was not doing at that very moment.
Apparently my psyche thinks I should be able to be in 54386 places at once. And do every one of the involved tasks to perfection at the same time. To the result that I accomplished very little, and ended up feeling very tired.
Last night I went to bed at a decent hour. And I slept. And I woke up this morning still grumpy, but after a cup of coffee and my morning trip to the medicine cabinet I was feeling very much improved. So much so that I started making out a grocery list, ordered a few more things for the business, and finally checked my blogroll (which has whimpered over here in the corner as the numbers kept cranking up and up with nary a perusal from yours truly.)
Which is when I read this post over at dooce. And then followed the link to this article by a New Orleans Times-Picayune reporter on his experience with depression as a person who didn't really believe in the illness.
And I came to two very sudden realizations.
1) My parents were very skeptical of mental illness, beyond outright psychosis, for most of my life. I have learned to admire them in a whole new light as they have evolved the past few years and, my mom especially, been incredibly supportive of me since learning of the struggles I have had.. and continue to have, really. It requires several deep, calming breaths on my part to keep from tearing up whenever I remember that they will soon be on the other side of the planet... which brings me to
2) It's time to stop telling the psychiatrist how well things are going and be more honest with him and with myself about what is still broken. I am doing so much better than I was in April, in so many ways, and I have wanted that to be it - to be able to say "see how well I am doing!" to myself and to others, that I have been reluctant to admit that there is still quite a distance to go before I am able to really cope with any effectiveness. Until I can open up about that, I am in denial and I don't believe in denial unless it involves counting the calories in a piece of birthday cake. (which totally don't count, because what kind of world is this if I can't enjoy my funfetti with blue icing in peace - I ASK YOU?)
I have got to work out some sort of sanity check on a real schedule. Because though my plate is very very full at the moment, there is no reason that it should overwhelm me if I can learn to prioritize and keep certain time sacred.
Which is why, at this moment, I am headed to the shower so that I can take the boys out for lunch and to do some grocery shopping. Time. Together with the boys. Out of this house. Sacred, indeed.
But fear not, my friends. I have not forgotten my participation in NaBloPoMo (as evidenced by the badge I finally have up here). In fact, I just got my copy of Mighty Maggie's new Book of 100 ideas for your Blog, and I fully intend to pad the pages of this little internet empire with my take on some of her suggestions.
Because you know you're dying to read an excerpt from the diary I kept in high school. It's full of deliciously angsty teenage meanderings and several exquisitely humiliating rants on my breasts. And I do have a photo of the ridiculously huge yorkshire pudding T made for Christmas dinner last year somewhere around here.... You're salivating already, aren't you?!
In case you haven't figured it out yet? That would be me.
So the week was wrapped up in working on and thinking about a variety of HOA matters. And for some reason, there was a completely out-of-proportion-to-reality sense of immediacy about everything I did. No matter what I was involved in - typing minutes, chasing the dog, feeding the kids, tossing in a load of laundry - I felt a sense of overwhelming urgency and guilt about all of the other things I was not doing at that very moment.
Apparently my psyche thinks I should be able to be in 54386 places at once. And do every one of the involved tasks to perfection at the same time. To the result that I accomplished very little, and ended up feeling very tired.
Last night I went to bed at a decent hour. And I slept. And I woke up this morning still grumpy, but after a cup of coffee and my morning trip to the medicine cabinet I was feeling very much improved. So much so that I started making out a grocery list, ordered a few more things for the business, and finally checked my blogroll (which has whimpered over here in the corner as the numbers kept cranking up and up with nary a perusal from yours truly.)
Which is when I read this post over at dooce. And then followed the link to this article by a New Orleans Times-Picayune reporter on his experience with depression as a person who didn't really believe in the illness.
And I came to two very sudden realizations.
1) My parents were very skeptical of mental illness, beyond outright psychosis, for most of my life. I have learned to admire them in a whole new light as they have evolved the past few years and, my mom especially, been incredibly supportive of me since learning of the struggles I have had.. and continue to have, really. It requires several deep, calming breaths on my part to keep from tearing up whenever I remember that they will soon be on the other side of the planet... which brings me to
2) It's time to stop telling the psychiatrist how well things are going and be more honest with him and with myself about what is still broken. I am doing so much better than I was in April, in so many ways, and I have wanted that to be it - to be able to say "see how well I am doing!" to myself and to others, that I have been reluctant to admit that there is still quite a distance to go before I am able to really cope with any effectiveness. Until I can open up about that, I am in denial and I don't believe in denial unless it involves counting the calories in a piece of birthday cake. (which totally don't count, because what kind of world is this if I can't enjoy my funfetti with blue icing in peace - I ASK YOU?)
I have got to work out some sort of sanity check on a real schedule. Because though my plate is very very full at the moment, there is no reason that it should overwhelm me if I can learn to prioritize and keep certain time sacred.
Which is why, at this moment, I am headed to the shower so that I can take the boys out for lunch and to do some grocery shopping. Time. Together with the boys. Out of this house. Sacred, indeed.
But fear not, my friends. I have not forgotten my participation in NaBloPoMo (as evidenced by the badge I finally have up here). In fact, I just got my copy of Mighty Maggie's new Book of 100 ideas for your Blog, and I fully intend to pad the pages of this little internet empire with my take on some of her suggestions.
Because you know you're dying to read an excerpt from the diary I kept in high school. It's full of deliciously angsty teenage meanderings and several exquisitely humiliating rants on my breasts. And I do have a photo of the ridiculously huge yorkshire pudding T made for Christmas dinner last year somewhere around here.... You're salivating already, aren't you?!
Sunday, October 22, 2006
In Which I Continue My Race To Insanity...
Oh My Goodness.
I've mentioned in the past (probably repeatedly, possibly ad nauseam) that when I ride the crazy train I like to roll sans coulottes. (That's without pants if you're not up on your franglais, people...)
Because regular crazy is just...not quite crazy enough. We dooz it large, baby.
In that spirit, I just opened up a can of whupass on my brain.
You see, this week I officially filed the paperwork for my own business. As of November 1, I will be "opening the doors" so-to-speak, as a professional photographer.
Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking "I have seen the photos she posts around these parts and I'm hoping this isn't part of the long-term diet plan because those babies are gonna get hungry."
No? Okay, so maybe just "WTF?" Better? Yeah. Thought so.
I got my first SLR camera when I was 16. It was an Olympus OMG, and it was my baby. I had been accidentally assigned to photograph sporting events for my high school paper (mostly because there was.. uh.. nobody else willing to do it) and found I had a knack and a passion for it. So my parents encouraged me, and my OM and I went everywhere together. I even took some shots at my brother's wedding (along with a paid photog, of course) and, for a high school student with little training but plenty of enthusiasm, they were pretty damn good.
No, seriously.
For a few years there, my ultimate dream in life was to be a photographer for Sports Illustrated. I even took photojournalism at BYU and got to take a few photos for The Daily Universe (the university paper) while I was there. I also loved shooting musicians, mostly because the body language and facial contortions of a performing artist are so downright captivating.
I just loved taking pictures.
Then, nearly 8 years ago, I moved to Northern Virginia. I stopped taking pictures. Photography suddenly became something related to birthdays, holidays, and weddings.
Now, with a little help from The Benefactor (thanks again, Cash!) I am shooting again. And I'm loving every minute of it. Thanks to the encouragement of friends, family, and distant acquaintances... I have officially established my business. And I'm running around like my pants are on fire trying to get everything set up and ready so I will be prepared to start actually doing this.. you know... for a "living".
Which is a nice way of excusing myself for being absent for almost a week. Plus? My internet was teh broken. But it's all better now, and has strict orders to take daily vitamins and maintain excellent health going forward because I NEED THIS OUTLET. And the withdrawal shakes were making it hard to hold my coffee cup steady.
Ready for the crunchy coating on the crazy candy? I'm also a shadowy member of the coup d'etat being staged tonight in our HOA. Current Board = Rogue Agency, so I've been very quietly studying state codes, the declaration of covenants, and the bylaws so I can assist the vocal leaders of this mini-rebellion in ousting our shady board.
The goal of tonight's meeting is to wipe the current board and start fresh with Directors that will, you know... do things like tell us what they have done with our money. Riveting stuff, I know it. And you're just dying for me to lecture you all about things like fiduciary duty and conflicts of interest. Sadly, I must lay my heady down for a quick snooze, else I find myself drawing a blank at a critical moment... when I just HAVE to be able to quote Chapter 36B-3-103(b). Oh the humanity!
Stay tuned for complete coverage of the insanity. You know you wish you could TiVo this stuff...
I've mentioned in the past (probably repeatedly, possibly ad nauseam) that when I ride the crazy train I like to roll sans coulottes. (That's without pants if you're not up on your franglais, people...)
Because regular crazy is just...not quite crazy enough. We dooz it large, baby.
In that spirit, I just opened up a can of whupass on my brain.
You see, this week I officially filed the paperwork for my own business. As of November 1, I will be "opening the doors" so-to-speak, as a professional photographer.
Now, I know what you are thinking. You are thinking "I have seen the photos she posts around these parts and I'm hoping this isn't part of the long-term diet plan because those babies are gonna get hungry."
No? Okay, so maybe just "WTF?" Better? Yeah. Thought so.
I got my first SLR camera when I was 16. It was an Olympus OMG, and it was my baby. I had been accidentally assigned to photograph sporting events for my high school paper (mostly because there was.. uh.. nobody else willing to do it) and found I had a knack and a passion for it. So my parents encouraged me, and my OM and I went everywhere together. I even took some shots at my brother's wedding (along with a paid photog, of course) and, for a high school student with little training but plenty of enthusiasm, they were pretty damn good.
No, seriously.
For a few years there, my ultimate dream in life was to be a photographer for Sports Illustrated. I even took photojournalism at BYU and got to take a few photos for The Daily Universe (the university paper) while I was there. I also loved shooting musicians, mostly because the body language and facial contortions of a performing artist are so downright captivating.
I just loved taking pictures.
Then, nearly 8 years ago, I moved to Northern Virginia. I stopped taking pictures. Photography suddenly became something related to birthdays, holidays, and weddings.
Now, with a little help from The Benefactor (thanks again, Cash!) I am shooting again. And I'm loving every minute of it. Thanks to the encouragement of friends, family, and distant acquaintances... I have officially established my business. And I'm running around like my pants are on fire trying to get everything set up and ready so I will be prepared to start actually doing this.. you know... for a "living".
Which is a nice way of excusing myself for being absent for almost a week. Plus? My internet was teh broken. But it's all better now, and has strict orders to take daily vitamins and maintain excellent health going forward because I NEED THIS OUTLET. And the withdrawal shakes were making it hard to hold my coffee cup steady.
Ready for the crunchy coating on the crazy candy? I'm also a shadowy member of the coup d'etat being staged tonight in our HOA. Current Board = Rogue Agency, so I've been very quietly studying state codes, the declaration of covenants, and the bylaws so I can assist the vocal leaders of this mini-rebellion in ousting our shady board.
The goal of tonight's meeting is to wipe the current board and start fresh with Directors that will, you know... do things like tell us what they have done with our money. Riveting stuff, I know it. And you're just dying for me to lecture you all about things like fiduciary duty and conflicts of interest. Sadly, I must lay my heady down for a quick snooze, else I find myself drawing a blank at a critical moment... when I just HAVE to be able to quote Chapter 36B-3-103(b). Oh the humanity!
Stay tuned for complete coverage of the insanity. You know you wish you could TiVo this stuff...
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Getting By On His Looks
He is incredibly lucky to have this face. If he had any other face? One that was ONE IOTA less edible? The four piles of poo on the rug from ONE incident which occurred about 10 seconds after I let him back in from the rain - after his mournful face and pathetic whimpering finally convinced me that just maybe he really didn't need to go? That would have earned him a one-way ticket to "a farm in the country". (Which, as we all know, is where your parents TOLD you they sent your puppy after it ate the new leather sectional when you were 9.)
Cuteness prevails the day. *sigh*
I am such a sucker.
Monday, October 16, 2006
One.
I couldn't post about it yesterday. I tried to. I really did! But I couldn't.
But now that the day is past, and it's simply an accepted fact and no longer a cause for me to ingest mass quantities of processed sugars in order to maintain my state of denial... well, it's actually quite okay, after all.
Happy Birthday (one day late) to Toby. We're planning a small celebration for him for next weekend, but we had to mark the actual day as well. And so.. we got a small cake, lit a candle, sang our horribly off-key song, and let him have at it. And have at it he did.
It was an emotional day. One year ago I gave birth to my healthy, 9 pound 7 oz little peanut. It was a painful delivery, not the least of which because I had expected the epidural to sooth the physical torment of the induction as it had with my first delivery. Which it did not.
I followed up the birth with an abscessed tooth, requiring percocet to control the pain while still in the hospital. For good measure, there was the stop at the dentist to have a root canal on the way home from the hospital. Followed by the onset of a depression that crushed my spirit for many many moons. Even I recognize the humor in the improbability of it all. (Tonight on "Mel-O-Drama"! The birth of the baby is complicated by a toothache, a painkiller, and a root canal. Hilarity Ensues!)
In the grand scheme of things, I am choosing to focus on the good. On the smiles, the snuggles, the much-debated choice to co-sleep this time around which allowed me to have my warm, squirmy bundle close to me at all times. The messes, the giggles, and the sparkle in those impossibly huge brown eyes. That sparkle... I have instructed the universe. That sparkle must never, under any circumstances, be allowed to dim.
I know, I know. All the syrupy gushing is giving you the distinct urge to vomit. And I promise to whip the sass back out ASAP. (I said SASS. You and your dirty, dirty mind.)
One year later, here we are. Forging ahead. Literally. And even my inner cynic is, for once, speechless. You see...
Toby took his first steps yesterday.
Happy Birthday, indeed, my little biped.
But now that the day is past, and it's simply an accepted fact and no longer a cause for me to ingest mass quantities of processed sugars in order to maintain my state of denial... well, it's actually quite okay, after all.
Happy Birthday (one day late) to Toby. We're planning a small celebration for him for next weekend, but we had to mark the actual day as well. And so.. we got a small cake, lit a candle, sang our horribly off-key song, and let him have at it. And have at it he did.
It was an emotional day. One year ago I gave birth to my healthy, 9 pound 7 oz little peanut. It was a painful delivery, not the least of which because I had expected the epidural to sooth the physical torment of the induction as it had with my first delivery. Which it did not.
I followed up the birth with an abscessed tooth, requiring percocet to control the pain while still in the hospital. For good measure, there was the stop at the dentist to have a root canal on the way home from the hospital. Followed by the onset of a depression that crushed my spirit for many many moons. Even I recognize the humor in the improbability of it all. (Tonight on "Mel-O-Drama"! The birth of the baby is complicated by a toothache, a painkiller, and a root canal. Hilarity Ensues!)
In the grand scheme of things, I am choosing to focus on the good. On the smiles, the snuggles, the much-debated choice to co-sleep this time around which allowed me to have my warm, squirmy bundle close to me at all times. The messes, the giggles, and the sparkle in those impossibly huge brown eyes. That sparkle... I have instructed the universe. That sparkle must never, under any circumstances, be allowed to dim.
I know, I know. All the syrupy gushing is giving you the distinct urge to vomit. And I promise to whip the sass back out ASAP. (I said SASS. You and your dirty, dirty mind.)
One year later, here we are. Forging ahead. Literally. And even my inner cynic is, for once, speechless. You see...
Toby took his first steps yesterday.
Happy Birthday, indeed, my little biped.
Sunday, October 15, 2006
NaBloWriMo...
I have this dirty little secret. I'm a bit of a drive-by lurker.
What does that mean, you ask? Yes - you- over *there*. The one who reads me and CNN.com and leaves it at that because you think blogs are of the DehVeel.
It means that I read A. Lot. Of. Blogs. But I don't comment like I should, and when I do comment, I sometimes forget that I've never commented at a specific blog before and talk to the person like they might actually have the first clue who I am. Most likely, this has the effect of leaving the blogger wondering "Eh? Huh? What's this, now?" and leaving them further confused when they click my link and go "Who's this, then?"
SO, in honor of Mrs. Kennedy over at Fussy, I am announcing my participation in her amendment to National Novel Writing Month, which she has dubbed "NaBloPoMo" or "National Blog Posting Month".
On that note, I am setting myself a little goal. The first, and most obvious, is to blog every day in November -- even if I just post a recipe or my critique of the new UPS guy's calf muscles.
The second part of this little exercise is that I will be attempting to comment more regularly on at least the top 10 blogs that I read. Maybe even more - we'll see. I can't bring myself to comment just for "comments" sake, and usually reserve it for when I feel I really have something to add to the conversation. Then again, I think that a lot of YOU people do the same thing, which would explain a lot about the number of comments around here. Either that, or I just ain't hittin' those hot topics, y'all... But, hey. Maybe the UPS guy and his rock-hard calves will fix all that. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?...
So here's my challenge to you teeming dozens. In the month of November, comment like crazy! Even if it's just to say "Hi. I just ate a bagel." And leave a link (if you have one) and I'll follow it to you. And maybe? Just maybe I'll leave you a comment, too. I know... I can hear your gasp of anticipation. Please attempt to contain your excitement.
Perhaps in a thimble?
(Note: Edited to correct in-body references to "NaBloWriMo" that should have read "NaBloPoMo"... But I left the title alone so as not to totally futz with the link-backs. And because I'm not so proud that I can't leave some of my mistakes out in the open. Which, if you've been around here for any period of time, you already know. )
What does that mean, you ask? Yes - you- over *there*. The one who reads me and CNN.com and leaves it at that because you think blogs are of the DehVeel.
It means that I read A. Lot. Of. Blogs. But I don't comment like I should, and when I do comment, I sometimes forget that I've never commented at a specific blog before and talk to the person like they might actually have the first clue who I am. Most likely, this has the effect of leaving the blogger wondering "Eh? Huh? What's this, now?" and leaving them further confused when they click my link and go "Who's this, then?"
SO, in honor of Mrs. Kennedy over at Fussy, I am announcing my participation in her amendment to National Novel Writing Month, which she has dubbed "NaBloPoMo" or "National Blog Posting Month".
On that note, I am setting myself a little goal. The first, and most obvious, is to blog every day in November -- even if I just post a recipe or my critique of the new UPS guy's calf muscles.
The second part of this little exercise is that I will be attempting to comment more regularly on at least the top 10 blogs that I read. Maybe even more - we'll see. I can't bring myself to comment just for "comments" sake, and usually reserve it for when I feel I really have something to add to the conversation. Then again, I think that a lot of YOU people do the same thing, which would explain a lot about the number of comments around here. Either that, or I just ain't hittin' those hot topics, y'all... But, hey. Maybe the UPS guy and his rock-hard calves will fix all that. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?...
So here's my challenge to you teeming dozens. In the month of November, comment like crazy! Even if it's just to say "Hi. I just ate a bagel." And leave a link (if you have one) and I'll follow it to you. And maybe? Just maybe I'll leave you a comment, too. I know... I can hear your gasp of anticipation. Please attempt to contain your excitement.
Perhaps in a thimble?
(Note: Edited to correct in-body references to "NaBloWriMo" that should have read "NaBloPoMo"... But I left the title alone so as not to totally futz with the link-backs. And because I'm not so proud that I can't leave some of my mistakes out in the open. Which, if you've been around here for any period of time, you already know. )
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Just the basic facts - Can you show me where it hurts?
It's strange how easy it is to get so caught up in the business of living... only to find you've been so busy dealing with the day-to-day you failed to see that the strength you worked so hard to build up has been quietly eroding.
The ADD meds have worked wonders in getting me moving. I get up in the morning, I get breakfast crack-a-lackin', I let the dog out, feed the dog, let the dog out again. I make coffee (or at least reheat yesterday's coffee still in the pot... for which I can actually hear Mocha gasping in horror.) I get T out the door to work, and Jack with him on preschool days. I check email, read the news headlines, and attempt to straighten up the kitchen. I catch up on a few blogs from ye olde blogroll.
For a while, just staying in motion was enough to keep the depression at bay. As Dr. WonderShrink predicted, the meds had an antidepressant effect in addition to keeping my ferret-on-crack brain focused on the tasks at hand. For a while.
The last week I have felt the misty gray hand of sadness closing around my chest again. I have fought it, railed against it, and sought that quiet place in my thoughts where I can find calm. It's elusive, but when I get there I can breathe deeply and think clearly.
I haven't been a very good mom this week - I haven't given the boys the attention and interaction they so desperately need. I have not gone to bed at a decent hour, either. I'm procrastinating, but what exactly it is I'm avoiding is impossible to put into words. Because I don't know? Because it's the same old sob story? Because I am totally ashamed of being sad when there is so much to be happy about?
The new camera is a treasure trove of promises for creative growth and professional success. Jack started preschool and is growing into this amazing little person that any sane individual would be totally gobsmacked by, simply basking in his presence.
And tonight? Some sweet neighbor tagged our porch with "the phantom ghost".. which is a neighborhood chain letter of sorts. It consists of doorbell-ditching a basket of halloween goodies on the doorstep of 2 neighbors, along with a copy of a cute little poem instructing them to each follow suit within 24 hours. It's a neighborhood tradition, but this is the first time in the 3 Halloweens we've lived here that we've been tagged.
I have every reason to be ecstatic, or at least content, despite the never-ending roller coaster that is our life. And even so, in a way that makes no sense, I am sad.
This feeling has nothing to do with what is going on externally. That's the rub, isn't it? It's what makes a depressive person feel the chilling breath of despair - the self-guilting over each realization of what they're missing, what they are "squandering" by not feeling the full joy of the joyous things in their lives. The feeling of being disconnected, and the pain of that disconnect. Then comes the emotional withdrawal from the pain, leaving just the isolation of it all.
I've been to that place, and I have no desire to go there again. I am determined not to cut off the ones I love from my unprotected, squishy underbelly. I just wish I knew how to break down the gauzy barrier that has erected itself, before it is allowed to grow, cancer-like, unchecked, into a wall. (I have now officially ear-wormed myself, and will commence humming Pink Floyd tunes until I sag into unconsciousness in my bed.)
I am trying to make allowances, to take into account the things that have thrown us for a loop of late. T's professional future is uncertain. My parents are leaving for Africa in 2 weeks. We are gearing up for a battle royale breaking out at the HOA. Jack is 3, and has already figured out that he is probably smarter than his parents. And he knows something is wrong with me.
It is normal for these things to cause upheaval, even feelings of mild panic.
And I am not sleeping enough.
Even so, I fear the darkness, the wasted days and weeks that I can never get back, and the ones I could yet miss if I don't find a way to fight off the swirling, foggy sadness.
Then I read this. And this. And then this. And this.
My inner cynic snerked a few times, reading my own thoughts and feelings over and over and over as so many others confess their demons. It's like we all fell down the rabbit hole, and are all trying desperately to get the mad hatter to shut the hell up already about the tea cups and door mice because please, we just want to know how to get back to where we came from.
Because back in the real world there may be no groovy talking caterpillars, but at least the things that matter made sense.
But there is hope. There is always hope. And when I read something like this I realize that, though the spectre of depression will always be hovering just around the bend and out of sight, there are many many good days yet to come.
It's the letting go. The letting go is hardest to do, because it means giving up the illusion of control.
If I can just allow myself to stop moving for a minute and loosen my death grip on life... to push cars around with Jack even when I am tired or there is vacuuming to do... to let Toby attempt to use his spoon, mess be damned... to let the dog go ahead and lick my chin without immediately thinking of all the unholy things I have seen in his mouth. To go to bed without checking email just 'one more time'.
I hope...I may just find that the chaos I fear most is actually the good part.
The ADD meds have worked wonders in getting me moving. I get up in the morning, I get breakfast crack-a-lackin', I let the dog out, feed the dog, let the dog out again. I make coffee (or at least reheat yesterday's coffee still in the pot... for which I can actually hear Mocha gasping in horror.) I get T out the door to work, and Jack with him on preschool days. I check email, read the news headlines, and attempt to straighten up the kitchen. I catch up on a few blogs from ye olde blogroll.
For a while, just staying in motion was enough to keep the depression at bay. As Dr. WonderShrink predicted, the meds had an antidepressant effect in addition to keeping my ferret-on-crack brain focused on the tasks at hand. For a while.
The last week I have felt the misty gray hand of sadness closing around my chest again. I have fought it, railed against it, and sought that quiet place in my thoughts where I can find calm. It's elusive, but when I get there I can breathe deeply and think clearly.
I haven't been a very good mom this week - I haven't given the boys the attention and interaction they so desperately need. I have not gone to bed at a decent hour, either. I'm procrastinating, but what exactly it is I'm avoiding is impossible to put into words. Because I don't know? Because it's the same old sob story? Because I am totally ashamed of being sad when there is so much to be happy about?
The new camera is a treasure trove of promises for creative growth and professional success. Jack started preschool and is growing into this amazing little person that any sane individual would be totally gobsmacked by, simply basking in his presence.
And tonight? Some sweet neighbor tagged our porch with "the phantom ghost".. which is a neighborhood chain letter of sorts. It consists of doorbell-ditching a basket of halloween goodies on the doorstep of 2 neighbors, along with a copy of a cute little poem instructing them to each follow suit within 24 hours. It's a neighborhood tradition, but this is the first time in the 3 Halloweens we've lived here that we've been tagged.
I have every reason to be ecstatic, or at least content, despite the never-ending roller coaster that is our life. And even so, in a way that makes no sense, I am sad.
This feeling has nothing to do with what is going on externally. That's the rub, isn't it? It's what makes a depressive person feel the chilling breath of despair - the self-guilting over each realization of what they're missing, what they are "squandering" by not feeling the full joy of the joyous things in their lives. The feeling of being disconnected, and the pain of that disconnect. Then comes the emotional withdrawal from the pain, leaving just the isolation of it all.
I've been to that place, and I have no desire to go there again. I am determined not to cut off the ones I love from my unprotected, squishy underbelly. I just wish I knew how to break down the gauzy barrier that has erected itself, before it is allowed to grow, cancer-like, unchecked, into a wall. (I have now officially ear-wormed myself, and will commence humming Pink Floyd tunes until I sag into unconsciousness in my bed.)
I am trying to make allowances, to take into account the things that have thrown us for a loop of late. T's professional future is uncertain. My parents are leaving for Africa in 2 weeks. We are gearing up for a battle royale breaking out at the HOA. Jack is 3, and has already figured out that he is probably smarter than his parents. And he knows something is wrong with me.
It is normal for these things to cause upheaval, even feelings of mild panic.
And I am not sleeping enough.
Even so, I fear the darkness, the wasted days and weeks that I can never get back, and the ones I could yet miss if I don't find a way to fight off the swirling, foggy sadness.
Then I read this. And this. And then this. And this.
My inner cynic snerked a few times, reading my own thoughts and feelings over and over and over as so many others confess their demons. It's like we all fell down the rabbit hole, and are all trying desperately to get the mad hatter to shut the hell up already about the tea cups and door mice because please, we just want to know how to get back to where we came from.
Because back in the real world there may be no groovy talking caterpillars, but at least the things that matter made sense.
But there is hope. There is always hope. And when I read something like this I realize that, though the spectre of depression will always be hovering just around the bend and out of sight, there are many many good days yet to come.
It's the letting go. The letting go is hardest to do, because it means giving up the illusion of control.
If I can just allow myself to stop moving for a minute and loosen my death grip on life... to push cars around with Jack even when I am tired or there is vacuuming to do... to let Toby attempt to use his spoon, mess be damned... to let the dog go ahead and lick my chin without immediately thinking of all the unholy things I have seen in his mouth. To go to bed without checking email just 'one more time'.
I hope...I may just find that the chaos I fear most is actually the good part.
Post-A-Thon 2006 Continues....
I swear to walk away from the computer as soon as I post this. SWEAR! Because, ya know, my kid is running around half-naked and just peed off the deck for the third time today. Apparently, Jack has decided he will help me housetrain Gizmo... by way of "leading by example". He has a very impassioned little spiel explaining why he believes this is a good idea.
The message I'm taking away from his little appeal? Time to do laundry, because he is out of clean underwear. And? My child is quite possibly going to end up in the adult film industry if I can't convince him to keep clothes on past noon. At least there have (so far) been no calls from preschool to complain of his public disrobing. So I score a few brownie points for Motherhood, right? RIGHT?! Okay, I'm turning off the computer. I swear.
But before I go, I only tapped the vein one more time because this was just too good not to share.
If you haven't already received your share of delicious life-imitating-art-imitating-life by way of The Colbert Report (and my beloved Daily Show, of course)... please to be tuning your TiVo to Comedy Central before you find yourself on the inflatable raft to H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks with the likes of Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly. Oh, and Mark Foley.
Why an inflatable raft, you ask? Because the points on the top of their heads are sure to puncture it along the way. And apparently hypocrisy sinks faster than a lead weight...
The message I'm taking away from his little appeal? Time to do laundry, because he is out of clean underwear. And? My child is quite possibly going to end up in the adult film industry if I can't convince him to keep clothes on past noon. At least there have (so far) been no calls from preschool to complain of his public disrobing. So I score a few brownie points for Motherhood, right? RIGHT?! Okay, I'm turning off the computer. I swear.
But before I go, I only tapped the vein one more time because this was just too good not to share.
If you haven't already received your share of delicious life-imitating-art-imitating-life by way of The Colbert Report (and my beloved Daily Show, of course)... please to be tuning your TiVo to Comedy Central before you find yourself on the inflatable raft to H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks with the likes of Ann Coulter and Bill O'Reilly. Oh, and Mark Foley.
Why an inflatable raft, you ask? Because the points on the top of their heads are sure to puncture it along the way. And apparently hypocrisy sinks faster than a lead weight...
Say Click, Take A Pic
Cash (whose name is Robin, but I know too many of those, so we'll use a nickname) has been friends with T since high school. I met him through T after we started dating, and shortly moved in with Cash and several other guys to a townhouse in Centreville. We shared a townhouse, then all rented a single family home together where one of the roommates threw wild parties that infrequently ended in police being called by angry neighbors. Finally, Cash and I got an apartment in Alexandria and were exclusive (and very neat, quiet, and tame) roomies (when I was there) until T and I officially moved in together in 2001.
He was a groomsman at our wedding, has been at every major family event, and is really family himself. Jack calls him "Uncle Robin". Even though I have 5 brothers who share my DNA, Cash is the "brother" I am the closest to and have had the most profound conversations with.
He came over on Monday and did something so totally amazing I am still reeling from the impact.
He gave me his digital SLR.
I did not cry. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I might have squeezed him so hard I ruptured a few internal organs when I hugged him, though. But, hey, I didn't cry.
Thanks to him, I suddenly have the tools to begin compiling my portfolio. Which means I can begin to put together my business. SO, I will be - in the not-so-distant future, running my own company.
Out of a clear blue sky, I have something to look forward to for myself. Something which has nothing whatever to do with housework, or motherhood, or keeping my husband employed. Something that fulfills a totally selfish need in me, but also has a potential to contribute to our income.
On so many levels? Family rocks.
He was a groomsman at our wedding, has been at every major family event, and is really family himself. Jack calls him "Uncle Robin". Even though I have 5 brothers who share my DNA, Cash is the "brother" I am the closest to and have had the most profound conversations with.
He came over on Monday and did something so totally amazing I am still reeling from the impact.
He gave me his digital SLR.
I did not cry. I wanted to cry. But I didn't. I might have squeezed him so hard I ruptured a few internal organs when I hugged him, though. But, hey, I didn't cry.
Thanks to him, I suddenly have the tools to begin compiling my portfolio. Which means I can begin to put together my business. SO, I will be - in the not-so-distant future, running my own company.
Out of a clear blue sky, I have something to look forward to for myself. Something which has nothing whatever to do with housework, or motherhood, or keeping my husband employed. Something that fulfills a totally selfish need in me, but also has a potential to contribute to our income.
On so many levels? Family rocks.
Happy Hump Day!
The indubitable CrankMama posted yesterday about Sex - specifically what happens to it once the babies come marching along. So I, of course, commented on this topic - which is very near and dear to my heart.
So today? She pasted me and my kink on her internet billboard for the world to see.
I'm having my own little Sally-Field-Accepting-An-Oscar moment. Totally geeked. I may, in the privacy and quiet of my own kitchen, have giggled and bounced around like a giddy pony. MAY have. I can neither confirm nor deny.
I will confirm that having coffee go up the back of your nose? Painful. And incredibly messy.
So today? She pasted me and my kink on her internet billboard for the world to see.
I'm having my own little Sally-Field-Accepting-An-Oscar moment. Totally geeked. I may, in the privacy and quiet of my own kitchen, have giggled and bounced around like a giddy pony. MAY have. I can neither confirm nor deny.
I will confirm that having coffee go up the back of your nose? Painful. And incredibly messy.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Weaning, Weight, and Wookit Me...
Ever since I joined the legions of breeders, becoming an unwitting pacifist in the so-called "Mommy Wars", I have heard more than I ever wanted to know about breastfeeding.
There were a lot of reasons it made sense for me to breastfeed my boys. Beyond all the well-known health benefits, I was staying home with them (accessibility) and it was free (affordability). But I was also told, over and over, how this wonderful gift of nature also meant losing the baby weight faster. Boy, oh boy, was I ever on board for that. Especially after I had put on 80 pounds over the course of my pregnancy. (And no, I didn't go on a Krispy Kreme diet or anything like that. Best medical explaination? It's genetic.)
There was just one problem. I realized very quickly after Jack was born that I was not losing the baby weight. Oh sure, there was the instant weight drop that came from delivering a 10 pound baby and all the other "stuff" that goes out with that. But once I left the hospital? Not an ounce did I shed.
At 9 months old, Jack suddenly weaned himself - rejected the boobies in favor of the bottle and the freedom to crawl and eat simultaneously. As sad as I was for that chapter to be over, within a week or two I noticed something very interesting. The weight? It began to fall off. It was as though my body had been hoarding all those extra pounds "just in case". In case of what I can't be sure (it must be a holdover from those scottish highland genes, maybe an inborn resistance to famine or a cattle shortage. I blame these same ancestors for that whole 80 pound weight gain thing...).
But just like that, I started to see myself emerging from behind the layers of extra mass. I didn't quite make it back to my prepregnancy weight, but that was just fine with me. I embraced my new curves and moved on.
Then I got pregnant with Toby. This time, I put on only about 50 pounds over the pregnancy. And again, after the initial drop in weight after the birth, I watched my weight stay miserably the same. By the time he was 9 months old, I had managed to drop about 10 pounds before my body steadfastly refused to do more.
I had put very little thought into this whole issue as we went through the weaning process over the last month or so. I occassionally stepped on the scale out of idle curiosity, but that infuriating little needle never moved. And then? Then one day I realized, as I stepped off the scale, that the needle was not quite returning to zero anymore. I readjusted the scale to zero it out and BAM - just like that, I was 5 pounds lighter. After verifying at the doctor's office, I heaved a sigh of relief because... apparently the trend will continue.
Weaning Toby was extraordinarily emotional and difficult, but now that it is done? I suddenly get a consolation prize. The fat jeans have been put away, and I even managed to slip into a few pairs of pre-Toby pants.
This long - and totally irrelevant - missive has served the purpose of leading up to the following photos. Of myself. Which is a rare event, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.
2001 - The Cubicle Dweller
July 2003 - Gestating A Jack
January 2005 - That twinkle in my eye? That's Toby.
October 2005 - Gestating A Toby
April 2006 - Smuggling Midgets In Those Cheeks
October 2006 -Hey, She Looks Familiar...
I'm not a petite little thing, nor do I ever aim to be. That said, getting this extra weight off means less back pain, less hip strain, and more energy for living. And if I can reach a healthy weight, be confident in my appearance, and occsionally squeeze into a little black dress to remind T why he forsook all others? Baby, that's a big win in my book.
So there you are. I will now go back to posting photos of people who are much more fun to look at than little old me. At least until I change haircolors again. Because someone out there is playing "Mel Hairdo Bingo" and they're just panting for me to turn up with a blue mohawk so they can win the toaster.
There were a lot of reasons it made sense for me to breastfeed my boys. Beyond all the well-known health benefits, I was staying home with them (accessibility) and it was free (affordability). But I was also told, over and over, how this wonderful gift of nature also meant losing the baby weight faster. Boy, oh boy, was I ever on board for that. Especially after I had put on 80 pounds over the course of my pregnancy. (And no, I didn't go on a Krispy Kreme diet or anything like that. Best medical explaination? It's genetic.)
There was just one problem. I realized very quickly after Jack was born that I was not losing the baby weight. Oh sure, there was the instant weight drop that came from delivering a 10 pound baby and all the other "stuff" that goes out with that. But once I left the hospital? Not an ounce did I shed.
At 9 months old, Jack suddenly weaned himself - rejected the boobies in favor of the bottle and the freedom to crawl and eat simultaneously. As sad as I was for that chapter to be over, within a week or two I noticed something very interesting. The weight? It began to fall off. It was as though my body had been hoarding all those extra pounds "just in case". In case of what I can't be sure (it must be a holdover from those scottish highland genes, maybe an inborn resistance to famine or a cattle shortage. I blame these same ancestors for that whole 80 pound weight gain thing...).
But just like that, I started to see myself emerging from behind the layers of extra mass. I didn't quite make it back to my prepregnancy weight, but that was just fine with me. I embraced my new curves and moved on.
Then I got pregnant with Toby. This time, I put on only about 50 pounds over the pregnancy. And again, after the initial drop in weight after the birth, I watched my weight stay miserably the same. By the time he was 9 months old, I had managed to drop about 10 pounds before my body steadfastly refused to do more.
I had put very little thought into this whole issue as we went through the weaning process over the last month or so. I occassionally stepped on the scale out of idle curiosity, but that infuriating little needle never moved. And then? Then one day I realized, as I stepped off the scale, that the needle was not quite returning to zero anymore. I readjusted the scale to zero it out and BAM - just like that, I was 5 pounds lighter. After verifying at the doctor's office, I heaved a sigh of relief because... apparently the trend will continue.
Weaning Toby was extraordinarily emotional and difficult, but now that it is done? I suddenly get a consolation prize. The fat jeans have been put away, and I even managed to slip into a few pairs of pre-Toby pants.
This long - and totally irrelevant - missive has served the purpose of leading up to the following photos. Of myself. Which is a rare event, by the way, in case you hadn't noticed.
2001 - The Cubicle Dweller
July 2003 - Gestating A Jack
January 2005 - That twinkle in my eye? That's Toby.
October 2005 - Gestating A Toby
April 2006 - Smuggling Midgets In Those Cheeks
October 2006 -Hey, She Looks Familiar...I'm not a petite little thing, nor do I ever aim to be. That said, getting this extra weight off means less back pain, less hip strain, and more energy for living. And if I can reach a healthy weight, be confident in my appearance, and occsionally squeeze into a little black dress to remind T why he forsook all others? Baby, that's a big win in my book.
So there you are. I will now go back to posting photos of people who are much more fun to look at than little old me. At least until I change haircolors again. Because someone out there is playing "Mel Hairdo Bingo" and they're just panting for me to turn up with a blue mohawk so they can win the toaster.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
School Daze...
The first day of preschool was so typical that I couldn't help but let my inner cynic mock, just a little. There were nervous looks, a few tears, and a little bit of the old "don't leave me!"... but T gave me a good shake, and I cut all that out made my reluctant way back to the car.
Jack was a little nervous, too, but that subsided the moment he was surrounded by pretty high school girls and plenty of legos. By the time I returned to pick him up, he took one look at me and said "I want to go to preschool again! NOW!". I told him he'd be back in 2 days and smiled, while internally I cried, just a little, that my baby was grown up enough to be so independent. But I firmly shook it off because, hey, Toby will benefit from the alone time with me and Jack is already much happier for the experience. And I might actually get to finish a hot cup of coffee in the morning.
Besides, I consoled myself all week with help from my new boyfriend. Yup, I am having a super-hot, steamy, dirty affair. Oh, no worries all... T knows all about it, and he's totally okay with it because he knows that this fling fills a very necessary space in my soul which has stood empty until now.
You see... we bought a SteamVac. (*rimshot*).
I have spent the last week scrubbing every visible piece of carpet in our house. And let me tell you, this is one instance where my intermittent OCD tendencies come in VERY handy. That stain from T's dad and his spill with the Christmas wassail two years ago? GONE. Spot Shot couldn't get it out, OxyClean couldn't get it out, but the SteamVac? Sucked it up like it was dollar margaritas in the last 10 minutes of happy hour. It's a thing of beauty.
And now that the carpets are getting back into condition, I can start working on clearing out the basement for our yard sale in the spring. Because life is too cluttered as it is, and physically making it less so seems to help to clear out the mental clutter as well. And let me tell ya, when it comes to physical clutter? We. Need. Less. Stuff. Or at least, less useless stuff and more of the "good" stuff. More stuff that Maggie would approve of, and less that appears to have fallen off of the back of the bag lady's shopping cart.
Not that the whole house is cluttered - no we've carefully sequestered most of the "miscellaneous" to the unfinished basement. You know, where the SPIDERS live. So going through all the piles down there should be good times... if I can avoid gangrene or the need for a tetanus shot.
Apparently, I'm developing my own "play at home" version of Fear Factor. Pick a scary chore at your house, and join me! Once the intensive Fall cleaning is done, let's meet for Martinis. You know, to wash off the stink. And disinfect the spider bites. And to forget that - the babies? They are growing up. Quickly, and irreversibly. Now if you'll excusethe crying
the watering of my eyes, it appears I need to adjust a contact lens... or ... or... something.
So yeah - about those Martinis.
Jack was a little nervous, too, but that subsided the moment he was surrounded by pretty high school girls and plenty of legos. By the time I returned to pick him up, he took one look at me and said "I want to go to preschool again! NOW!". I told him he'd be back in 2 days and smiled, while internally I cried, just a little, that my baby was grown up enough to be so independent. But I firmly shook it off because, hey, Toby will benefit from the alone time with me and Jack is already much happier for the experience. And I might actually get to finish a hot cup of coffee in the morning.
Besides, I consoled myself all week with help from my new boyfriend. Yup, I am having a super-hot, steamy, dirty affair. Oh, no worries all... T knows all about it, and he's totally okay with it because he knows that this fling fills a very necessary space in my soul which has stood empty until now.
You see... we bought a SteamVac. (*rimshot*).
I have spent the last week scrubbing every visible piece of carpet in our house. And let me tell you, this is one instance where my intermittent OCD tendencies come in VERY handy. That stain from T's dad and his spill with the Christmas wassail two years ago? GONE. Spot Shot couldn't get it out, OxyClean couldn't get it out, but the SteamVac? Sucked it up like it was dollar margaritas in the last 10 minutes of happy hour. It's a thing of beauty.
And now that the carpets are getting back into condition, I can start working on clearing out the basement for our yard sale in the spring. Because life is too cluttered as it is, and physically making it less so seems to help to clear out the mental clutter as well. And let me tell ya, when it comes to physical clutter? We. Need. Less. Stuff. Or at least, less useless stuff and more of the "good" stuff. More stuff that Maggie would approve of, and less that appears to have fallen off of the back of the bag lady's shopping cart.
Not that the whole house is cluttered - no we've carefully sequestered most of the "miscellaneous" to the unfinished basement. You know, where the SPIDERS live. So going through all the piles down there should be good times... if I can avoid gangrene or the need for a tetanus shot.
Apparently, I'm developing my own "play at home" version of Fear Factor. Pick a scary chore at your house, and join me! Once the intensive Fall cleaning is done, let's meet for Martinis. You know, to wash off the stink. And disinfect the spider bites. And to forget that - the babies? They are growing up. Quickly, and irreversibly. Now if you'll excuse
So yeah - about those Martinis.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Don't Call It A Comeback, I've Been Here For... Oh, You Know...
Welcome, welcome, one and all! It's that time, once again: Time to play "Lather, Rinse, Repeat", in which I outline all of the various adventures of the recent-past into neat, bulleted, yet still totally useless form. Strap on your adventure shoes, because away we go...
* Last week we attended the Open House for Jack's preschool, which officially begins tomorrow. It was so sweet to see him get so ramped up about going, I nearly went into spasms of denial. My child. Is going to school. Okay, it's preschool, and it's only twice a week and only half a day... but still! Teachers? They talked at me. Like I was a parent. Like teachers used to talk to MY parents. I wanted to scream "Stop treating me like a responsible adult! Do you want to see my tattoo? DO YOU?! Are you prepared to be responsible for my hair returning to an ungodly shade of purple so that I can cling to my desperately dwindling, misbegotten youth?!!!" But I didn't. I smiled, and nodded, and pointed out the awesome playground dinosaur slide to Jack - who squealed in delight and damn near chewed his way through the chain link fence in order to reach that playground mecca of pure joy.
So preschool starts tomorrow. I still have my fears that mine will be the kid who gets sent home the first day for messing in his pants in the first five minutes, or that he'll scream for his Me-Me until they are forced to call me and ask What, for the love of pete, is a "Me-Me"??? (his security blanket)
Or, worst of all, that he'll have such a good time he won't miss me AT ALL and when I come to pick him up he'll tell me to go away and can't I see that he is trying to play with that cute blond girl who was about to let him sit on the beanbag seat next to her? But alas.. All a Mama can do is check for fresh batteries in the camera, pack a photo in his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack (so he remembers what I look like by noon) and hope for the best. And maybe hit the mall for a consolation latte at Starbucks.
* That thing I can't talk about? Still can't talk about it. It's percolating, though, and I'll talk about it soon. Now stop asking. Seriously. Else I will be forced to start vLogging video of my dog attempting to eat dirty diapers or something equally horrific. Amen.
* Toby has reached a new level of cuteness. His sense of humor is contagious, and he smiles so much more easily now. And last night? Last night we put him to bed an hour earlier than usual (7pm instead of 8pm) and I'll be darned... he slept until 8am this morning. 13 HOURS, PEOPLE! 13 blissful hours, and no nursing this morning. My littlest bean is growing up...
Just don't ask me about his first birthday in two weeks. Unless, of course, you enjoy listening to hiccuping sobs and snorty sniffles broken up by intermittent, indiscernible wailing. I'm not ready for my baby to stop being a baby. The cord may have been cut 11.5 months ago, but he is still firmly attached to my insides. Especially right around my chest... it gets sore every time he moves on to the next milestone. I think I developed a small heart murmer yesterday, when he clapped and quite possibly said the dog's name. We're not sure. It may have just been a hiccup...
* Oh, yes...The dog... For all his inconsistent potty success and bad habits, and his refusal to venture outside on his own if the temperature drops below beach weather, Gizmo has wormed his way firmly into my heart. He is a stubborn, mischevious, manipulative little ball of hair and muscle and very sharp little teeth... and somehow, he has bamboozled me into adoring him. So much so that I just spent half an hour finding a pattern to sew him a little doggy coat to keep him warm when we go out to potty at sunrise. I might even make him a halloween costume.
I may need to mention this in therapy.
* Last but not least, I got my copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless... In Love, Work, and Life" and I will be reviewing it in the next week or so, once I have finished reading it and had time to absorb. So far, I am riveted - partly because it is well written, includes contributions from the likes of Nora Ephron and Diane Keaton, and it makes a lot of very intelligent references... and partly because the subject matter is so incredibly timely for my life right now. I don't always agree with the Huff, but I never fail to admire the woman for her solid brass cajones. If she has a spare pair I could borrow for a while, I think I could enjoy going after what I want from time to time - without letting the crippling doubts stop me before I've started. Note to Arianna: If you need a new part-time flunky who works remotely, grills you incessantly about good literature, and will never forget to tell you that you have spectacular hair? I am soooo your girl.
* Recent lapses notwithstanding, I am, most definitely, back. Rev up those feed readers, baby...
* Last week we attended the Open House for Jack's preschool, which officially begins tomorrow. It was so sweet to see him get so ramped up about going, I nearly went into spasms of denial. My child. Is going to school. Okay, it's preschool, and it's only twice a week and only half a day... but still! Teachers? They talked at me. Like I was a parent. Like teachers used to talk to MY parents. I wanted to scream "Stop treating me like a responsible adult! Do you want to see my tattoo? DO YOU?! Are you prepared to be responsible for my hair returning to an ungodly shade of purple so that I can cling to my desperately dwindling, misbegotten youth?!!!" But I didn't. I smiled, and nodded, and pointed out the awesome playground dinosaur slide to Jack - who squealed in delight and damn near chewed his way through the chain link fence in order to reach that playground mecca of pure joy.
So preschool starts tomorrow. I still have my fears that mine will be the kid who gets sent home the first day for messing in his pants in the first five minutes, or that he'll scream for his Me-Me until they are forced to call me and ask What, for the love of pete, is a "Me-Me"??? (his security blanket)
Or, worst of all, that he'll have such a good time he won't miss me AT ALL and when I come to pick him up he'll tell me to go away and can't I see that he is trying to play with that cute blond girl who was about to let him sit on the beanbag seat next to her? But alas.. All a Mama can do is check for fresh batteries in the camera, pack a photo in his Thomas the Tank Engine backpack (so he remembers what I look like by noon) and hope for the best. And maybe hit the mall for a consolation latte at Starbucks.
* That thing I can't talk about? Still can't talk about it. It's percolating, though, and I'll talk about it soon. Now stop asking. Seriously. Else I will be forced to start vLogging video of my dog attempting to eat dirty diapers or something equally horrific. Amen.
* Toby has reached a new level of cuteness. His sense of humor is contagious, and he smiles so much more easily now. And last night? Last night we put him to bed an hour earlier than usual (7pm instead of 8pm) and I'll be darned... he slept until 8am this morning. 13 HOURS, PEOPLE! 13 blissful hours, and no nursing this morning. My littlest bean is growing up...
Just don't ask me about his first birthday in two weeks. Unless, of course, you enjoy listening to hiccuping sobs and snorty sniffles broken up by intermittent, indiscernible wailing. I'm not ready for my baby to stop being a baby. The cord may have been cut 11.5 months ago, but he is still firmly attached to my insides. Especially right around my chest... it gets sore every time he moves on to the next milestone. I think I developed a small heart murmer yesterday, when he clapped and quite possibly said the dog's name. We're not sure. It may have just been a hiccup...
* Oh, yes...The dog... For all his inconsistent potty success and bad habits, and his refusal to venture outside on his own if the temperature drops below beach weather, Gizmo has wormed his way firmly into my heart. He is a stubborn, mischevious, manipulative little ball of hair and muscle and very sharp little teeth... and somehow, he has bamboozled me into adoring him. So much so that I just spent half an hour finding a pattern to sew him a little doggy coat to keep him warm when we go out to potty at sunrise. I might even make him a halloween costume.
I may need to mention this in therapy.
* Last but not least, I got my copy of Arianna Huffington's new book, "On Becoming Fearless... In Love, Work, and Life" and I will be reviewing it in the next week or so, once I have finished reading it and had time to absorb. So far, I am riveted - partly because it is well written, includes contributions from the likes of Nora Ephron and Diane Keaton, and it makes a lot of very intelligent references... and partly because the subject matter is so incredibly timely for my life right now. I don't always agree with the Huff, but I never fail to admire the woman for her solid brass cajones. If she has a spare pair I could borrow for a while, I think I could enjoy going after what I want from time to time - without letting the crippling doubts stop me before I've started. Note to Arianna: If you need a new part-time flunky who works remotely, grills you incessantly about good literature, and will never forget to tell you that you have spectacular hair? I am soooo your girl.
* Recent lapses notwithstanding, I am, most definitely, back. Rev up those feed readers, baby...
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