So I took this photo of the box that the MacBook came in
Friday, June 06, 2008
Friday Foto Feature
So I took this photo of the box that the MacBook came in
Thursday, June 05, 2008
"ASDFJKL" or "How you like me NOW, Suckah?!".
Monday, June 02, 2008
Puter No Worc.
Bonuz pointz iv you c@n cipher wh@t thiz zez. 4 Zeriouz.
Be b@c zoon! H@ppy Mon.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Appropriate, Since I Crave 'Em.
You Are a Strawberry |
You are friendly, outgoing, and well liked by many people. You are popular, but there's nothing ordinary or average about you. You are a very interesting person, and you have many facets to your personality. Sometimes you feel very conflicted. Your different sides of your personality pull at you. You are a very sensual and passionate person. You are fiery... you can't help it. In general, you keep your passionate side under wraps. You are only wild in private. |
Wednesday, May 28, 2008
Getting More Pregnant By The Day.

Also, check out that bookcase downstairs. That's my built-in, the one I built last summer with my own two little lily-white hands and which houses our DVD collection and about half of our current book collection. I'm working on getting the rest of our books unpacked from basement storage to add to the wall.
Also, this case will soon hold the contents of my summer reading list. Which I am working on faithfully, I swear. 1 more day to get your suggestions in!
Monday, May 26, 2008
Confessions, Part Deux
1) 10 books I will read this summer
2) Books I have already read but that YOU should read this summer
3) Books I have not yet read, but that we should BOTH read together if we make it through our respective lists above and require further reading material.
Genius, right? Yeah, I thought so, too.
The list is still coming along, so if you have not yet submitted your suggestions I will humbly implore you to go back to The Original Post and leave your suggestions in the comments or, as my awesome Brother-in-Law did, email them directly to melkist at gmail dot com.
Also, if you want to include a mini-review of each book as he did, I will crown you with Mucho MeL Cred (way cooler than street cred) as a fellow Book Geek. Of course, Brian has more claim than most, what with being an officially published author and some sort of associate editor-type dealy for Sci-Fi Channel's print magazine. (Sorry, I'm sorta fuzzy on the details, but I do know he gets to talk to publicists and ask for photos of hot babes. I suspect it's not nearly as porno as it sounds.)
So if you want to get your suggestions in by - let's say - Friday, I'll publish the finished list one week from today. Then you can start stalking your local library (or, if you're me and you live in the sticks where your local library offers up a choice between the Bible and a dog-eared copy of National Geographic Magazine from 1987, you can hit up Amazon.)
Happy Memorial Day. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to be getting back to the encore presentation of the So You Think You Can Dance season opener. While I avoid most reality television, this is the gooey, indulgent, chocolatey center of my television addiction cake. Dance on, my people, and hop on that Hot Tamale Train.
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Summer Weekend: Number One With A Bullet (or several)
* SUMMER! Finally, at last, SUMMER! The kids and I are already planning our first weekly pool outing for Wednesday. I'll be the one in the maternity bathing suit, possibly covered by a mumu. Because, you know, mumus are hawt sexy.
* 2 new pregnancies have come to my attention so far this weekend. Don't drink the water people, unless you are intent on getting knocked up. For those who are recently pregnant: I salute you! (Especially you. Yes, YOU, you know who you are. And, yeah, I get pregnant on the first try, too. EVERY TIME on the first try. I am very, very thankful for the invention of birth control.)
* It is worth it to wake up early with the kids on a Saturday morning just to watch Toby attempt to clap along with the songs on Bunnytown. I forgot that nearly-three is such a delightful age; at least ten times a day I have to restrain myself from snatching him up and snogging him thoroughly. Of course, that's beyond the thirty or fifty gazillion times a day that my restraint fails me and I smooch him until he squeaks for mercy.
* Happy Memorial Day Weekend! Welcome to Summer. Let's go have a Slurpee and celebrate, shall we?
Friday, May 23, 2008
Confessions.
A few year's ago, I printed off a list of the greatest literary works of all time and made it a life goal to read All. Of. Them. I'll let you know how that goes when my brain is done being addled by raising small humans who demand to hear "The Very Hungry Caterpillar" for the 15th time in a row.
2) My husband is also a geek. His geekdom encompasses a broader spectrum than mine, and he can converse happily on the subjects of Ancient Egypt, American Revolutionary History, the finer points of the old BBS days and, especially, Sci-Fi.
He introduced me to real Sci-Fi soon after we started dating, as well as the Cyberpunk genre. I have embraced both happily. It's the delicious brain-candy dessert after muddling my way through a little Faulkner or Hawthorne.
3) I have never read any of Stephanie Meyer's vampire books. I'm not into gothic/vampire or horror themes. They have just never appealed to me. But when I first heard about the series, I checked it out on Amazon just to confirm that it wasn't my cup of tea. It wasn't.
But I also found that she would soon be releasing a science-fiction book about aliens along the lines of "Invasion of the Body Snatchers" called "The Host". The summary caught my attention, and I thought that maybe I would check it out sometime.
A few weeks later, just as the book was released, I saw it at Barnes and Noble and thought "Oh! Yeah! That!". But, at a cover price well over twenty bucks, I figured I could wait for paperback. Then I found it at the Wal-Mart while perusing for greeting cards. It was a relatively cheap price and I was in the mood for a little light reading. So I picked it up with the intention to read it sometime over the next few weeks.
That night, after the kids were in bed and I got Big Daddy out the door for a night out with one of his friends, I settled down on the sofa with my book to do a little reading before heading up for an early bedtime.
Somewhere around 11pm, Big Daddy wandered in and chatted with me for a half-hour before heading to bed.
Somewhere around 4:30 the following morning I closed the book, stretched, and hauled my carcass off to bed.
Somewhere around 7:30am the alarm went off, the kids demanded some attention (and breakfast) and I realized I had a half-dozen or so women and their children headed to my house at 10am for a playgroup.
Which brings me to my final confession
4) I am an idiot.
Also, a day later, I am still tired. But the book was a good read; it's amusing, engaging, and comes complete with a tidy, satisfying conclusion. I haven't read enough body-snatcher fiction to know how derivative it may or may not be, but I enjoyed it. Obviously.
So now I am left without any ideas for some good summer reading. I plan to attempt at least 3 of my Serious Literary Novels over the course of the summer, but I'll be happy if I manage to get through 1. For the rest, I'm hoping to find some good light reading. I'm not above Chick-Lit as long as it's not TOO vapid, I skip 99% of the self-help books, and I do love a good mystery series or light-hearted rom-com series. (Janet Evanovich has a few confections of that sort, as well as the Stephanie Plum series... all perfect for tossing in the beach bag.)
So I'm looking for some recommendations. What are YOUR perfect summer reads? Is there a book you reread every summer, or just one that was particularly fun? I've read the entire Harry Potter series already, so it's safe to leave that off the list. I've read most of Michael Crichton's works already, and most of the biggest mystery serials. Okay, I've read a LOT of things already, which explains why I had to put in the built-in bookcase in the living room. I have a hard time giving up my favorite reads, though goodness knows I'll probably never make it back to read most of them again. But hey, if my kids inherit nothing else, at least they'll get a good library to divy up after I'm gone.
So make with some good suggestions if you don't mind, and I'll announce my final version of Mel's Summer Reading Plan once it's all decided. I'll even promise to post at least a short review of each title as I finish the book.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go bash my head against the wall until the exhaustion headache passes. Happy Friday!
Monday, May 19, 2008
Distractions.
These are the distractions that assault me.
Also, my children have been fighting like two cats in a wet sack for THREE DAYS now, and if anyone knows where I can find a roving band of gypsies who want two kids for cheap? Please to be sending me the linky. (Although my friend Danny DID send me this creepy link. Which I really hope is a joke. It has to be a joke.... Doesn't it?)
But, no, at the end of the day I'm sure the sun will eventually come back out and the actual summer will replace this disgraceful display of flip-floppery by Mother Nature. (So much for my "Mother Nature for VP!" bumper sticker idea) And I'm sure my children will eventually re-emerge before my eyes as the darling small humans I birthed. I'm guessing that will happen about the time the sun comes up and I reintroduce them to the wonders of the Swimming Pool. Somehow all that chlorine seems to evoke a state of euphoria in children. Maybe they can intensify the effect with the addition of ice-cream-flavored cooling mist or something. Someone should study this phenomenon. (Hey, if they can figure out how to get vanilla flavoring from cow crap...)
So, in lieu of anything useful to add to the grand exchage of information on these here interwebs, allow me to present someone else's Very Useful Ideas to stimulate greater brain-thinking for your Tuesday.
P.S. I'm sure my melancholy is also in no way related to the fact that mah preshusss baybeeee is graduating from preschool tomorrow. NOTHING AT ALL, YOU HEAR??
P.P.S. It is becoming intensely clear that we have reached the all important "Why Do They Not Make Pregnancy Mood Stabilizers Because OH MAH GAWD?!" phase of pregnancy number 3. This also seems like something the brainy science-types might want to investigate. So far, the only chemical help I have found involves several pounds of chocolate, which isn't really much help at all. Someone scientific get right on that, okay? I mean, honestly, people - vanilla extract from cow dung. Oh, and also, apparently, This.
For the record, while I enjoy Spicy Goodness as much as anyone, I'll stick with my epidural thankyouverymuch. But I wouldn't say no to This as a little adjunct pain relief because, well...DUH.
Friday, May 16, 2008
Cup of Cake
For the frosting, I was feeling lazy and also wanted something a little more robust, so I used a can of Betty Crocker's cream cheese frosting, half a small container of real cream cheese, a half cup of powered sugar, and yellow gel food coloring. Whip it all together and you get a slightly firmer, more tart cream cheese frosting. Piped on with a zip-top bag with the corner cut off.
And that, my friends, is about as Martha as I get up in here. Fear my mad skillz.
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Size Matters.
Any way you slice it, though, by today's standards I was in an Exceptionally Large Family.
I have been thinking about this lately as we prepare for the birth of Baby Boy #3. I have never thought that 3 kids a large family did make. As I have become visibly pregnant, however, the comments? They have begun. IN EARNEST.
"Wow! You'll REALLY have your hands full now, won't you."
"So is this your last one? I mean, you won't have more than three.. will you?"
And my favorite:
"Don't you know what causes that?"
For the record: Yes, we are quite aware what causes that. Oh, and in case you were wondering, engage in that activity as often as possible.
But even living in a small town, I am realizing that having more than 2 children makes us something of an anomaly. Having one more would bump us into "Mega Family" status, according to, at least, these websites I stumbled on that are dedicated solely to support for large families.
It got me thinking about the psychology behind the number of children couples decide to have. There's this guy - who, in this article from 2004, appears to be suggesting that people have more than 2 kids for the tax breaks. To which I say to him: Sir, I suspect you do not HAVE children. If you did, you would be acutely aware that the sacrifices required to have and raise a small human entirely outweigh the "benefit" of getting a few bucks back from the government.
There are these people, and many others like them (including my own parents) who have large families because they believe it's what God either requires or requests of them. But, in the spirit of honesty, I find that thinking a little on the crazy side in several respects. However, since Big Daddy and I are not religious, God obviously doesn't figure into our thinking here. That seems to be rare among those who desire larger than 2.5-kid families in general.
So baby #3 is on the way, and I'm left thinking about how we came to this decision. Big Daddy is one of 3 kids, and has always thought that was a good number. Me? I prefer the idea of even numbers, and I'm not sure yet if this is our last baby or if maybe there is one more in the cards for us. That's a discussion for another day and one which does not, dear internets, include you. (Some things remain off-limits after all... who knew?)
I have begun to suspect, though, that the debate here falls on somewhat generational lines. This suspiscion appears to be confirmed by this 2007 Gallup Poll, which seems to show that my generation is more open to the idea of large families than our parents were. Okay, obviously not my parents, but since they're technically part of the Baby Boomer generation it's not really a fair comparison.
I'm not sure how this compares to my actual life, though. Few of the friends our own age are even beginning to contemplate children yet, and more than one has entirely ruled out the idea. They are, for the most part, young professionals. More than one has commented negatively, in our presence (and assumedly forgetting to whom them were speaking), on other people with children at restaurants or other public venues. We try to take it with good grace.
The friends a few years older than we are who are working alongside us in the parenting trenches are mostly 2-kid-limit sort of people. The obvious exceptions are these fantastic women, and between them S and PK are my heroines when it comes to juggling the demands of raising their kids with sanity and grace.
The most important lesson they have both taught me, by the way, is about setting boundaries with other people when it comes to your time and your kids. It's ironic, then, that I have let the unsolicited opinions of other people send me down this path of pondering, but since the opinions themselves are not influencing my ultimate decision, I suppose it's probably a healthy question.
In our case, if I have to boil it all down, I think it falls to 3 main categories for consideration: Age, Finances, and Time.
Big Daddy and I are both still young; he'll be 30 in July and I'm 29 for another year. If this is, indeed, our last baby... well, we'll be done having kids before most people begin these days. So we have almost a decade where the option to have more will still be physically open to us.
Financially, we fall squarely in the middle class. Supporting and caring for 3 kids, or even 4, is feasible - even if we figure in sharing a portion of the costs of college education for all of them. Then again, the sooner I am done being pregnant and get all the kids into elementary school the sooner I can go back to school myself and persue a career - which will make our financial position stronger and more stable for the future.
Time is the final consideration. We are determined not to have more children than we can give sufficient individual attention to; I want each of my kids to have a comfortable certainty that there parents know them as an individual and that their activities and interests are as important to us as our own. If one of the boys wants to try his hand at something, I want to give them the option and not be limited by the impossibility of trying to keep it "equal" while dividing ourselves between the siblings. There are, after all, only so many hours in a day.
If I'm totally honest, I also have to admit that the idea of a small family makes me feel vaguely lonely. I adore our two boys, but if I thought there would be no more children I'd be .. intensely wistful. I embrace the chaos of a larger family, and imagine Christmases of the future spent around a huge tree. I picture adding a gaggle of grandkids and beloved in-law children to our brood. It's a nice picture in my head, even if reality doesn't usually quite measure up to the imagination.
So here's a question I'll pose to you, dear readers. How do you feel about family size? What determined or will determine the number of kids you have? Do you have to resist the temptation to make snide comments to parents of lare families, or do you follow a strictly nonjudgmental policy? OR are you on the receiving end of the comments, well-meaning or otherwise, as you attempt to navigate the aisles of Target with your brood in tow?
I'm going to reach out to a few of my favorite blogistas here, and I'll link back to you if/when you want to post on this topic. (For now? I'm lookin' at YOU: S, PK, Mocha, and to get a scientific-atheistic perspective up in here I think it would be lovely for chanson to chime in, too!)
Monday, May 12, 2008
I'm "Just" A Mom.
In that moment, you have no choice but to stop, breathe deeply, and acknowledge that, no, this is not the empowered, Ayn Rand-ian existence you had imagined for yourself; that it is quite unlikely you will rewrite the rules of history or change the geo-political landscape of your time. There is a very good chance you will never see the Sahara Desert or take tea with the Dalai Lama, and it is nearly certain that you will never walk the red carpet in an organza Chanel confection.
There's also a
Hey, we all have our dreams. Judgment only makes the judge a smaller person. After all, I didn't comment on your childhood dreams of being a firefighter, astronaut, or whatever.
But it is, in those moments, that I find a certain kind of clarity. There's no way to predict what the rest of my life will be like, after all, and when I think of all the great accomplishments I had planned for my life they all share one thing in common - their singularity. I always thought I would do One Great Thing with my life, something I would be noted in history for.
Instead, I find that I get 3 really great accomplishments. It may be that they won't go down in the history books; I doubt I'll be numbered among the ranks with the likes of Marie Curie or Amelia Earhardt. But their names are Jack, Tobin, and (for the moment, until we change it - as we reserve the right to do) Milo. And they are some pretty amazing things, even if nobody but their father and I ever notes it.
I started my Mother's Day in a grumpy way, which remained unimproved when I realized we were out of coffee. I slept in to a not indecent hour before waking to the screams of my children, as the two boys had suddenly discovered that brothers are, apparently, each others' natural predators. Their frazzled father was just doing his best to keep them both alive and in one piece, and so I finally stumbled down the stairs in search of breakfast which was, obviously, not going to be able to make its way up to me. And I was pouting about it.
Of course, Big Daddy quickly smoothed things over. He and Jack headed up to the kitchen to make me a lovely plate of nibbles: fresh strawberries and toast with my favorite jam (amaretto peach apricot). After the nourishment made its way into mah bell-ay, I was feeling good enough to spend the afternoon wandering the mall with my menfolk. I even bought some new lip gloss at Bath and Body Works - sparkly lip gloss that smells delightfully of cupcakes.
All in all, it was a somewhat ordinary day. Me-Me the blanket was eventually located (this morning. outside in the rain. the joys.) and I found that, for all the ambitions that will likely go unrealized in this brief life of mine, I am quite content to picture an old age where I have accomplished little that the world will note... so long as I can live those days surrounded by my children, grandchildren and - of course - my pretty spectacular husband.
Reality? It's not such a bad place to live. Sometimes it even smells like cupcakes.
Friday, May 09, 2008
No One Expects The Spanish Inquisition.
I made it through to week 20 of this pregnancy without puking. NO VOMIT. I may have mentioned this before, but I really hate throwing up.
So finding out that Big Daddy's food poisoning incident on Tuesday was not, in fact, food poisoning... was not a good thing. Especially not good was finding out this vital piece of data at around 10pm on Wednesday, when my crushing headache suddenly turned into nausea and ferocious projectile vomiting.
Followed by raging diarrhea. (And.. you're welcome.)
Violent fluid loss in all possible ways from my body pretty much sums up the activities of the subsequent 24-hour period. Let's not even talk about the clean-up that was required, and just say that my husband is a raging candidate for sainthood. He's really earning his 30th birthday present (whitewater rafting with "The Guys" in July.)
The one bright spot in the clamoring chaos of the past week?
I have reserved an hotel room at the Westin St. Francis, San Francisco, for BlogHer. This room, where I anticipate late nights of giggling and intermittent weeping to take place, will be shared with This Lovely Lady... on condition that I promised my husband not to start a torrid affair with her. I did, however, receive permission to smack her on the bum with wild abandon. Also, since she is somewhat infamous for her wild abandon in bestowing random acts of licking, there will be a detailed diagram of "places I may be licked by mochamomma without having to confess and repent to my husband after the fact". Good thing I kept all those blank anatomical diagram sheets from nursing school. heh.
So I return you to your regularly scheduled programming. I, for one, will now commence laying prostrate on the sofa waiting for my strength to return.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Oh, Baby!
EDIT: I received the following picture in my weekly update from babycenter. Apparently my baby has entered the "Cirque du Soleil Acrobat" phase of development. This is nothing like the actual images from the ultrasound. It is, however, highly disturbing.
In lieu of that, allow me to say that when an eye as untrained as my own can easily identify the child's external paraphernalia, 'tis safe to say that his papa can be proud.
Yeah, it's another boy.
And, while I thought it was a girl - while I was, in fact, nearly certain that it was a girl growing in there - nobody is more surprised than yours truly to find that, in fact, I am at this moment doing my best not to leap out of my chair and dance around the room from sheer, overwhelming GLEE.
HELLO, LITTLE MAN!! I SAW YOUR PENIS!! AND THEN YOU KICKED ME!! A LOT!!
I'll explain to him eventually about Mommy's nasty habit of typing in all caps without provocation and also yelling, in person, at the top of my lungs when I am very excited.
Also, we will now officially have more than half of a basketball team.
Also, also, we are planning to begin a special savings account to pay for grocery bills in about 10 years, because three teenage boys are going to eat us out of house and home.
CAN'T. FRACKING. WAIT.
Saturday, May 03, 2008
We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Broadcast
I could regale you with tales of how the dog and the kids have finally seemed to accept each other as part of the same litter and now Jack is regularly content to prostrate himself across the dog's butt and watch television.
But, instead, just for today, I'm going to go back to Politics.
On Thursday I participated in early voting in my state for the Democratic primary.
I walked into an historic courthouse, the one where abolitionist John Brown was tried and convicted for his Harper's Ferry uprising and just a few blocks from the tree where they hung him for his actions.
Into THAT courthouse did I walk, and I cast my vote for Barack Obama.
It was not until days later, when Big Daddy had cast his vote at that building, that he pointed out the irony to me.
I consider myself a modern feminist - ultimately, I am a humanist who thinks women still need to fight for respect and equal consideration. I look forward to the day I can cast my vote for the first woman president - one I can get behind and support with a clear conscience. For me, Hillary Clinton is not that woman. My decision to vote for Obama has nothing to do with his race or with her gender, it has to do with who they are and what they stand for.
Today, I found myself reading along on MOMocrats and nodding my head vigorously. I might have even shouted a "HELL YES!" a few times. CityMama has hit it on the head for me; that beyond all of the reasons I supported Obama in the beginning, there are a lot of very good reasons why my support has continued through what some people have tried to construe as his recent "scandals", his so-called "elitism".
Finding out that Hillary Clinton operatives have been sending messages to Obama mailing lists under false pretenses ( "I'm rethinking my support of Obama in the wake of the Reverend Wright scandal..." etc) in an effort to demoralize his supporters - to make it seem that those of us who believe in the MESSAGE should begin to doubt the man - the man who lives and breathes the message and has not waivered - when the message itself remains unchanged and, if anything, more timely and true than ever...... well, that wasn't even a surprise, but I am still shaking my head in sad disbelief.
I think the statements Reverend Wright made are reprehensible. I also find certain statements made by leaders in my former church reprehensible, but those statements are not the reason I finally left. I also find it true that everyone I have ever known with a strong attachment to their religion clings to it more completely in times of distress. I don't see anything incorrect in the statement that Obama made about people clinging to certain issues or belief systems all the more tightly because they are angry at their circumstances. He never said they only picked up those causes to begin with out of bitterness, only that they invest them with disproportionate importance when they are desperate. I agree with that sentiment.
I think that Obama's book, "The Audacity of Hope", is the most insightful, unpretentious and honest looks at politics from the inside that I have ever come across. I don't think that's a mantle you assume in order to fool people; for that, you can go read Chris Matthews' "Life's a Campaign". The works are antithetical in philosophy, as far as I am concerned.
So whether or not you like Obama, or agree with me politically or otherwise, I highly recommend reading the MOMocrats column and giving it sincere consideration. There is some serious truth up in there.
Friday, May 02, 2008
This Wild and Precious Life
SO, allow me to share with you my new favorite poem. (found via CityMama, cited as a favorite of Maria Shriver)...
The Summer Day
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Failure to Communicate.
First, I need to explain that I am incredible fortunate in my relationship with Big Daddy. We communicate - ad nauseam at times, sure - but we never fail to communicate effectively on any topic. We may have the occasional argument in which I refuse to talk about "What is the matter?" but it never fails to follow that we sit down and discuss "What, exactly, just went wrong here?"
When it comes to my friends and relations, it seems I have one of THOSE faces, the kind that people look at and immediately begin to unload their life story and most intimate problems. I've never minded; I'm a very good listener, and I know when to offer advice and, generally, when to keep my mouth shut and allow the other person to simply release their pressure valve a little.
And so it is that I am befuddled by the people around me. Especially by the married people. It seems that everywhere I turn, I am deluged with stories of marriages wherein the spouses actually speak to other as little as possible. Got a problem with your husband's failure to take out the garbage? As willing as I am to listen to how you feel that this is a serious indicator that he is taking you for granted and completely out of touch with your needs, may I suggest... you know... TELLING your husband that you feel he is out of touch with your needs? Because chances are, if you're going straight from "does not take out trash" to "doesn't understand me at ALL!", there are larger issues in play.
We know couples who have recently dealt with such topics as illness, infidelity, death of a child, loss of employment, and a whole slew of other seriously heavy issues. And yet, if what I am hearing is any indication, there is very little discourse within the marriage on .. you know "What happened here?" and "How are you doing?". Most disturbing to me is the number of women I know who have said, flat out, that they know their marriage is in trouble... but their husbands have flatly refused to even TALK about the possibility of marriage counselling. Like, at least one has said he'd rather just go ahead and split up rather than - you know - go and TALK to someone about their problems.
The most frustrating is the couple we know who are splitting up; he has stated his intention to move out and leave his wife and their children. And yet every conversation seems to be a mix of blame, accusation and resentment... without ever actually stating the actual problem. Just a lot of "It's all your fault I'm not happy" with no explanation as to in which ways, exactly, he is not happy.
Maybe I'm naive; maybe most marriages really ARE a union of two people who are "part of the marriage" without being, I dunno, part of each other. Big Daddy and I are two totally separate, distinct individuals who disagree regularly (and with gusto) but we're also completely open with each other. Totally honest. If one person isn't happy, we talk it out until there is a resolution or a compromise. We talk about our day, and I can name a half-dozen of his coworkers (most of whom I have never met or maybe said "hello" to at the Christmas party) and describe their key personality traits. He knows the names of my Mom friends and remembers to ask how my sister's health is and whether her daughter did well at her violin recital. We have parts of our lives that are separate from each other - that exist outside of the marriage - but we still do our best to give each other a glimpse into that world.
I might be weird, but I am always floored when other women tell me they have no idea what their husband does at work, who his coworkers are, or what is going on at his company right now. Even when we were both working full-time, I was interested in those things. And I like that Big Daddy can vent to me about the office; he still needs to go out with the guys once in a while to commiserate with those who Understand Better Than His Wife, and I am happy that he has that chance, but he would never discount me from that part of his life.
So maybe I am a bit of a Pollyanna when it comes to marriage; maybe I am just incredibly fortunate to be with the person that I am (scratch that, there's no "maybe" about it) but I am beginning to despair of finding more than just a handful of couples who share that with us; who don't divide into "his" and "hers" conversations at every social gathering; who are still each other's true best friend.
Of course, out of all the couples we know, nearly all of them would claim to be each others' best friend... but I keep coming back to this: When your spouse is truly your best friend you can share any truth, no subject is taboo, and no conversation too scary to have. If you have to fear any discussion with your spouse, or some topic (like seeing a counsellor when you know you're in trouble) is absolutely taboo, then you may be married, you may love each other dearly, but there's not trust there.
That may work with friends and relatives - to avoid certain topics for the sake of preserving the relationship - but it doesn't fit any recipe for a Good Marriage that I'd want to be part of.
So, assuming I'm not pouring lemonade on anyone's open wounds here, I'd love to hear other thoughts on this topic.
Ready, steady, GO!
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Pregnant and Barefoot in the Kitchen.
But, you see, the Nesting Period has begun.
In the past 24 hours I have sorted laundry, catalogued and compiled our next Goodwill donation, made the beds, vacuumed the entire top level of our house, put away 5 loads of clean laundry, hung wall decor in 2 bedrooms, showered and dressed myself - TWICE - and mopped the kitchen floor.
For the record? That right there might be the most housework I have done in the past year.
It's not that I am horridly dirty or messy. I generally keep the house neat and clutter-free, and if you visited our little abode you would likely be properly impressed with my classic taste and the carefully chosen items with which we have filled our home. An antique Victrola, a vintage wooden short-wave radio, beautiful wall art (courtesy, in most cases, of my Mother-in-law, who has a god-given talent for playing matchmaker with pictures and mat board and frames) and the results of my new found love of Old Virginia-style textiles.
It's just that - when it comes to the nitty-gritty of things like making beds and wiping down floorboards - I have always been, shall we say, a tad laissez-faire in my attitude. (Floorboards? People wash those? REALLY?? But my sister assures me that they do.)
But, suddenly, it's like someone set a pack of wild, OCD hyenas loose in my brain. They cackle madly as I scrub the last vestiges of toothpaste residue from the kids' sink. They howl with mad desire as I realize the seat-cushions on the dining chairs need a good steam cleaning. The rain yesterday? It kept me from steam-cleaning the carpet in our entryway, which won't dry if the humidity is above negative 4 million percent. I twitched with the intensity of the self-restraint required to keep my hands off my precious SteamVac.
As I warmed our dinner last night, it occurred to me that I was both pregnant and barefoot while in the kitchen. I suspect it occurred to my husband, as well, since he has suddenly decided that he is more in love with me than ever and "Hey! Let's take that government rebate money and get you a shiny new MacBook! You deserve it!"
So, yeah, I'm fairly certain he is formulating a plan to keep me preggers, like, forever. This whole nesting thing? Apparently it's not only a powerful aphrodisiac, it also gets you really awesome presents.
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Just Call Me Dogberry.
* Wearing a fabulous sundress in honor of the epically fantastic weather. Of course, it would have been really adorable if only I had realized that my lavender bra was playing peek-a-boo sooner. It suddenly occurs to me that the really friendly bagger at the grocery store was probably not actually looking at my funky necklace while he made small-talk and bagged my pop tarts.
* Lecturing my child on the evils of telling fibs when he tried to convince me he has no school tomorrow. An eventual call to the school confirmed that yes, tomorrow is indeed a county teacher work day and he does, in fact, have the day off. Perhaps an extra bedtime story will soothe his moral outrage? Either way, I'm thinking I should drop a few bucks into the "college fund" jar (also known as "fundage for Jack's inevitable eventual therapy bills").
* Casually talking with my neighbor about her Southern Living party I promised to attend next weekend. Going from confused to mortified when she awkwardly tells me it was last weekend and realize I totally stood her up. Make a mental note to bring her coffee next week to make amends.
So, yeah, basically I am all-around brain dead right now and should not be allowed out in public. For my own sake.
And how is your Thursday?
On a lighter note (or perhaps a portent of our doom) we are taking the boys to a County Democratic Rally tomorrow. Should be good times. I'll try to get photos.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Food Karma
Yesterday, McDonald's forgot to put the chicken mcnuggets in Toby's happy meal. The child was left with nothing but apples and french fries for lunch. Which is all he probably would have eaten anyway. But! Still! No McNuggets!
Also we have had no bread in the house for 3 days. Never mind that I have not been to the grocery store to purchase more bread since we ate the last of it in the form of tasty, tasty toast. We do love us some toast. Even Toby, who - other than the aforementioned apples and fries - usually sticks to his strict diet of cardboard and baby kittens. (Honestly, how did I give birth to a picky eater? I have been known to eat peanut butter straight from the jar. While also eating a dill pickle. And maybe some Doritos. While not pregnant...)
What were we talking about again?
Oh.
Right.
No bread.
So, yeah. No bread in the hizzouse.
This morning I realized that the half-gallon of milk I purchased (no, the day before we ran out of bread) is already empty. We have never before drunk milk this fast. I am baffled. Either we're on an inexplicable milk kick, or a small army of milk-drinking fridge gnomes are making rounds through my kitchen at night. Which would be pretty cool, now that I think of it. Fridge Gnomes! Coming soon to the YouTubes!
This afternoon, after preschool pick-up, my friend Sarah and I stopped at 7-11 to score the kids (and ourselves) some much-needed Slurpee relief in the face of the ridiculous heat and humidity of this afternoon. (Dude! Where's my SPRING?!)
In a fit of what can only be described as Pregnant Craving Rageaholic Syndrome, I grabbed at a package of Hostess Snowballs as though they were the last bottle of water at the last cantina at the edge of the Sahara desert. I might have knocked over a few children and one very old lady; I can't say for sure, it's all a bit of a blur and I'm pretty sure there was tunnel-vision.
I set the Snowballs briefly on the top of the car (remember that for later) as I settled the kids in with their Slurpees. Hot, sweaty, and flustered, I took a long, satisfying pull off of my sugar-free Peach Mango Fusion Crystal Light Slurpee (frackin' 7-11, with their broken Pepsi Slurpee machine) and pulled out of the parking lot to follow Sarah to her house.
Yeah, remember earlier when I put the snowballs on the car? Yeah, neither did I. If they didn't get squished under the crushing weight of the Minivan of Doom, I really hope the homeless guy who likes to pee around the side of the building enjoyed my marshmallow-covered chocolatey goodness cakes.
Finally, I started cooking our dinner tonight -- chicken in curry sour cream sauce -- and about half way into the process realized I forgot to start the rice. With 1o minutes till dinner, I have rice which requires at least another 20 minutes to cook. And we are hungry. And hungry men are on the way home from a rigorous evening of Tee Ball practice.
The universe is definitely trying to tell me something. I just can't decide if the message is that, what with the huge global food shortages, I should appreciate my good fortune and our bounty and be thankful that these are the worst of my food problems.
On the other hand, I think it more likely that it's a much less profound message: Pregnancy makes me really, REALLY stupid.
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Travel, Sports, and AHH! The Cuteness.
I'm not certain yet what will be required of me in return, but I suspect it will incorporate the fact that I'm quite bendy. (Thank you, pilates.) Or, at least as bendy as a pregnant woman can hope to be.
Secondly, please stop by and give big, wet smooches to the MochaMomma, who bestowed some seroius love on yours truly. She is my internet fairy godmother. Also? Her lips are mythical in their perfection and lusciousness. Actually, her whole person is mythical that way. Everyone should be so lucky as to know someone like her at least once in a lifetime. And you are free to envy that I expect to sit on her lap and let her whisper sweet things in my ear when I
So you can see that my brainpan is quite overflowing with thoughts of my upcoming San Francisco adventures. It's hard to focus on anything else, even though there are oodles of things to get done between now and then. You know, like putting away the laundry that has been folded in baskets and patiently waiting to be stowed for.. oh.. I forget.
Also, my baby - MUH BAYBEE! - has kindergarten registration next week and OHMYGAWD I am too young and how could you let this happen?!! But, um, (*sniffle*cough*hiccup*) let's not talk about that because I remembered to put on mascara this morning and I don't need to have it running down my face just now.
Instead, let's talk about Tee Ball! (Smooth transition, no?) (no.)
Jack is an amazing kid. His newest habit, for example, is getting up in the morning and setting the table for breakfast while his parents are still happily snoring away. He is quick to follow directions and incredibly eager to please.
The funny thing about watching Jack learn to play Tee Ball is watching him attempt to unlearn everything we have been telling him for the last 4 and a half years.
"Slow down! Don't run!"
"Don't throw that at your brother!"
"No hitting! NO HITTING!"
And here I thought that was just good parenting. Now we get to watch him despair at ever understanding these inept humans responsible for his care and feeding as we yell out helpful instructions for success in the sport:
"Run! As fast as you can! RUN!"
"Throw the ball to Carson! THROW THE BALL!"
"Hit the ball with this stick as hard as you can!"
So, yeah, he's basically totally over thinking his parents are infallible and has moved on to the "these people are insane and OMG when do I get to move out on my own?" phase of his childhood. Because we're awesome like that.
As we attempt to navigate these complex and highly competitive waters, however, there are a few incredibly bright spots.
First off, the cuteness of kids in uniform.
Next, Jack is learning the value of being a part of a Team. Taking turns, cheering each other on, and learning from each other. Of course, with four-year-olds, learning from each other usually means things like "see how he doesn't hit the kid next to him with the bat? You, also, should not hit the kid next to you with the bat." But, hey, small but important lessons.
actively picking their noses when I took the photo.
I really didn't expect the swell of pride that comes from watching your kid whack the ball off the tee and go running for first base like a pack of wild hyenas is nipping at his heels. Seeing him listen, work hard, and actually start to improve as he learns to play the game? It's like watching him learn to walk all over again. Parenting bonus, y'all.
exactly the right height for him to hit it! My kid is a GENIUS!
Do not attempt to convince me otherwise.
Finally, there is the incredibly awesome factor of father-son bonding. Never having played any team sports myself, I am just beginning to realize the awesome power of this. Basically, now they have quiet, serious conversations about the vital importance of baseball and they both get to laugh at my expense when I attempt to talk the sports talk. Good times.
Monday, April 21, 2008
What's In A Name.
My husband made a comment this morning, totally innocent, that indicated that perhaps my range of emotion has been somewhat... stunted... of late. I have been alternating between two primary moods: quite contented and royally pissed off.
So I'm trying to invite more of the pragmatically silly back into my world. I have this reputation for being.. um.. somewhat sassy, and I seem to have lost touch with my sass recently. And because all things silly inspire me to pucker up and bestow some
First: the Minivan of Denial. Yes, the vehicle I begrudgingly accepted to replace my sleek little malibu and have thoroughly filled with an assortment of children, cracker crumbs, and sticky mystery stains. Oh, the "Rocker Mom!" window sticker helped to ease the sting, but at the end of the day it is still a minivan. Also, the battery seems to revolt at irregular intervals and leaves me stranded and dependent on the pity of strangers. And we all know how well I do with that whole "interacting with strangers" thing. (And if you don't already know, it involves lots of nervous shuffling, averting of eyes, and occasional bouts of uncontrollable sobbing.)
So won't you help me come up with an appropriate moniker for my silver torpedo of doom? I think it should be a male name, but I'm not sure if a van that carries a womb-full of children can really be male, so I'll leave this one up-in-the-air as far as gender for now. (Perhaps a good unisex name?)
Second: this Laptop. It was an exorbitantly expensive Christmas gift... back in 2003. Now? Well, now it is a 5-year-old computer that intermittently freezes up, reboots for no reason, and has, on at least one occasion, blind-sided me with the blue screen of death (and I swear to you it cackled maniacally when that happened. Really! It wasn't just in my head! The voices would have told me.) Her name should be the kind you'd associate with a vindictive ex-girlfriend.
Third: the Lawn Mower. The Lawn Mower has not given me any actual grief; in fact, it is one of the few pieces of equipment that works exactly as expected around here. It's one of those spiffy "one stroke" jobs, and it never fails to rev up on the first try. Also, it provides me with at least an hour of peace out in the sunshine whenever I fire that bad boy up. His name should be one I can holler affectionately as I approach from across the yard; the name of someone you'd want to share a little camaraderie with over beers.
Finally: the Dryer. The washer requires no name, as it so far works exactly as expected, which is to say not very well but about what you'd expect from an 8-year-old model. But the dryer.. well.. the deal with the dryer is that it works just fine. It dries clothes, and as long as you remember to set it on the "medium" heat setting it won't also melt them into a pile of smoldering ash. But the VENT HOSE. (Yes, I know I used all caps. Believe me, in this case it was warranted.) This dryer seems intent on detaching the vent hose at every opportunity. The rolls - yes, ROLLS - of duct tape I have gone through hooking that monstrosity back together - you would not believe. And yet, after a week or so of running satisfactory operation, suddenly an invisible opening will appear up there, where I have to stand on a ladder to even see it, and mysterious clouds of laundry lint will start to wend their way down from the ceiling.
Yes, the dryer is perhaps the most sinister appliance of all. Its name should be something particularly loathsome... like, perhaps, Darth Sidious. Or Beelzebub.
So my challenge to you, dear readers, is this: Either in the comments or via email (melkist at gmail dot com) please to be sending me your suggestions for these names. The winners will receive... uh.. my undying gratitude? And maybe a small token of some sort if I can think of something appropriate for the occasion. I can make no promises, as I am just now remembering that we need to buy more toilet paper before we're all reduced to using leaves from the lilac bush outside. The pregnant brain, it is not so good at the remembering, but I'll do my best.
Perhaps a signed photo of one of the other named creatures from our abode
Friday, April 18, 2008
Once Upon A Time, In April...
BUT! At long last here am I, and here is my camera. (This is my camera, this is my laptop... one is for shooting, the other for public self-humiliation) (Bonus points if you know the reference.)
So let's take a little stroll down Last Two Weeks Lane, shall we? And because my brain is tired, and I not good make words, we'll make it a picture-book adventure.
He is also already too cool to be seen with me publicly.
His adolescence should be loads of fun.
(Thanks again, Sarah, for the awesome birthday gift!)
let them sleep in an actual Train Car. It's not quite the Marriott,
but it was worth it to see their brains explode.
We got there just in time to grab 3 to share amongst
ourselves before they ran out of dough for the day.
Don't forget the lemonade.
Big Daddy had to physically remove me from this shop.
The most awesomest rusty junk ever. I wanted one of everything.
I was going to combine this post and the coverage of Tee Ball Opening Ceremonies, but, well, you see... Battlestar Galactica is coming on soon, and I have a few things I have to get done first, and .. well, I know you understand, internets. I mean, you're cute and all... but you're no Katee Sackhoff, you know? Don't take it personally. We can still be friends. Let's totally talk tomorrow.
Thursday, April 10, 2008
PANIC! At the Neighbor's
And then I had a panic attack.
I thought, for a moment, that maybe I was having a heart attack. My chest got tight, my heart was racing, I felt like I might vomit, and then I got so dizzy I had to lay down on the floor and wait for it to pass.
Weird, right?
But I figured, hey, these things happen. I'm so full of hormones that eTrade commercials (you know the ones - with the creepy talking baby) have been known to make me mist up, and I might have been self-medicating my stress with.. you know... copius amounts of Amish Fudge.
Then yesterday I took the boys to playgroup next door. And, standing in the middle of my neighbor's kitchen, I felt my face flush, choked mid-sentence, and looked down to be sure my heart wasn't leaping from my chest with all that pounding. I excused myself from the conversation with a pitiful croak and went to seek solace on the couch.
So! Panic attacks. Fun new pregnancy symptom! Apparently 50 percent or so of pregnant women experience them. This statistic makes sense to me for first time mothers, because that first pregnancy is so fraught with anxiety about the baby: Will it have 2 of each appropriate limb? Will that little heart keep beating? What about those oh-so-edible toes - will they be perfect as they should?
But this is my third kid, people. I'm over the scary first trimester, all is well with our little lemon-size baby, and I'm not worried about the pregnancy in the least. So why the panic attacks? Well, apparently caffeine and sugar can trigger them. Okay, so no more coffee for me and I'll cut back on that (*sniffle*) Amish Fudge. I'm giving this sucker a week. Any more of these unwelcome episodes, though, and I'm going to have to have a serious heart-to-heart chat with my fetal tenant. In fact, let's have a warm-up right now.
Hello, there, kid. Hey, listen - your dad and I are ecstatic that you're on your way and all, and your brothers have promised only to give you noogies after your skull plates have sufficiently fused so as not to give you, like, brain damage and stuff... But we're gonna have to talk about these panic attacks. You see, I'M not worried about you. I have my suspicions about your gender, which would explain why YOUR anxiety might be leaking over to me. But rest assured, kiddo, that all will be well. You just enjoy your next 5 months in there where it's all nice and warm and dark, and I promise that when you come out I'll let you rule the roost for a little while. All the milk you can drink, a fresh diaper every time you look like you MIGHT be thinking about transacting some business into one, and as many snuggles as you can demand.
For now, though, baby? Please to be stopping with the giving of the panic attacks. Really. One day, I might even buy you a pony! Wouldn't you like a pony?
Sincerely,
Yo Mama.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
I Heart Intercourse.
And yes, I look older than last time. Because I AM.
So, I have more photos of our PA adventures. But I can't post them now, because I just realized we're already 15 minutes late for a playdate next door and I'm still in my jammies, and really... well, let's just say that it takes a certain kind of something to be a half hour late for a playgroup at your neighbor's house. And I have that something. In Spades.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
California, Here I Come.
After much hemming and hawing (I'm not sure exactly what that means, but in my case it involves eating a lot of fudge and chewing my fingernails) I finally decided to go ahead and do it. SO! I'm going to San Francisco in July. I'll arrive a day early so I can hopefully catch up with a few folks I haven't seen in a while and maybe I'll finally take that tour of Alcatraz. I hear it's pretty spiffy.
Who am I kidding? I'll be shopping and wandering my romantic, misty city by the bay in my full pregnant glory, probably mugging small children for their candy outside of Ghirardhelli Square. And I'll be Kid. Free. For 3 whole days. Won't you join me for (cooked) sushi and a (virgin) cocktail, internets?
So now I can begin to formulate my brilliant plan, wherein I ensconce myself in the midst of some of the beautiful, brilliant blogging women whom I
Next problem: Finding a roommate so I'm not forced to pawn one of the children to pay for accomodations.
Monday, April 07, 2008
Literary Me(me)
Nearest Book: Anansi Boys (Neil Gaiman)
Page 123 & 5th Sentence, then Type Sentence 5-8
Here is the Excerpt:
There was a zebra-skin rug, and a bear pelt hanging on one wall, and there was the kind of advanced audio equipment that mostly consists of a black piece of polished plastic that you wave at. On one wall hung a flat television screen that was the width of the room that should have been there. And there was more...
"What have you done?" asked Fat Charlie. He did not go in.There, now. And because it's late and I'm tired.. Hey, YOU! Yes, you who are reading this. Have you done this one already? No? Well then... consider yourself tagged, my friend.
Friday, April 04, 2008
More Than Words.
The closest I can come for today is this: THIS is what one-day-before 29 looks like.

And this is what my kids look like.


See all the smiling? This is because they have a mother who loves them, and who accepts herself as she is, follows her own heart and her own conscience. I am happier and healthier in my life NOW than I have ever been before. It took a long time to get here, to begin to learn not to be burdened by trying to squeeze my square peg into a very narrow, round hole.
To love someone unconditionally means, really, to accept them. To say that you love someone and then try desperately to change them, or to tell them who they are (even if the description is only accurate in your own head) is NOT love. Control and Love are not synonymous. Loving someone does not mean attempting to make your own vision for their life a reality... it means doing your best to understand THEIR vision for their best life, and helping them achieve those goals. Even if they're not the goals you hoped for, and even if you don't understand why.
Tomorrow I will be 29. But I'll still be me, and maybe one day I will be able to aptly articulate exactly who that is.
Thursday, April 03, 2008
Decisions, Decisions...
THEN, Big Daddy T's Mama decided that she is going to treat herself, for her very special birthday this year, to a one-month rental in August... and invited us to spend whatever portion of that month with her that we would like.
Holy. Freaking. Awesome.
THEN, Big Daddy T tells me that Sure, why not, why don't I go ahead and stop pining for the BlogHer conference this year and go ahead and GO already. I mean, it's in San Fran (Hello Old Stomping Grounds!), in the middle of the summer when kids are out of school and weather is beautiful, and it's before I'll be so pregnant that the notion of waddling around San Fran would feel less like a luxury and more equivalent to a waterboarding.
So I'm thinking about it. And I'm also thinking about maybe using his frequent-flyer miles to truck my happy behind out to Rome, Italy and visit with my brother and his lovely wife and their adorable children.
But I can hardly rationalize, even to my spoiled self, taking both trips alone this year. Especially, really, when you include the fact that I'll likely get to spend a few weeks basking in the salt-spray of the Outer Banks come August.
So it's decision time. And I have to figure out what I want to do more... Finally get my chance to accost Dooce and make a fool of myself with the laughing and the weeping on her tiny, tiny shoulder and maybe compare buddha bellies with the also-pregnant Amalah (and probably end up with a restraining order by the time I finish frightening these and the rest of my favorite blogging Mamas..) Except for the effervescent MochaMomma, who I'm sure totally won't take it the wrong way if I happen to suddenly lick her face or perhaps administer a firm smack to her posterior...
OR...
I could finally have a real excuse to get a passport and, at long last, set foot in Europe. Not just any part of Europe, but ROME, people! The architecture, the history, the art, the FOOD. I'd also mention the wine but, sadly, the fetus in my belly makes that impossible. But still... ROME!
Seriously, I should always be faced with such dilemmas. Like winning the lottery and having to choose Bulk Payout or Incremental. Still and all, though, it's going to be a difficult thing to make up my mind....
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
Welcome Home?
Yeah. So as happy as I am to have Big Daddy T back in the country with us, the weekend did not go exactly according to plan. First, he missed his initial flight out of the Czech Republic and had to take a later one to Frankfurt, pushing his arrival home from 3pm to 9pm. Which was fine, really, because the boys slept in the car most of the way to the airport as well as home again.
What was not so fine were the events of the next 48 hours. No, indeed.
But today he is back at work, the boys are back in their regular routine, and I am - at last - looking forward to a bit of down time as we head to Amish country for my birthday this weekend. I'll be 29 on Saturday.
Posting the rest of this week will likely be sporradic at best as I attempt to dig out from under the massive chaos around the house. I will, however, be uploading some new photos. So there's that to look forward to.
Try to contain your excitement, aye?