So, I've been watching old episodes of the West Wing on Bravo. Sometimes Elliot and I spend the majority of his nap time together on the couch, and West Wing is a great way to pass the time. At first I was constantly like "Oh, I LOVE this episode, how come they keep playing all the best episodes?" But then I realized, hah, silly me, it's just that all the episodes were great. Seriously. That was a good show.
Anyway, on one of today's episodes (the one where Will Bailey gets a dead guy elected in Orange County and Sam agrees to run as his candidate) Sam is going on and on about how an Impossible Probability is preferable to an Improbable Possibility. So, for example, while it may be impossible for homo sapiens to mutate into something that, say, can morph itself into SOLID METAL (did anyone else ever find Colossus a bit of a stretch on the "mutant" theory?) (for those of you who don't know what I am talking about, you are either vastly cooler or WAY dorkier than I am) it is highly probable that, given a circumstance in which homo superior DID evolve, some of the mutants would want to live apart, some would want to live incognito, some would want to protect humanity, and some would want to eat them with chocolate sauce. Thus, X-men, aside from having the coolest man ever named for a musk producing animal, is clearly an Impossible Probability. Friends, on the other hand, is an Improbable Possibility. Sure, six people COULD all live in a variety of combinations of room-mate-hood for ten years and then all get married to each other all of a sudden and move away and live happily ever after. But it ain't real likely, is it?
So, anyway, now that we're clear on all that... Tonight while I was putting Elliot to bed I started thinking about the practical differences between possible and probable. Now, the dictionary defines possible as: that may or can be, exist, happen, be done, be used, etc. and probable as : likely to occur or prove true. But here's what I came up with: in an infinite universe, the only thing that matters is "Is a thing possible" because if it IS possible, then it is happening, will happen, or already has happened.
I'm just saying.
I took Elliot to the Boys and Girls Club of Woburn this Wednesday morning. They have a playgroup that is only $2 (yes, TWO DOLLARS) to get into, and after you pay less than the price of a cup of coffee they send you back to the gym, where walkers and play houses and a tiny trampoline and a slide and enough plastic balls to turn one end of the gym into a ball pit have been strewn everywhere, and dozens of small people are dashing around, having fun. Elliot, predictably, LOVED IT. He's still a little young to play with other kids, but he did wander around and interact with them briefly. And the joys of not only filling a bucket with balls by yourself, but having assistance, and then getting to watch as multiple buckets are simultaneously spilled all over the floor again and again were staggering. The only complaint I have is that, while parents are required to be there, some of them are not as vigilant with their children as I could wish them to be. One little boy Elliot's age took a tumble and started wailing, and I had to spend several minutes trying to find his mother, who was off chatting in the corner with another mom. I'm all for Independence but I think you should at least, y'know, keep half an eye on them.
So... Elliot, Elliot, Elliot... Elliot is adopting a much more regular sleep schedule. For about the past week he has taken a nap at 9:30. Almost 45 minutes on the nose after he falls asleep I will hear a little whine from the monitor, that's not him waking up, it's him rolling over. Roughly 45 minutes after that he wakes up and sits up, but he's not really awake yet, and will spend the next 30 minutes drowsing on my lap while he nurses. Then he's awake for the rest of the day, and no matter how high or low key it is he will not go to sleep until 8 pm. He's been waking up two or three times a night, at least one of those being while I'm still awake, so for those of you who are counting I am, for the most part, only getting woken up once or twice a night, which is really nice. Between 6:30 and 7 in the morning he wakes up, and that's the whole shebang. On the one hand it's really nice being able to predict how long he'll be sleeping - it takes away all the anxiety I used to feel about never really knowing if I had 2 minutes or 2 hours to do something - but on the other hand it also means he's way less flexible than he used to be. If he doesn't go down for his nap on time he's really cranky the rest of the day.
The other day we were at another baby's birthday party, and some friends mentioned that, the day before when it had been particularly warm, they had taken their son outside and filled the lid of a packing trunk (still on the trunk) with water and let him play with it to his hearts content. Ah, think I, this is a GREAT idea, I will do the same. So, the next really warm day comes and I take a trunk, Elliot, and a thing of water outside and set him up. Of course, Elliot didn't really want to play in the puddle of water. Instead he wanted to grab dirt off the ground and mix it in the water in the trunk and make giant mud pies.
My boy, the mud pie artist.
On the one hand, it was very messy. But on the other hand, I was sort of proud of him. I mean, some babies are given a toy and shown how to play with it and that's just what they do. Some babies improvise.
My baby is like MacGyver.
He's also a choco-holic. Someone (to be fair, that someone was probably me) gave him a tiny piece of chocolate one day, and now he's after it like crack. If he sees chocolate he wants it. He also recognizes the tin that sits in our living room that has chocolate in it, so if he sees THAT he starts trying to grab it and get chocolate out. Amanda visited us the other day and brought some starbucks truffles with her. We weren't paying attention for a minute and the next thing we knew, there was Elliot, surrounded by gold wrapping paper, half a truffle clenched in his little fist, cheeks suspiciously full. Oh well, at least it has anti-oxidants in it. The funny thing is, it's not just the really sweet stuff he likes. You can give that child the darkest of dark chocolates, 82% coco and he'll be happy as a clam.
He also desperately wants to drink wine, when Waxor and I have some, so we've started giving him his own "wine". Convenient how so many juices look just like wine, isn't it? As long as it's in a wine glass he doesn't seem to care, although it does have to bare a passing resemblance to what we've got - you can't try to give him milk in stem ware, he isn't that gullible.
What else? His communication skills are much better. He uses the sign for "more" to mean both more and "I want" which is really handy. He also is talking a lot more, both nonsense and almost sense. He clearly distinguishes between Dada and Dante, although to tell the truth they still sound like almost exactly the same word to me, but if you pay close attention you can tell a difference, and he gets irritated if he says Dante and I think he means Dada. He says "Harf" and "Raowowowow" when we're talking about dogs and "maaaaaarow" when we're talking about cats, and he understands a lot of what I say. I can ask him if he wants to go outside and he goes to the front door, or I can tell him to come here, I need to put his shoes on and he comes over and sits in my lap. He's starting to identify his nose, ear, hair, and belly, and yesterday I said "Hi Elliot" and he said "Ey-yot" and I said "Did you just say Elliot?" and he said "Ay Ey-yot" while tapping himself on the chest, so I picked him up and told him yes, he was Elliot, and also that he was the most clever baby ever in the history of the world.
Last but not least he has become a consummate lover of books (I am, of course, filled with glee). He loves to read books. Hi favorite at the moment is "Goodnight Gorilla" which has few words, but very expressive pictures, and is the story of a zookeeper who goes around saying goodnight to all the animals, and the gorilla who steals his keys and follows him around, letting all the animals out of their cages. The animals all then follow him to his house and curl up in his bed room to go to sleep, and his wife sleepily turns the light out and says "goodnight dear." The next page is a black page with a bunch of word bubbles on it with all the animals saying goodnight, and the page after that is a black page with nothing but the wife's big, round, surprised eyes staring out. Whenever I get to that page I gasp (as, I am sure, we all would upon discovering a zoo's worth of animals in our bedroom) and Elliot has started copying me. He will get the book, and very seriously turn the pages til he gets to that page, and then he gasps and looks at me and starts giggling.
What a clever boy.
Waxor is going to start fencing again. There's open fencing at a place in Sommerville and he's going to the first time tomorrow night. We'll see how it goes, but he's very excited. Other than that his job is still to his liking. One of the guys in charge of pushing out corrections apparently sends mass emailings to everyone of what he's going to be pushing that day, and before the list he will write a paragraph about some completely unrelated hilarity. So now I have two people from Waxor's office I want to invite for dinner - one who writes funny things, and, of course, his manager, Tom Riddle. Yeah, I can't resist having Lord Voldemort over to eat.
Speaking of eating, for some reason I've gotten obsessed with planning menus recently. Not just any menus, but menus built around a theme or ingredient. So like, I was watching Iron Chef the other day, and the secret ingredient was butter. BUTTER! But of course, I started thinking of what I would serve if I had to build a five course dinner around butter. I decided I would do a "Meals of the Day" set of courses, breakfast, lunch, snack, dinner, dessert. To start we'd have Croissant with Honey Butter and Fresh Fruit, then Butter Poached Lobster with Lemon and Asparagus, then Kettle Corn and Hot Buttered Rum, then Butternut Squash Gnocchi With Sage Butter Sauce and Grilled Salmon, then Peach Cobbler with Brown Butter Ice Cream.
I know, it's a weird thing for me to be doing, but I can't help it. I've got a "Like Water for Chocolate" Themed Menu, and a "Fried Green Tomatoes and the Whistle Stop Cafe" Themed Menu. I've got Olive, Avacado, and Garlic Themed Menus, as well as Menus for Chicken, Squash, and Strawberries.
And, you know what's tragic? I am so excited about these menus, and I don't know if I'll ever make any of them because, let's face it, outside of a competition is anyone ever going to eat five courses of Beets (yeah, got one for that, too)? Probably not.
Alright, so I spent some time this week and wrote one the things I was thinking about. I am not going to comment on it at all here, I'm just going to copy it in at the bottom, and let anyone who wants to comment do so (please, feel free to critique it thoroughly), and then I'll comment next time.
All the Time in the World
breathe
The beeping of the machines keeps time in this room. Sunlight pours in the unshuttered window, spilling across the the floor in an afternoon sprawl, crawling its way up the table on the opposite wall. The table is laden with flowers in bloom, cut down and arranged in vases just as they reached their prime. Odd and disturbing, this sunny floral bower, pulsing in time to the beeps.
My hand lifts slowly. Bad enough that it has to battle its way past oxygen and argon, nitrogen and carbon dioxide, now it also has to push past giant molecules of bee attractors. Air is so heavy, something I never knew until this moment. It's like trying to reach through a vat of molasses. My loved ones, speaking in hushed voices at my bedside, don't seem to notice, but they move with glacial slowness.
breathe
They call it the stages of grief, as though your emotions were on a macabre journey that will, eventually, get you somewhere. As though they are set points that you can leave behind as you move forward. But I feel them all, all the time. I feel shocked and angry and accepting, all at once. Despair and rage and peace each battle their own side in my heart, all winning and all losing at the same time. Yes, I am furious. How dare my body turn on me? How dare it allow this insidious, creeping, fungal rot to invade me, pillar and post? How dare the world? How dare God? How dare... But there is no one to blame. The anger, like all the stages, takes me no where, for there is no where to go. I am already there. I have bargained and promised and bartered, and railed and cried and screamed, and still I am there. I have breathed deep and let go and found my center. Still I am there. My center is there. Here. Here, in this moment.
breathe
My hand settles on its destination, the head of my small son. He has fallen asleep, and I hope he will stay that way until the inevitable occurs. There are things that no child should have to sit and wait for. My husband put his small sleeping body next to mine in the bed. Together we take up no space at all; his tiny, perfect form fitting so naturally against my side. Sorrow surges to the top of my emotional pile up. Tomorrow he will wake up beside someone else, or, worse, alone. If he opens his eyes and says “Mama” it will not be in joy at finding me there, but rather plaintively, wondering where I have gone. And he will not understand, all through that long day, and the next, and the next, and an infinity of nexts, why his Mama does not answer him. Someday he will understand. Someday his father will give him the letter that I wrote weeks ago and tucked among my important papers; the letter that begins “My beloved son,” and goes on to describe, however inadequately, how much I love him, how much I will miss him, how much I wish I could watch him grow, and change. How I hope that he will remember me, but that I don't expect it. He is, after all, so small. And how I hope he will not miss me too much, because, more than anything, what I want the most is for him to be happy.
breathe
I wonder if I will find the time to tell my loved ones everything I want to tell them. Everything they need to hear. How much time do you need to say every last word you have in your heart? More than a moment. More than a million moments, I think.
Perhaps you need all the time in the world.
breathe.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
April 25, 2009
Letter to the Editor of My Life
Dear Sir or Madam,
First of all, let me say that I appreciate the job you do, and this letter in no way is intended to negate that appreciation. However, I must express my disapproval of the way you represent the past. We both know, even if others don't, that the way the past is presented by my memory biased media is, shall we say, a bit too rosey? I do not in the least mind the positive outlook on my past that this gives me, but the present suffers by comparison, and it is difficult to remember, in the face of such blatant editing, that those times were difficult, too.
So, as I am your only customer, I humbly request that you let a little more realism seep into your portrayal of my life.
Or you're fired.
Hey everybody. I have a whole hand written list of stuff I've jotted down to talk about in this one. I find that if I wait til Elliot is asleep and the house is quiet I have a much better chance of actually completing a thought (which is good). On the other hand, that means that a lot of the time I've totally forgotten what I was going to say - thus the writing down a thought when I have it. However, before I start on ANY of that...
Whoopeee!! It's warm. It's supposed to get to 79 today, which means taking the baby outside and letting him run his tiny little legs off.
Back to the list...
We had visitors the other day! That's right, the Jehovah's Witnesses came a'callin'. I was curled up on the couch, surrounded by an ever growing pile of tissues, and suddenly there were people walking in the front door of our building. So I pulled myself up and went to open the door, and there they were, a lovely grandparently looking couple wearing adorable little black suits, wanting to know if I would be interested in having a bible study led in my home. I was not, but I put this to them gently, and I told them I would be happy to read their issue of watchtower if they wanted to leave one for me. They invited me to a "talk" being held a the local temple, and I asked them if it was a lecture or a discussion (apparently a lecture, with a question and answer period after) and told them I would consider it. I introduced myself and Elliot, and told them I would shake their hands but I had a horrible cold, and didn't want to pass it on, and they told me to get better soon and went on their way. Really they were very pleasant people. I cannot, however, help feeling a tiny bit of glee that this entire converstation took place while I was standing there in a tank top, tiny hotpants, and my bedroom slippers. They must have thought I was walking around in my underwear.
I try to be really polite to religious prosletizers who come to my door. After all, even if I disagree with them, they really do think they're helping me, and it seems wrong to be rude to them. Also, I have to admit, I find them fascinating. I would have gone to their talk if it was a discussion instead of lecture. I like to ask them questions about their point of view. Like, in their Watchtower, they had an article where they semantically broke down something Jesus is reported as saying in order to support their theory of rebirth. I want to know - given that the original language was Hebrew, and that when it was finally written down (a long time later) it was written in Greek, then translated to Latin, then to English, how can they attempt to take anything specific from the way the sentences are constructed? I mean, taking the broad meaning, sure, that should (hopefully) have survived time and translation and bias (although, not necessarily), but to take one tiny little word AND the gramatical context and try to build a whole pilosophy about it? Anyway, I find all of that fascinating.
The other day I really felt like a bad mother. Waxor had been sick, Elliot had been sick, then _I_ got sick and it was just miserable. So when I went in to change Elliot's diaper and found it to be BEYOND messy I did not have the most positive attitude about it, but I just sighed and started on wiping him up. Elliot, however, had other ideas - he's started getting very tempermental about the whole diaper changing thing. So he started wiggling, and instead of just telling him no and calmly going on about my business I snapped at him, which of course only meant he struggled harder. He screamed and kicked and got his feet loose and grabbed his butt with his hands and then it was all over - there was poop everywhere. I snarled my face up and said "NO!" really sharply, then I yanked him up, yanked all his clothes off, held him at arms length all the way to the bathroom, stuck him in the shower and turned the water on. He started crying, because the shower scares him, and I just kept washing him. I sort of got my temper under control as he got cleaner, so that by the time he was clean enough to pick up I picked him up and held him and told him it was okay, but, of course, once my temper was under control, I felt really bad. Oddly enough I wasn't upset with myself over anything I actually DID - he did have to go in the shower, that was the only way to get him clean - but with how I didn't care that it was scaring him just because I was angry. I felt really awful - I have a horrible temper and I felt like I had totally taken it out on my baby.
The next night, though, I felt like I sort of redeemed myself. We had gone to Todd's house for dinner, and Elliot fell asleep there, and when we left around 9 we totally screwed the pooch on the whole "getting the baby in the car seat without waking him up" maneuver. So he was strapped in the car seat and really just wailling, completely miserable because he's not asleep and doesn't know why. I sat with him in the back sang Barney's I Love You song, but he only calmed down for a few verses, so we switched to Little Bunny Foo Foo, and that only worked for a few verses, so we switched to Winnie the Pooh, and that was the magic song. So I sang Winnie the Pooh for about 15 minutes and stroked his hair, and eventually his eyes glazed over and he fell asleep. Then I felt like perhaps I was not such a bad mother, after all.
Oh, so I've finally set this up as a blog. The web address is here:
http://jessica-lifeintheslowlane.blogspot.com/
And you can follow it, if you want, and not get these emails. Also, if there's someone who still hasn't made my mailing list and wants to read these then you can just give them the address, instead of needing to forward stuff on. The back archive is up there, too, not that any of you want to REread what I've said, but it seems convenient... Anyway, if you want to stop getting these and just follow the blog let me know.
I just finished reading a book called The Writing Class by Jincy Willet, and no, I'm not about to write about the actual story, although that was good. It's a mystery that takes place in a writing class, and it has a lot of stuff in it like writing exercises and comments about what makes a story good or trite - and it's interesting. Someone in it says that scarey is really hard to write, the only thing harder is funny. So, of course, I want to try writing something scarey, and something else funny. I have no idea what I can write that's funny, but I know just what I'm going to write about that's scarey. I freaked myself out with it when we first moved in here, so maybe if I write it down it won't scare me any more.
I also got inspired by a phrase at the end of the book "All the Time in the World". I have two different story ideas for that, so I think I'll just write them both and see which one I like better.
Last but not least, at the begining of the book the students get a choice of three assignments (1) come up with 10 names (first and last) and a short character description (2) write something from the point of view of the opposite sex (3) write the opening paragraph to a short story or novel. I found all of these interesting (although, honestly, the third one is the least interesting) and I think I'll probably do them all.
Chances are excellent that I'll be sending all of you some of the stuff that I end up writing, but I promise to warn you first so you can avoid it, if you like. :)
Alright, I have to go take Elliot out into this glorious day now. Everyone go out and do something impetuous, why don't you. It's good for the soul.
Dear Sir or Madam,
First of all, let me say that I appreciate the job you do, and this letter in no way is intended to negate that appreciation. However, I must express my disapproval of the way you represent the past. We both know, even if others don't, that the way the past is presented by my memory biased media is, shall we say, a bit too rosey? I do not in the least mind the positive outlook on my past that this gives me, but the present suffers by comparison, and it is difficult to remember, in the face of such blatant editing, that those times were difficult, too.
So, as I am your only customer, I humbly request that you let a little more realism seep into your portrayal of my life.
Or you're fired.
Hey everybody. I have a whole hand written list of stuff I've jotted down to talk about in this one. I find that if I wait til Elliot is asleep and the house is quiet I have a much better chance of actually completing a thought (which is good). On the other hand, that means that a lot of the time I've totally forgotten what I was going to say - thus the writing down a thought when I have it. However, before I start on ANY of that...
Whoopeee!! It's warm. It's supposed to get to 79 today, which means taking the baby outside and letting him run his tiny little legs off.
Back to the list...
We had visitors the other day! That's right, the Jehovah's Witnesses came a'callin'. I was curled up on the couch, surrounded by an ever growing pile of tissues, and suddenly there were people walking in the front door of our building. So I pulled myself up and went to open the door, and there they were, a lovely grandparently looking couple wearing adorable little black suits, wanting to know if I would be interested in having a bible study led in my home. I was not, but I put this to them gently, and I told them I would be happy to read their issue of watchtower if they wanted to leave one for me. They invited me to a "talk" being held a the local temple, and I asked them if it was a lecture or a discussion (apparently a lecture, with a question and answer period after) and told them I would consider it. I introduced myself and Elliot, and told them I would shake their hands but I had a horrible cold, and didn't want to pass it on, and they told me to get better soon and went on their way. Really they were very pleasant people. I cannot, however, help feeling a tiny bit of glee that this entire converstation took place while I was standing there in a tank top, tiny hotpants, and my bedroom slippers. They must have thought I was walking around in my underwear.
I try to be really polite to religious prosletizers who come to my door. After all, even if I disagree with them, they really do think they're helping me, and it seems wrong to be rude to them. Also, I have to admit, I find them fascinating. I would have gone to their talk if it was a discussion instead of lecture. I like to ask them questions about their point of view. Like, in their Watchtower, they had an article where they semantically broke down something Jesus is reported as saying in order to support their theory of rebirth. I want to know - given that the original language was Hebrew, and that when it was finally written down (a long time later) it was written in Greek, then translated to Latin, then to English, how can they attempt to take anything specific from the way the sentences are constructed? I mean, taking the broad meaning, sure, that should (hopefully) have survived time and translation and bias (although, not necessarily), but to take one tiny little word AND the gramatical context and try to build a whole pilosophy about it? Anyway, I find all of that fascinating.
The other day I really felt like a bad mother. Waxor had been sick, Elliot had been sick, then _I_ got sick and it was just miserable. So when I went in to change Elliot's diaper and found it to be BEYOND messy I did not have the most positive attitude about it, but I just sighed and started on wiping him up. Elliot, however, had other ideas - he's started getting very tempermental about the whole diaper changing thing. So he started wiggling, and instead of just telling him no and calmly going on about my business I snapped at him, which of course only meant he struggled harder. He screamed and kicked and got his feet loose and grabbed his butt with his hands and then it was all over - there was poop everywhere. I snarled my face up and said "NO!" really sharply, then I yanked him up, yanked all his clothes off, held him at arms length all the way to the bathroom, stuck him in the shower and turned the water on. He started crying, because the shower scares him, and I just kept washing him. I sort of got my temper under control as he got cleaner, so that by the time he was clean enough to pick up I picked him up and held him and told him it was okay, but, of course, once my temper was under control, I felt really bad. Oddly enough I wasn't upset with myself over anything I actually DID - he did have to go in the shower, that was the only way to get him clean - but with how I didn't care that it was scaring him just because I was angry. I felt really awful - I have a horrible temper and I felt like I had totally taken it out on my baby.
The next night, though, I felt like I sort of redeemed myself. We had gone to Todd's house for dinner, and Elliot fell asleep there, and when we left around 9 we totally screwed the pooch on the whole "getting the baby in the car seat without waking him up" maneuver. So he was strapped in the car seat and really just wailling, completely miserable because he's not asleep and doesn't know why. I sat with him in the back sang Barney's I Love You song, but he only calmed down for a few verses, so we switched to Little Bunny Foo Foo, and that only worked for a few verses, so we switched to Winnie the Pooh, and that was the magic song. So I sang Winnie the Pooh for about 15 minutes and stroked his hair, and eventually his eyes glazed over and he fell asleep. Then I felt like perhaps I was not such a bad mother, after all.
Oh, so I've finally set this up as a blog. The web address is here:
http://jessica-lifeintheslowlane.blogspot.com/
And you can follow it, if you want, and not get these emails. Also, if there's someone who still hasn't made my mailing list and wants to read these then you can just give them the address, instead of needing to forward stuff on. The back archive is up there, too, not that any of you want to REread what I've said, but it seems convenient... Anyway, if you want to stop getting these and just follow the blog let me know.
I just finished reading a book called The Writing Class by Jincy Willet, and no, I'm not about to write about the actual story, although that was good. It's a mystery that takes place in a writing class, and it has a lot of stuff in it like writing exercises and comments about what makes a story good or trite - and it's interesting. Someone in it says that scarey is really hard to write, the only thing harder is funny. So, of course, I want to try writing something scarey, and something else funny. I have no idea what I can write that's funny, but I know just what I'm going to write about that's scarey. I freaked myself out with it when we first moved in here, so maybe if I write it down it won't scare me any more.
I also got inspired by a phrase at the end of the book "All the Time in the World". I have two different story ideas for that, so I think I'll just write them both and see which one I like better.
Last but not least, at the begining of the book the students get a choice of three assignments (1) come up with 10 names (first and last) and a short character description (2) write something from the point of view of the opposite sex (3) write the opening paragraph to a short story or novel. I found all of these interesting (although, honestly, the third one is the least interesting) and I think I'll probably do them all.
Chances are excellent that I'll be sending all of you some of the stuff that I end up writing, but I promise to warn you first so you can avoid it, if you like. :)
Alright, I have to go take Elliot out into this glorious day now. Everyone go out and do something impetuous, why don't you. It's good for the soul.
April 11, 2009
SO, as many of you probably know, I gave up on the news a long time ago. I mean, I KNOW things are messed up, I KNOW people are getting killed, I KNOW the government isn't doing much about anything significant, and I KNOW that the American media isn't actually all that reliable.
BUT. But, but, but...
With the election of Obama my hopes for the government actually accomplishing something worthwhile are, shall we say, minutely better. And it has also occurred to me that there are other media outlets that, while not as convenient as the six o'clock news, would likely provide me with more realistic and balanced information. But you want to know the real reason I'm seriously contemplating actually keeping informed again?
It's this article, by Fareed Zakaria.
http://www.newsweek.com/id/192479
It's not about leadership, or the status of the world, or poverty levels, or anything like that. It's a relatively short article about achieving energy independence through smart planning, as opposed to new development.
And, oddly, after reading it I felt more hopeful than I have in a long time.
On the other hand, I was watching Sesame Street with Elliot and they had a segment in which kids did the Veggie Dance. I'm sorry, I just don't approve. It made me sad. It's fine to dance for veggies, but it felt so... contrived. When you see Cookie Monster going nuts over cookies you are DOWN with that. You say "yeah, cookies are GREAT" and you don't have any problems with the verisimilitude of his desires. The veggie dance, though... I mean, I like vegetables, I'm actually somewhat of a vegetable fan, but it's not like they make me get up and DANCE. So, in a surprising twist of fate, Newsweek improved my outlook and Sesame Street dampened it.
Grrrrrrrrrr... so I'm on a diet. Now, you know me, you know that my self restraint is not, well, shall we say, EPIC, but I am just soooo tired of feeling like I just gave birth, instead of that I have a one year old. So I'm on a diet. It's not a very restrictive diet, mostly it's a "Yknow, Eating Cheesecake For Breakfast Will Not Actually Help You Face Your Day Any Better" diet. So far this diet has mostly made me lose only a tiny bit of weight and gain a whole bunch of crazy. I never realized before how much I actually counted on the cookies to help me get through the days when Elliot hadn't slept the night before and now wanted to run marathons. Those shots of sugar really DID help, even if it was only psychosomatic. Of course, they also helped me hold on to almost all the weight I gained during pregnancy, so I guess I have to decide which I want more.
Grumblegrumblegrumble...
Waxor and I are in Maine for the weekend, and today we left Elliot home with his Yaya and we went out to lunch and to wander around Portland. It was great. Then we came home and packed up the baby and were going to go to the pet store and let him stare at the dogs (operation "Get Baby Out Of the House") but we got derailed by both Home Depot and the grocery store. While those errands were happening I went first into Marshall's and then in TJ Maxx, and was rewarded with a new swimsuit. The best I can say is swimsuit shopping was not as hideous as I thought it was going to be. The end.
But my new suit is purple.
Go ahead, be jealous.
All of Larry and Kay's neighbors have been bringing toys over for Elliot to play with. So far the clear winners are (a) a little box with circular holes that you put little balls on and then hit the balls with a hammer to make them fall into the box and out the little ramp, and (b) a dump truck that sings a little dump truck song, which Elliot loves and is making the rest of us crazy.
"I'm a little dump truck hear me roar, just dump... me over and watch me pour."
So I read the last book in the Twilight Saga. For those of you who care, spoilers are to follow. Of course, reading a Stephanie Meyer book and not seeing how the plot is going to go is a bit like driving down a long, straight, desolate highway and NOT SEEING the giant pink elephant parade just a mile further down, but I like to be courteous.
I'd have to say that my predominate thought concerning this final book in the Twilight Saga is "OMFG! You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!"
We open with Bella, our blushing mortal heroine, preparing for her wedding to Edward, the cold blooded superhuman stud of her dreams. The plan for them is simple, they're going to get married, go away on a honeymoon, and then Bella is going to be turned. That's the order of events because Bella fears she won't enjoy ordinary mortal desires anymore once she's all fang-ey. So, wedding, check. Honeymoon, check. Stupid scene in which Edward acts like an ass because Bella is suffering from some post coital bruising, check. Then we get several pages of honeymoon activities going on, in which it's constantly emphasized (a) how tired Bella is (b) how hungry she is and (c) how weird she is acting.
I imagine the only person who is surprised when it's discovered that Bella is pregnant is Bella herself.
So, Bella. Pregnant. Yeah. No shock, as often happens in the case of paranormal pregnancy, the baby grows at an abnormally rapid rate. Bella is determined to bear the child, with the full knowledge that this is likely to bring her close to death, but assuming that Edward will be able to turn her at the last minute and then she and her newborn can be newborns together! Yay, happy family bonding time. Assuming she doesn't eat the sprout in the throes of her first bloodlust.
Sigh.
Of course everything goes according to plan. And Bella gets turned and it turns out she's just the MOST AMAZING VAMPIRE EVER! Big shock. But the evil head honchos of the vampire world are coming to kill her and her baby. Of course. Because she's only been dreaming about it since the VERY BEGINNING OF THE BOOK. Someone needs to explain to Meyer that there's foreshadowing and then there's telling everyone EXACTLY what's going to happen REPETITIVELY.
But because she's just this amazing vampire she's saves everyone's ass, and they're all gonna live happily ever after.
I gotta say, the quality of this book, compared to the first one, is not great. And I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with how Meyer winds everything up, it seems like a hokey Disney-fied ending.
Still and all - it's a fascinating read. I found it hard to put down, just like the others. As a series I guess I rate it like I rate the Die Hard movies. Not really quality, but damn, you wouldn't want to miss them.
Alrighty folken, time for me to go to bed, I think. Goodnight, and, Goodluck.
BUT. But, but, but...
With the election of Obama my hopes for the government actually accomplishing something worthwhile are, shall we say, minutely better. And it has also occurred to me that there are other media outlets that, while not as convenient as the six o'clock news, would likely provide me with more realistic and balanced information. But you want to know the real reason I'm seriously contemplating actually keeping informed again?
It's this article, by Fareed Zakaria.
http://www.newsweek.com/id/
It's not about leadership, or the status of the world, or poverty levels, or anything like that. It's a relatively short article about achieving energy independence through smart planning, as opposed to new development.
And, oddly, after reading it I felt more hopeful than I have in a long time.
On the other hand, I was watching Sesame Street with Elliot and they had a segment in which kids did the Veggie Dance. I'm sorry, I just don't approve. It made me sad. It's fine to dance for veggies, but it felt so... contrived. When you see Cookie Monster going nuts over cookies you are DOWN with that. You say "yeah, cookies are GREAT" and you don't have any problems with the verisimilitude of his desires. The veggie dance, though... I mean, I like vegetables, I'm actually somewhat of a vegetable fan, but it's not like they make me get up and DANCE. So, in a surprising twist of fate, Newsweek improved my outlook and Sesame Street dampened it.
Grrrrrrrrrr... so I'm on a diet. Now, you know me, you know that my self restraint is not, well, shall we say, EPIC, but I am just soooo tired of feeling like I just gave birth, instead of that I have a one year old. So I'm on a diet. It's not a very restrictive diet, mostly it's a "Yknow, Eating Cheesecake For Breakfast Will Not Actually Help You Face Your Day Any Better" diet. So far this diet has mostly made me lose only a tiny bit of weight and gain a whole bunch of crazy. I never realized before how much I actually counted on the cookies to help me get through the days when Elliot hadn't slept the night before and now wanted to run marathons. Those shots of sugar really DID help, even if it was only psychosomatic. Of course, they also helped me hold on to almost all the weight I gained during pregnancy, so I guess I have to decide which I want more.
Grumblegrumblegrumble...
Waxor and I are in Maine for the weekend, and today we left Elliot home with his Yaya and we went out to lunch and to wander around Portland. It was great. Then we came home and packed up the baby and were going to go to the pet store and let him stare at the dogs (operation "Get Baby Out Of the House") but we got derailed by both Home Depot and the grocery store. While those errands were happening I went first into Marshall's and then in TJ Maxx, and was rewarded with a new swimsuit. The best I can say is swimsuit shopping was not as hideous as I thought it was going to be. The end.
But my new suit is purple.
Go ahead, be jealous.
All of Larry and Kay's neighbors have been bringing toys over for Elliot to play with. So far the clear winners are (a) a little box with circular holes that you put little balls on and then hit the balls with a hammer to make them fall into the box and out the little ramp, and (b) a dump truck that sings a little dump truck song, which Elliot loves and is making the rest of us crazy.
"I'm a little dump truck hear me roar, just dump... me over and watch me pour."
So I read the last book in the Twilight Saga. For those of you who care, spoilers are to follow. Of course, reading a Stephanie Meyer book and not seeing how the plot is going to go is a bit like driving down a long, straight, desolate highway and NOT SEEING the giant pink elephant parade just a mile further down, but I like to be courteous.
I'd have to say that my predominate thought concerning this final book in the Twilight Saga is "OMFG! You have GOT to be KIDDING ME!"
We open with Bella, our blushing mortal heroine, preparing for her wedding to Edward, the cold blooded superhuman stud of her dreams. The plan for them is simple, they're going to get married, go away on a honeymoon, and then Bella is going to be turned. That's the order of events because Bella fears she won't enjoy ordinary mortal desires anymore once she's all fang-ey. So, wedding, check. Honeymoon, check. Stupid scene in which Edward acts like an ass because Bella is suffering from some post coital bruising, check. Then we get several pages of honeymoon activities going on, in which it's constantly emphasized (a) how tired Bella is (b) how hungry she is and (c) how weird she is acting.
I imagine the only person who is surprised when it's discovered that Bella is pregnant is Bella herself.
So, Bella. Pregnant. Yeah. No shock, as often happens in the case of paranormal pregnancy, the baby grows at an abnormally rapid rate. Bella is determined to bear the child, with the full knowledge that this is likely to bring her close to death, but assuming that Edward will be able to turn her at the last minute and then she and her newborn can be newborns together! Yay, happy family bonding time. Assuming she doesn't eat the sprout in the throes of her first bloodlust.
Sigh.
Of course everything goes according to plan. And Bella gets turned and it turns out she's just the MOST AMAZING VAMPIRE EVER! Big shock. But the evil head honchos of the vampire world are coming to kill her and her baby. Of course. Because she's only been dreaming about it since the VERY BEGINNING OF THE BOOK. Someone needs to explain to Meyer that there's foreshadowing and then there's telling everyone EXACTLY what's going to happen REPETITIVELY.
But because she's just this amazing vampire she's saves everyone's ass, and they're all gonna live happily ever after.
I gotta say, the quality of this book, compared to the first one, is not great. And I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with how Meyer winds everything up, it seems like a hokey Disney-fied ending.
Still and all - it's a fascinating read. I found it hard to put down, just like the others. As a series I guess I rate it like I rate the Die Hard movies. Not really quality, but damn, you wouldn't want to miss them.
Alrighty folken, time for me to go to bed, I think. Goodnight, and, Goodluck.
April 5, 2009
Hola, mis amigos!
Okay, so, everyone who wanted a CD, I've burned them, but I'm also
writing notes to go along with them, and those are taking a bit, so,
no, I haven't forgotten, but yes, it might be a little while longer.
Tonight I went back and re-read my LITSL emails. I was re-reading
them because... well, it's a long story, involving a novel I've always
loved and a highly improbable situation, suffice it to say that I
wanted to make sure that if Elliot was ever relying on words I'd
written to find out how I felt about him that there was plenty talking
about how much I love him. Turns out I have been talking about that,
but I also spend 4 times as much time talking about how tired I am.
Is that bad, do you think?
Fast forward like, a month. Waxor has been sick, and still isn't
really well, Elliot has been teething, growing, SOMETHING to keep him
from sleeping, and now HE'S getting sick. I am exhausted and really
emotional. Yes, I know, all of you know me. When am I NOT emotional?
But this has been a bit much even for me. I started sobbing during
March of the Penguins last night. Yeah. That's what I'm saying.
On the brighter side, my baby says Mama now. And really, it's the
best thing ever. Seriously. There is literally nothing better in the
world than his happy little face saying Mama. And he knows it makes
me happy. He will toddle up to me, and get this impish look on his
face and go "Ma-ma" and then smile really big and wait for me to sweep
him up and say some ridiculous thing about how much I adore him. It's
great.
Okay, on to the major topic of the day:
I finally broke down and put a library hold on the following books:
Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Yup. Had to do it.
Had to know what the hype was about. HAD TO. One, two, and four came
in the other day, so I went and picked them up and spent the next two
days reading books one and two. Now I was forewarned, Kate doesn't
care much for this series, and she's told me a little bit about why,
so I wasn't hoping for great literature. I figured that, as long as I
was indulging myself by reading these books I could do my best to
figure out what it was about them that made them such a phenomenon.
I think I've figured it out.
Ready?
It's an impressive cocktail of crack for the mind. Take three parts
excellent character study, two parts wish fulfillment, one part Han
Solo Effect, four parts repressed sexual tension, and one part undead.
Mix it all together and voila!
First, three parts excellent character study: It's rare to find a
novelist who doesn't mind spending pages on nothing but character
development. There's always action going on, especially in novels for
young people. Stephanie Meyer doesn't seem to care about that - whole
chapters would pass with nothing more than the main character
THINKING. It was fairly impressive. Even more impressive was that it
didn't lose your attention, and I think that's due to the fact that
she does a good job painting the characters for you. With the
exception of the whole, y'know, VAMPIRE THING, her characters are
actually very realistic. At least, I think so. The main character
seems very much like a teenage girl.
Two parts wish fulfillment: Who DOESN'T want to meet their soul mate,
and discover that this person is a fabulously wealthy, incredibly
gorgeous, marvelously talented individual who adores you beyond reason
and can live with you forever? Anyone? Anyone? I didn't think so.
One part Han Solo Effect: Even before Leia finds out that Luke is her
brother she is ALREADY in love with Han. And you know why? Because
he's HAN FREAKING SOLO. He is the most awesome dude in the galactic
empire - the space rebel without a cause, if you will. WE LOVE BAD
BOYS! Let's face it, we do. We want them to have hearts of gold, but
given the choice between the puppy and the wolf..? Please. Be
realistic. And who is badder than a vampire? No one. They are
creatures of the night, forever struggling against their own baser
instincts. And they have perfect hair. Very James Dean.
Four whole parts of repressed sexual tension: Teenage girls are soooo
caught up in the whole "my hormones are raging but I wanna be a good
girl" thing, and they often manifest this in weird ways - like
developing erotic fixations with the forbidden. So you take the girl
and this vampire, and yeah, they totally have the hots for each other,
so there's that desire (that they aren't gonna experience, cause it's
a teen novel). Then you add on the fact that he really really REALLY
wants to drink her blood, and what you have done is just add a sexual
metaphor on top of an actual sexual situation, BOTH OF WHICH are being
repressed. It's the forbidden times TWO.
One part undead: I don't have to explain this? Do I?
So, I see how the books have done well. I really do. I also see how
they've got serious issues. I mean, first of all, I know girls mature
faster than boys and everything, but really, what is WITH all these
writers thinking that someone several HUNDRED years old would be
interested in a seventeen year old? Really? Seriously? I'm only 30
and I think most seventeen year olds are next door to infants.
And think of who YOU were dating when you were 17. Would you want to
be eternally bound together in undead matrimonial bliss? I didn't
think so. (No offense intended there, Aaron, but you wouldn't want to
be eternally bound to an undead me, either, would you? So we're all
good.)
The fact that he's always telling her what to do bothers me less. I
mean, if you are going to be so stupid as to date someone old enough
to be your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great...
great, great, great grandfather you should expect that they will think
they know better than you. But I cannot deny that you sometimes want
to shake the main character and yell "grow a backbone you NINNY!"
So - so far, I have to say - I highly recommend the Twilight series to
anyone interested in a light read. It's at least as much fun to read
as Janet Evanovich's novels.
Well, Baby's out of bath time and I've got to go put him to sleep.
Okay, so, everyone who wanted a CD, I've burned them, but I'm also
writing notes to go along with them, and those are taking a bit, so,
no, I haven't forgotten, but yes, it might be a little while longer.
Tonight I went back and re-read my LITSL emails. I was re-reading
them because... well, it's a long story, involving a novel I've always
loved and a highly improbable situation, suffice it to say that I
wanted to make sure that if Elliot was ever relying on words I'd
written to find out how I felt about him that there was plenty talking
about how much I love him. Turns out I have been talking about that,
but I also spend 4 times as much time talking about how tired I am.
Is that bad, do you think?
Fast forward like, a month. Waxor has been sick, and still isn't
really well, Elliot has been teething, growing, SOMETHING to keep him
from sleeping, and now HE'S getting sick. I am exhausted and really
emotional. Yes, I know, all of you know me. When am I NOT emotional?
But this has been a bit much even for me. I started sobbing during
March of the Penguins last night. Yeah. That's what I'm saying.
On the brighter side, my baby says Mama now. And really, it's the
best thing ever. Seriously. There is literally nothing better in the
world than his happy little face saying Mama. And he knows it makes
me happy. He will toddle up to me, and get this impish look on his
face and go "Ma-ma" and then smile really big and wait for me to sweep
him up and say some ridiculous thing about how much I adore him. It's
great.
Okay, on to the major topic of the day:
I finally broke down and put a library hold on the following books:
Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Yup. Had to do it.
Had to know what the hype was about. HAD TO. One, two, and four came
in the other day, so I went and picked them up and spent the next two
days reading books one and two. Now I was forewarned, Kate doesn't
care much for this series, and she's told me a little bit about why,
so I wasn't hoping for great literature. I figured that, as long as I
was indulging myself by reading these books I could do my best to
figure out what it was about them that made them such a phenomenon.
I think I've figured it out.
Ready?
It's an impressive cocktail of crack for the mind. Take three parts
excellent character study, two parts wish fulfillment, one part Han
Solo Effect, four parts repressed sexual tension, and one part undead.
Mix it all together and voila!
First, three parts excellent character study: It's rare to find a
novelist who doesn't mind spending pages on nothing but character
development. There's always action going on, especially in novels for
young people. Stephanie Meyer doesn't seem to care about that - whole
chapters would pass with nothing more than the main character
THINKING. It was fairly impressive. Even more impressive was that it
didn't lose your attention, and I think that's due to the fact that
she does a good job painting the characters for you. With the
exception of the whole, y'know, VAMPIRE THING, her characters are
actually very realistic. At least, I think so. The main character
seems very much like a teenage girl.
Two parts wish fulfillment: Who DOESN'T want to meet their soul mate,
and discover that this person is a fabulously wealthy, incredibly
gorgeous, marvelously talented individual who adores you beyond reason
and can live with you forever? Anyone? Anyone? I didn't think so.
One part Han Solo Effect: Even before Leia finds out that Luke is her
brother she is ALREADY in love with Han. And you know why? Because
he's HAN FREAKING SOLO. He is the most awesome dude in the galactic
empire - the space rebel without a cause, if you will. WE LOVE BAD
BOYS! Let's face it, we do. We want them to have hearts of gold, but
given the choice between the puppy and the wolf..? Please. Be
realistic. And who is badder than a vampire? No one. They are
creatures of the night, forever struggling against their own baser
instincts. And they have perfect hair. Very James Dean.
Four whole parts of repressed sexual tension: Teenage girls are soooo
caught up in the whole "my hormones are raging but I wanna be a good
girl" thing, and they often manifest this in weird ways - like
developing erotic fixations with the forbidden. So you take the girl
and this vampire, and yeah, they totally have the hots for each other,
so there's that desire (that they aren't gonna experience, cause it's
a teen novel). Then you add on the fact that he really really REALLY
wants to drink her blood, and what you have done is just add a sexual
metaphor on top of an actual sexual situation, BOTH OF WHICH are being
repressed. It's the forbidden times TWO.
One part undead: I don't have to explain this? Do I?
So, I see how the books have done well. I really do. I also see how
they've got serious issues. I mean, first of all, I know girls mature
faster than boys and everything, but really, what is WITH all these
writers thinking that someone several HUNDRED years old would be
interested in a seventeen year old? Really? Seriously? I'm only 30
and I think most seventeen year olds are next door to infants.
And think of who YOU were dating when you were 17. Would you want to
be eternally bound together in undead matrimonial bliss? I didn't
think so. (No offense intended there, Aaron, but you wouldn't want to
be eternally bound to an undead me, either, would you? So we're all
good.)
The fact that he's always telling her what to do bothers me less. I
mean, if you are going to be so stupid as to date someone old enough
to be your great, great, great, great, great, great, great, great...
great, great, great grandfather you should expect that they will think
they know better than you. But I cannot deny that you sometimes want
to shake the main character and yell "grow a backbone you NINNY!"
So - so far, I have to say - I highly recommend the Twilight series to
anyone interested in a light read. It's at least as much fun to read
as Janet Evanovich's novels.
Well, Baby's out of bath time and I've got to go put him to sleep.
March 4, 2009
Hah! You have not seen the last of ME, Mr Bond!
Hi everyone. :)
So, first, a request - if any of you are tired of getting this please,
let me know and I'll take you off the mailing list. I know that it's
hard to keep up with email, so, if you like reading my nonsense and
just can't really reply, do not worry and I'll keep sending it out.
However, should you be one of those people (no judgement here, I know
you exist) who really wish I could stop talking about the freaking
baby and get on with life, lemme know and I will take you off the list
until such time as I start talking more about other things and less
about babies.
That may be another 17 years, but I'm sure it will happen some day.
Of course, to be honest, there are a few of you who will keep getting
this even if they'd rather not hear so much about babies.
*cough*Tiff*cough*
So first - non-baby news! Fuzzy and Dante, our upstairs neighbors, are
getting married this fall in Maine. Aside from this being exciting
news in it's own right, it means that they really want to move into a
house this summer, because they figure there's no sense in getting
wedding gifts and then having to move them all. I quite agree with
them. Anyway, it means the house hunt is on in earnest now. We're on
the "loan pre-approval" step, and are looking forward eagerly to the
"actually looking at houses" step. I have a strong suspicion that in
order to get a house that meets our needs and our price we're going to
have to look at bank foreclosures, which likely means doing some
repairs, however, since Dante and I are both competent carpenters I
hope we could keep the costs down on these by only having to hire
people for the important functional stuff, and doing the cosmetic
stuff ourselves. We shall see.
I ended my last email with the news that Waxor had lost his job - good
news, he has a new one! Actually, considering the job market and such
it was remarkably fast. He's been hired by RIM (that's Research In
Motion) otherwise known as the Giant Ass Company That Does Blackberry
Phones. So, that's awesome, because they're a stable company, and
they seem to have good employee practices, and such. Of course, it
also means that they're less likely to be cool with the wife coming
and bringing the baby to hang out at the office, but we all have to
make little sacrifices. He starts on March 23rd, so in the meantime
we're enjoying having him around the house. By "we" I mean Elliot and
I, of course. I think he likes it, too. It's also given us a lot of
freedom to hang out with people, we've had Amanda over for lunch
twice, we went to Maine for a long weekend, we went to Northampton for
a long weekend, and this weekend we'll be hanging out with Kate and
Mark. Also he'll still be home while Coury and Momma are here
(they're coming separately, but will overlap for two days) which is
really nice. Normally he's got to work when my family is here for
visits.
Speaking of Momma, her birthday is this Friday. I was thinking about
this and I realized that this year my mother will be 58, which is
amazing, cause she doesn't SEEM 58. I think she successfully achieved
about 42 and then just stopped aging. My grandmother was the same
way. I can only assume that there is some black magic secret that the
women on my mother's side have passed down generation after generation
that my mother, for reasons unknown to me, has chosen not to share.
_I_ am aging just fine, thank you very much. I'm only 30 and I've
managed to achieve middle-aged spread. All right, so maybe that has
something to do with the baby, but it really isn't fair. At any rate,
I'm retaliating. I refuse to stop eating (do you have any idea how
HUNGRY breast feeding makes you?) but I figure I CAN exercise, and
that's just what I'm doing. Thus far I loathe it. But I feel an odd
sense of pride. Maybe at some point the pride will overcome the
loathing, but I doubt it. On the other hand, maybe I will be able to
wear a bathing suit at Montelimar this year without cringing, so there
is a payoff. :)
This Monday I'm headed off to auditions for Urinetown. I'm sort of
robust at the moment, but I would dearly love to play Little Sally.
We'll see how they go. Waxor has agreed that if they offer me a part
I'm interested in then I can take it assuming they agree to my
rehearsal restrictions (which, actually, aren't that strict, just it's
what Waxor and I have agreed on) and I have agreed that if they offer
me a part I'm NOT really interested in I won't take it. I figure it's
a fair deal. I'd like to start being in shows again, but it's a bit
of a burden to put on Waxor if I'm only sort of interested in the role
I've got.
I'm thinking of doing Moments in the Woods from Into the Woods as an
audition piece, anyone got any comments? Red Riding Hood's Song might
be more appropriate to the role I want, but I seriously loathe that
song. And I love the baker's wife, and I figure the other role I
might be able to get would be Penelope what's her butt.
Speaking of music, those of you who share my love of mix tapes will be
joyous, and those of you who don't' will cringe - I've been working on
another one. I think we'll call it "Jessica's Descent Into
Narcissism" since it reflects my varying moods of late. I've finally
finished it and am ready to burn it to disc. If anyone would like a
copy I'll send you one, just make sure I have your current address.
(Believe it or not, all you cringers, there are actually some people
getting this email that are likely to take me up on this offer.) If
anyone OVERSEAS wants it can you kindly advise me on the best way to
post it to you?
Elliot has developed a decided taste in music, to the point where if
we're listening to something he doesn't approve of while in the car he
is very cranky. Sigh. I thought we could wait til the teen years for
that to be a problem. He's also developed a decided mind of his own.
He wants what he wants, and he doesn't want anyone else to tell him
no. Most particularly the thing he wants more than anything is to
BEEEEEEEEEEE with me always. We're working on getting him out of that
habit without actually BREAKING him of it (isn't that an awful verb?
To break, meaning to destroy or damage, why do we talk about doing
that to our children?). So he goes to see Waxor and when he cries we
cheerfully tell him I love him but I get to have minutes to myself,
too. So far he is taking it... hmmm... not well, because he still is
very angry, but not poorly, because he calms down fairly quickly and
plays with his daddy. So... tolerably. He's taking it tolerably.
He's walking all the time now. He still prefers to hold an adult's
hands, but he can and will walk on his own. He LOVES other children,
and if he sees another kid in a store he'll let go of my hand in a
flash and be off down another aisle. Little girls in pink coats are
his favorite. :)
He's really grown an amazing amount. He was doing really well with
his eating, and then I think another bout of teething pain has hit
him, because for the last few days or so he's rejected most food, even
things like ice cream. He's also taller, all his 12 month clothes are
getting pretty small on him. His cognitive abilities are better, too.
He's got some really almost words (Dante, and cat, and dog, and dada,
and just this morning he looked at me and said "mama") and he
understands a lot more (like when I ask him if he wants to go outside,
or to see the cats, or for me to pick him up, or if he wants some
boob.) I think he's starting to realize that turning the pages in the
books and the sounds I'm making have some correlation, and he's
started figuring out more complicated mechanical things. He loves
putting things in and taking them out, or opening and shutting things,
and, while pulling all the books off the shelf has always been fun,
he's just now started helping me to put them back.
And he dances. If you put on music he really likes he'll grin like a
madman and start bopping his little head, or swaying side to side. It
may be the cutest thing in the entire world.
Alright, I've got dishes to do and dinner to make, and I think Dante
is waiting on me to come up and have tea, so I'm gonna go, and since
it's been so long since the last time I sent one of these I don't
think I'll postpone it in order to add more on.
Hi everyone. :)
So, first, a request - if any of you are tired of getting this please,
let me know and I'll take you off the mailing list. I know that it's
hard to keep up with email, so, if you like reading my nonsense and
just can't really reply, do not worry and I'll keep sending it out.
However, should you be one of those people (no judgement here, I know
you exist) who really wish I could stop talking about the freaking
baby and get on with life, lemme know and I will take you off the list
until such time as I start talking more about other things and less
about babies.
That may be another 17 years, but I'm sure it will happen some day.
Of course, to be honest, there are a few of you who will keep getting
this even if they'd rather not hear so much about babies.
*cough*Tiff*cough*
So first - non-baby news! Fuzzy and Dante, our upstairs neighbors, are
getting married this fall in Maine. Aside from this being exciting
news in it's own right, it means that they really want to move into a
house this summer, because they figure there's no sense in getting
wedding gifts and then having to move them all. I quite agree with
them. Anyway, it means the house hunt is on in earnest now. We're on
the "loan pre-approval" step, and are looking forward eagerly to the
"actually looking at houses" step. I have a strong suspicion that in
order to get a house that meets our needs and our price we're going to
have to look at bank foreclosures, which likely means doing some
repairs, however, since Dante and I are both competent carpenters I
hope we could keep the costs down on these by only having to hire
people for the important functional stuff, and doing the cosmetic
stuff ourselves. We shall see.
I ended my last email with the news that Waxor had lost his job - good
news, he has a new one! Actually, considering the job market and such
it was remarkably fast. He's been hired by RIM (that's Research In
Motion) otherwise known as the Giant Ass Company That Does Blackberry
Phones. So, that's awesome, because they're a stable company, and
they seem to have good employee practices, and such. Of course, it
also means that they're less likely to be cool with the wife coming
and bringing the baby to hang out at the office, but we all have to
make little sacrifices. He starts on March 23rd, so in the meantime
we're enjoying having him around the house. By "we" I mean Elliot and
I, of course. I think he likes it, too. It's also given us a lot of
freedom to hang out with people, we've had Amanda over for lunch
twice, we went to Maine for a long weekend, we went to Northampton for
a long weekend, and this weekend we'll be hanging out with Kate and
Mark. Also he'll still be home while Coury and Momma are here
(they're coming separately, but will overlap for two days) which is
really nice. Normally he's got to work when my family is here for
visits.
Speaking of Momma, her birthday is this Friday. I was thinking about
this and I realized that this year my mother will be 58, which is
amazing, cause she doesn't SEEM 58. I think she successfully achieved
about 42 and then just stopped aging. My grandmother was the same
way. I can only assume that there is some black magic secret that the
women on my mother's side have passed down generation after generation
that my mother, for reasons unknown to me, has chosen not to share.
_I_ am aging just fine, thank you very much. I'm only 30 and I've
managed to achieve middle-aged spread. All right, so maybe that has
something to do with the baby, but it really isn't fair. At any rate,
I'm retaliating. I refuse to stop eating (do you have any idea how
HUNGRY breast feeding makes you?) but I figure I CAN exercise, and
that's just what I'm doing. Thus far I loathe it. But I feel an odd
sense of pride. Maybe at some point the pride will overcome the
loathing, but I doubt it. On the other hand, maybe I will be able to
wear a bathing suit at Montelimar this year without cringing, so there
is a payoff. :)
This Monday I'm headed off to auditions for Urinetown. I'm sort of
robust at the moment, but I would dearly love to play Little Sally.
We'll see how they go. Waxor has agreed that if they offer me a part
I'm interested in then I can take it assuming they agree to my
rehearsal restrictions (which, actually, aren't that strict, just it's
what Waxor and I have agreed on) and I have agreed that if they offer
me a part I'm NOT really interested in I won't take it. I figure it's
a fair deal. I'd like to start being in shows again, but it's a bit
of a burden to put on Waxor if I'm only sort of interested in the role
I've got.
I'm thinking of doing Moments in the Woods from Into the Woods as an
audition piece, anyone got any comments? Red Riding Hood's Song might
be more appropriate to the role I want, but I seriously loathe that
song. And I love the baker's wife, and I figure the other role I
might be able to get would be Penelope what's her butt.
Speaking of music, those of you who share my love of mix tapes will be
joyous, and those of you who don't' will cringe - I've been working on
another one. I think we'll call it "Jessica's Descent Into
Narcissism" since it reflects my varying moods of late. I've finally
finished it and am ready to burn it to disc. If anyone would like a
copy I'll send you one, just make sure I have your current address.
(Believe it or not, all you cringers, there are actually some people
getting this email that are likely to take me up on this offer.) If
anyone OVERSEAS wants it can you kindly advise me on the best way to
post it to you?
Elliot has developed a decided taste in music, to the point where if
we're listening to something he doesn't approve of while in the car he
is very cranky. Sigh. I thought we could wait til the teen years for
that to be a problem. He's also developed a decided mind of his own.
He wants what he wants, and he doesn't want anyone else to tell him
no. Most particularly the thing he wants more than anything is to
BEEEEEEEEEEE with me always. We're working on getting him out of that
habit without actually BREAKING him of it (isn't that an awful verb?
To break, meaning to destroy or damage, why do we talk about doing
that to our children?). So he goes to see Waxor and when he cries we
cheerfully tell him I love him but I get to have minutes to myself,
too. So far he is taking it... hmmm... not well, because he still is
very angry, but not poorly, because he calms down fairly quickly and
plays with his daddy. So... tolerably. He's taking it tolerably.
He's walking all the time now. He still prefers to hold an adult's
hands, but he can and will walk on his own. He LOVES other children,
and if he sees another kid in a store he'll let go of my hand in a
flash and be off down another aisle. Little girls in pink coats are
his favorite. :)
He's really grown an amazing amount. He was doing really well with
his eating, and then I think another bout of teething pain has hit
him, because for the last few days or so he's rejected most food, even
things like ice cream. He's also taller, all his 12 month clothes are
getting pretty small on him. His cognitive abilities are better, too.
He's got some really almost words (Dante, and cat, and dog, and dada,
and just this morning he looked at me and said "mama") and he
understands a lot more (like when I ask him if he wants to go outside,
or to see the cats, or for me to pick him up, or if he wants some
boob.) I think he's starting to realize that turning the pages in the
books and the sounds I'm making have some correlation, and he's
started figuring out more complicated mechanical things. He loves
putting things in and taking them out, or opening and shutting things,
and, while pulling all the books off the shelf has always been fun,
he's just now started helping me to put them back.
And he dances. If you put on music he really likes he'll grin like a
madman and start bopping his little head, or swaying side to side. It
may be the cutest thing in the entire world.
Alright, I've got dishes to do and dinner to make, and I think Dante
is waiting on me to come up and have tea, so I'm gonna go, and since
it's been so long since the last time I sent one of these I don't
think I'll postpone it in order to add more on.
Fe 2, 2009
So...
I think an essential component of the switch from Matriarchy to
Patriarchy had to have been the loss of the barter system. Confused?
Allow me to explain my reasoning.
Let us go with the traditional mammalian model: female makes babies,
male provides for female and young. In a matriarchal society this
would be viewed as the female performing the central task, and the
male bringing her goodies in essence to bribe his way into her
acceptance of him as a part of the family unit. He's paying her to
LET him belong.
In the patriarchal view, the male is performing the central task, and
the female is raising his young and making his home all nice in the
hopes that he will continue to provide for her and the offspring. She
is bribing him, in this instance, to give her support.
(Now, the truth is that probably any society would be better off if
everyone accepted that it's important to raise the young AND it's
important to eat on a regular basis, but let's just assume that, for
whatever reason, that's not an option.)
So, let's say we're merrily rolling along through history with a
matriarchal society. Women have babies and homes, and men who provide
for them are allowed to live in these homes and bask in the glory of
familial love. Then, one day, some bright enterprising chap comes up
with the idea of money, which makes all the trading going on (my bow
for your knife, my corn for your milk) MUCH easier. Except that, over
time, instead of the value of something residing intrinsically with
that thing (a cow is a cow is a cow) it begins to reside in the coin
that gets PAID for that thing. So, the men, who labor at tasks that
make things that get sold, accumulate the only thing of value, and the
women, who perpetuate the species but don't get handed any shiny metal
bits for it, end up as second class citizens.
And of course, it's still that way. A woman who chooses to work at
home raising her family almost has to apologize for not going out and
making any money.
However, I have decided that, at least in my little corner of the
world, I am going to revert to a matriarchal society. If I choose to
make money, fine and good, but the work that I am doing has intrinsic
value all on it's own, and as far as I am concerned, Waxor is bribing
me to LET him be a part of it.
THBPT!
Elliot has developed a mighty appetite this past week - it's gone
along with him biting everything he can clamp his little teeth on. My
fingers have not appreciated it, but I'm glad he's eating more and
better foods. Today I went to Joann Fabrics to get some curtain
material for his room. I've got double curtain rods and am planning
on hanging a heavy fluffy fabric on the window side curtain, to help
insulate his room. It's just so much colder than the rest of the
house. Between that and a suggestion from Kay (double PJing him) I'm
hoping that once his teething pain goes away he'll sleep a little
better. He was sleeping great the whole time in Nicaragua, waking up
only once or twice a night (and only one of those was while I was
asleep, so I, too, was sleeping well) but then we got back here to his
cold little room and BOOM, waking up 3, 4, sometimes 5 times a night.
Sigh. I'm actually convinced that about half of his nightly wake ups
happen when he rolls over and some part of his body comes into contact
with his wall, which is FREEZING.
Y'know, art projects aren't nearly as fun when you have to keep tiny
baby fingers out of everything. Imagine tiny fingers covered in
paint... or tiny mouths full of clay, or tiny knees crawling on
straight pins...
sigh.
But they are pretty cute tiny knees...
I often take days to write these emails. A lot of what I write to all
of you is the stuff that I think about while I'm lying in the dark
with Elliot. I take the most entertaining thoughts in my head and
expound on them here, in an attempt to entertain all of you. My last
deep thought session, however, was on a topic not generally suited for
public consumption and yet... I am tempted to expound anyway. But I'm
not gonna.
Two days from now will see the inauguration of President Obama. It'll
be a historic event, not only will we be swearing in a black man for
the first time EVER but we will also be saying goodbye to the greatest
douchebag ever to reside in the White House. In honor of this
occasion I am borrowing a little tune from the Wizard of Oz, and
composing a ditty. Ready? Here goes:
Ding, dong, the ding-dong's gone
He stayed too long, but now he's gone
Ding, dong, the frat boy prez is gone!
He's gone back to play cowboy
(at this point Elliot woke up, and I never wrote down the end of the
song, and now I can't remember what it was going to be... sigh...)
eleven days later...
Elliot has been sick. I mean, really sick. Sick like runny nose and
coughing and can't sleep cause he can't breathe sick. I've almost
gotten used to sleeping the night in two shifts, which we will call
the "pre-bath" shift and the "post-bath" shift, because most nights I
have to get up in the middle of the night and run a hot bath and put
menthol on Elliot's chest and then wait for him to hack up whatever is
in his chest while I squeegy out his nose (which he hates). He's
finally on the mend... last night we had no bath at all, so that's
been good. However, clearly he was the plague carrier, because first
Dante got sick, and now I think I might be getting sick. Thankfully
both Waxor and Fuzzy seem safe so far, we'll see how that goes.
He got sick right after his most recent Pediatrician's visit. His
current height is in the 60%, his head size is in the 40% (which is up
a lot), and his weight is in the 2%. Sigh. He's really skinny. The
pediatrician was worried enough that she had him do a blood draw so
that she could check and make sure he wasn't gaining weight for a
medical reason. Aside from that she basically said "make sure
everything he eats is high fat" and I have to take him back for a
weight check in 4-6 weeks.
Today is Waxor's brithday, he's 29. I made him 200 mini-cupcakes
which I iced in three different colors and then laid out to look like
8-bit Link (from Zelda). If this sentence made no sense to you then
don't worry about it. If it DID make sense to you then you aren't
allowed to call me a dork, because you must be just as big a dork.
Waxor loved it. Tonight we're doing presents and dinner at home, and
then this weekend Kay is coming to visit and she's going to babysit
Elliot while we go out and do something. We were going to go play
laser tag, but given how people are feeling I'm not sure that's going
to happen. Anyway, it is a surprise, Waxor doesn't know she's coming,
i don't think, and since I probably won't actually send this today
(and if I did he likely wouldn't read it til this weekend sometime) I
figure I'm safe sharing this information. :)
I feel down in the parking lot at work today - I feel like I've
bruised half my body. But I did not let the baby get hurt, which I am
pretty proud of since it was not an easy to trick to keep him safe
while I hit the ground.
Monday:
I have a lot more stuff to talk about, but I have two important pieces
of news and then I'm sending this, everything else can wait until the
next email.
1) Elliot is walking. Sunday night Kay and Larry took us to dinner,
and there was another baby there. Elliot wanted to walk with the baby
soooooo badly that he did, and ever since it's sort of been getting
easier and easier. He'll now just turn around and walk to me if I set
him down a few steps away from me, and last night he took the cheerios
box, stuck it over his head, and then paraded around the coffee table.
2) Waxor is out of a job, Skyward is closing their doors on Friday.
Sigh.
I think an essential component of the switch from Matriarchy to
Patriarchy had to have been the loss of the barter system. Confused?
Allow me to explain my reasoning.
Let us go with the traditional mammalian model: female makes babies,
male provides for female and young. In a matriarchal society this
would be viewed as the female performing the central task, and the
male bringing her goodies in essence to bribe his way into her
acceptance of him as a part of the family unit. He's paying her to
LET him belong.
In the patriarchal view, the male is performing the central task, and
the female is raising his young and making his home all nice in the
hopes that he will continue to provide for her and the offspring. She
is bribing him, in this instance, to give her support.
(Now, the truth is that probably any society would be better off if
everyone accepted that it's important to raise the young AND it's
important to eat on a regular basis, but let's just assume that, for
whatever reason, that's not an option.)
So, let's say we're merrily rolling along through history with a
matriarchal society. Women have babies and homes, and men who provide
for them are allowed to live in these homes and bask in the glory of
familial love. Then, one day, some bright enterprising chap comes up
with the idea of money, which makes all the trading going on (my bow
for your knife, my corn for your milk) MUCH easier. Except that, over
time, instead of the value of something residing intrinsically with
that thing (a cow is a cow is a cow) it begins to reside in the coin
that gets PAID for that thing. So, the men, who labor at tasks that
make things that get sold, accumulate the only thing of value, and the
women, who perpetuate the species but don't get handed any shiny metal
bits for it, end up as second class citizens.
And of course, it's still that way. A woman who chooses to work at
home raising her family almost has to apologize for not going out and
making any money.
However, I have decided that, at least in my little corner of the
world, I am going to revert to a matriarchal society. If I choose to
make money, fine and good, but the work that I am doing has intrinsic
value all on it's own, and as far as I am concerned, Waxor is bribing
me to LET him be a part of it.
THBPT!
Elliot has developed a mighty appetite this past week - it's gone
along with him biting everything he can clamp his little teeth on. My
fingers have not appreciated it, but I'm glad he's eating more and
better foods. Today I went to Joann Fabrics to get some curtain
material for his room. I've got double curtain rods and am planning
on hanging a heavy fluffy fabric on the window side curtain, to help
insulate his room. It's just so much colder than the rest of the
house. Between that and a suggestion from Kay (double PJing him) I'm
hoping that once his teething pain goes away he'll sleep a little
better. He was sleeping great the whole time in Nicaragua, waking up
only once or twice a night (and only one of those was while I was
asleep, so I, too, was sleeping well) but then we got back here to his
cold little room and BOOM, waking up 3, 4, sometimes 5 times a night.
Sigh. I'm actually convinced that about half of his nightly wake ups
happen when he rolls over and some part of his body comes into contact
with his wall, which is FREEZING.
Y'know, art projects aren't nearly as fun when you have to keep tiny
baby fingers out of everything. Imagine tiny fingers covered in
paint... or tiny mouths full of clay, or tiny knees crawling on
straight pins...
sigh.
But they are pretty cute tiny knees...
I often take days to write these emails. A lot of what I write to all
of you is the stuff that I think about while I'm lying in the dark
with Elliot. I take the most entertaining thoughts in my head and
expound on them here, in an attempt to entertain all of you. My last
deep thought session, however, was on a topic not generally suited for
public consumption and yet... I am tempted to expound anyway. But I'm
not gonna.
Two days from now will see the inauguration of President Obama. It'll
be a historic event, not only will we be swearing in a black man for
the first time EVER but we will also be saying goodbye to the greatest
douchebag ever to reside in the White House. In honor of this
occasion I am borrowing a little tune from the Wizard of Oz, and
composing a ditty. Ready? Here goes:
Ding, dong, the ding-dong's gone
He stayed too long, but now he's gone
Ding, dong, the frat boy prez is gone!
He's gone back to play cowboy
(at this point Elliot woke up, and I never wrote down the end of the
song, and now I can't remember what it was going to be... sigh...)
eleven days later...
Elliot has been sick. I mean, really sick. Sick like runny nose and
coughing and can't sleep cause he can't breathe sick. I've almost
gotten used to sleeping the night in two shifts, which we will call
the "pre-bath" shift and the "post-bath" shift, because most nights I
have to get up in the middle of the night and run a hot bath and put
menthol on Elliot's chest and then wait for him to hack up whatever is
in his chest while I squeegy out his nose (which he hates). He's
finally on the mend... last night we had no bath at all, so that's
been good. However, clearly he was the plague carrier, because first
Dante got sick, and now I think I might be getting sick. Thankfully
both Waxor and Fuzzy seem safe so far, we'll see how that goes.
He got sick right after his most recent Pediatrician's visit. His
current height is in the 60%, his head size is in the 40% (which is up
a lot), and his weight is in the 2%. Sigh. He's really skinny. The
pediatrician was worried enough that she had him do a blood draw so
that she could check and make sure he wasn't gaining weight for a
medical reason. Aside from that she basically said "make sure
everything he eats is high fat" and I have to take him back for a
weight check in 4-6 weeks.
Today is Waxor's brithday, he's 29. I made him 200 mini-cupcakes
which I iced in three different colors and then laid out to look like
8-bit Link (from Zelda). If this sentence made no sense to you then
don't worry about it. If it DID make sense to you then you aren't
allowed to call me a dork, because you must be just as big a dork.
Waxor loved it. Tonight we're doing presents and dinner at home, and
then this weekend Kay is coming to visit and she's going to babysit
Elliot while we go out and do something. We were going to go play
laser tag, but given how people are feeling I'm not sure that's going
to happen. Anyway, it is a surprise, Waxor doesn't know she's coming,
i don't think, and since I probably won't actually send this today
(and if I did he likely wouldn't read it til this weekend sometime) I
figure I'm safe sharing this information. :)
I feel down in the parking lot at work today - I feel like I've
bruised half my body. But I did not let the baby get hurt, which I am
pretty proud of since it was not an easy to trick to keep him safe
while I hit the ground.
Monday:
I have a lot more stuff to talk about, but I have two important pieces
of news and then I'm sending this, everything else can wait until the
next email.
1) Elliot is walking. Sunday night Kay and Larry took us to dinner,
and there was another baby there. Elliot wanted to walk with the baby
soooooo badly that he did, and ever since it's sort of been getting
easier and easier. He'll now just turn around and walk to me if I set
him down a few steps away from me, and last night he took the cheerios
box, stuck it over his head, and then paraded around the coffee table.
2) Waxor is out of a job, Skyward is closing their doors on Friday.
Sigh.
Jan 14, 2009
Thank you to everyone who has written me. A pox upon those of you who
haven't.
No, I'm kidding.
No seriously. A POX.
I will (ihopeihopeihopeihope) get around to writing you all back
individually, but for the moment I'll just say I really appreciate all
the love and support and advice. Don't worry about me too much,
though, apparently I managed to impart a bit more dire feeling in my
email than I had intended. I was mostly just feeling pensive, not like
my world was at an end. I mean, SOMETIMES I feel like my world is at
an end, just not, y'know, right at that particular moment. :)
It has been pointed out to me that I have been, perhaps, a bit remiss
in the sharing of newsage recently, and I wish to rectify that before
enough time goes by that I completely forget what is going on, so...
Elliot is ONE! For this he had THREE birthday parties. There was the
party in Nicaragua, where he got kissed by pretty girls and got to run
around naked and sit in his birthday cake. There was the party in
Maine, where was reunited with his one true love, the Bito, and
presented with a CareBear cake, and then got to go to bed early. And
there was the party here at our house, when nothing much happened but
it was his ACTUAL birthday and he got two sweet new toys, one of which
makes noise and one of which has ten separate, lose-able pieces. Oh
joy.
Waxor still has a job. This is excellent news. The company is looking
around at possible iPhone applications they could market, and that is
actually something that I can think about and contribute to, so that's
nice. Of course, so far my only meaningful contribution may have been
"So, if iFart is the number one selling app, clearly we all just need
to be targeting the juvenile humor audience." Yeah, you read that
right. iFart. Number one iPhone application. i freaking FART.
Waxor will be 29 this month (on the 29th, in fact.) He will begin his
last year of not-real-adulthood. I wonder if he's worried about it.
Fuzzy and Dante and Waxor and I have pretty much come to a firm
agreement that we're going to start looking for a Duplex to buy in the
spring. Look for updates on that front starting in March or so.
Chimabasa, thank goodness, seems to be adjusting to being the only
dog. I suspect it's because he gets all the tuna juice now, and it's
just taken him this long to realize that fact.
I have to take a break to make dinner, but if my email barfs again and
sends this out you'll know it isn't finished yet. :)
This year is an exciting one for my family. The JHC is 30 years old
and the CDCA is 15 years old. There's a special delegation going to
Nicaragua, and I am going to be there, along with the boy and the
baby. We're hoping Tiff will be there as well (hint hint) but he's
gotta check his vacation days.
Over vacation I read 11 books. That was pretty great.
Whoops, gotta go, so I'm sending this now. Look for your personal
responses at some later time.
haven't.
No, I'm kidding.
No seriously. A POX.
I will (ihopeihopeihopeihope) get around to writing you all back
individually, but for the moment I'll just say I really appreciate all
the love and support and advice. Don't worry about me too much,
though, apparently I managed to impart a bit more dire feeling in my
email than I had intended. I was mostly just feeling pensive, not like
my world was at an end. I mean, SOMETIMES I feel like my world is at
an end, just not, y'know, right at that particular moment. :)
It has been pointed out to me that I have been, perhaps, a bit remiss
in the sharing of newsage recently, and I wish to rectify that before
enough time goes by that I completely forget what is going on, so...
Elliot is ONE! For this he had THREE birthday parties. There was the
party in Nicaragua, where he got kissed by pretty girls and got to run
around naked and sit in his birthday cake. There was the party in
Maine, where was reunited with his one true love, the Bito, and
presented with a CareBear cake, and then got to go to bed early. And
there was the party here at our house, when nothing much happened but
it was his ACTUAL birthday and he got two sweet new toys, one of which
makes noise and one of which has ten separate, lose-able pieces. Oh
joy.
Waxor still has a job. This is excellent news. The company is looking
around at possible iPhone applications they could market, and that is
actually something that I can think about and contribute to, so that's
nice. Of course, so far my only meaningful contribution may have been
"So, if iFart is the number one selling app, clearly we all just need
to be targeting the juvenile humor audience." Yeah, you read that
right. iFart. Number one iPhone application. i freaking FART.
Waxor will be 29 this month (on the 29th, in fact.) He will begin his
last year of not-real-adulthood. I wonder if he's worried about it.
Fuzzy and Dante and Waxor and I have pretty much come to a firm
agreement that we're going to start looking for a Duplex to buy in the
spring. Look for updates on that front starting in March or so.
Chimabasa, thank goodness, seems to be adjusting to being the only
dog. I suspect it's because he gets all the tuna juice now, and it's
just taken him this long to realize that fact.
I have to take a break to make dinner, but if my email barfs again and
sends this out you'll know it isn't finished yet. :)
This year is an exciting one for my family. The JHC is 30 years old
and the CDCA is 15 years old. There's a special delegation going to
Nicaragua, and I am going to be there, along with the boy and the
baby. We're hoping Tiff will be there as well (hint hint) but he's
gotta check his vacation days.
Over vacation I read 11 books. That was pretty great.
Whoops, gotta go, so I'm sending this now. Look for your personal
responses at some later time.
Jan 13, 2009
I sing. I think most of you know that about me. What you might not
know is that there was a whole time in my life when I didn't sing. My
family always encouraged me to sing, but then, right before I turned
18, I was given very pointed evidence that not everyone enjoyed it
when I went around singing at the top of my lungs. At the time I
didn't understand (I suspect I understand better now - there are few
things as downright annoying as listening to one of your favorite rock
songs being sung in a choral way) but I felt thoroughly embarrassed,
and I slowly stopped singing, first in front of the people I knew it
bothered, and then, over time, in front of almost everyone except my
family who, as I said, had always been supportive.
In retrospect that may have been one of the silliest things I've ever
done. I started singing again (without restraint) when I was pregnant,
at first I had to make myself do it, I had gotten so out of practice.
Eventually I managed to get back in the habit, and I hadn't realized
how much I missed it. Now my little boy is old enough to listen to
me, and he LOVES it when I sing. To think I almost turned myself into
a person who doesn't sing. And for what reason? I don't know.
Why do any of us twist ourselves like pretzels into people we aren't?
I am not, by nature, a housekeeper. I am very motherly, and I enjoy
hostessing, and I enjoy cooking - in these ways I think I fit the
profile of a homemaker - but I never thought (possibly because I never
thought it through) that being a full time mother would, by necessity,
force me into the role of being a full time housekeeper, as well. Not
only do I not like it (it makes me want to don an apron and pop Valium
like candy) but I have to admit, I kind of suck at it. I am a BAD
housekeeper. I always thought I could do anything I set my mind to,
and perhaps I can, and I have simply refused to set my mind to keeping
house, but whatever the reason it cannot be denied, I am AWFUL at the
little details to house keeping. I am best at doing the laundry, and
worst at doing the dishes, but I'm not really good at any of it. I
have spent the past year battering against the injustice of having to
BE the housekeeper, I never thought to just accept it and then accept
that I am bad at it. I imagine it will infuriate Waxor no less to
have me say "yup, I suck at doing dishes" instead of saying "why don't
YOU do them", but perhaps it is time for both of us to just accept
that, whether I deserve it or not, I am clearly stuck with this job
AND, whether I am stuck with it or not, I clearly am no good at it.
I suppose I do not have to be good at this thing. But I keep getting
told that it is part of being a mother, and to see a sink full of
dishes somehow then makes me feel like a failure as a mommy. And what
kind of sense does that make? None, but there it is.
I feel trapped inside my head these days. So many thoughts swirling
around in there, and Elliot doesn't understand them, and they don't
interest Waxor, and so they pile up and pile up until I feel like I'm
going to explode. I admit that many of them are homey, domestic
thoughts. What's the right temperature for Elliot's room to make sure
he sleeps well? What can I do about the ever growing sprawl of toys
(both baby and adult) that is taking over our living room? How many
loads of laundry is that, so far? But many of them aren't. I think
about going back to church, not because I want to be a Christian, but
because I feel the need to have people in my daily life who think we
are more than just lumps of clay. I love my friends, and I am not
interested in changing who they are or what they believe, but I find
that my need for (half of you are going to cringe when I say this, I'm
sorry) spiritual support is just not met at the moment. Right or
wrong, I BELIEVE there is more to us then highly complex carbon, and I
need to have some outlet for that. So I think about going to a church,
but then I always decide not to, because I don't ever want to hear
another "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" sermon ever again.
I think about doing something besides being a homemaker. Having now
HAD a baby I'm not sure I want to make it my livelihood to witness
other women doing the same thing. But I think I might have made a good
therapist. Maybe not, I don't suppose I'm actually qualified to say,
but it would have been interesting, certainly. And I figure it's too
late for that, because, even if I went back to school, the cost of
education is... prohibitive. I think about going through everything
I;ve ever written, and trying to sift out some interesting things that
are worth developing. But I fear to set that as a goal for myself,
because then I am afraid that people will ask me "How's that coming?"
And judge me if I haven't found the time for it.
Waxor asked me recently "What is it that you do?" Not to be mean, or
to hurt my feelings, he just wanted to know what I do that makes me a
person worthy of interest, as opposed to just a living, breathing milk
production and diaper changing assembly. I couldn't answer him. I
mean, I know how I fill my days, and I know that I find at least some
of what I do interesting (not the laundry party, but, y'know, OTHER
parts) but I did not know what would make me of interest to anyone
else.
Coury gave me Mamma Mia for Christmas, and I watched it with my
family. I love the movie, but it made me wistful. The women, and
their friendship, specifically, made me wistful. The women that I
have that kind of connection with are scattered all over the place,
and many of them I haven't seen in years (although thankfully I have
seen some of you more recently). I think women need their girlfriends
more than they ever suspect, until they don't have them by their side
anymore.
A bit pensive, aren't I? Bet you were expecting a letter full of baby
news, weren't you? Well, here's a bit:
Elliot can walk, but mostly refuses to do so. I think he figures why
bother when crawling is faster and holding on to an adult is more fun.
But he can, so one of these days, when he makes up his mind to do it,
that will be that.
He really enjoyed our trip to Nicaragua, as did I. He did a lot while
he was there (including learning how to get off of something
backwards) but the thing that was most a relief for me was that while
there he generally woke up only once or maybe twice a night. It was
great. Of course, now that we're back he's back to his old schedule, I
think the cold really bothers him.
He can turn around and slide off our bed, a legacy of learning to go
down the step backwards over Christmas.
He's more and more talkative, he uses a lot of his own made up words,
but he seems to be working very hard on actually pronouncing "Dada"
"Dog" and "Cat". At the moment the differences are slight ("Dada"
"Daaaah(gk)" and "Dadt") but they get clearer all the time. Still no
"mama" but I hold out hope.
He's learning to go to sleep without nursing or sucking on my finger.
Mostly that means that we go, and he nurses and gets almost all the
way asleep, and then I take my finger away and he drifts off without
it, but it's progress. Last night he was having a really hard time
sleeping (I think he's teething) and I would go in and he wouldn't
want to nurse or have my finger, he just wanted to roll over and hug
me while he slept. It was really sweet.
He is, at the moment, being incredibly cranky, so I may need to take a
break and go put him down for a nap...
know is that there was a whole time in my life when I didn't sing. My
family always encouraged me to sing, but then, right before I turned
18, I was given very pointed evidence that not everyone enjoyed it
when I went around singing at the top of my lungs. At the time I
didn't understand (I suspect I understand better now - there are few
things as downright annoying as listening to one of your favorite rock
songs being sung in a choral way) but I felt thoroughly embarrassed,
and I slowly stopped singing, first in front of the people I knew it
bothered, and then, over time, in front of almost everyone except my
family who, as I said, had always been supportive.
In retrospect that may have been one of the silliest things I've ever
done. I started singing again (without restraint) when I was pregnant,
at first I had to make myself do it, I had gotten so out of practice.
Eventually I managed to get back in the habit, and I hadn't realized
how much I missed it. Now my little boy is old enough to listen to
me, and he LOVES it when I sing. To think I almost turned myself into
a person who doesn't sing. And for what reason? I don't know.
Why do any of us twist ourselves like pretzels into people we aren't?
I am not, by nature, a housekeeper. I am very motherly, and I enjoy
hostessing, and I enjoy cooking - in these ways I think I fit the
profile of a homemaker - but I never thought (possibly because I never
thought it through) that being a full time mother would, by necessity,
force me into the role of being a full time housekeeper, as well. Not
only do I not like it (it makes me want to don an apron and pop Valium
like candy) but I have to admit, I kind of suck at it. I am a BAD
housekeeper. I always thought I could do anything I set my mind to,
and perhaps I can, and I have simply refused to set my mind to keeping
house, but whatever the reason it cannot be denied, I am AWFUL at the
little details to house keeping. I am best at doing the laundry, and
worst at doing the dishes, but I'm not really good at any of it. I
have spent the past year battering against the injustice of having to
BE the housekeeper, I never thought to just accept it and then accept
that I am bad at it. I imagine it will infuriate Waxor no less to
have me say "yup, I suck at doing dishes" instead of saying "why don't
YOU do them", but perhaps it is time for both of us to just accept
that, whether I deserve it or not, I am clearly stuck with this job
AND, whether I am stuck with it or not, I clearly am no good at it.
I suppose I do not have to be good at this thing. But I keep getting
told that it is part of being a mother, and to see a sink full of
dishes somehow then makes me feel like a failure as a mommy. And what
kind of sense does that make? None, but there it is.
I feel trapped inside my head these days. So many thoughts swirling
around in there, and Elliot doesn't understand them, and they don't
interest Waxor, and so they pile up and pile up until I feel like I'm
going to explode. I admit that many of them are homey, domestic
thoughts. What's the right temperature for Elliot's room to make sure
he sleeps well? What can I do about the ever growing sprawl of toys
(both baby and adult) that is taking over our living room? How many
loads of laundry is that, so far? But many of them aren't. I think
about going back to church, not because I want to be a Christian, but
because I feel the need to have people in my daily life who think we
are more than just lumps of clay. I love my friends, and I am not
interested in changing who they are or what they believe, but I find
that my need for (half of you are going to cringe when I say this, I'm
sorry) spiritual support is just not met at the moment. Right or
wrong, I BELIEVE there is more to us then highly complex carbon, and I
need to have some outlet for that. So I think about going to a church,
but then I always decide not to, because I don't ever want to hear
another "Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God" sermon ever again.
I think about doing something besides being a homemaker. Having now
HAD a baby I'm not sure I want to make it my livelihood to witness
other women doing the same thing. But I think I might have made a good
therapist. Maybe not, I don't suppose I'm actually qualified to say,
but it would have been interesting, certainly. And I figure it's too
late for that, because, even if I went back to school, the cost of
education is... prohibitive. I think about going through everything
I;ve ever written, and trying to sift out some interesting things that
are worth developing. But I fear to set that as a goal for myself,
because then I am afraid that people will ask me "How's that coming?"
And judge me if I haven't found the time for it.
Waxor asked me recently "What is it that you do?" Not to be mean, or
to hurt my feelings, he just wanted to know what I do that makes me a
person worthy of interest, as opposed to just a living, breathing milk
production and diaper changing assembly. I couldn't answer him. I
mean, I know how I fill my days, and I know that I find at least some
of what I do interesting (not the laundry party, but, y'know, OTHER
parts) but I did not know what would make me of interest to anyone
else.
Coury gave me Mamma Mia for Christmas, and I watched it with my
family. I love the movie, but it made me wistful. The women, and
their friendship, specifically, made me wistful. The women that I
have that kind of connection with are scattered all over the place,
and many of them I haven't seen in years (although thankfully I have
seen some of you more recently). I think women need their girlfriends
more than they ever suspect, until they don't have them by their side
anymore.
A bit pensive, aren't I? Bet you were expecting a letter full of baby
news, weren't you? Well, here's a bit:
Elliot can walk, but mostly refuses to do so. I think he figures why
bother when crawling is faster and holding on to an adult is more fun.
But he can, so one of these days, when he makes up his mind to do it,
that will be that.
He really enjoyed our trip to Nicaragua, as did I. He did a lot while
he was there (including learning how to get off of something
backwards) but the thing that was most a relief for me was that while
there he generally woke up only once or maybe twice a night. It was
great. Of course, now that we're back he's back to his old schedule, I
think the cold really bothers him.
He can turn around and slide off our bed, a legacy of learning to go
down the step backwards over Christmas.
He's more and more talkative, he uses a lot of his own made up words,
but he seems to be working very hard on actually pronouncing "Dada"
"Dog" and "Cat". At the moment the differences are slight ("Dada"
"Daaaah(gk)" and "Dadt") but they get clearer all the time. Still no
"mama" but I hold out hope.
He's learning to go to sleep without nursing or sucking on my finger.
Mostly that means that we go, and he nurses and gets almost all the
way asleep, and then I take my finger away and he drifts off without
it, but it's progress. Last night he was having a really hard time
sleeping (I think he's teething) and I would go in and he wouldn't
want to nurse or have my finger, he just wanted to roll over and hug
me while he slept. It was really sweet.
He is, at the moment, being incredibly cranky, so I may need to take a
break and go put him down for a nap...
Nov 18, 2008
Oh my god, i am so tired I think I am going to collapse in a little heap.
Elliot is sick. He has a virus. I feel bad for him, while at the same
time selfishly wanting him to get better JUST SO I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT.
Every night in the middle of the night his fever shoots up, and then
he can't sleep, so up gets Mommy, and there's rocking, and there's
nursing, and there's pain reliever, and there's sometimes a cool bath,
and then, about an hour and a half later, he goes back to sleep.
I think I'm gonna die.
On the positive front, the Dr tells me these things normally last only
about 72-84 hours, so tonight should be the last night I have to deal
with it. Unless Elliot chooses to be exceptional.
While I sit in the rocking chair in the middle of the night, trying
not to start crying right along with Elliot, I think of things I am
going to write in my next life in the slow lane email. Then I forget
them, because it's three o'clock in the friggin morning, what do you
expect? But I have remembered a couple of things:
I have some bits of advice I'm going to start giving to expectant
parents, and I thought I would share them with all of you, for your
approval.
1) Don't ever talk to anyone about how THEIR child slept/is sleeping.
If their child is now 37 years old and has never slept through the
night yet it will fill you with despair; and if their baby is already
sleeping through the night at the ripe age of 5 days old it will make
you re-think your position on gun control laws.
2) In a corollary, do not let anyone give you advice on how to make
your baby sleep better. Person A will solemnly tell you that feeding
your darling offspring horse dung three times a day will make them
sleep like a rock, and Person B will just as solemnly tell you that
feeding your baby horse dung will actually magically transform them
into a Cthulhu-like squid being. They are BOTH WRONG. Everyone knows
that feeding your baby horse dung grants them the ability to fly and
sprinkle fairy dust, but has no effect on their sleeping habits.
3) One day your charming, magical, delightful, wonderful baby will sit
in the middle of the floor and scream for 15 minutes because you
handed him the blue spoon when he wanted the red spoon. Don't take it
personally. He's learning to express himself. Once he understands
English you will get your turn to express YOURself. When that chance
comes attempt to keep the swearing to a minimum.
4) Wear pants with a fitted waist band, a belt, or at least a
drawstring. Just trust me on this one.
5) Tiny hands that crawl on the floor in winter get VERY cold. Guard your bits.
I'm sure there were more of these, but I think I've forgotten most of them.
Elliot is refusing to walk. I'm not really sure why, it's clear that
he can - he does it when he forgets he's doing it, and he can walk
really fast just barely holding on to one of my hands - he just
doesn't WANT to. It's okay with me, I know he'll get around to it
eventually, but he was so DESPERATE to walk just a few months ago, it
seems odd that he's stalled out now that the only thing keeping him
from walking is lack of will.
What else on the Elliot front? He's taller, he can't walk under the
table anymore without banging his head (umm, when I say walk I mean
holding on to a chair, since, clearly, we just covered that he's not
ACTUALLY walking.) Waxor thinks he's getting another tooth in, but I
haven't seen it yet, and don't care enough to go looking for it. He's
eating a wide variety of things, or rather, he was four days ago
before he started to get sick. He LOVES music, and will start waving
his hands rhythmically whenever a song he likes is playing. Oh, and
he's finally made friends with Chimbasa, through the expedient
procedure of taking at least half of all of his food and throwing it
on the floor. Needless to say, Bito now follows him around devotedly.
Waxor is slightly less tired than I am. He's getting a lot more
sleep, but he's far less used to having it interrupted, and it has
been for the past three nights, so he's pretty wiped. He still has a
job, and will until at least after the new year, but if things aren't
looking up for Skyward at that point he'll probably go ahead adn start
looking for something new. He's been spending most of his time that
he isn't at work playing World of Warcraft, the expansion pack came
out last Thursday and it's been difficult to tear him away. :) His
family is coming down for Thanksgiving, it's nice that they live close
enough to do that.
MY family visit is a little less than a month away at this point. I
can't wait to take Elliot to Nicaragua for the first time. I'm kind
of getting overloaded trying to make sure I don't forget anything he's
going to need in Nica, I'm kinda in winter mode right now, and will
liekly totally fail to pack appropriately. Speaking of which, Momma
and Been, expect an email asking some questions maybe later today.
Now I am going to go pick up the living room, which looks something
like a yogurt covered tornado hit it.
Yeah, go ahead try to visualize that.
Elliot is sick. He has a virus. I feel bad for him, while at the same
time selfishly wanting him to get better JUST SO I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT.
Every night in the middle of the night his fever shoots up, and then
he can't sleep, so up gets Mommy, and there's rocking, and there's
nursing, and there's pain reliever, and there's sometimes a cool bath,
and then, about an hour and a half later, he goes back to sleep.
I think I'm gonna die.
On the positive front, the Dr tells me these things normally last only
about 72-84 hours, so tonight should be the last night I have to deal
with it. Unless Elliot chooses to be exceptional.
While I sit in the rocking chair in the middle of the night, trying
not to start crying right along with Elliot, I think of things I am
going to write in my next life in the slow lane email. Then I forget
them, because it's three o'clock in the friggin morning, what do you
expect? But I have remembered a couple of things:
I have some bits of advice I'm going to start giving to expectant
parents, and I thought I would share them with all of you, for your
approval.
1) Don't ever talk to anyone about how THEIR child slept/is sleeping.
If their child is now 37 years old and has never slept through the
night yet it will fill you with despair; and if their baby is already
sleeping through the night at the ripe age of 5 days old it will make
you re-think your position on gun control laws.
2) In a corollary, do not let anyone give you advice on how to make
your baby sleep better. Person A will solemnly tell you that feeding
your darling offspring horse dung three times a day will make them
sleep like a rock, and Person B will just as solemnly tell you that
feeding your baby horse dung will actually magically transform them
into a Cthulhu-like squid being. They are BOTH WRONG. Everyone knows
that feeding your baby horse dung grants them the ability to fly and
sprinkle fairy dust, but has no effect on their sleeping habits.
3) One day your charming, magical, delightful, wonderful baby will sit
in the middle of the floor and scream for 15 minutes because you
handed him the blue spoon when he wanted the red spoon. Don't take it
personally. He's learning to express himself. Once he understands
English you will get your turn to express YOURself. When that chance
comes attempt to keep the swearing to a minimum.
4) Wear pants with a fitted waist band, a belt, or at least a
drawstring. Just trust me on this one.
5) Tiny hands that crawl on the floor in winter get VERY cold. Guard your bits.
I'm sure there were more of these, but I think I've forgotten most of them.
Elliot is refusing to walk. I'm not really sure why, it's clear that
he can - he does it when he forgets he's doing it, and he can walk
really fast just barely holding on to one of my hands - he just
doesn't WANT to. It's okay with me, I know he'll get around to it
eventually, but he was so DESPERATE to walk just a few months ago, it
seems odd that he's stalled out now that the only thing keeping him
from walking is lack of will.
What else on the Elliot front? He's taller, he can't walk under the
table anymore without banging his head (umm, when I say walk I mean
holding on to a chair, since, clearly, we just covered that he's not
ACTUALLY walking.) Waxor thinks he's getting another tooth in, but I
haven't seen it yet, and don't care enough to go looking for it. He's
eating a wide variety of things, or rather, he was four days ago
before he started to get sick. He LOVES music, and will start waving
his hands rhythmically whenever a song he likes is playing. Oh, and
he's finally made friends with Chimbasa, through the expedient
procedure of taking at least half of all of his food and throwing it
on the floor. Needless to say, Bito now follows him around devotedly.
Waxor is slightly less tired than I am. He's getting a lot more
sleep, but he's far less used to having it interrupted, and it has
been for the past three nights, so he's pretty wiped. He still has a
job, and will until at least after the new year, but if things aren't
looking up for Skyward at that point he'll probably go ahead adn start
looking for something new. He's been spending most of his time that
he isn't at work playing World of Warcraft, the expansion pack came
out last Thursday and it's been difficult to tear him away. :) His
family is coming down for Thanksgiving, it's nice that they live close
enough to do that.
MY family visit is a little less than a month away at this point. I
can't wait to take Elliot to Nicaragua for the first time. I'm kind
of getting overloaded trying to make sure I don't forget anything he's
going to need in Nica, I'm kinda in winter mode right now, and will
liekly totally fail to pack appropriately. Speaking of which, Momma
and Been, expect an email asking some questions maybe later today.
Now I am going to go pick up the living room, which looks something
like a yogurt covered tornado hit it.
Yeah, go ahead try to visualize that.
Media
For pictures, head here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/27665754@N05/
For videos go here:
http://www.youtube.com/user/Manzmomz
http://www.flickr.com/photos/27665754@N05/
For videos go here:
http://www.youtube.com/user/Manzmomz
Oct 27, 2008
Elliot has a tooth. Just one so far, but as cranky as he's being I
imagine another one can't be far behind. It's playing merry hell with
my sleep - last night he woke up and cried for an hour and a half
because I couldn't get him back to sleep. It's hard, I go from
feeling bad for him to feeling exasperated that he doesn't just settle
down and go to sleep, to feeling bad that I lost patience, to feeling
exhausted and wishing I could go back to bed, to remembering that I
used to be a competent woman who had a life of her own. Now sometimes
I just feel like a walking mess.
And I notice the oddest things. For instance, Elliot and I were
watching Barney today (Teletubbies is off the air at the moment, and
so we've moved on to the big purple dinosaur as his daily TV fix) and
Barney was singing this song. The song is all about trying, and, if
you try long enough and hard enough, eventually you will get what you
are trying right. While he singing this song, three kids are enacting
"the Sword in the Sandbox" (a sword in the stone rip-off) and trying
to pull a sword out of a pile of sand. And failing. Miserably. Over
and over and over again. Because, of course, they are not the ones
destined to pull it out. The little kitchen boy is. So, eventually,
"Artie" gets to "try" and he, of course, succeeds. And the moral of
the episode is, keep trying, and you'll get it eventually. Except what
stuck with me is that there were three poor little kids who tried
their damnedest to get that friggen sword out and couldn't do it, no
matter what.
Clearly I am not learning the intended moral lesson here, because it
seems to me like they're saying "If you weren't born to do something,
you can try as hard as you want and you're still gonna fail."
And that seems like a bad message for a children's show, doesn't it?
10/24
HOLY CRAP talk about being derailed. I started this email September
19th, and, clearly, it's taken me a while to finish it.
Elliot has five teeth now. That's right, FIVE, and he's used at least
one of them to bite me. Ouch. he also uses them to eat with - this
morning, for the very first time, I gave him a bagel round with cream
cheese and he bit into it and chewed it up, instead of just waiting
for it to dissolve enough so that he could swallow. As I type this I
am pausing periodically to give him bites of cheesecake (yes, I know
what you're all thinking, but it's homemade cheesecake and light on
the sugar, so I don't really care).
The Dr thinks I'm starving him - he's dropped to the 5th percentile in
weight - but I just keep saying "have you SEEN his father?" Also, the
pediatrician seems to be under the impression that all I have to do to
get him to eat more is to just offer him food. Let me assure you, this
is not the case. Elliot is like his dad - he won't eat just to eat. It
has to be something he really LIKES. So grapes? Yeah. Apples? Sure.
Cheezits? Oh boy! Cheesecake? Yipee Skipee!!!! Turkey?
No thanks.
10/26
It's hard to get a block of time to sit down and type this thing, but
I'm determined to get it out this week. Now...
MY BABY IS WALKING. That's right. Hand him stuff to hold and he will
take four or five unsteady steps for you. We've got a video of it on
the camera, so at some point I'll be posting that to youtube.
10/27
Elliot is down for a nap so I am finishing this thing and sending it
out. Ready? here we go...
Waxor still has a job. They're about to get some investments that
will tide them over for another 6 months, but if they haven't made
significant improvements in the next three months he'll start looking
for another job.
Living in the same house with Fuzzy and Dante is awesome thus far. I
don't have to cook every night and I have someone to go talk to when I
get tired of being alone. Also, it doesn't hurt that they have a
dishwasher. :)
We're having a housewarming party on Halloween. If you live north of
the Mason Dixon line and East of the Mississippi I see no reason that
you shouldn't be here, so please RSVP in the affirmative immediately.
Now it's time for me to go finish unpacking the office, at which point
I will, HALLELUJAH, finally be done.
imagine another one can't be far behind. It's playing merry hell with
my sleep - last night he woke up and cried for an hour and a half
because I couldn't get him back to sleep. It's hard, I go from
feeling bad for him to feeling exasperated that he doesn't just settle
down and go to sleep, to feeling bad that I lost patience, to feeling
exhausted and wishing I could go back to bed, to remembering that I
used to be a competent woman who had a life of her own. Now sometimes
I just feel like a walking mess.
And I notice the oddest things. For instance, Elliot and I were
watching Barney today (Teletubbies is off the air at the moment, and
so we've moved on to the big purple dinosaur as his daily TV fix) and
Barney was singing this song. The song is all about trying, and, if
you try long enough and hard enough, eventually you will get what you
are trying right. While he singing this song, three kids are enacting
"the Sword in the Sandbox" (a sword in the stone rip-off) and trying
to pull a sword out of a pile of sand. And failing. Miserably. Over
and over and over again. Because, of course, they are not the ones
destined to pull it out. The little kitchen boy is. So, eventually,
"Artie" gets to "try" and he, of course, succeeds. And the moral of
the episode is, keep trying, and you'll get it eventually. Except what
stuck with me is that there were three poor little kids who tried
their damnedest to get that friggen sword out and couldn't do it, no
matter what.
Clearly I am not learning the intended moral lesson here, because it
seems to me like they're saying "If you weren't born to do something,
you can try as hard as you want and you're still gonna fail."
And that seems like a bad message for a children's show, doesn't it?
10/24
HOLY CRAP talk about being derailed. I started this email September
19th, and, clearly, it's taken me a while to finish it.
Elliot has five teeth now. That's right, FIVE, and he's used at least
one of them to bite me. Ouch. he also uses them to eat with - this
morning, for the very first time, I gave him a bagel round with cream
cheese and he bit into it and chewed it up, instead of just waiting
for it to dissolve enough so that he could swallow. As I type this I
am pausing periodically to give him bites of cheesecake (yes, I know
what you're all thinking, but it's homemade cheesecake and light on
the sugar, so I don't really care).
The Dr thinks I'm starving him - he's dropped to the 5th percentile in
weight - but I just keep saying "have you SEEN his father?" Also, the
pediatrician seems to be under the impression that all I have to do to
get him to eat more is to just offer him food. Let me assure you, this
is not the case. Elliot is like his dad - he won't eat just to eat. It
has to be something he really LIKES. So grapes? Yeah. Apples? Sure.
Cheezits? Oh boy! Cheesecake? Yipee Skipee!!!! Turkey?
No thanks.
10/26
It's hard to get a block of time to sit down and type this thing, but
I'm determined to get it out this week. Now...
MY BABY IS WALKING. That's right. Hand him stuff to hold and he will
take four or five unsteady steps for you. We've got a video of it on
the camera, so at some point I'll be posting that to youtube.
10/27
Elliot is down for a nap so I am finishing this thing and sending it
out. Ready? here we go...
Waxor still has a job. They're about to get some investments that
will tide them over for another 6 months, but if they haven't made
significant improvements in the next three months he'll start looking
for another job.
Living in the same house with Fuzzy and Dante is awesome thus far. I
don't have to cook every night and I have someone to go talk to when I
get tired of being alone. Also, it doesn't hurt that they have a
dishwasher. :)
We're having a housewarming party on Halloween. If you live north of
the Mason Dixon line and East of the Mississippi I see no reason that
you shouldn't be here, so please RSVP in the affirmative immediately.
Now it's time for me to go finish unpacking the office, at which point
I will, HALLELUJAH, finally be done.
Sep 7, 2008
Hello friends and neighbors!
No, that is NOT just a figure of speech, two of the people receiving
this email will soon be my upstairs neighbors. That's right, Fuzzy
and Dante are moving to Woburn (WoooHOOOOO) and we've found a duplex
that, magically, has both apartments available at once, and,
shockingly, has a landlord that seems incredibly invested in the place
and in putting the type of people we happen to be in it. He says we
can compost, garden, paint, and, in general, be our happy little
selves. He's got a gas grill he leaves at the place, a washer and
dryer in the basement, no objection to pets or children or anything.
Yipee skipee.
AND, possibly most importantly, as he is very interested in
conservation he has outfitted the entire house with double insulation
and double paned + storm glass windows.
Our lease starts on the 15th of September, and Fuzzy and Dante should
be getting here right around then, but since Waxor and I have this
apartment until Oct 1st we will be doing a slower move. However, I
imagine we'll go ahead and put our names on the mailbox, so, as of
September 15th, feel free to send any mail to:
15 App Ct
Woburn, MA 01801
Now, on to other topics...
Elliot and I made it all the way to SC and back without too many
mishaps. Of course, on the way down we spent an extra six hours in the
airport due to weather delays, and our luggage got lost, and Elliot
was way confused at the sudden disappearance of EVERYTHING HE'S EVER
KNOWN, but, all aside, it was still a nice trip. Coury was
successfully taken to school (I will refrain from doing a dramatic
rendition of Been dropping Coury off. :))So far he isn't thrilled but
seems to be coping just fine. Of course, I would know if that's
really accurate or not if HE WOULD EVER CALL OR WRITE ME. (Edit at a
later date, he has now called me, and I am on his list to call
frequently, so I should really take this back) I mean, it's not like
he has anything better to do, right? RIGHT?
Elliot made his debut among the NC/SC crowd to rave revues on his
cuteness level, and a sudden burst of shyness on his part. Sigh.
Wouldn't you just know it? The boy would wander off cheerfully with a
total stranger for the first six months of his life, and as soon as I
go to show him off he gets all clingy. Ah well.
Of course, by the time we got home he was exhausted, and we had two
pretty unhappy days until finally I just parked myself on the couch
for the majority of one day and let him sleep on my lap. It wasn't
the most entertaining day of my life, but he woke up a much happier
little guy.
And I, in the meantime, had the extreme misfortune of being exposed to
the show "Date my ex."
Now, I will be the first to admit that, when stuck under a baby on the
couch, I will watch just about anything on TV. That's how I ended up
seeing the majority of "Making the Band 4". However, even I have
certain standards, so it was with a tiny screaming corner of my soul
dying of shame that I found myself watching Date My Ex. This wretched
ambergris of a program is based around two people; Jo - whose mother
must have been a Little Women fan, I can only assume she thanks
whatever deity she prays to on a daily basis that she isn't named
Marmee - and Slade. That's right, Slade. What is he, a Final Fantasy
Character? Jo and Slade used to date, but now he's helping her find a
new boyfriend. Except, of course, that it is blindingly obvious from
about the first episode that the whole damn thing is a set up for them
to get back together. Now, I know that reality TV is so fake it could
probably be used to stuff Carmen Electra's implants, but I at least
think it ought to LOOK like they don't have a script they're
following.
Sigh.
(Fast forward several days, I've been busy)
Elliot is crawling now. It happened this morning. He's been close for
days, but today was the day. I put him in the middle of the living
room floor, and he headed for the kitchen to play with, I thought, his
toys that were right in the doorway. So I kept and eye on him while I
checked my email, and he seemed really happy. When I was done with my
email reading I went to say hi, only to find that he was not, in fact,
playing with the toys. Sure, they were scattered around him, but also
scattered around him was most of the food from Chimbasa's dog dish.
As I came up and said "Oh my god, Elliot" he looked up at me, smiled a
big smile, and then turned back and very seriously stuck his fist in
the food side, swirled it around, then stuck it in the water side,
swirled it around, and then repeated a swirl on the food side. Then
he smiled at me again, as if to say "See, that's what I've been doing,
aren't I clever?"
So now he's much happier on the floor playing than he used to be,
although he still likes to walk a lot. He's getting better at that,
too. If I walk him between the two couches he'll even walk with just
one hand holding on to mine, and the other grabbing things of
interest. Such a clever little guy.
What else? He started taking longer daytime naps all on his own,
without my interference. The morning one almost always is about 1.5
hours, and the afternoon one is normally the same, only sometimes I
have to help him fall back asleep halfway through. Still, it's a great
improvement over the 1/2 hour naps he used to take. Now if only he'll
get his night sleep straightened out. Something, growth spurt,
teething, SOMETHING, is making him wake up ALOT more at night, and I'm
anxious for him to go back to his fewer wake ups.
Waxor is pretty happy these days, because he got his anniversary
present from me early. I got him a Wii Fit, and he's been playing with
it and the Wii pretty much non-stop. Skyward had another "oh crap,
maybe we're running out of money" this past week, but someone is
giving them money for at least another month. We had decided he was
going to go ahead and look for a new job, but since they've gotten the
money he's changed his mind. He really likes working for them, plus,
you know, he really hates looking for a new job, so... I guess we'll
wait til the next time they think they're out of money.
He is having a lot more fun with Elliot, too. Elliot is so much more
aware than he used to be, and Waxor's enjoying it.
And me... I am looking forward to moving in someplace that I can
paint. Since I moved from home everywhere I've lived has been painted
an awful off white color, and I'm pretty thrilled that I finally get
to actually decide what colors I want my walls to be.
I'm hoping that Momma will get to help me paint (this pretty much has
to do if we can get into the apartment while she's here) She's coming
on Wed and will be here for almost a week, to drool over her grandson
and , well, that's pretty much it. I mean, I suppose she'll be happy
to see me, and she might notice Waxor, but mostly I'm thinking they'll
be plenty of grandbaby drool.
(Side note, Elliot and Waxor are playing Wii Tennis right now, Waxor
swings and Elliot stares first at the TV, and then at the Wiimote,
which makes beeping noises)
Okay, Waxor is getting his butt kicked by the Wii, so I have to go help him.
No, that is NOT just a figure of speech, two of the people receiving
this email will soon be my upstairs neighbors. That's right, Fuzzy
and Dante are moving to Woburn (WoooHOOOOO) and we've found a duplex
that, magically, has both apartments available at once, and,
shockingly, has a landlord that seems incredibly invested in the place
and in putting the type of people we happen to be in it. He says we
can compost, garden, paint, and, in general, be our happy little
selves. He's got a gas grill he leaves at the place, a washer and
dryer in the basement, no objection to pets or children or anything.
Yipee skipee.
AND, possibly most importantly, as he is very interested in
conservation he has outfitted the entire house with double insulation
and double paned + storm glass windows.
Our lease starts on the 15th of September, and Fuzzy and Dante should
be getting here right around then, but since Waxor and I have this
apartment until Oct 1st we will be doing a slower move. However, I
imagine we'll go ahead and put our names on the mailbox, so, as of
September 15th, feel free to send any mail to:
15 App Ct
Woburn, MA 01801
Now, on to other topics...
Elliot and I made it all the way to SC and back without too many
mishaps. Of course, on the way down we spent an extra six hours in the
airport due to weather delays, and our luggage got lost, and Elliot
was way confused at the sudden disappearance of EVERYTHING HE'S EVER
KNOWN, but, all aside, it was still a nice trip. Coury was
successfully taken to school (I will refrain from doing a dramatic
rendition of Been dropping Coury off. :))So far he isn't thrilled but
seems to be coping just fine. Of course, I would know if that's
really accurate or not if HE WOULD EVER CALL OR WRITE ME. (Edit at a
later date, he has now called me, and I am on his list to call
frequently, so I should really take this back) I mean, it's not like
he has anything better to do, right? RIGHT?
Elliot made his debut among the NC/SC crowd to rave revues on his
cuteness level, and a sudden burst of shyness on his part. Sigh.
Wouldn't you just know it? The boy would wander off cheerfully with a
total stranger for the first six months of his life, and as soon as I
go to show him off he gets all clingy. Ah well.
Of course, by the time we got home he was exhausted, and we had two
pretty unhappy days until finally I just parked myself on the couch
for the majority of one day and let him sleep on my lap. It wasn't
the most entertaining day of my life, but he woke up a much happier
little guy.
And I, in the meantime, had the extreme misfortune of being exposed to
the show "Date my ex."
Now, I will be the first to admit that, when stuck under a baby on the
couch, I will watch just about anything on TV. That's how I ended up
seeing the majority of "Making the Band 4". However, even I have
certain standards, so it was with a tiny screaming corner of my soul
dying of shame that I found myself watching Date My Ex. This wretched
ambergris of a program is based around two people; Jo - whose mother
must have been a Little Women fan, I can only assume she thanks
whatever deity she prays to on a daily basis that she isn't named
Marmee - and Slade. That's right, Slade. What is he, a Final Fantasy
Character? Jo and Slade used to date, but now he's helping her find a
new boyfriend. Except, of course, that it is blindingly obvious from
about the first episode that the whole damn thing is a set up for them
to get back together. Now, I know that reality TV is so fake it could
probably be used to stuff Carmen Electra's implants, but I at least
think it ought to LOOK like they don't have a script they're
following.
Sigh.
(Fast forward several days, I've been busy)
Elliot is crawling now. It happened this morning. He's been close for
days, but today was the day. I put him in the middle of the living
room floor, and he headed for the kitchen to play with, I thought, his
toys that were right in the doorway. So I kept and eye on him while I
checked my email, and he seemed really happy. When I was done with my
email reading I went to say hi, only to find that he was not, in fact,
playing with the toys. Sure, they were scattered around him, but also
scattered around him was most of the food from Chimbasa's dog dish.
As I came up and said "Oh my god, Elliot" he looked up at me, smiled a
big smile, and then turned back and very seriously stuck his fist in
the food side, swirled it around, then stuck it in the water side,
swirled it around, and then repeated a swirl on the food side. Then
he smiled at me again, as if to say "See, that's what I've been doing,
aren't I clever?"
So now he's much happier on the floor playing than he used to be,
although he still likes to walk a lot. He's getting better at that,
too. If I walk him between the two couches he'll even walk with just
one hand holding on to mine, and the other grabbing things of
interest. Such a clever little guy.
What else? He started taking longer daytime naps all on his own,
without my interference. The morning one almost always is about 1.5
hours, and the afternoon one is normally the same, only sometimes I
have to help him fall back asleep halfway through. Still, it's a great
improvement over the 1/2 hour naps he used to take. Now if only he'll
get his night sleep straightened out. Something, growth spurt,
teething, SOMETHING, is making him wake up ALOT more at night, and I'm
anxious for him to go back to his fewer wake ups.
Waxor is pretty happy these days, because he got his anniversary
present from me early. I got him a Wii Fit, and he's been playing with
it and the Wii pretty much non-stop. Skyward had another "oh crap,
maybe we're running out of money" this past week, but someone is
giving them money for at least another month. We had decided he was
going to go ahead and look for a new job, but since they've gotten the
money he's changed his mind. He really likes working for them, plus,
you know, he really hates looking for a new job, so... I guess we'll
wait til the next time they think they're out of money.
He is having a lot more fun with Elliot, too. Elliot is so much more
aware than he used to be, and Waxor's enjoying it.
And me... I am looking forward to moving in someplace that I can
paint. Since I moved from home everywhere I've lived has been painted
an awful off white color, and I'm pretty thrilled that I finally get
to actually decide what colors I want my walls to be.
I'm hoping that Momma will get to help me paint (this pretty much has
to do if we can get into the apartment while she's here) She's coming
on Wed and will be here for almost a week, to drool over her grandson
and , well, that's pretty much it. I mean, I suppose she'll be happy
to see me, and she might notice Waxor, but mostly I'm thinking they'll
be plenty of grandbaby drool.
(Side note, Elliot and Waxor are playing Wii Tennis right now, Waxor
swings and Elliot stares first at the TV, and then at the Wiimote,
which makes beeping noises)
Okay, Waxor is getting his butt kicked by the Wii, so I have to go help him.
Friday, April 24, 2009
August 7, 2008
That's right, Hooters Hotpants.
So, I'm walking down the street the other day, pushing Elliot along in
his stroller, and I had the first verifiable proof that I am getting
old - I saw a young woman wearing something that, while I would not go
so far as to say I _disapproved_ of it, was certainly something I
would prefer MY daughter never wore. At first glance, it seemed to me
that this girl was wearing her bright orange underwear out on the
street. Upon closer inspection it was clear to me that I was
absolutely correct, and not only that, but they had "Hooters"
emblazoned across the butt.
Now, I have nothing against Hooters, and also have nothing against a
pair of Hooters pants. As long as they are actually PANTS. I am not
exaggerating when I tell you that I get more coverage from my
underwear than this girl was getting from those shorts. And no, it is
NOT because I am a fan of granny panties.
Anyway. I suddenly had this wild urge to stop her and say "Look, I
know you don't care what I think, and I know that your only real goal
here is to attract the attention of all the other hormonal hottentots
out there, but trust me when I tell you, you are going to cringe when
you remember wearing those out in public someday."
But I didn't. Alas. If I had this would be a MUCH better story.
Elliot is about 75% mobile, and as a result is hurting himself on a
regular basis. I'll let him practice sitting up, and he'll do great,
and then plop! Over he goes before I can catch him. And sometimes he's
fine and sometimes he bumps something, and then... OH THE MISERY!
(I started this email about a week and a half ago. Then we went to
Maine for the weekend, and Elliot got sick, and was really cranky,
then I started trying to get ready for my Carolina trip, then we went
to Northampton this weekend, and now I no longer remember what I was
going to be writing in this email. So... now for something completely
different!)
Elliot's got a tooth coming through. I've felt it for weeks now, just
a tiny little bump that I knew would be a tooth at some point, but no
one else could feel it. Now everyone can feel it, and it seems to
really be bothering him. He'll be perfectly happy and then just start
wailing, and the only thing I can figure is his mouth hurts. I'm
really hoping he finishes breaking this tooth sometime this week,
because I'd like him to feel better for our trip. Plus, I'm not wild
about the idea of him having all that extra fluid knocking around for
the flights - Waxor is prone to ear infections and he may have passed
that on to Elliot.
Dr. Burba says Elliot is in 60% height and 15% weight, and that I
should try to feed him more, so I'm doing my best, but, y'know, in
this he is definitely not MY son. If I am given tasty food and told
"eat, eat, eat MORE!" I do. Waxor is the one who just sometimes isn't
in the mood to eat, and I think he's given that to Elliot.
Speaking of Waxor, I think he's looking forward to Elliot and I being
gone. He will, of course, miss us, but if we're not here that means he
doesn't have baby duty first thing in the morning. I imagine he'll
use all his free time sleeping and playing WoW.
ARGH! I can't remember what I was talking about last time I was writing this...
Elliot is now totally cool sitting on his own. He still falls over
once in a very rare while, but he's got enough control to fall slowly,
so he doesn't hit his head. He's also gotten really good at scooting
backwards across the floor, and then getting really cranky when he
gets stuck under the coffee table of something.
I just spent this past week re-arranging the whole house. I guess in
my mind was the idea that it was possible that Elliot would learn to
crawl while we're in SC, and I didn't want to have to keep him penned
up while I half-assed-ly baby proofed the house when we got back, so I
decided to baby proof before we left. Except, since we're not moving,
there's a bunch of furniture we wanted to move around and tweak, to
prefect the layout, and there's no reason to baby proof til we get
that done, sooooo... I've been moving furniture, and storing old
clothes, and stuff like that, all week. And, of course, I have yet to
do any actual baby proofing (well, except I put away the nice wine
glasses). The only real thing that's gotten done was done by Waxor -
he put the baby gate up on the stairs.
Okay, I'm gonna send this now, because at this point I am so
disjointed from taking so long to write it that I don't th ink I can
finish it coherently. We'll just start afresh, shall we? Yes indeedy.
So, I'm walking down the street the other day, pushing Elliot along in
his stroller, and I had the first verifiable proof that I am getting
old - I saw a young woman wearing something that, while I would not go
so far as to say I _disapproved_ of it, was certainly something I
would prefer MY daughter never wore. At first glance, it seemed to me
that this girl was wearing her bright orange underwear out on the
street. Upon closer inspection it was clear to me that I was
absolutely correct, and not only that, but they had "Hooters"
emblazoned across the butt.
Now, I have nothing against Hooters, and also have nothing against a
pair of Hooters pants. As long as they are actually PANTS. I am not
exaggerating when I tell you that I get more coverage from my
underwear than this girl was getting from those shorts. And no, it is
NOT because I am a fan of granny panties.
Anyway. I suddenly had this wild urge to stop her and say "Look, I
know you don't care what I think, and I know that your only real goal
here is to attract the attention of all the other hormonal hottentots
out there, but trust me when I tell you, you are going to cringe when
you remember wearing those out in public someday."
But I didn't. Alas. If I had this would be a MUCH better story.
Elliot is about 75% mobile, and as a result is hurting himself on a
regular basis. I'll let him practice sitting up, and he'll do great,
and then plop! Over he goes before I can catch him. And sometimes he's
fine and sometimes he bumps something, and then... OH THE MISERY!
(I started this email about a week and a half ago. Then we went to
Maine for the weekend, and Elliot got sick, and was really cranky,
then I started trying to get ready for my Carolina trip, then we went
to Northampton this weekend, and now I no longer remember what I was
going to be writing in this email. So... now for something completely
different!)
Elliot's got a tooth coming through. I've felt it for weeks now, just
a tiny little bump that I knew would be a tooth at some point, but no
one else could feel it. Now everyone can feel it, and it seems to
really be bothering him. He'll be perfectly happy and then just start
wailing, and the only thing I can figure is his mouth hurts. I'm
really hoping he finishes breaking this tooth sometime this week,
because I'd like him to feel better for our trip. Plus, I'm not wild
about the idea of him having all that extra fluid knocking around for
the flights - Waxor is prone to ear infections and he may have passed
that on to Elliot.
Dr. Burba says Elliot is in 60% height and 15% weight, and that I
should try to feed him more, so I'm doing my best, but, y'know, in
this he is definitely not MY son. If I am given tasty food and told
"eat, eat, eat MORE!" I do. Waxor is the one who just sometimes isn't
in the mood to eat, and I think he's given that to Elliot.
Speaking of Waxor, I think he's looking forward to Elliot and I being
gone. He will, of course, miss us, but if we're not here that means he
doesn't have baby duty first thing in the morning. I imagine he'll
use all his free time sleeping and playing WoW.
ARGH! I can't remember what I was talking about last time I was writing this...
Elliot is now totally cool sitting on his own. He still falls over
once in a very rare while, but he's got enough control to fall slowly,
so he doesn't hit his head. He's also gotten really good at scooting
backwards across the floor, and then getting really cranky when he
gets stuck under the coffee table of something.
I just spent this past week re-arranging the whole house. I guess in
my mind was the idea that it was possible that Elliot would learn to
crawl while we're in SC, and I didn't want to have to keep him penned
up while I half-assed-ly baby proofed the house when we got back, so I
decided to baby proof before we left. Except, since we're not moving,
there's a bunch of furniture we wanted to move around and tweak, to
prefect the layout, and there's no reason to baby proof til we get
that done, sooooo... I've been moving furniture, and storing old
clothes, and stuff like that, all week. And, of course, I have yet to
do any actual baby proofing (well, except I put away the nice wine
glasses). The only real thing that's gotten done was done by Waxor -
he put the baby gate up on the stairs.
Okay, I'm gonna send this now, because at this point I am so
disjointed from taking so long to write it that I don't th ink I can
finish it coherently. We'll just start afresh, shall we? Yes indeedy.
July 13, 2008
Robin Miller can't count.
Seriously.
For those of you who don't know who Robin Miller is, she does Quick
Fix meals on Food TV and edits some food magazine, and does these
meals that are like "prepare 3 ingredients that take a long time on
the weekend, and then use them multiple times during the week" which
isn't a bad idea, mind you, but I have to admit that I inherently
distrust her due to the fact that she is skinny, and NO ONE who tells
me how to cook should be that skinny. Thin, fine, but if I can see
your bones you can't be that good a cook...
Anyway, I'm watching her show, and she assures me that all of the
dishes she is preparing on this day use five ingredients or LESS.
Now, as I am watching she makes a burger, which contains:
Ground sirloin
Bacon
Cheese
Red Onion
Mustard
Tomato
Lettuce
and....
A Bun
As you may know, I CAN count. And that is EIGHT ingredients. Not
five. Then she makes a pasta dish, which (not including the water
that she boils her pasta in, and then uses some of in the sauce)
contains six ingredients. It's not that I'm a fanatic about dishes
having fewer than five ingredients or anything. I will, quite
cheerfully, make something with 20 or more components. But don't TELL
me it has five or less when it doesn't. It forces me to assume that
you are either insufficiently educated, or have an odd number of
fingers and therefore have numerical complexes blocking your ability
to recognize "five", or just think I am stupid.
Hi everyone!
So, things to tell, things to tell... Waxor has been working hard of
late. The company has had a whole bunch of deadlines coming up, so
last week they all actually stayed late two nights. (This had awful
ramifications for Elliot and I, but we are not, at the moment, talking
about Elliot and I, so, never mind...) The days he doesn't stay late
he just sits and his computer and churns through stuff as fast as
possible. I know many of you do that on a regular basis, but Waxor's
working style tends to be a bit more relaxed (which is good for him,
and makes him more productive in the long term, because he doesn't get
burnt out) so by the end of the week he was pretty tired. The good
news is that they got a hunk of money from one investor, and the other
big investor, who might give them 2 million, did go ahead and give
them a little money, which makes it more likely that he'll go ahead
and invest. Should the 2 million come through then one of the first
things the company is going to do is hire someone new, and we're
pretty sure that that "someone new" is going to be Fuzzy, so we've got
our fingers crossed that everything works out, cause aside from job
stability we'd really like to have him and Dante in the area.
In fact, in my fantasy world, I have planned for them to move into
this very apartment (after giving the landlord a stern talking to
about the heat) because Waxor and I are moving next door. We think.
We were out walking with Elliot a few weeks ago and our next door
neighbor said "hey, you guys looking for an apartment?" Turns out
he's buying his parents house, and his family's moving over there, so
they're renting out this house as two apartments. We went in and
looked, and saw many positive things like a dishwasher, a bathtub, a
fireplace, and a much larger room for the baby. The only negative was
that there was no downstairs basement room to be our office. So, we
talked about it, and Waxor said "well, if it weren't for the office"
so I talked to the guy and said "well, if it weren't for the office"
and he said "You want a room in the basement? I can put up a room in
the basement for you..." !!!! So, we have a verbal agreement with him
to move in mid-September assuming he puts up a room in the basement
for us. :) Actually, that reminds me, I need to pop over there today
and see if he's around, because I'd like to maybe sign a rental
agreement, and have more than a verbal agreement. Waxor and I are
excited to be able to move in easy stages, and to really get to look
and think about where stuff goes, instead of just unpacking everything
as fast as possible and ending up kinda topsy turvey. We were going
to re-arrange all our stuff over here, because the baby stuff is
taking up lots of space and we can't move around the apartment
anymore, but since we'll be moving so soon we've sort of agreed to
keep everything over here as neat as possible and to save major moving
for when we, y'know, move.
Speaking of cleanliness, we got a Roomba. Waxor is in love. He has a
robot. I think he would possibly leave me for the Roomba except it
doesn't cook. Even though it doesn't cook I KNOW he would leave me
for it if it did the dishes. :) I am tolerably happy with it, as
well, especially since there''s a lot more carpet next door, and it
will be even better to have over there.
Breeden and Anya came and visited Friday night. Breeden earned my
undying gratitude by both rubbing my back AND doing the dishes. He
can't have my first born child, but pretty much anything else is up
for grabs. I talked to Anya about shipping her off to Nicaragua, and
was prepared to do so almost immediately, but she has some things...
what were those called? Oh yes, obligations. Funny word...
:)
We are hoping to make it out to Northampton the weekend of August 2nd,
mainly to have our first chance to ogle Alexander, but any of you in
the Northampton area who might be around we would be happy to ogle
you, as well. Incidentally, Maggie and Pete, you guys aren't planning
on being out of town that weekend, are you? Because that might put a
damper in our ogling plans...
And on the topic of visiting... To all who have requested further
information, I will be in Rock Hill starting August 11th for about 4
days, and then we're headed up to Asheville for the weekend, and then
I don't know what's happening after that, except I have to be back in
charlotte on the 21st for my flight home. So, with that information
in hand feel free to call me whenever to talk about getting together,
or I'll call you once I get there.
Everyone else, who is neither in NoHo or NC/SC, when are you coming to visit?
Also, Waxor's parent's annual (which one is yearly and which one is
butt realated? One n or two?) lawn party is Saturday, July 26th, so
anyone who can make it to Portland, Maine, should go. It's a slammin'
good time.
Okay, ready? Here goes:
Elliot is amazing. He's really changing - he babbles now, and laughs
when you blow on his belly, and complains vigorously when you don't do
what he wants. He can roll over, both front to back and back to
front. He sleeps long stretches at night now - as long as it's not
too hot he only wakes up once or twice a night. He's learned to
squirm his way forward, and I don't think it will be too long before
he's crawling. It seemed like all of this just happened over the
course of a week, I'm tempted to put a brick on his head and tell him
to slow down.
His favorite new toy is a bottle. The other day he was having
teething pains, and finally I took one of the bottles that got given
to us when he was born and handed it to him, and he went to town. He
LOVES gnawing on that thing. It's sort of funny, I've seen plenty of
babies get really excited over a bottle, but not an EMPTY one.
He' learning to squirm so fast because of Chimbasa. He doesn't care
enough about any of his toys in order to go after them, but he REALLY
wants that Bito, and that Bito, as you might have guessed, does NOT
want him. So Chimbasa goes and lies down somewhere, and we'll put
Elliot a few feet away on his tummy, and he'll hunch his little self
over as fast as he can, and then, when he's mere inches away from
Chimbasa, we'll pick him up and move him back again. This would,
obviously, be incredibly cruel of us, except he seems to enjoy TRYING
to get to Bito as much as he actually enjoys GETTING him, so no harm
no foul. Bito hates this game, and constantly keeps a wary eye on
Elliot lest he get too close and manage to snatch a handful of tail.
It's drastically cut into Bito's nap time, so now, whenever Elliot is
down for a nap, Chimbasa curls up in a little pile of groggy doggy.
The attached pictures are from July 4th weekend, which also happened
to be Elliot's six month birthday. That substance smeared all over
his face is half a cupcake, which he was not allowed to eat, but had a
great deal of fun smashing to bits and smearing everywhere.
:)
I had more to say, but as it is now the end of the day (why does it
take me so long to finish these emails?) I believe I will call it a
night and save my blurb on Hooters Hotpants for another time.
Seriously.
For those of you who don't know who Robin Miller is, she does Quick
Fix meals on Food TV and edits some food magazine, and does these
meals that are like "prepare 3 ingredients that take a long time on
the weekend, and then use them multiple times during the week" which
isn't a bad idea, mind you, but I have to admit that I inherently
distrust her due to the fact that she is skinny, and NO ONE who tells
me how to cook should be that skinny. Thin, fine, but if I can see
your bones you can't be that good a cook...
Anyway, I'm watching her show, and she assures me that all of the
dishes she is preparing on this day use five ingredients or LESS.
Now, as I am watching she makes a burger, which contains:
Ground sirloin
Bacon
Cheese
Red Onion
Mustard
Tomato
Lettuce
and....
A Bun
As you may know, I CAN count. And that is EIGHT ingredients. Not
five. Then she makes a pasta dish, which (not including the water
that she boils her pasta in, and then uses some of in the sauce)
contains six ingredients. It's not that I'm a fanatic about dishes
having fewer than five ingredients or anything. I will, quite
cheerfully, make something with 20 or more components. But don't TELL
me it has five or less when it doesn't. It forces me to assume that
you are either insufficiently educated, or have an odd number of
fingers and therefore have numerical complexes blocking your ability
to recognize "five", or just think I am stupid.
Hi everyone!
So, things to tell, things to tell... Waxor has been working hard of
late. The company has had a whole bunch of deadlines coming up, so
last week they all actually stayed late two nights. (This had awful
ramifications for Elliot and I, but we are not, at the moment, talking
about Elliot and I, so, never mind...) The days he doesn't stay late
he just sits and his computer and churns through stuff as fast as
possible. I know many of you do that on a regular basis, but Waxor's
working style tends to be a bit more relaxed (which is good for him,
and makes him more productive in the long term, because he doesn't get
burnt out) so by the end of the week he was pretty tired. The good
news is that they got a hunk of money from one investor, and the other
big investor, who might give them 2 million, did go ahead and give
them a little money, which makes it more likely that he'll go ahead
and invest. Should the 2 million come through then one of the first
things the company is going to do is hire someone new, and we're
pretty sure that that "someone new" is going to be Fuzzy, so we've got
our fingers crossed that everything works out, cause aside from job
stability we'd really like to have him and Dante in the area.
In fact, in my fantasy world, I have planned for them to move into
this very apartment (after giving the landlord a stern talking to
about the heat) because Waxor and I are moving next door. We think.
We were out walking with Elliot a few weeks ago and our next door
neighbor said "hey, you guys looking for an apartment?" Turns out
he's buying his parents house, and his family's moving over there, so
they're renting out this house as two apartments. We went in and
looked, and saw many positive things like a dishwasher, a bathtub, a
fireplace, and a much larger room for the baby. The only negative was
that there was no downstairs basement room to be our office. So, we
talked about it, and Waxor said "well, if it weren't for the office"
so I talked to the guy and said "well, if it weren't for the office"
and he said "You want a room in the basement? I can put up a room in
the basement for you..." !!!! So, we have a verbal agreement with him
to move in mid-September assuming he puts up a room in the basement
for us. :) Actually, that reminds me, I need to pop over there today
and see if he's around, because I'd like to maybe sign a rental
agreement, and have more than a verbal agreement. Waxor and I are
excited to be able to move in easy stages, and to really get to look
and think about where stuff goes, instead of just unpacking everything
as fast as possible and ending up kinda topsy turvey. We were going
to re-arrange all our stuff over here, because the baby stuff is
taking up lots of space and we can't move around the apartment
anymore, but since we'll be moving so soon we've sort of agreed to
keep everything over here as neat as possible and to save major moving
for when we, y'know, move.
Speaking of cleanliness, we got a Roomba. Waxor is in love. He has a
robot. I think he would possibly leave me for the Roomba except it
doesn't cook. Even though it doesn't cook I KNOW he would leave me
for it if it did the dishes. :) I am tolerably happy with it, as
well, especially since there''s a lot more carpet next door, and it
will be even better to have over there.
Breeden and Anya came and visited Friday night. Breeden earned my
undying gratitude by both rubbing my back AND doing the dishes. He
can't have my first born child, but pretty much anything else is up
for grabs. I talked to Anya about shipping her off to Nicaragua, and
was prepared to do so almost immediately, but she has some things...
what were those called? Oh yes, obligations. Funny word...
:)
We are hoping to make it out to Northampton the weekend of August 2nd,
mainly to have our first chance to ogle Alexander, but any of you in
the Northampton area who might be around we would be happy to ogle
you, as well. Incidentally, Maggie and Pete, you guys aren't planning
on being out of town that weekend, are you? Because that might put a
damper in our ogling plans...
And on the topic of visiting... To all who have requested further
information, I will be in Rock Hill starting August 11th for about 4
days, and then we're headed up to Asheville for the weekend, and then
I don't know what's happening after that, except I have to be back in
charlotte on the 21st for my flight home. So, with that information
in hand feel free to call me whenever to talk about getting together,
or I'll call you once I get there.
Everyone else, who is neither in NoHo or NC/SC, when are you coming to visit?
Also, Waxor's parent's annual (which one is yearly and which one is
butt realated? One n or two?) lawn party is Saturday, July 26th, so
anyone who can make it to Portland, Maine, should go. It's a slammin'
good time.
Okay, ready? Here goes:
Elliot is amazing. He's really changing - he babbles now, and laughs
when you blow on his belly, and complains vigorously when you don't do
what he wants. He can roll over, both front to back and back to
front. He sleeps long stretches at night now - as long as it's not
too hot he only wakes up once or twice a night. He's learned to
squirm his way forward, and I don't think it will be too long before
he's crawling. It seemed like all of this just happened over the
course of a week, I'm tempted to put a brick on his head and tell him
to slow down.
His favorite new toy is a bottle. The other day he was having
teething pains, and finally I took one of the bottles that got given
to us when he was born and handed it to him, and he went to town. He
LOVES gnawing on that thing. It's sort of funny, I've seen plenty of
babies get really excited over a bottle, but not an EMPTY one.
He' learning to squirm so fast because of Chimbasa. He doesn't care
enough about any of his toys in order to go after them, but he REALLY
wants that Bito, and that Bito, as you might have guessed, does NOT
want him. So Chimbasa goes and lies down somewhere, and we'll put
Elliot a few feet away on his tummy, and he'll hunch his little self
over as fast as he can, and then, when he's mere inches away from
Chimbasa, we'll pick him up and move him back again. This would,
obviously, be incredibly cruel of us, except he seems to enjoy TRYING
to get to Bito as much as he actually enjoys GETTING him, so no harm
no foul. Bito hates this game, and constantly keeps a wary eye on
Elliot lest he get too close and manage to snatch a handful of tail.
It's drastically cut into Bito's nap time, so now, whenever Elliot is
down for a nap, Chimbasa curls up in a little pile of groggy doggy.
The attached pictures are from July 4th weekend, which also happened
to be Elliot's six month birthday. That substance smeared all over
his face is half a cupcake, which he was not allowed to eat, but had a
great deal of fun smashing to bits and smearing everywhere.
:)
I had more to say, but as it is now the end of the day (why does it
take me so long to finish these emails?) I believe I will call it a
night and save my blurb on Hooters Hotpants for another time.
June 22, 2008
HOLY HANDGRENADES!
Last night Elliot slept from 9:45 pm to 6 am.
I am overjoyed.
Of course, I'm trying not to get my hopes up, I mean, he's been sick,
and he'd had a long fussy day, and he spent the last 45 minutes before
he went to sleep upset (because he'd been trying to fall asleep since
8:15) and, plus, even if all conditions had been perfect that STILL
doesn't mean he'll replicate the result. Still...
He slept all night long.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOT!
Of course, I didn't sleep all night long. I woke up every two hours,
expecting Elliot to wake up. I'd get up, pee, check and make sure
yes, he really was asleep and yes, he really was still alive, and go
back to bed. Still, it's WAY better to do that then to actually have
to put him back to sleep. :)
Aside from that... Elliot's eating food now. He's a little shy of six
months, but every time I ate he would watch me like a hawk, and if I
was holding him he'd try to grab my food. So... I caved. Ah well. He
seems to be taking it well. Rice cereal he could take or leave, but
bananas are GREAT. And that's all we've done so far, because he only
started food on Thursday. Next up... steamed carrots. Probably looks
better than banana in the hair.
And you know what's weird? I think he's actually been breastfeeding
MORE since he started eating. Now, does that make any sense? No it
does not, but whatever. As long as his tummy is full and he's not
getting any allergies I'm happy.
I'll attach a picture or two to the bottom of this email, but anyone
who wants to see a whole gallery of the little man should go to
flickr, and look for mikelwaxler under "people."
What else, non Elliot related... Waxor has had a cold, I am getting
his cold, and I am, despite the extra sleep, a little tired. I got
tickets for my trip to SC, I'm going from August 11th through the
21st, and those of you in the area, I'll let you know when I know what
our whole schedule is going to be like.
The house is a disaster area. I'm not entirely sure when that
happened, I had been keeping on top of it, but sometime in the last
week I totally lost mygrip on cleanliness. Waxor helped me with some
dishes this weekend, so that's good, but there's junk everywhere... I
think what happened is that we just got one too many baby things - all
of which I want us to have, don't get me wrong, and some of which are
actually important (like the high chair we picked up) but our
apartment was already FULL, you see. We had an entire compliment of
furniture and such, and now... well... now we're overfull. And we're
getting more (I've got a sewing table and another rocking chair
sitting up in Maine waiting on me, and I WANT THEM, so don't you
suggest that I not take them due to space considerations. I'll get
rid of the TV if I have to, but that sewing table shall be MIIIIIINE.)
Maybe I will have to talk to Waxor about getting rid of some of this
junk. Sigh. With all my free time, y'know? Or maybe we could just
move to a six bedroom mansion. That sounds nice. ANyone got a spare
one lying around?
I think I was going to write a whole bunch more in this email, but I
have forgotten EVERY SINGLE THING. Plus I'm tired and it's bed time.
But maybe if I remember any of the stuff I was gonna say I'll write
more later. :)
Last night Elliot slept from 9:45 pm to 6 am.
I am overjoyed.
Of course, I'm trying not to get my hopes up, I mean, he's been sick,
and he'd had a long fussy day, and he spent the last 45 minutes before
he went to sleep upset (because he'd been trying to fall asleep since
8:15) and, plus, even if all conditions had been perfect that STILL
doesn't mean he'll replicate the result. Still...
He slept all night long.
WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
Of course, I didn't sleep all night long. I woke up every two hours,
expecting Elliot to wake up. I'd get up, pee, check and make sure
yes, he really was asleep and yes, he really was still alive, and go
back to bed. Still, it's WAY better to do that then to actually have
to put him back to sleep. :)
Aside from that... Elliot's eating food now. He's a little shy of six
months, but every time I ate he would watch me like a hawk, and if I
was holding him he'd try to grab my food. So... I caved. Ah well. He
seems to be taking it well. Rice cereal he could take or leave, but
bananas are GREAT. And that's all we've done so far, because he only
started food on Thursday. Next up... steamed carrots. Probably looks
better than banana in the hair.
And you know what's weird? I think he's actually been breastfeeding
MORE since he started eating. Now, does that make any sense? No it
does not, but whatever. As long as his tummy is full and he's not
getting any allergies I'm happy.
I'll attach a picture or two to the bottom of this email, but anyone
who wants to see a whole gallery of the little man should go to
flickr, and look for mikelwaxler under "people."
What else, non Elliot related... Waxor has had a cold, I am getting
his cold, and I am, despite the extra sleep, a little tired. I got
tickets for my trip to SC, I'm going from August 11th through the
21st, and those of you in the area, I'll let you know when I know what
our whole schedule is going to be like.
The house is a disaster area. I'm not entirely sure when that
happened, I had been keeping on top of it, but sometime in the last
week I totally lost mygrip on cleanliness. Waxor helped me with some
dishes this weekend, so that's good, but there's junk everywhere... I
think what happened is that we just got one too many baby things - all
of which I want us to have, don't get me wrong, and some of which are
actually important (like the high chair we picked up) but our
apartment was already FULL, you see. We had an entire compliment of
furniture and such, and now... well... now we're overfull. And we're
getting more (I've got a sewing table and another rocking chair
sitting up in Maine waiting on me, and I WANT THEM, so don't you
suggest that I not take them due to space considerations. I'll get
rid of the TV if I have to, but that sewing table shall be MIIIIIINE.)
Maybe I will have to talk to Waxor about getting rid of some of this
junk. Sigh. With all my free time, y'know? Or maybe we could just
move to a six bedroom mansion. That sounds nice. ANyone got a spare
one lying around?
I think I was going to write a whole bunch more in this email, but I
have forgotten EVERY SINGLE THING. Plus I'm tired and it's bed time.
But maybe if I remember any of the stuff I was gonna say I'll write
more later. :)
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