Sticky Note To Self

The way it is

2009-04-29T15:53:00.001-07:00

Things have been crazy busy around here, so the last thing I have even thought about doing or have wanted to do was write all of them down here. But, today procrastination has kicked in as I am putting the final touches on a fundraiser for Evan's friend with Leukemia, so I thought "why not?".

Some of the craziness has included:
- The kitchen remodel from hell, which made me clean my house WAY too many times.
- My father-in-law passing away, but a cool military ceremony.
- Fertility treatments from hell- and you thought PMS was bad.
- Evan's registration for kindergarten, and all the forms that go with it.
- A bathroom that flooded into the basement, not once, but three times.
- All day to day collaborations and mental explosions of running a nonprofit.
- Organizing a big fundraiser for Evan's friend with Leukemia, who's thankfully doing well.

And despite all the craziness, life is awesome and we're having fun. Thank god for a good marriage and lots of laughter. How people do it when you're on two different pages is beyond me. We're thoroughly plastered with crazy glue to the same page. We're muddling through all of it with a good sense of humor and a "life's too short" approach to pretty much everything. I love my boys.

One of the coolest things that has happened is my reconnection to one of my very good friends from grade school. We were friends from 2nd grade through college, though as time went on, we grew apart for reasons unknown to either one of us now. We found each other on facebook, and after a few months of chit-chatting online, we decided to go out. It was amazing and we instantly remembered why we had gotten along so well for so long. There was no drama, no woe-as-me, no "I'm too busy", no excuses. Just a good, old-fashioned let's get together after all this time sort of playdate. Her husband was a great guy, even mixing us up some girly drinks as we reminisced and caught up. We went out for sushi and martinis, went to a bar where they were playing 80's music much too loud, and then back to her place where, though she was dropping me off at my car, we talked for yet another hour. And the kicker is that I dragged myself away from our get together in the city at 3:30am, wishing we would've just made it a slumber party. It was fabulous. I can't wait to do it again.

Evan is growing by leaps and bounds, and is a constant source of laughter in our home. Yesterday, we were at Walmart so I could pick up some more baby aspirin as part of my daily onslaught of medication. The aspirin side of the aisle faces the family planning side of the aisle. As I'm trying to figure out how many bottles of baby aspirin to get in a pack, Evan says from behind me, "Mommy, I think I need more hair gel." "Buddy, you have plenty of hair gel at home." "Yeah, but this one is cooler." And I turn around to see him holding a cylindrical tube of personal lubricant called "WET!". I about peed my pants it was so comical. God, I love that kid.

The Thaw

2009-02-17T09:03:00.000-08:00

Last week, it was awesome to have a taste of spring in the beginning of February. We took advantage. We went to the park, we flew a kite, we played outside, we went to the park, we played outside some more, and cleaned out the garage. It was awesome. I also picked up about 400 pounds of dog shit out of the backyard, but yay, it's clean again. Of course, it's supposed to snow again tomorrow. Sigh.

Evan enjoyed our short moment of de-hibernation, and lived it to the fullest as only boys can- covered in mud, covered in water, oblivious to any cold, and with a smile on his face the whole time. I let him jump and splash and roll and dive and run and basically do whatever he wanted to while the sun shined and the snow melted. It was a moment in heaven in the middle of a hellish winter. And so, I give you, "The Thaw", in pictures.

Third Time's a Charm?

2009-02-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

Nope. Three strikes and you're out. We got pregnant again, only to lose yet another pregnancy. In total, I've been pregnant 4 times, with only one child to show for it, though he is amazing and the light of my life. After all of this, I am constantly in awe of just how easily he came into our lives, and know each day he was truly meant to be.

I considered keeping this one to myself, but then thought better for the sake of those who are going through this, too, and I know several women who I now call friends that have gone through this and worse. It's nothing I did, it's nothing I could have prevented, and it's not my own personal fault, but the fault of a body that, for some reason, no longer wants to hold a pregnancy.

The ironic thing is that I was finally referred to the fertilty side of my obgyn's practice, and the day of my fertilty consult, I showed up with a very light positive pregnancy test in hand. I went through the whole consult, fearing I would be shown the door if I showed my evidence first, and then at the end simply said, "well, maybe I should have brought this up sooner, but can I have some bloodwork drawn?" And the bloodwork was positive, but the pregnancy didn't stick yet again. But, the upside is that I've given them vials upon vials of my blood to analyze, and now the ball is in motion for diagnostics as to why the hell my body betrays me time and time again.

I don't know where this infertility journey will take us. So far everything has come back "normal" except progesterone, which we already knew. I've been on baby aspirin for months now, progesterone after ovulating for months as well, and yet this one didn't stick. So it's something else, hopefully something that can be fixed. The journey begins.

I have a pre-conception nutritional counseling session next week, where I'm sure I'll be told all the latest ideas in prenatal diet that I already know due to my obsessive research into infertility since the first miscarriage. But maybe there will be more, and it's required anyway, so here we go. I'll be screened for every genetic issue under the sun, have my tubes and uterus injected with dye and x-rayed, will be ultrasounded and injected and will undergo just about everything I would have, at one point in time, considered too intrusive. The magic of conception and the innocence that went along with my first pregnancy are far gone. And I have already accepted the fact my son is a miracle. After watching 2 "due dates" now come and go with nothing to show for it but sadness, and now knowing that a 3rd "due date" will have to be dealt with emotionally as well, I now know I can make it through and try again. I was worried I couldn't, but I can.

I'm not feeling sorry for myself, and I'm done grieving. I'm mildly hopeful and optimistic about having answers, even if the answer is no. At least the ambiguity of the whole situation will be gone. We've talked adoption as well, which, by the way, is SO expensive! Damn! But, that door has been left open for if, or when, the other doors close.

And, life is good in so many other ways, and I have a wonderful husband and son, and we all love each other to pieces. If this is the way my family is meant to be, if there is only meant to be three of us, then so be it. I can accept that. But I owe it to three little angels to not give up just yet.

8 Resolutions for 2009

2009-01-11T11:19:00.000-08:00

I meant to post my resolutions for 2009 about a week ago, but one of my resolutions, "Get Organized", is taking some time to adjust to. So, while I am busy getting organized, my list of things to do just seems to expand, and then I don't want to do any of it, so it just disappears under a giant pile of "TO DO" crap on my desk. Oh well. I'm chipping away at that resolution.

So, resolutions suck. They do. We all make them, even if not out loud- we make stupid resolutions, like "Lose 50 lbs" or "Save lots of money", etc. Things that aren't simple, incremental, or, in most cases, doable. So, I made a Dummies Guide To Resolutions sort of resolution list. Here it is:

1. Organize my desk one paper at a time. If you know where it goes, put it away NOW.
2. Walk on the treadmill once each day, except Saturdays. Even if it's for only one minute.
3. Eat one vegetable a day (I know, terrible, right?)
4. Eat one fruit each day (yes, I'm that unhealthy!)
5. Fuck infertilty (more on this one in a bit)
6. Be thankful for one thing each day.
7. Kiss and hug my husband and son one extra time each day.
8. Breathe deeply once a day.

I know it may sound like a lot, but the thing is, I'm sticking to it so far. And I feel great. And none of them are life-alteiing, impossible to reach goals.

#1 is the hardest for me, as I get overwhelmed with the influx of work that comes into my office on a daily basis, and if I mentally shut down for one day, I'm a goner, and so is my desk. So I'm working on it one paper at a time, and so far, so good. I've kept up with #2 by walking to old Grey's Anatomy shows on DVD. I have the cutest little dvd player that fits right on the treadmill dashboard, hiding all the time/calories/speed etc crap that I tend to obsess over. And time goes by FAST. It's awesome. And easy to keep doing. #3 & 4 are simpler than "lose weight" or "eat healthier", and I'm finding I'm automatically replacing snacks with veggies & fruits to meet the goal, hence a healthier lifestyle. #6, 7, and 8 are all about being happier, and it's a given that when you concentrate on the good stuff, you are automatically a happier person. So onto #5.

Secondary Infertility sucks. Especially when you conceived your first child while on birth control and trying NOT to get pregnant. It's quite a blow when you think the second kid will be just as easy to conceive as the first, and it proves to be just the opposite. We're coming up on THREE YEARS of trying to have a second baby, with two miscarriages along the way. And for most of this past year, I was obsessed, since both miscarriages occurred in 2008. Our first pregnancy would have blessed us with a second child in October. The second one right around this upcoming Valentine's Day. So either way, it's been a rough road. I know the ins and outs of my body (no pun intended) and know things I never thought I would know nor need to know about my cycle each month. And I know now that if we ever conceive again, it will be a terrifying and white-knuckled journey. Ignorance is most definitely bliss.

I have been lucky and am thankful for the wonderful friends I have found on this bizarre journey, ones who have been through the same and much worse. There are nine women in all in this wonderful circle of friends, six of which have already given birth or are about to since we began the group. I'm happy for all of them and their babies, and they have helped me find an inner strength I never knew existed. So onto resolution #5- Fuck Infertility.

Instead of obsessing and hoping and wishing, I'm letting it go. I'm starting this year out with a battery of tests to see what the problem is, if any, and then we're done. We've discussed adoption, but it's not something we'll ever be able to afford if we want Evan to go to college, and we have a few medical options that aren't super expensive that we might try. But 2009 is the year of letting it go. I have given myself this year to get pregnant, and then we're done. And I am at complete peace with the decision. And, if I think of all the money we'll save on birth control for the next 15 years or so, we just might be able to go to Australia one day!

So, those are my resolutions. I think I'll be able to stick to all of them for once!

The Little Things

2008-12-12T08:23:00.000-08:00

This past Tuesday, Evan's best buddy in the whole world was over playing. His mom and I visited while the boys played on every level of the house, and as time wore on, I realized how quiet the boys were being. I checked on them and they were just playing quietly, side by side, which Evan is very good at since he's an only child, but his buddy... well, I've never known him to be quiet. Ever. He's a crazy-ass ball of fire that is non-stop motion.

I mentioned to his mom how quiet he seemed, and his mom said he had been quiet all week and she thought maybe it was time to go to the doctor. He hadn't been eating well, he was taking naps again, and he kept complaining that his knees hurt him. When he was leaving the playdate, he complained about his knees again, and I noticed how lethargic all his movements were.

On Wednesday, Evan's buddy saw the doctor, and then someone hit the fast forward button. His platelets and hemoglobin were low, and the doctor called from home to tell them he needed to be admitted to the hospital for a bone marrow biopsy. His mom called me in tears, the panic in her voice- it was hopefully just a virus, but it could be worse. Much worse. I got off the phone with her, and began sobbing hysterically. I regained my composure, and tip-toed upstairs to where Evan lay sleeping in bed still, his cheeks rosy from a myriad of covers over him, his arm flung around a Lightning McQueen pillow. And I cried some more.

This morning, the worst was confirmed. Evan's best buddy in the entire world has Leukemia. And I can't type this without losing it completely. Oh God, Oh God, what now? I told his mom we know one child who dealt with it when she was just a little older than her son, and is now a rambunctious healthy teenager. I didn't have the heart to tell her, nor will I ever, about the funeral I attended when I was 10 for my 8 year old friend Nicholas, who wasn't so lucky.

I spent all day yesterday just hugging and kissing my precious little boy, thinking of all the wonderful little things in life we take for granted, to the point where he said "Mommy, STOP kissing me, ok??" And I laughed because of the fight in his voice and the fact that he is perfect. And my heart is so broken for him and his buddy, but we will do everything in our power to help them. I've already told her I'm getting pretty good at fundraising, and to just say the word. After a hopefully not-too-scary talk with Evan about what's going on, we're going to visit his best buddy in the hospital this afternoon, get-well package full of cars and other fun things in tow, and I will take Evan every other day to visit until his buddy gets to go home.

Nothing in life matters more than that of the health of your child. Hug yours. Kiss yours. If you're pregnant, bank your baby's cord blood. And please, please say a prayer for Evan's best buddy and his familiy.

A Long and Rambling Letter To My Mentor

2008-11-10T10:06:00.001-08:00

Dear K,

Though it has been a good 11 years since I saw you last, you are constantly a part of my life, a part of what I live and breathe every day, a part of a good chunk of the memories of my past. There isn't a day that goes by that some experience ingrained in my heart is not brought to light.
When I came to you, I was a shy kid with goofy teeth, goofy hair, and a bizarre parental support system. I was a good kid, a polite kid, and a hard-working kid, but so were many others like me. I don't know what I did or didn't do to have you see beyond that, to give me more than you gave to the others, but I am grateful for it every day.

Some kids have basketball, some kids have music- I had horses. Before anyone starts thinking we were rich, we weren't. We were a far cry from it, often my parents living paycheck to paycheck. My best friend in the third grade, Kate, was horse-crazy. I thought she was weird and a little obsessive, and I didn't get it. I watched her ride in a lesson once, a giant black velvet bucket on her peanut-sized head, her scrawny legs wrapped around a horse that seemed as tall as the Sears Tower. And she monotonously trotted around and around, taking directions from her trainer that seemed like some foreign language, and when she was done, she had the biggest shit-eating grin I'd ever seen. I didn't get it, but I told her it was fun to watch. It wasn't.

A year later, Kate moved to New Jersey, and after a few letters, I never heard from her again. Few kids in 4th grade actually keep in touch when they move halfway across the country, but it didn't matter. I still missed her. And as more time went on, I found I missed her horse-crazy stories. I was never into sports, didn't have any hobbies, and other than collecting unicorns, didn't really do anything girly. So when I told my parents I wanted to take horseback riding lessons, they jumped at it. Lessons were costly- $12 a lesson, once a week. I knew that amount of money was hard for my parents to spend, not to mention having to drive 20 miles or so to the barn to get there, and I vowed to make it worth it. Little did I know, a few lessons, and I would be hooked for life.

I remember my first visit to the barn- it was enormous and full of smells I didn't recognize, but the warmth of the sun streaming through the skylights and the dust dancing in the beams, mixed with horses whuffling through their hay and the occasional nicker through the stall bars intrigued me more than I rememembered. A barn cat sat sleepily on a hay bale, and a scruffy little shit of a dog sat in the doorway and barked his head off at us. The office was dark and dusty, and I could see the lines in the desk where items had been shuffled, the arena sand leaving it's mark everywhere. I remember you laughing with a handsome man with a mustache, a shiny brass nameplate on the door, and then I was shuffled off to a lady named Molly. Molly would teach me how to ride for the first year of my horse life. She would also suck, which you probably knew, but I wouldn't know until later.

Molly led me to an old, shaggy pony, who stood sleepily, back leg cocked as he rested the weight of his head on the crossties, a set of chains hooked to the wall to keep him from wandering as he waited for his next rider. He smelled of sweat, and leather, and that enchantining horse smell than any child knows when they've fallen head over heels for all things equine. His name was Valentine, and I would soon find out, he was not much of a lover- more of a fighter. But I loved him with all my heart. He would allow me to clumsily climb aboard him, the smooth english saddle slippery and unsupportive under my weak legs. He would allow me to bumble and bobble as he trotted lazily in circles, controlled only by a cotton rope connected to Molly as I learned balance, steering, and the basics of how to ride a horse. I don't remember much about Molly, except she talked to whoever else was in the arena at the time, ate her dinner while sitting on a jump once I learned to steer by myself, and talked some more- I learned little in the time I was with her, but I did learn, mostly by figuring things out myself. Soon enough I was cantering about, though not without eating dirt at least once a lesson, because as I learned, so did Valentine- the better rider I was, the less he liked me. He hated to work. So in my early days, he was a patient teacher, never once trying to unglue me from his back. A year later, he taught me some of the best lessons I've ever learned- how to stick to a cantankerous, writhing, bucking, blindly running horse and how to get them back under control. And damn, after riding that pony for a year, I could stick. Like glue.

About a year into my horse career, there was a horse show. And Molly asked if I wanted to ride in it. I was ecstatic! A horse show! I could ride in two classes, one to show off my walk-trot skills, and another to show off my walk-trot-canter skills. I was on cloud nine and told my parents that I was going to be in the horse show! I was 8 or so, so I didn't know that shows cost money, nor did I know that the show was right smack in the middle of labor day weekend when we were already scheduled to be in Michigan for a getaway. I also had no idea that I needed to wear special clothes, but thankfully showed up in my fake rubber riding boots and the breeches I had gotten for Christmas. Molly had not prepared me, and my dad, who never mentioned any of this to me up to that point, was furious. And my dad, the dashing, smooth talking, high powered sales guy, went right over Molly's head to yours to complain.

When my dad set out to find you, my part of the show was done. The realization that I did not have show clothes caused a wonderful woman I had not met before, Mrs. H, to set out to find me a riding shirt and jacket. We never found the shirt, but the white one I had worn would work. She got one of the girls to loan me a jacket, helped me get the number I was to wear around me, helped me saddle up my pony named Frosty. I'm sure you don't remember him, but Frosty was an ancient reminder of what a pony used to be, who coughed so hard at every step that he would jerk me out of the saddle. Molly had forgotten to sign me up for Valentine, and two kids can't ride the same pony at one time, so I was assigned Frosty, who I thought was ugly as ponies went, and who my dad mumbled was a nag. Mrs. H got me to the show ring and showed me the ropes in about 30 seconds flat- stay out of the way of the other horses, circle your horse if you don't have room, pass on the inside only, and remember to breathe. Molly was nowhere to be found. Mrs. H became my dad's fast ally and had already earned "hero" in my book. She sat on the rail and gave me tips from the fence, told me where to go and what to do, and only because of that wonderful woman did I ever survive those two classes. I even managed to score a ruffly green sixth place ribbon, which I got an enthusiastic hug from Mrs. H for. I loved that woman instantly. She became the "show mom" mine never was. And if my dad was furious when we showed up, he was lit from here to Hades when the classes were over. When all was said and done, Molly showed up from no where to ask how it went. I remember my dad pulling her aside, his lips pinched thin and white with anger as he said something quietly to her so I could not hear. To this day, I don't know what he said, but I imagine whatever it was, Molly never forgot it.

I had little interaction with you until this point. I only knew you were the one who rode the fancy horses and jumped the big jumps in the arena while I desperately tried to get out of the way. You were always very nice and loved to call me "pony jockey" when you said hi, mostly because I think you just knew me as the quiet kid who rode the ponies, and had no idea what my name really was. But the nickname stuck, and for years my mom called me that affectionately, or "PJ" for short, and I eventually even put it on my vanity plates on my first car. The moment I really met you will forever be seared in my mind.

When we found you, you were gracefully piloting a big bay horse around an impromptu arena in the pasture, manuvering around other horses with ease. My dad motioned you over, and my heart was racing in my chest. I hated it when my dad was confrontational, hated it when he caused a scene, hated the feeling of inferiority that he loved to inflict upon people when his anger took over. I didn't think I'd ever be able to ride a horse again at this barn, would never be able to show my face after the embarrassing drama my father was about to cause, and I could feel the blood rising to my face before you even walked your horse over to the fence where we stood. My eyes unable to meet yours, my dad introduced himself and me, and began his tirade bitterly, but in control. I will never know if, at that point in time, he knew how much this dusty little haven in the middle of suburbia meant to me, or if he was aware of my averted eyes and flushed cheeks, or if he just momentarily lapsed into a different person, but the drama never happened. My dad stayed calm and uninsulting as he explained the unprofessionalism of the entire situation we had just endured. And as he spoke, it slowly dawned on me that he was trying very hard not to embarass me in the one place in life I had found unadulterated joy. I was able to look up, and I went hot again as I realized you were not looking at my dad, but staring intently at me. I met your eyes, which showed kindness and pride and a whole lot of other things that I had never seen before, but what struck me most is the way you handled my dad. And from that point on, you had my, and my dad's, undying respect. The image of you sitting astride that gorgeous bay, wearing your tidy navy blue riding jacket and your velvet helmet faded brown from years of use, your large inquisitive eyes made dark with mascara, earning my dad's respect- well, it's worth a lifetime of memories.

From that point on, you became my trainer. You had to undo many things that Molly had managed to screw up, and when I look back, I think that my riding skills would have been so much better if I had just started with you in the first place. But you gave me so many opportunities that I will never understand completely. I was an ok rider, never a great one, though I could stick to pretty much any horse you wanted me to ride and you knew I would ride any horse you would offer me. I was soon working Sundays, my parents driving me to and from the barn so that I could sweep, clean saddles and bridles, groom horses, scrub buckets- if it could be done in the presence of horses, I didn't complain. I just did it, and I did it as best I could. Sundays evolved into working at horse shows, where I would get paid $50 to work an entire weekend cleaning stalls, getting horses ready, and most importantly, eating and sleeping horses. Working shows evolved into teaching riding camp during the summer, some of the most joyous times of my life. All of these opportunities are ones that my parents could never have afforded had you not taken me under your wing. I remember asking if you would finally ask my parents to buy me a horse when I was enamored with a little chestnut horse I showed as "Chicago Style". You promised to ask, and in a round about way, you did, but you also understood that it was a horse or college for me- and though you asked my dad in a teasing tone, I knew in my heart that it had to be college, and so did you.

As for my parents and horses, my mom never got it, never enjoyed it, and would almost always sit out in her car reading while I rode. My dad, always traveling the midwest and hardly ever home on Wednesday evenings when I rode, would stride into the barn in his shiny black leather shoes and Men's Warehouse suit, almost like a reverse cowboy. The women would swoon and blush, envious of the man who would step into the dusty, sandy arena in such attire to speak with you at length about me during my lesson. My dad loved every minute of it, and totally knew what he was doing. I think you swooned a little, too, and I remember when I was a teenager telling you once that you should date my dad. You laughed, and gently reminded me that he was married to my mom, and I kept my mouth shut about that never stopping him before. To this day, I still wish you would have dated my dad. And married him. But that's the kid in me that still dreams of happily ever afters.

When I went to college, I came home more infrequently, but found myself with a project horse the last summer I did work at the barn. He was a maniac. Everyone fell off of him but me. I loved him and asked if I could take him back to school with me and train him. I ended up buying him for $1000, to be paid in $100 increments. His name became Toby, and I still have him to this day- a clumsy, poorly built, permenantly injured thoroughbred that, with my luck, will live to be 50 years old. I love him, but he is a financial burden, and a constant reminder of a rash decision made with my heart when I was 19 years old. But he is also a constant reminder of all the good things you instilled in my life, and for that, I am grateful. When I graduated from college, I thought I could come back to the barn as a customer, no longer a working student, but an adult with a paycheck that could keep her horse at the barn, show up and ride, and then leave when she was done. No boots to shine, no tack to clean, no manure to scoop. Turns out, I didn't make that much money, and found out fast and hard that I will probably never make enough money to keep up with horses as I had grown up with them. So, I moved my horse from your barn, and as time marched on, my involvement with them became less and less, except for visiting Toby out at his retirement farm.

The lessons learned throughout the years have not been lost on me. I was raised in the barn by a wonderful, kind-hearted, hard-working, independent and fair woman. You gave me things my mother never did, taught me things I never would have learned had I not decided that I would fill the hole my best friend left with the horses that she loved. You gave a shy, gawky little girl the chance of a lifetime and taught me more about myself and who I wanted to be than anyone else on this earth. From you, I learned equality, fairness, the joy in a day's hard work, how to deal with difficult people, how animals' comfort always comes before your own, how to handle the public, how skill and good manners can cut through politics, that you are your own boss, that you can be tough and gentle at the same time, and so many other things that I could list them for hours. I also learned that you can't please everyone, that some people will forever be wrapped up in their own little world, oblivious to the way things should be or the way things can be. I learned tolerance from you, and when the other kids wouldn't give the Mexican workers the time of day, I tried my hardest to speak with them, albeit in choppy high school Spanish, but they knew I respected what they did, and when I did come back to visit, was always greeted with sweaty hugs and genuine smiles from all of them.

Not too long ago, I was driving down the street your barn is on now, and there you were, slowly walking back from your mailbox, your hair pulled back in a pony tail that I would know anywhere in the world. I should have stopped, but I didn't. My heart in my throat, I just drove on, a flood of memories rushing through my head. Why didn't I stop? I suspect its mostly because I'm always afraid I have not lived up to what you used to see in me. Or maybe I haven't lived up to what you hoped I would become. Or maybe I fear you're not the hero I still see in my head, the one the 8 year old little girl looked up to more than God himself. I don't know. I should've stopped. Life is short, and who knows when the next opportunity will arise.

I know I'm rambling now, and really, the point of this letter is to say thank you. For everything. I am who I am mostly because of you, and you were and are the absolute biggest influence on my life. Thank you for giving me the opportunity no one else would.

PJ

The Real John McCain

2008-10-14T06:48:00.000-07:00

The other side of the story:

Make-Believe Maverick from Rolling Stone

Dinners for the Broke

2008-10-09T15:51:00.001-07:00

So, I've been trying really hard to buy dinner ingredients that keep the cost of dinners way down, and we're already bored to tears with our options. Money is so tight, it's not even funny, and I only imagine it's about to get tighter. I'm dog-sitting for extra money a few times this month, and we're selling off just about anything we don't need (aka horse stuff from a time when I had zero responsibilties but myself) to give us a cushion. But, pasta and garlic bread is doable once a week, as are sloppy joes and some sort of chicken, but I cannot tolerate tuna casserole that often, and my ground turkey/ground beef recipes are limited. I am also limited by my short attention span to recipes that involve more than a handful of ingredients, or that take a whole bunch of time to prepare. I've been on website after website, but I tend not to trust any of them that they will be any good. Sigh.

So, if anyone has any inexpensive dinner recipes you'd be willing to share, I'm all ears. I'm pro-crock pot, too, so that's cool with me as well. To be fair, I'll share my fave recipe right now. We don't have a food processor, so the chopping takes a bit of time since all veggies in my recipes must be the size of rice, but it is so good that even Evan will eat it, veggies and all:

Meatloaf Muffins by Rachael Ray

The Haunting

2008-10-06T18:03:00.000-07:00

Realized last night that it's October. Not October, but October. When our "Halloween baby" should be here, if my body hadn't betrayed me. My mind locked up last night, stuck in a spin cycle of where our lives should be versus where they are at. And I suppose I'll be haunted by what could have been again come February 14, when our "Valentine's baby" should have been arriving, had my body not betrayed me a second time. And I'm haunted by the souls that should have shared this house with us, one of which should be here at any second, should have been sleeping in a crib where, instead, I sit and type these haunted thoughts. And I wonder if Evan remembers our Halloween baby discussion, wonder if he remembers I told him maybe we'd just have a baby a little later, wonder if he realizes just how much time had really passed. And I look at him now, at a time where he should about to be a big brother, and my heart breaks and hurts all over again.

I'm haunted, too, by the fear that, if we ever make it to attempt number three, that it will be "three strikes, you're out" instead of "third times a charm". And the fear that there will forever be a desk in this very spot where my computer sits, that I will forever have to sit here and wonder what might have been, forever picture a crib in the corner where a stack of work lies instead.

I hate this body. If it would only fucking work the way it's supposed to.

The things I would've missed

2008-10-01T18:58:00.000-07:00

I've spent the last two weeks living the life of a "single" mom, as my husband is out of the country for his annual trip to Hong Kong. He comes home tomorrow, and this year has been by far the easiest with Evan. I think the fact that he understands the concept of time now, understands distance and our relation on the globe to where China is, and the fact that Daddy can call by internet phone all made it much, much easier. Evan made Daddy a welcome home card tonight, complete with a boat drawing and a fire truck drawing, hopped willingly into bed, didn't whine for an extra story, and eagerly shut his eyes when the lights went out. Daddy comes home tomorrow!

I started thinking back to my husband's 1st trip 9 years ago, and how different life is now. The first few years he went to Hong Kong were a fun little away adventure for me- I'd watch whatever tv I wanted, ate cereal every night for dinner, did whatever I wanted. Then 5 years ago, I was supposed to go with, but Evan came into our lives instead, and that trip never did happen for me- nor will it any time soon. Since then, the trip has been a heartache for the most part, more for my husband than for me, more for Evan than for anyone else. The first trip after Evan was born, Evan was only 3 months old, so it was rough on me. The second trip, it was rough on both of us. But the third trip, last year, was so hard on Evan, it broke my heart to pieces. He fell apart after about 5 days, and acted out in ways that made us both sit on the floor and cry our eyes out together. This year, we marked off the days on the calendar, talked about how many days were left, what we would do when Daddy got home, and before we both knew it, the last day was here- today! Whew! This year was a piece of cake!

After Evan went to bed tonight, I started picking up the house, and thought about how much I would be missing if he weren't here with me. If I were still just waiting for my husband to come home by myself, how many things in life would be so completely different. I'm so glad I don't have to wait by myself. As I was cleaning the mirror in the bathroom, I had to smile as I wiped down toothpaste splatter that only a four year old can muster up. I'd miss out on so much if he weren't around. Things like:

- Plastic dinosaurs in my soaker tub, complete with one placed just so under the bath mat so I can't avoid stepping on it.
- Orange bubbilicious toothpaste every morning, complete with "shiny teeth check"
- Tiny socks in practically every room of the house (seriously, don't ask how often I wash socks)
- Toys in, under, and around every room and piece of furniture in the house
- Pawprint shaped confetti in his bed (yeah, we went over why this was a table craft)
- Multi-colored dog poop from crayons forever left on the floor (Daisy just loves Crayola)
- Handprints and nose prints on the front window where he looks for visitors or me or Daddy
- A coffee table that needs to be wiped down on a daily basis from constant use and abuse
- Hand towels smeared with whatever the latest 4-year old clean-up may be- he loves to "help"!
- A pile of little shoes by the garage door entrance, because the first thing he learned in this house was "no shoes on the carpet!" and he takes it VERY seriously. I love this kid.
- Glitter all over my car from a shiny green paper apple he proudly waved everywhere after school today. My, my, it does glitter. So does the carpet in the minivan now!
- Batman in my coat pocket, matchbox cars in my purse, a pretend credit card in my wallet, and baseball cards in the glovebox, and always, always, some sort of emergency snack on hand.

I went around the house, smiling at every little thing I had to clean, from the leftover orange foam bathsoap stuck stubbornly to the tub's edge, to the pillows in disarray on our bed where he built a "jumpy pile", to the socks sitting right here at my feet, a little reminder that no matter where I am, he's always here with me. I love this kid with every inch of my being. I cannot imagine being away from him for 12 days. I could hear it in my husband's voice each time he got off the phone with Evan. Evan will be excited to see Daddy tomorrow, but I'm willing to bet these little socks at my feet that Daddy cannot wait to see Evan.

Karma

2008-09-25T19:35:00.000-07:00

When I was 8 months pregnant, I was on my way home from a family function with my brother and his fiancee, when we spotted a giant turtle trying to cross 4 lanes of traffic in a 50 mile an hour zone. I pleaded with my brother to turn around, to save the turtle, and he said "that's the cutest thing I've ever heard" and turned the car around. He pulled onto the shoulder of the road, and I stood on the side of the road as the turtle pointedly and doggedly continued to make his way across. I waited for traffic to clear, saw my opening as a last car was coming, and as I made my move mentally, that last car took the life of the biggest land turtle I've ever seen in suburban Chicago.

Horrified and not willing to leave it there, I stared open mouthed. The motorist behind the turtle murdered stopped, a hero in a nice suit, who ran out into the road and carried the cracked turtle to the side of the road for the sobbing pregnant girl with no more than an "I'm sorry. I really am". And he drove off. I looked one last time at the turtle, whose shell was the length of my laptop, not believing, not wanting to leave him there in the grassy ditch, the ditch he was trying so hard to leave behind as he worked his way across a heartless, suburban road. But he was motionless, and I didn't believe he could live, and we left with heavy hearts and a hate for the turtle murderer who didn't stop, didn't swerve, and without a doubt saw that boulder of a turtle trying so hard to cross the road.

I spent that evening online, torturing myself with the information about turtles versus cars. Did you know that a turtle could survive the impact of a car at 50 miles and hour and a terribly cracked shell? Me neither. So I got in my car as the sun was setting and drove 30 miles back to the ditch where we laid the turtle, parked the car, and walked up and down the road. But there was no turtle. No where. I looked everywhere, in the drainage pipes, up against the fences, everywhere, but he was nowhere. To this day, I do not know if he walked away, only to die a painful death weeks later, or if a good samaritan walking along rescued him, or if he became a poor family's dinner. I will never know, and to this day that turtle haunts me, and I still look for him along that stretch of road no matter what.

Last year we moved to a new neighborhood. We had looked for over a year for the perfect area, the right fit for us. And the day we went to do the walk through on our house, a car stopped in front of us in the middle of the street, and a teenage girl ran out in front of her car. My heart lifted as she bolted to the side of the street, a turtle held high above her head, safe from the wheels of careless suburbanites. My eyes welled up with tears. I knew we were home.

Since we've moved to our neighborhood, I've had the pleasure of rescuing 4 turtles, 3 of which I rescued from the middle of the road just this past week. The first turtle tried to make it's way through our yard, not knowing or not caring that it had four extremely turtle-curious dogs in it. That one was a fun and easy save. The next two were picked up out of the middle of our neighborhood streets, their meandering little bodies not really that far off track, but still in danger of being crushed. I ran them to the backs of the nearest yards, far enough from the street that I knew they'd be ok. Easy turtle saves.

The last one was yesterday. Evan and I were driving home from preschool, and we decided to take a route we didn't normally take home. It was a 40 mile per hour zone, and there, in a right hand turn lane, was a turtle, slowly making its way across the road. I screamed "another turtle!" and pulled a u-turn so fast, Evan yelled, "Mom! You're driving like a cwazy lady!" I parked the car and ran out into the middle of the street in my flip flops, not waiting, not pausing for the car that was making its way up the hill. Karma had caught up with me, and I wasn't going to let it pass me by. I could almost imagine the car's driver thinking "WTF????", but I grabbed that turtle and held it up so the driver could see me, and dodged across the street to set the turtle down safely. I waited for traffic to part, and then ran back to the car, triumphant.

Evan said, "Mommy, did we save him??" Yes, buddy, we did. Whether I'm cursed to rescue turtles for the rest of my life to make up for the one 100 year old turtle I wasn't able to save, or whether I'm blessed with the same task, I'll take it. I'll still look for that turtle every time I drive down that fateful stretch of road. I always will.

Ladies Man

2008-09-16T07:27:00.000-07:00

Hubby took Evan to a local restaurant to meet up with a friend to watch the Bears game this past Sunday. I stocked him up with activity books, books to read, cars, etc. to keep him busy when boredom took over. He packed it all in his new Bears backpack and went off with Daddy with a huge grin on his face. He was going to watch football with Daddy!

I had the house to myself and spent the day cleaning the garage in hopes of fitting not one, but TWO cars in it this winter (hahahahaha... right), and had nary made a dent when the boys came pulling into the driveway some 4 hours later. Evan came bounding up into the garage and into the house, where I followed. He was talking a mile a minute, trying to tell me everything that happened and trying to fish the free stuff he scored from the Miller Lite girls out of his bag. (Yes, you read that right. Sigh.) He pulls out a string of Football beads and then the giant Bears magnet, holding them out like they were absolute pieces of gold. His smile could not have been more ginormous.

I said, "Wow! Evan, what a lucky boy to get all that fun stuff! You must have been a very good boy!" Daddy nods and gives me the thumbs up that he was, indeed, a good boy the whole time.

Evan looks up from his beads, looks at me very seriously and says:
"Mom? All the ladies there? Dey totally loved-ed me!"

Sarah Palin is NOT Hillary Clinton

2008-09-04T13:57:00.000-07:00

This site spells it all out pretty clearly for those who may think otherwise:

http://www.sarahpalinisnthillaryclinton.com/

Awww, isn't she sweet

2008-09-04T07:33:00.001-07:00

Palin gave a great speech last night, written, of course, by Bush's speech writers. But, as a Democrat who actually wanted to be given some reason to like her should she actually become VP, I like her less than I did yesterday. The speech came across as mean and at a 4th grade level of playground politics. Not too mention, it was totally full of Obama policy lies. But I didn't hear a specific on what McCain plans to do- just a lot of lies about what Obama plans to do. I guess McCain's speech writers are waiting to see the poll results today to finish up what they will promise to do tonight.

And, really, McCain when standing next to Palin just looks so.... well, old. Older than dirt old. If he wanted to punctuate his age more clearly, he definitely got the job done. He looked like an awkward old scarecrow up there on stage next to her last night.

And Palin basically said she has more executive experience than the other three candidates on the tickets combined. Yay. Good for her. I still shudder at the thought of her becoming the president of this country when McCain has a grabber and bites the big one.

In a State of "Panic"

2008-09-03T16:24:00.000-07:00

I like, as a Democrat, how the Sarah Palin pick has me in a supposed state of "panic", according to the GOP. Have they actually spoken with a Democrat lately? Because, in these neck of the woods, we're laughing our asses off. I would say that I'm more in a state of disbelief. Is McCain trying to lose?? I'm with Speckblog. Palin would be way worse than Bush in the Oval Office. And, let's face it, the odds of a "President" McCain kicking the bucket and leaving Palin in charge are very, very good.

http://www.ireport.com/docs/DOC-69834 . Veeeeerrry iiiinteresting.

New Olympic Category

2008-08-24T07:44:00.000-07:00

They should have a category to see who can open a toy that has been packaged in China, complete with small parts, the fastest with the LEAST amount of damage to the package itself. It would be terribly difficult, and you would have to have nimble fingers and death defying fingernails, not to mention a sharp eye and extreme flexibility. Extra points could be given for not snapping those stupid clear rubber bands in half- you know, the ones that took over the thick twist ties like a bunch of locusts taking over a corn field? And no tools allowed. My guess is China would win this sport each and every time, since they are the ones that tie these toys down like gravity may just dissipate in an instant.

Remember when you were a kid? When Christmas morning you could go downstairs and just open your present? The toy may or may not have been inside a box, but you could almost always get it out yourself. Then came bubble packaging, the kind that forms to the figure inside so you can see it out of that cute little package unobstructed. More and more toys were hung up because of this stupid non-recyclable packaging, and the days of simple toy opening were slipping away. Then came anchors and twist ties and rubber bands in conjunction with the bubble packaging. Oh, and don't forget rubber cement. And now, evil invisible rubber bands the size of thread.

I just spent 20 minutes getting some stupid Littlest Pet Shop toys out of two little packages. I have a meeting today where a few smaller kids need to come with, so I used a gift card on some relatively gender-neutral pet-related toys for the kids to play with to keep them happy. Twenty Fucking Minutes of my life sapped away by some insane packaging demons. Why the rubber bands? Seriously? I couldn't get the toys out of the bubble plastic, much less think they may actually shift (Oh, the Horror!) in the package should a tornado come out of the sky and suck the package from my hands.

Christmas morning is going to be a nightmare this year. I'm going to stock up on Exacto knives, manicure scissors and wire cutters now, less Matchbox cars become the next victims of the toy industry's packaging demons.

You May Have Too Much Money

2008-08-23T19:38:00.000-07:00

....if your three year old little girl is whining because she is "jonesin' for a pedicure" (your words, not mine) and you cave... for a pedicure AND a manicure. And she listens to her own Ipod while she lets her nails dry. I'm just sayin'.

A Few More

2008-08-20T05:23:00.000-07:00

A Summer In Pictures

2008-08-19T11:16:00.000-07:00

I thought I'd share some pics from July- now. Pics from May- June were lost in the great camera robbery of '08. So, unfortunately, I have no 4th birthday pics to share. But, we only lost a couple of months, so it could've been worse. Now I download pics every single week, just in case.

A Serious Conversation, part 2

2008-08-18T16:00:00.000-07:00

Evan's buddy was over again today, and there is nothing more hilarious than listening in on the conversations of 4 year old boys while you are filling out mundane grant applications and doing data entry. I wish all cubicles could be blessed with such entertaining conversation:

"Hey! You be a dog, and I'll be a baby. And the dog is a BIG dog and the baby is scared. Ok. Be a scared baby."
"But dogs aren't scary."
"Yes, but I am. So be scared, ok?"
"Oh, ok. Right... ARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
"Don't scream, you cry baby!"

Before the pool, while all 4 year old boys are getting their swim suits on... yet again.

"Hey! We've got the SAME Pee Pees!"
"Yeah! We STILL DO!! Hahahahahaha!"
"But yours is bigger than mine!"
"Yes, it is.... I think it's bigger because mine is older than yours. Yes, that's why it's bigger."

In the pool:
Evan dumps a watering can over the head of his buddy in the pool. He laughs an evil maniacal laugh and says:

"Hahahahahaha! I WATERED YOU LIKE A FLOWER, YOU POO POO!" Burn!!!

A Financial Crunch

2008-08-14T16:35:00.000-07:00

We're in a pickle financially, gas prices having finally caught up to us and bleeding us dry. We had a happy little budgeted stay-at-home thing going for the last 3 1/2 years, but the last 6 months have been really really hard. Add to that the fact that Evan is now wanting to do things, you know, like preschool and t-ball, it adds to the crunch.

Working from home for a not-for-profit is awesome. It's rewarding and Evan loves being my assistant most days (meaning he feels important though he doesn't do any work- easy there, child labor geeks). We're torn because I need to bring in money RIGHT NOW and he's not quite ready for school full-time. We're about a year away from kindergarten now, and it seems silly to go to work part time just to pay for someone to watch him and come out even. I could work nights, but Hubby does not have a dependable schedule which means I could work, oh, 11pm to 4am or something like that and be a zombie the next day. I could work weekends, but Hubby protests, and I also spend 80% of my weekends working on the not-for-profit stuff. I could work full-time again, but again, Hubby protests and we both know that these years with Evan are so precious, we want to avoid that if we can. So, what to do?

For one, we switched to Trader Joe's for grocery shopping. I was able to do the equivalent of a $200 grocery shop for $105 just this past week. Sweet. Secondly, we are now buying all of Evan's clothes at Once Upon A Child. Just got about $250 of Gap and Children's Place clothes for $52. The air conditioning is turned off, the lights go off the second they are not needed, I'm coupon clipping for those trips to the store that Trader Joe's does not cover, and I'm streamlining trips anywhere to include any and all stops that are along the way to conserve gas. The good thing is that I get paid for mileage that I rack up for the not-for-profit. The bad news is that the amount I get paid no longer covers the actual cost of gas. It hasn't for a long time.

I don't need to bring in that much money to keep us afloat. $100-$150 a week would be great. I am dog-sitting in our house this week, which, if I could do on a regular basis, would certainly help. But, Hubby doesn't want to advertise this service, so back to square one. All the things that I am good at making or doing end up being all tied to the not-for-profit. So....? Fuck.

I don't know what to do. I'll figure something out, but we're bleeding pretty hard right now.

Forgiveness

2008-08-10T18:51:00.000-07:00

You've all heard that old line, "Forgive and Forget." Easier said than done, right? I've been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately, mostly due to my dad. I've been trying this exercise in thinking called "putting yourself in his/her shoes", which really, doesn't help me much in a lot of cases. For example, I try this in my professional realm before making a tough phone call. I tend to fail miserably, as most people's excuses in life are cop-outs, laziness, and full out asshole. I have a hard time putting myself in those people's shoes, and then when I do, I tend to beat myself up while in those shoes for being such a dumbass no-good fuckwad. I'm sorry, but I don't role play well when I have to play the idiot.

Anywho, I've been thinking about this a lot because of how much Evan loves my dad. I mean, I love my dad, but Evan has this... connection. I can't explain it, but for how few and far between my dad sees Evan, Evan's eyes just light up when his Poppy is around. Evan found an old picture of my mom and dad taken when they originally reconciled for a split second, and he was ecstatic! Poppy AND Grandma TOGETHER! His two favorite adults in the universe IN THE SAME PICTURE. I was more than devastated, and Russ had to try to explain it to him since they now live with other people. Thankfully, it was beyond his grasp, and he let it go.

So I got to thinking. What is it that made my dad leave 30 years of his life behind for a trucker-whore woman? Could I put myself in his shoes? Was it the sex? Sure. Was it feeling wanted? Ok. But is that worth it? I mean, really worth it? To throw away 30 years of your life for sex and want? I don't know.

I wonder if my dad did ok while we needed him, and then began to flail when we got older. He was the champion bringing home the bacon, supporting t-ball and horseback riding lessons, taking us camping and to other outings. And then suddenly, we were coping out there in the real world, excelling in life, no longer needing parents as young children, but needing them as adults do. Wouldn't most parents bond over this, put their heads together in pride as they look onto the two fully functional, socially responsible and kind-hearted people they had raised and go party... together? Hell, I'd be all teary eyed and proud, and then see if hubby wanted to go to the Bahamas or go to a Cubs game. It didn't work that way for my parents. My dad went out and found a new family, a new "son" who needed him to help him buy a car, a new "woman" who needed him to pay the bills and buy a house. I have a hard time figuring it out. Because when my mom and dad are together, there is still love there. It's blatantly obvious to everyone to the point of confusion if mom and dad's current significant others aren't present. I don't get it.

I keep trying and trying to put myself in his shoes, to forgive and forget, but I cannot seem to do it. I end up at sex and want, and to me, that doesn't seem like enough to throw everything away. When I factor in happiness, it actually makes me sad to think that we couldn't make my dad happy. That my dad may have been miserable for so many years, and stayed.... why? To wait until we didn't need him anymore? We still need him. He crushes my brother again and again and again telling stories of "her" son, when he has shut himself out of my brother's life. He doesn't even realize it most times. Doesn't register the complete heartbreak on my brother's face as he goes on and on and on about his other life, this other boy who he is now a father figure to. I know children have suffered much much worse, and I know that the complaints are petty. I'm just trying so hard to put myself in my dad's shoes so I can forgive him for tearing his family apart, forgive him for not knowing his grandson like he should, forgive him for hurting all of us, but I just find... not enough.

I need to keep working on this. Life is too short, I know. But forgiveness is hard. Understanding may never come, I know this as well, but for Evan's sake, I need to keep working at it. And really, when I put myself in my dad's shoes, I just find an asshole standing there, and I don't want to do that exercise anymore.

A Serious Conversation

2008-08-08T16:41:00.001-07:00

Evan and his buddy, also 4 years old, are changing into their swim suits to play in the pool out back.

"Hey! You have a Pee Pee just like mine!"

"Yeah??? Yeah!! We have the SAME Pee Pees!"

"Hey! We can be Pee Pee Brothers!"

"YEAH!!!!"

50,000 Miles And a Visit From Gram

2008-08-07T17:38:00.001-07:00

Rolling around the suburbs of Chicago today, I was surprised to look down and see the odometer eeking towards 50,000 miles. I had to count backwards in my head, and then again on my hands, to see how many years we have owned the soccer-mom, kid-toting, dog-hauling mini-van. Not even three years yet.

I look in the reflector mirror to see Evan konked out in his car seat, sleeping comfortably like a sack of potatoes uprooted after a sharp turn, as only as a slouched over toddler can enjoy. Was it really only 50,000 miles ago that Evan went from sweet infant son to glorified dog rescuing assistant? I think back to the hundreds and thousands of jaunts in this car, and think, my God, how much we've both grown as these wheels have turned.

The stained floormats show 50,000 miles worth of dropped bottles, juice from overly grippy hands on a juice box, summer sun melted fruit snacks embedded into carpet fibers (those don't come out no matter how hard you scrub), and the slight tint of green to one cup holder where a crayon from T.G.I. Friday's met its demise one August afternoon in a parked car. The dog hair sticks to all surfaces, so much that no lint roller can de-hair it completely, and I can remember the hundreds of four-legged passengers whose lives have literally been saved by a trip in our mini-van. Evan can name probably a hundred of them, and just today, named the newest saved life that clamored into the front seat and passed out from the sheer exhaustion of being out of the pound environment... finally.

Memories from Evan's first real road trip with all the dogs piled in the back, to being carted back and forth to friends' houses, excursions to new places and old, holidays and family trips, they are all rolled up into those 50,000 miles. I can't believe how quickly the miles add up or how quickly they roll right past. I thought by now there would be two car seats in that minivan, and with life just getting eaten up with each stretch of road, I can feel the pressure of time welling up and around me. Yesterday Evan asked if I was going to have a baby. I said, no, not right now, why- do you want a baby? And he said, quite indignantly, no, babies are stinky. Right. I should remember that.

A couple weeks ago, as Evan spent one of his last days in summer camp, I was driving alone, thinking those deep alone thoughts when life is not completely interrupting your every train of thought, when I simply looked up and said out loud, Gram, we need your help. We need a baby, and God hasn't answered any prayers with a yes thus far, so how about a little help here? Because if anyone is willing to help us, it's you. I knew she heard me, somehow, and went on about the day.

A few days later, Gram visited in a dream for the second time since she died. Now some of you might argue that it was a sub-conscience response to my prayer the other day. I beg to differ. Because for the first time ever, I woke up sobbing. I'll give you the short version of the dream:

Hubby and I are at a party, and I'm feeling inferior to the women at the party. They are young, they are beautiful- they are curvy, fertile beings that I am not. Hubby grabs the hand of a young woman of a goddess-like state, and they disappear into a room. I am not concerned, and feel as if I deserve this. Everyone around me is drunk, so I disappear into a room to soak my worries away in a bubble bath. Hubby appears, and tries to get frisky, until I remember him slipping away into a room with Fertile Myrtle. I shoot him down, dress and go back to the party, where it has now become a family function. Everyone is still drunk. Oddly enough, everyone there is from my dad's family, and I sit between my brother and my cousin, who are talking loudly and obnoxiously as I look on. At a table across the room, my eyes stop and take a second to register that my Gram is sitting at the table, looking pre-stroke disheveled, but still wearing her lipstick, hair brushed upward to defy gravity (with the help of much hairspray) and bright eyed. I jump up and grab her hand, and pull her into my other Grandma's bedroom (oddly enough, the party scene changed to my still-living Grandma's house). I say, What are you doing here!?! And I hug her like an insane person who holds onto the thing they love most in this world before drowning into an abyss. I am sobbing hysterically and loudly, but not so loud that I cannot hear her say, "I can't stay long." My aunt and my cousin come in, and we are all hugging her tightly, and I say incredulously, "You can see her?" and my aunt replies, "of course I can see her!". That's when I look at my Gram from where I am holding onto her, and see that she is now wearing a beautiful white flowing gown, and her hair is long, curly and golden to the point that it has a glow to it. I cling to her tightly with the realization and wake up. Sobbing.

The emotion attached to those words, "I can't stay long" are like some sort of mantra in my head. I can hear her, and the sound of hope and distress at the same time in her voice. I know that her transformation was angel-like, and it makes my heart leap. I know I was sobbing because she came, when I needed her more than ever, when my time on this earth became too burdensome for a moment, she appeared and lifted me up. I don't think she was answering my prayer, just reassuring me that she is here and there and everywhere I need her to be. But it also reminded me of those miles, eating away at the road and leaving so many memories behind.

These days, these are the ones I'm going to want back. The sweet words from Evan, the defiant yelling, the little giggles, the jokes, the back talk. I'm going to want it all back, and it will be tomorrow when I will look up from my death bed and wonder where all the time went. I'll wonder what I did with my time, with all of those days that seemed to stretch in front of us- poof, they'll be gone, just like that. 50,000 miles are already behind us, and I want to rejoice in the ones ahead. Instead, days like today, I'm reminded to just focus on the miles today. Tomorrow's will come no matter what, and I want to be able to remember all of the them- the tedious, the exhausting, the joyful. The road seems long, but it's not. It's far too short.

Thanks, Gram. I needed that.

Why Apple Should Rule The Free World (or maybe the whole thing)

2008-08-03T07:45:00.000-07:00

Let me start out by saying that I haven't always loved Apple. I learned how to use a giant dinosaur of a computer in the 5th grade by playing the Oregon Trail in the computer learning center- and each one had a giant rainbow apple with a bite taken out of it on the front. We learned to map out pixels to make a picture and then, because printers were really expensive, had to wait for ONE printer to print out all of our pictures. The machines were huge, and somewhat loud, but boy oh boy, we lived in upper middle class suburbia, so we were the lucky ones. Some kids had not idea what a computer even looked like.

In middle school and high school, computers became more mainstream, but we still typed papers on my electric word processor that was the shit compared to my friends old type-writers that had been handed down by their mothers. I had "rich" friends who had giant computers at home, but they paid a good $6000 for those systems. I was in luck, however, because by my graduation, Intel had become mainstream in computers as well, and my parents felt that me being the first kid to go to college in the family deserved a Personal Computer. So we went to Best Buy and bought an HP package that ran my parents $2700. They couldn't afford that. But they wanted me to be able to work in my room whenever I wanted so that I could get the most out of college- and I did. Emails to my boyfriend on dial-up, music on the cd player, Minesweeper at 2am when that paper was due at 7am. I definitely used it whenever I wanted. I even had an awesome color printer that only took up half the desk! I was in love with my PC. I had forgotten all about my very first Apple experience. Then I decided to major in Advertising...

My second run-in with an Apple computer was in the computer lab my second year of college. I was a year ahead of the game, slated to graduate in 3 years total, so I was working with kids who had already had a year of Mac lab. I didn't quite understand the whole Mac/PC thing quite yet. But in about 5 minutes, I was hooked on Macs. These computers were so... simple! But you could do anything! And they crashed only once in a while, not daily. And things made sense, and you could find programs and extras and... well, you didn't have to be some computer geek to understand how to get around one. I loved the Mac Lab, and began spending more and more time working on the school's computers versus my own. When I graduated from college and moved into the "Real World", I happily handed my computer over to my brother, and bought a used Mac for $300. I loved it.

In the last 10 years since then, I've only had Macs. They are still hand-me-downs, usually bought from my husband's company, which only buys the best of the best Macs on the market every 2-3 years. I can't wait for the day I can buy a brand new Mac. I did get an ibook brand new, and it was beautiful until the motherboard blew out and it was no longer under warranty. Needless to say, it is a beautiful shelf filler in my closet now. But I didn't hold that against Mac. I suspect it had something to do with my husband not zipping up my laptop bag before slinging it over his shoulder and sending my laptop flying onto the granite tile some 10 feet away. Poor little Mac. My business recently had a pc laptop donated to it, on which I write this now. It does the job it needs to do- like run software not sold in Mac format- and that's it. I prefer the Mac over the PC in all fields, except I can't haul the Mac down to the couch to type in comfort.

So, back to why the free world should be ruled by Apple. Ah, yes. I bought an iphone yesterday. My job entails I have access to phone and email pretty much whenever I am awake. So I needed to decide- Blackberry or iphone. Guess who won? My iphone experience was something out of a dream. I walked into the store to research my product. I was treated with respect immediately, handed information immediately, literally got to see the answers to my questions on a Mac screen so I could remember how to do it myself, and was not rushed out of the store when I told them I needed to research the Blackberry, too. Yes, I researched the Blackberry, too, and I got some half-assed answers from some semi-interested kids who sort of knew what they were or were not talking about. Sort of. It was like black and white between the two options, mostly because of the sales end of things. So, back to the Apple Store.

And it was like a dream yet again. A really, really good one. The first time hadn't been some facade to get me to think the Mac people knew what they were doing. I went in, I was served immediately by a very skinny man with moussed hair and tight jeans (why, oh, why are those back in style? Yuck!) who was polite, smiley but not in a fake used car salesman way, answered all my questions, and the kicker- registered me and checked me out exactly in the place where our conversation began- in the middle of the store by the giant table of iphone demos. Everything he did was on a hand-held computer the size of a graphing calculator. I never had to go to a "check out"- the same guy who helped me from the minute I walked in the store also made sure he finished my transaction. I literally bought, registered, transferred my phone number, and set-up my iphone in about 15 mintues flat. Without feeling rushed. Do you remember the last time you went to buy your new cellphone? Well, this is waaaaay different. The efficiency and streamlined process just about blew me away. I kept waiting for the "wait, m'am, now you need to step over into this line of 400 people" or "oops, hold on, let me call customer service." But it never came.

I'm thinking the next President should have Apple come to the Whitehouse to overhaul a few things. I'm not kidding. The experience of buying something so complex was so incredibly streamlined and well-thought out that I think Apple should definitely be the WhiteHouse's new technology go-to company. I mean, if Apple ruled the free world, we might actually get somewhere in an orderly, well-timed fashion. I can already imagine such stupid day to day things like Rush Hour and lines to the women's bathroom and, good god, dealing with the cable company- all beng run like a Mac store. Can you imagine? No more rush hour? Cable fixed in mere minutes by someone who actually knows what they are doing? Ok, you can tell that I am in the euphoric stages of love, but still. I'm so incredibly impressed, it will last forever. I will forever recommend you go to an Apple Store. Truly, it's the way shopping was meant to be.

Apple, I love you.

More Ramblings

2008-07-28T05:58:00.000-07:00

We were at a BBQ yesterday and a man showed up with his beautiful silver dog. Hubby said, "what kind of dog is that?" to me and I said it was probably a Weimereiner and a Labrador cross. The dog had a face of a Weimie and the body of a Lab, but had the Weimie's silver coat. So as he's walking around, what is he calling his dog? A Silver Lab. What??? So I looked it up online when I got home and there are indeed "Silver Labs". They are registered as chocolate labs, but have a genetic make up that makes their coats silver. Pretty cool. Of course, they go for $1500 a pop, so as someone who works for the humane side of the animal industry, all I see are a new "designer" breed that everyone HAS to have, and soon they will be cranked out in puppy mills all around the country, just like the chocolate labs were when they became popular. Sigh.

**************************************************************************************

We got to see our friends' twins at a week and a half old this weekend. They are so freakin' adorable, I can hardly stand it. So small, so perfect. And one of them will be our God-child! Baby C is going to be our little God-daughter, and we're very honored. The thing that makes me proudest of our friends is that they've worked these two little bundles right into their lives. We had baby conversation, of course, but oh my! There were other things to talk about! I'm so glad they haven't become those parents and are enjoying the fullness of their new lives with their children, not simply for their children. It makes me happy to see them already living such wonderfully balanced lives, albeit tired ones. Never can anyone tell me they are tired again unless they have two or more babies that wake up every two hours. That's like some sort of reality show challenge if you ask me. Oh, and little preemie girls with teeny tiny toes and teeny tiny hands and in dresses? Sweeeet!

**************************************************************************************

So, it's finally happened. Evan has been asked to join the kindergarten class through his preschool. He just turned 4. The class is held by the park district, and it is meant to find the early K kids. So far, Evan has been the only one asked to join it, so I'm not sure there will be a class yet! But, we're proud of him and it makes me feel better to know we're not the only ones who thinks he's ahead of the game.

**************************************************************************************

Trying to conceive still sucks ass. And after reading all the books on how to prevent miscarriage and help increase fertility, I have come to the conclusion that we need to go back to the old ways of using glass, growing our own foods, growing our own cotton which we then weave into clothes, and raising our our meat and eggs. It is crazy scary what is in our food and clothes. Even our detergents. A few things we've changed around here:

- no more plastic. All glass storage containers. If we MUST use plastic, it is for carrying something only- not for cooking in.
- using certified toxic-free detergent. Did you know that most of our detergents have carcinogens in them?? WTF??? Walmart sells a line that is toxic-free. I can't even believe that needs to be a "new" product.
- All organic fruits and veggies and meat.
- Double filtered water.
- Whole milk only. Did you know that when the fat gets separated from the milk to make it lowfat, it leaves hormones behind that can directly affect fertility??? And that's what's being recommended our kids drink!
- Replacing all "non-stick" pans with good old fashioned iron skillets. Stick all you want, I'm not eating chemicals any more!

**************************************************************************************

Ramblings of a Busy Mind

2008-07-20T05:43:00.000-07:00

Last night I was sitting on the couch, and Evan climbed into my lap. We were watching the Cubs game, and he was absent-mindedly patting my leg. He stopped mid-pat and looked at me incredulously. "Mommy?" he asked. "What is all this hurty stuff on your legs?" I laughed out loud and my husband turned to listen. "That's what happens when Mommy needs to shave her legs." Evan was ok with the explanation, and my husband chimed in happily, "Busted by a 4 year old!" Yes, I shaved my legs last night.

**************************************************************************************

Our best friends had their little twins after cooking them in the womb for 34 weeks. I'm so proud of my friend, I can't even explain. She did such a good job incubating them, she was so huge, and so uncomfortable, and so completely tired of months of best rest, yet she was still sad she couldn't control when her water broke. I went to see them twice in the hospital last week before they all got to go home. Yep, twins born at 34 weeks on Wednesday got to go home on Sunday. I'm still amazed. We're going to go see them again, and I get that stupid question from my sister-in-law, who means well, but I so hate the question- "does it make you sad?". NO. Stop asking that. Why would I be sad that our best friends who tried for 10 years to have another child and then gave up, and then were blessed with this miracle of not one, but TWO babies?? It gives me hope, is what it does.

Another reason I'm so proud of my friends is that they are not isolating themselves. They haven't turned into Mommy and Daddy addicts, where everything is about the twins and everything else in their lives gets cancelled out. I have too many friends who fall off the face of the earth after having kids, only to resurface a few years later to realize "Hey? Where'd everyone go?". They are already wanting to tote the kids around, go to BBQ's, and all while juggling two kids and no sleep. It's like they have already figured out that kids don't mean your lives have to end, they just change, and you adjust and keep living. I'm so proud of them. I was worried they'd hole up and disappear, but they won't. Whew!

Do I still want a baby. Hell ya! But let me tell you I will go and hold both those babies today and not feel sad for a second. They are real dreams come true.

************************************************************************************

Lest this sound like a bitchfest, I need to clarify that the past 2 weeks, I've worked 60 hours a week. I work well into the night, get up early before the sun comes up, and am on my laptop all day long cooridinating some events, fundraising, grant-writing, etc. for work. I dream about the day that my organization is left a ton of money so 1) I can get a salary 2) I can hire my two dream assistants already picked out and waiting in the wings (you know, waiting until they can get those pesky salaries) 3) I can hire someone to do all the stuff that I do half-assed because there is no one else to do it.

I get easily frustrated when people shirk their responsibilities to this organization. At an event last weekend, EIGHT volunteers who signed up failed to show up. Do you know how much it pisses me off when people say "yes, yes, I love you guys and want to help and will give you my best for 3 hours on my weekend!" and we plan on them and count on them, and then they fail us. It makes me crazy. Adults who cannot commit to something need to stand up and say, "I'm sorry, I'd love to, but I need to say no." How hard is that? I don't get angry because people cannot help. I get angry because they don't have the balls to say so. Go, enjoy your lives, and stop fucking up my scheduling and planning! And then yesterday, I have 6 incredibly supporting people show up and donate 3 hours of their day to an event that fails miserably. Thankfully, I did not have to plan, fundraise, advertise, etc for this event, but here's why I love these people and they forever give me hope- they didn't whine. They didn't tell me they had other things to do, they didn't tell me that next time they could only come for an hour, or next time they would be busy or would maybe come. These people, these wonderful hearts, show up when they say they will, help like there's no tomorrow, and then go home and hopefully feel good about putting a dent in the world's problems. And what makes me prouder? They do it weekend after weekend after weekend. I know the reason we are successful each and every time they give up a weekend afternoon to help my organization. I couldn't control our failed event yesterday, but I can only tell each and everyone of them how proud I am of them for stepping up to the plate each and every time I need them. It hasn't always been like that, and we've culled some people who couldn't make time but kept promising to, and we've added some people who begged to join us and have proven themselves over and over again, but yesterday, the people who showed up and did their jobs made me proud. I love you guys.

************************************************************************************

More later. I gotta get back to work.

A Note To Theives

2008-06-25T11:31:00.000-07:00

If you are going to steal a camera, LEAVE THE FUCKING MEMORY CARD. You are stealing people's memories for a few measly bucks to snort up your nose. Fuck you. You stole 6 different events in my sons life from our memory books, and I fucking hate you for it. Take the camera. Leave the memory card.

The Ride Has Ended

2008-06-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

HCG came back only 25. Looks like miscarriage #2 is on its way.

I'm so angry at my body.

To add to it, our car was broken into last night, and my ipod, hubby's cellphone, and my digital camera were stolen. What pisses me off is Evan's first t-ball pics, his 4th birthday pics, and lots of others have been stolen from me.

I hate today.

Rollercoaster Part 2

2008-06-24T10:25:00.000-07:00

Ultrasound results: inconclusive.

The tech couldn't see a darn thing, but did confirm I have a tilted uterus. Maybe that's why Evan was breech? Either way, you can't see anytihng on ultrasound until hcg is between 1000-2000. I was at 59 on Friday, but I think my doc was using this to rule out "other" causes of a positive test, like a tumor or something. I don't know.

Tomorrow I will get my hcg and progesterone results back. Hcg needs to be 250 for me not to freak out in a bad way. Over 300 would be great. Progesterone needs to be over 15. Until then, you know as much as I do. Thanks for thinking good thoughts.

The Rollercoaster

2008-06-23T05:09:00.001-07:00

So, for Father's Day, I was able to give hubby this:

Now, before you go and get all excited, let me caution you to proceed with optimism and nothing more at this point. As of today, I'm at 5 weeks and 4 days. Officially 2 days more than the last pregnancy. Yesterday I was on cloud nine because we made it past 5 weeks, 2 days, but now I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.

This month has been closely monitored, as I began my fertility testing. Cycle Day 3 testing for FSH levels was normal. CD21 testing for progesterone was normal. Then, on CD 29 or so, I got a faint positive on my test. I called the doc and scheduled a beta hcg test right away. The results? 5. The nurse said they wouldn't even call it a positive until hcg levels reached 20. So I got to go in for more blood work 4 days later. Hcg was 15. Now, the doc's want to see your level double every 48-72 hours, so it did- doubling time of 2.52 days, but still not officially "positive". Thank god I brought my digital pee stick in to the doc, because their urine test was negative. That brings on a flurry of appointments, let me warn you. So, Friday I went in for more blood, and this time they tested my progesterone, the hormone that "keeps" the pregnancy, and that came back as an hcg of 59 (doubling time of 1.51 days! Yay!), but progesterone was low- only 8.4, where they want to see at least 15. So now, I'm on progesterone supplements, which may or may not help. If this one is not meant to be, it won't save it. If it is meant to be, it just might, but not guaranteed. See why I said not to get excited?

I bought a slew of cheapie pregnancy tests online, and have been testing daily to watch the lines get darker- as your hcg rises, pregnancy tests pick up more of the hormone, making the "positive" line darker. Today I'm a little freaked because it seems lighter to me. I have more blood work and an ultrasound tomorrow to rule out an ectopic or problematic pregnancy, so I'll just have to wait and see. I hate the highs and lows. We're not telling anyone this time (well, you know what I mean), until we get to 12 weeks. I hope we do. Cross your fingers, say a prayer, whatever it is you do- I'd be grateful if you would throw some positive mojo in this little bean's direction right now.

M.I.A.

2008-06-15T18:33:00.000-07:00

Sorry for the lack of posts, but we've been super busy! Here's why:

Project: Deckilicious!

Start:

Finish:

We worked on the deck for 3 weeks straight. We stained the wood with solid stain, took down the old railings, built new custom railings, adding landscaping that trails around the back of the house, and solar lights, too. We bought cute little bench cushions and cafe tables, as well as a patio rug. It's way fun to be out there now, and since we won't be traveling this summer, it gives us a great place to hang out! We also had Evan's 4th birthday party outside, and the kids had a blast! I'll post pics of that later. But, here are a few more pics to show you just why it's been so quiet around here:

We landscaped the front, too, by our front door, but I don't have any pictures. I planted, oh, 36 different plants, if you don't count the individual flowers, and let's just say I never want to haul mulch, dig holes, or schlep landscaping stone again! But, we did it all ourselves, so we saved a boatload of money, and George W's stimulus check paid for the rest!

Whew.

2008-05-19T05:34:00.000-07:00

Today, I feel better. I needed to vent yesterday, needed to cry, and for just a minute, stop holding my world together with emotional duct tape. I feel better now.

Today, I feel better enough, that I am going to drag Evan to our friend's house, who is 27 weeks pregnant with twins, and clean her house for her. She started contracting last week, and is now on bed rest for hopefully the next 8 weeks. I want these babies to come into the world healthy and without weeks in the NICU. I want that for their parents, who are good friends to my husband and to me, and we love them completely. So, I will tote my vacuum and cleaning supplies like a Happy Maid and go clean their house and scrub their bathrooms to help. I'm thinking it might be easier to just hire them a cleaning service, but we're broke with gas prices and all that. So I will clean someone else's house- one of the great sacrifices of friendship.

Now, with yesterday's post, you may think I will have a breakdown of sorts at her house, but I won't. I'm able to separate my pain from other people's joy. A good friend of mine just had his baby, a little girl, named Rileigh Elyse. She was born Wednesday, and he called me with all the details. My heart soared when I heard she was born, and was here and was beautiful. I got all choked up thinking of my friend, holding his new little baby in wonder, like you tend to do. But it was a happy-for-him tear up, not a sad-for-me tear up. Yesterday's rage was stemmed from a dark place, not a happy one. I can separate.

A couple weekends ago, we went to my nephew's 1st birthday party. It was adorable and fun, except for the fact that my dad, ever oblivious to other people's feelings, failed to tell his entire family that I miscarried. And I wore an empire cut shirt to the party. Stupid me. So I had to field all sorts of "how are you feeling?", "you are still so small!", "hi, baby mama!", "so when is the due date?"- without losing my mind. And I muddled through just fine. But this week we would've had our gender scan ultrasound for that pregnancy, and things like that hit me like a ton of bricks and take my feet out from underneath me.

But, I am better today, and though I don't know if we will just take a break for a while or not, I can just go forward. I've got other shit to do today- a business to run, a son to care for, a house to clean, a bank to ream out- you know, the day to day stuff that gets forgotten when you obsess about a pregnancy test. But thanks for listening to me yesterday. I don't really put this stuff out there to be read by anyone, but more as a journaling tool for me to get things out of my head. But I still appreciate you being there. I always do.

Another One Bites The Dust

2008-05-18T07:44:00.000-07:00

So, you may recall I joined an online support group while trying to conceive, and it totally helped me get through the miscarriage. I'm thinking now I may have to take a break.

There are 9 women in the group, and 6 of them are now pregnant. None of them were when I joined them less than a year ago. Three of us have gotten pregnant and miscarried. Three of us have gotten pregnant and stayed pregnant. One of the three miscarriages just announced she's pregnant again a few minutes ago, the second cycle after her miscarriage. I want to be happy for her, I really do, but I cannot be. I'm jealous. I'm sad. I'm furious at my damn body for miscarrying, though my brain tells me there was probably good reason.

I hate that I feel this way, that I feel like a failure in my own skin for something that comes so easy to others. I feel like I shouldn't be so hard on myself for something I cannot really control. I hate that I cannot really be happy for someone who has been so supportive of me and everyone else in the group. I hate all of it.

I hate this whole trying to conceive piece of shit business as I sit here with cramps the size of Texas and the need to tote tampons to the ballgame today. I must have peed on a million pee sticks again this month, because my cycles are still fucked up from the miscarriage, and now I go 16 days past ovulation instead of 14, giving me false hope that maybe, just maybe, this is it. But it isn't. It wasn't. And it fucks with my head in a way I've never had to deal with emotion.

I think I just need to be done. Resign to the fact that it may never happen. Because it hasn't happened in two years time, and the one time we got close, the hopes and dreams slipped away in a cruel twist of fate. I fucking hate this. And I'm still terrified and always will be terrified that if it happens again, if I get to see two lines on a pregnancy test, that they will slip away as well.

I hate it.

Pictures of My Heart

2008-05-01T08:34:00.000-07:00

He is my heart. Need I say more?

Aww Right!

2008-04-29T12:58:00.001-07:00

How many 3 years olds find Family Guy hilarious? Ours does. But not necessarily the actual cartoon, which he pays attention to WAY too much for us to watch anymore while he is awake. But my husband has a ton of Family Guy stuff, being the unending child that he is, and Evan knows all the characters. Daddy got Family Guy Uno for Christmas, and one of Evan's favorite pasttimes is to put the cards down in front of Daddy and make Daddy talk in that character's voice. It sends him into hysterics that would crack anyone up. His favorite game right now is for Daddy to talk like Quagmire and everything becomes a "giggity goo" something or other. He'll run around the house laughing so hard, he can barely squeak out "giggity good dog!" or "giggity bath time". Something about the word is just the funniest thing to him.

Now in the morning, Evan pleads with daddy to "talk yike Quadmire!" To start any morning of with laughter is a good morning, but this morning Daddy left on a particularly high note. Instead of being sent to work with a now traditional "See ya yater, Giggity Daddy!", this morning, before Daddy left for work, Evan said "Have a giggity goo day, Evil Monkey Daddy!"

Seriously, how can you not have a giggity goo day after a send off like that?

Evanisms: Age 3 Years, 10 months

2008-04-26T18:53:00.000-07:00

Man, our kid is almost 4 years old. How did that happen? We have the most awesome, most independent, most intellectual almost 4 year old around, and I love him to pieces. He constantly amazes me, and teases me, and loves me, and every day I learn more about myself because of him. He is my heart.

We were planting new flowers around the tree in the front yard, and he helped like a little trooper, eager to dig the holes and water the newly planted flowers. When daddy came home that night, he said, "Daddy! Today mommy and I planted Daffydils and Tula-toops!" Daddy was proud.

Evan's hardest thing is life is saying goodbye. And I guess, its' everybody's hardest thing. But he takes leaving his friends or family to heart, and it hurts him deeply each and every time. I know someday he'll be ok with leaving, but for now, he is not. But somewhere deep inside of him, he knows he's not supposed to act so sad, but instead of just waving and saying goodbye, he will always get upset, cross his arms and say, "I don't want to see you again. I'm not coming over again. I will NOT say goodbye." Poor guy. I guess he has it figured out already that if you don't say goodbye, it can't hurt.

Lately everyone we know seems to be pregnant. The other day we were looking at my friend's ultrasound pictures of her twins, and Evan looked at me very intelligently and said, "Mommy, do you have a baby in your tummy?" And I said no, but I would really like for one to be there. And he thought about it for a minute, and he said, "Mommy, I don't want you to have a baby in your tummy. I don't think I would want a baby in this house." I asked him why, and he thought about it and said, "Because babies are boring". Then I reminded him he would be the big brother, and he could boss his baby brother or sister around, and when they got bigger, he would always have another kid to play with in the house. He thought about this intensely, then brightened a bit, and said, "Ok, Mommy, sure, sure. You can have a baby in your tummy. I YUV to be da boss. Dat means I'm da one in charge!" Don't I know it.

Our newest game is silly names at bedtime. Usually, the names are made up and nonsense words, but suddenly Evan gets it that certain words are even funnier if you add them to Mommy or Daddy. Our names were usually "Mommy Glah-ga-bug" or "Daddy Mususuma"- things along those lines. But, T\the other night, he looked at me with a big grin and said, "You're a stinky mommy foot!" and cracked himself up to the point where he couldn't breathe.

Is that a dog?

2008-04-19T21:51:00.000-07:00

I got home from an event tonight at about 11pm, and after chatting with the babysitter, I let the dogs out and went back to chatting. The dogs were barking up a storm, and it was 11:30pm or so by then, and I immediately went to go shut them up so the neighbors wouldn't hate us.

I opened the door, and heard another dog barking back at them from the other side of the fence. It had a higher pitched bark, and sounded frantic, so I just assumed it must be little. I caught a glimpse of a lighter colored coat in the moonlight, and he was nose to nose with the dogs through the fence. I ran to get my shoes, thinking a lost little dog was out late at night, and I worry about the coyotes in our area. Last night, our cat slipped out unnoticed, and I practically gave myself a heart attack looking for him today, thinking of finding his collar in a pile of coyote poop somewhere - thankfully, he came stumbling home all by himself after a night out on the town*. Anyway, I digress. So I throw on my shoes and run outside, where I see the little dog trot off as I whistle. I'm trying to get the dogs to come inside, but they are not taking kindly to that little dog on the other side of the fence. I run back inside to grab a flashlight to see if I can track the dog down.

The sitter comes back outside with me, and I think we make somewhat of a gasp/choke noise in unison as I shine the flashlight to the other side of the fence to follow the flash of light colored coat as it dashes sideways, and a coyote is staring back at us a mere 8 feet away. It thinks for a moment, and then trots off behind the tree, then stops and thinks some more as it stares at us. I stupidly ask, "Is that a coyote that was barking at my dogs?" and she says, "I'm pretty sure that's a coyote." The dogs are still going crazy, and the dog/coyote trots off into the soccer field behind our house.

I usher the dogs inside, as it's now quarter to midnight, and I'm sure the neighbors are cussing a blue streak from their houses, and go back out to the fence. I stand there quietly for a moment, then turn the flashlight back on. That damn coyote is STARING at me from about 20 feet away. Not running, not hiding, but STARING at me, as if I interrupted his fun and he's pissed as all hell about it.

Now, my dogs aren't small, and there are three of them, but I also know that coyotes hunt in packs. Why the hell was this coyote right up against the fence yelling at my dogs? Was he trying to lure them out to where the other coyotes were? Was he rabid? Was he just simply unafraid of me because, well, he sees us bipeds just a wee bit too often these days? And why was one coyote willing to go up to three good sized dogs? Was he tame? Just a pup? What????

I'm sure I won't know the answers any time soon, or probably ever, but I will be sure to explain all the hubbub to the neighbors tomorrow. Especially the ones next door, in whose yard the coyote was standing in. They don't have a fence, and they have a bite-sized dog, so I think they will need to be most vigilant in keeping him on a leash in the dark.

I'm not one who thinks the coyotes should be shot at or punished for being forced out of their habitat and into ours. We hear coyotes all the time at night, as we live right down the road from a marsh preserve, and they often trot through the soccer fields in the middle of the night, and we pick up their chilling cries of the hunt on the baby monitor (there is nothing creepier than waking to the sound of a dozen coyotes in your bedroom!). But the fact that this one came up to our fence and had no problem with being nose to nose with our three dogs... well, that creeps me out.

Looks like it's time to install some lights in the the yard.

* Kitty is an indoor kitty, who is hell bent on going outside. Seems his former owners must have allowed it, and he has no respect for our rule that says kitties live inside only. He managed to push an entire screen from the frame to let himself out in the middle of the night, and we woke up to him missing this morning. I aged 10 years this morning, as I have NEVER lost a pet, and don't intend to start now. And I especially do not want him becoming a coyote snack.

Here we go again...

2008-04-14T10:07:00.000-07:00

12 dpo. Yep. Again. I hate this stupid day. Right now, my fertility chart says that all is right with this cycle, that I'm functioning as I should be, and if someone were to actually read my chart, they might even suspect that I could be pregnant this cycle. But the stupid pee sticks say no. No, no, no. NO! ARRRRRRGGGHH!!!!

I know it's only the 2nd cycle since the miscarriage, but I'm ready to quit, because the obsession that takes over from 9dpo on is stupid. Stupid and pointless and wearing on me.

Stupid pee sticks. Stupid miscarriage. Stupid body.

Big Boobs & Politics

2008-04-11T06:22:00.000-07:00

So, buying a swim suit when you have big boobs is not easy. But what about summer shirts? The stores are now under attack with skin-showing ensembles that, once again, exclude big boobs. I have found the only tank tops that I can wear where I do not resemble a hooker are "wife beater" tanks- you know, the ribbed ones that you just can't make look cute no matter how hard you try? Or I can wear empire cut tanks, where I instantly appear to be pregnant. Nice. Capped sleeve tees look ridiculous on me since I have bigger arms, and t-shirts in the summer- well, I'm outside so much that they are actually too hot for most days and I end up sweating my bazongas off.

What to do? Huh. Maybe lose weight. Is that the answer to everything? Sigh.

On another note, it turns out that most of my friends are democrats. Though I may have always suspected, the friends that I have that are the most cherished, the ones that I get along with the best and enjoy intelligent conversation with, are turning out to be democrats. Huh. The associates that I have where they tend to drive me insane with mundane conversation and lack of drive? You got it. Republicans.

Now, it's not like I started out looking for friends with typical political alliances, but isn't it funny that's how it turned out? And I'm only finding out now, as the political world heats up, where those friends stand politically. Those are the two things I hate to talk about, politics and religion, because I don't really uphold any sort of particular framework for beliefs for either of them. I believe what I believe, and I don't care what you believe, as long as you let me believe what I believe- ya know? And I'm finding that my friends are right along those same lines, even in regards to politics. So it makes sense that they are democrats as well, seeing as that's the only real choice when you believe in an actual democracy without religion getting in the way.

What's funny is how, out of all of my friends, none are for Hilllary right now. Everyone is supporting Barack Obama. And I find this interesting, because you would think that with the majority of my friends being female, at least one would be for Hillary. But none are. The main reason- they think she is calculating and conniving. A typical woman who has power but is not comfortable with herself yet. And that scares pretty much everyone I have conversed with on this. Because how do you trust a woman who does not trust herself? So everyone I've spoken with is backing Obama, because he is a man who obviously trusts himself and then some. Whether or not either one of them becomes president remains to be seen, but I think it's interesting that all the women I have spoken with do not think she is "the" woman to become president. Huh, again.

Anyway, no point to this posting really, just some rambling thoughts.

Ahhhhhhhh!

2008-04-08T14:45:00.000-07:00

The weekend was awesome. Relaxing. No watches, no agenda, no meetings, no customers. It was perfect. The weather cooperated, too, allowing us to stroll through downtown St. Charles like it was June, eat out on the patio at a local restaurant, and do it all without wearing jackets.

I had my second full-body massage ever, and it was heaven. I was mush and could barely walk out of there. Fun night of comedian on Saturday night, and a Sunday morning with Champagne brunch followed by a manicure and pedicure. A bit too girly for me, but still fun, and relaxing. We never even made it into the hot tub or pool, so thankfully, my fat ass stayed sufficiently covered all weekend. Overall, I can only say that we are already planning next year's trip.

The cheesiest thing about the girls weekend was our trip to a local candy store. An old antique store that also housed a candy store was filled to the brim with 80's candy. We bought candy cigarettes, Big League Chew, Candy Buttons, sixlets, pop rocks... you get the idea. Yes, we drank, too, but our latest night was 1am, and that was really pushing it. But, since that first night was spent drinking in our room, it was convenient that our beds were right there. So, I just find it hilarious that three grown women, out on their own for the weekend, have the most fun puffing on bubblegum cigarettes and pop rocking at 11pm at night. We. Are. Crazy.

Of course, now it's back to the grind, but I'm recharged and ready to jump right into projects that seemed overwhelming before I left. The trip worked, and I can't wait to do it again. And I may just need to indulge in a massage once a month... or week!

Run, Fat Ass, Run

2008-04-02T20:01:00.000-07:00

Somewhere amidst my receding pregnancy, my ass expanded. I fell back on my mother's habits of Wheat Thins and Cream Cheese, homemade Rice Krispie Treats, and lots of dining out to appease the torture my body and my mind were enduring. And did I mention, chocolate is a great emotional band aid?

I knew I was doing it, but the fact of the matter was, I didn't care. I had a million other things in life to uphold and keep duct taped together while inside I was falling apart. If I was going to patch the leak on my soul with french toast and chocolate syrup, so be it. It worked.

Flash forward to the present. I have a "girls" weekend starting on Friday. The last time I went anywhere that cost actual money with my girls was the year after I graduated from college. My best friend and my cousin and I drove to Panama City Beach during Spring Break, though none of us were actually youngsters by spring break standards anymore. I was 22, my best friend was 21, and my cousin was 22 as well. Damn if we couldn't still pick up adorable 20 year old boys to dance and drink with. We lied and said we were seniors (actually, I believe my best friend actually was), and had a blast hanging out with some adorable boys from another Illinois school who had no interest in anything other than stalking 80's hair bands and tracking the mullet count at each bar. They were awesome, the trip was innocent, and most importantly, probably the best trip of my life (not including my wedding trip, but that's a different category). So, needless to say, I'm super excited about getting away this weekend, even if it's a budget trip. 8 years is a long time to wait for another girls trip!

Yesterday while Evan was at school, I went to go find a swim suit that I would be comfortable wearing during our girls trip. We are going local, but to a fun hotel with a spa package, a great pool, and lots of local flavor. First, I tried on some jeans, always frustrated at the fact that whatever pair of jeans I bought and liked 6 months ago, Levi has managed to obliterate from the face of the earth when I need to buy more. So, 10 pairs of jeans later, I had one pair that I even remotely liked on me, and even then, I was starting to panic. The jeans I even remotely liked were huge. HUUUUGE. Did I even want to attempt the swim suits? Fuck.

So, here's the thing. Do swim suit designers ever actually put their swim suits on anyone over a size 2? Because I highly doubt it. Because, if you are over a size 8, most likely, you have boobs. And, more than likely, they aren't tiny and perky ones that sit high up in a little string bikini. Your boobs have, um, substance, and sometimes, like in my case, their own zip code. No way in hell would I ever be caught dead with some of the tops those swim suit designers had in mind for a size 10. Good god, I might as well stand on the street corner they way they just swayed in the breeze. Now, I know that you can buy wonderful swim suits at very expensive stores that have support and are actually designed like bras. But if I wanted to spend $200 for something I'm embarrassed to be out in public in, I'd buy a beater car. So 8 swimsuits later, with the only front runner a "instant slim" deal that cost $84, I left without a swimsuit and with a terrible revelation. I am fat.

I bought my one pair of fat jeans and a nice fat-hiding hoodie sweater, and headed home. I had exactly one hour left in my short window of toddler-free zone to do something about my ass. So I ran on the treadmill for the second time this week. I wish I could write while I ran, because I swear that, even though I hate running with a passion, my clearest and deepest thoughts come while I am struggling to power through and breathe. I wish I could have a recorder in my head, because if I could, I'd run even more and be really skinny, and on top of it, I'd be a published novelist. I can write and write and write in my head, but somehow, by the time I get to the computer, daily life has already beaten away the ideas that just minutes before were just floating to the surface left and right. As much as I hate running, I feel so powerful when I'm done. If I could bottle that feeling, I'd be a millionaire. But that's one of those stupid realizations that that feeling is so easy to attain, if I'd just run my fat ass more often. I could conquer the world. Instead, I get bogged down in being super mom, a boss, a wife, and the million other things I do.

Flash back to spring break, 8 years ago. I remember bringing my bikini and, even though I think I was probably as sexually confident as I may have ever been, like most young women, my body was still an embarrassment to me. I remember standing next to my best friend on the beach, who at the time was built like a 12 year old boy, and thinking how fat I looked next to her. She was brave enough to get a henna tattoo on her belly, I was brave enough to get one on my ankle. God forbid I call attention to my flat stomach. I look back at the pictures and can only shake my head at how dumb I was. Oh, man, if I could have that body back now. I can still get it back, but the main problem is that every single month when I think there is a slim chance I could be pregnant, I back off. I do really well for two weeks, and then during the "two week wait", I don't run, I don't walk, I just obsess. Well, you're hearing it here first- I'm done with that. From now through whenever, if ever, I get pregnant again, I will continue to exercise. I was actually hoping that this month would end in a big fat negative while I was on the treadmill today, but only if I keep true to myself and keep running. Because I know I should be healthier to have a healthy pregnancy. And I can only be healthier if I stop obsessing and keep exercising. If it will happen, it'll happen, right?

By nature and thanks to my mother, I am a binge exerciser. I exercise in spurts, see a difference, and quit. I need to change that. I will never have the metabolism that I had when I was 22 ever again. Sob. But, I could make simple changes, one being drink more water. I think if I substituted my other drinks with water, I could save anywhere from 150-500 calories PER DAY. That requires no exercise, and no real diet changes. So yesterday, I filled up a 2 quart pitcher of water, put it on the counter, and poured my drinks from that all day long. And guess what? I ate less. I did it again today, and guess what? I ate less. I also got my fat ass on the treadmill again.

I'm not making any promises. I don't know if I can keep this up. But I do know that I cannot keep going in the direction I am going. So I just need to keep chanting to myself, Run, Fat Ass, Run, and I might actually go somewhere this time.

Maybe.

Wonderment

2008-03-31T18:13:00.000-07:00

We spent a rainy day inside today, just breathing in the time we had to relax, play, and just hang out together. Evan and I watched cartoons, put together puzzles, colored, danced, and played guessing games. My friend, Sam, just had a little boy not too long ago, and is enduring those first trying, if not pyschologically painful, weeks of motherhood. She's going through those sleepless nights that get strung together to the point you lose your mind, and it made me think back to those nights myself.

Evan and I had a lot of good nights once I got the hang of the whole timing thing, but it doesn't come naturally, and it takes lots of practice, which I think mother nature intended. I mean, how else would you be able to hear your infant crying when you forget to turn the baby monitor back on? Normally such a state of sleep-deprivation would leave you dead to the world, but somehow mother nature tunes you into the soft little cries of your newborn (though they are only "soft" in retrospect when you can compare them to the fog horn set of lungs your baby has by age three!).

I had a hard time nursing, so I turned to full-time pumping at about week three. It was a godsend, because the minute my painful boobs went away, motherhood was so much more appealing. Up until that moment of truth, that terrible moment where I knew I couldn't nurse my child and be a good mom at the same time, I was miserable. Every time Evan cried, I could only think of the blisters of my poor boobs and the hell that was about to happen. To make matters worse, I had already been pumping, so I knew how much milk the kid would take out of a bottle, and how much less he would take from nursing. It was devastating, because I could calculate by week 3 just how much less sleep I would get from him nursing. It destroyed my mind.

I loved the daytime. Evan would keep me entertained for hours, babbling and learning and just being oh-so-amazing. Every little thing was photographed. When my husband went back to work, I loved the hours we had together during the day, but by 6pm when he came home, I'd hand Evan to my husband and I'd go upstairs for an hour long bubble bath to unwind. It became a ritual, one I still use to this day, and because of it, Evan and his daddy have such a great bond. They love their after work time together, and I love listening to them as I am off doing "me" things in the house.

When Evan was about 3 weeks old, I cracked. The last straw was when I had been asleep for maybe an hour, and Evan woke again, hungry from his nursing not too long before then. I was exhausted. I was in pain. I was losing my mind. My husband didn't even seem to hear the baby on the monitor, and I hated him for being able to sleep for more than a 3 hour stretch of time. I was seething and mentally anguished, and it was all because of exhaustion. This tiny creature wailed in his crib, and I remember looking down and simply losing it. I started sobbing uncontrollably, granted maybe in part due to hormones, but I sobbed like a little girl whose world was coming to an end. I sobbed about not being good enough, about the baby hating me, about being a failure as a mom. I'm pretty sure I dropped a lot of F-bombs in my ranting and sobbing, because my husband calmly came into the room, steered me to bed, and took over for the night. I had officially fallen apart.

That night, I think I slept for 6 hours straight. It was heaven, and I can still remember waking up and feeling guilty that I had been such a terrible mom. But that was when I concsciously realized that I couldn't do it all. I needed help, and if it meant giving up nursing so that I could regain some sanity, well, by all means, that was what I was going to do. And I did. Within 2 days of giving up nursing and going completely to pumping, I was a changed person. I was more relaxed at night, knowing that the middle of the night feedings were only going to leave me tired, but not in pain. I would nurse Evan about 9pm, then go to bed. At midnight, my husband would give him a bottle, and then he would go to bed. So by the 3 am feeding, I has slept 6 hours or so, and then could go back to bed for another 2-3. I finally regained my sanity and finally LOVED motherhood, including the night.

I remember one of the first really good nights, rocking Evan in his chair, making this silly whoosh noise that always made him nod off. I couldn't believe how big he was already, just 4 weeks old, and how much we had learned together as a family. You don't quite believe your husband will still find you attractive after you shoot a human being out of your body. You don't quite believe you will be exhausted when that first week home goes pretty ok. You don't quite believe that once you milk yourself like a cow, you will ever look at your boobs the same (well, ok, you don't really, but you certainly hope your husband gets over the image). But most importantly, you never quite believe how lucky you are to get to endure all of the craziness that is parenthood.

The bottom line is that I want to do it all over again. I can't imagine being that exhausted and not being able to nap during the day, but parents all over the world do it. And we have been through parenthood 101, so I think it's time we graduate to parenthood 202, right? I would give anything to have another baby turn our world upside down and make it so much better than we ever could've imagined.

Right now, Evan and his daddy are downstairs playing UNO. It's been 3 years and 9 months or so since Evan has made us a real family, and I wouldn't know what I would be doing know if he were not here. He's downstairs tell daddy, "I WINNED!". No, buddy, we winned. We got the most amazing boy who taught us how strong and loving and patient we really are. At night, when Evan kisses us goodnight, he says, "I Yuv You, you silly booboo!" or whatever silly name he comes up with on the spur of the moment. I still listen for his breath on the baby monitor, hear him toss and turn some restless nights, still go in to check on him right before bed. He's the love of my life, and I wouldn't trade a minute for anything in the world.

A Conversation with a Teacher

2008-03-21T17:02:00.000-07:00

Because we are on Spring Break now, I could not ask Evan's teacher the million questions on my mind this week, seeing as yesterday she was already gone. So, I called my sister-in-law, who has first hand behavior experience with Evan, both the good and the bad. The minute I told her Evan was having problems in school, she laughed.

The first words out of her mouth? "Remember when he was 10 months old and I told you he would outsmart his teachers in kindergarten if you didn't move fast enough? Well, he's there. But he's only three."

I read his teacher's "report card" word for word, and she immediately began rattling off all the things his teacher should be trying, but isn't. This is the beauty of having a sister-in-law who teaches gifted 5th graders- you get a little insight of how it should go, but rarely does.

I don't want to dismiss Evan's behavior in any way, because even if he is bored out of his mind, he still needs to be respectful and listen to his teachers. However, I am much more of the mindset now that Evan is definitely bored. My sister-in-law asked how his teachers were handling the situation when Evan said "no." I told her that, according to them, they just left him. "To do what?" she asked. "To stay where he's at on the floor, so he can be more creative than if he were drawing at the table? Instead of tracing shapes he knew at 12 months old?"

I told her that his teachers are worried there is a pattern to his behavior, that his rebellion may be some sort of behavioral disorder, but she dismissed this as well. She said many "educators" who are ill-prepared to deal with a gifted child take any challenge to their authority as a behavior issue, instead of actually working a little to see what a little challenge in the educational environment will do for the behavior.

Now, I know she's biased because he is her nephew, but I also trust her to tell me her honest opinion on Evan's behavior. She found it odd that his teachers only just now clued in on the fact that he is reading. And when he refuses to paint a chick yellow, why not offer another option to see if he would accept a more difficult task, like painting stripes on the chick? She enthusiastically suggested we find a new school after this school year, one that has a gifted program or at least an accelerated learning environment for his "behavior" issues.

The local $16,000 a year school is not even an option, so we'll look into Montessori schools to see if those are even remotely affordable. However, the $16K school does offer a "Pre-k" screening for $350, which I don't put much faith in. But, it may help us when he gets to kindergarten if we come armed with the testing results that may (or may not) show he is past learning how to spell C-A-T.

So, I have my homework cut out for me. Maybe Evan can help me with it :)

A Bad Report Card

2008-03-20T14:06:00.001-07:00

It seems our wonderful 3 1/2 year old whiz kid is causing some trouble at school. We received a breakdown of is, ahem, "bad" behaviors on Tuesday, which is totally stressing me out. To review, Evan is:

1. Saying "I don't want to!"
2. Would not (or could not?) cut out his art project.
3. Is being aggressive towards other kids.
4. Would not clean up his area.
5. Wanted to go home and do "boring things".

Personally, I see only one total problem with this list and it is simple insubordination. Evan does not want to do what the teachers ask of him.

Seeing the concern in the teachers' eyes, I took Evan home after our review and put him at the table with his craft stuff. I said, "Your teachers don't think you can do this. Cut that out, and glue it to the paper like you should have in school." And he did. Very well, despite the difficult cutting pattern the teacher had done on purpose. Then, because I'm a bitch, I drew up a whole bunch of shapes, made Evan cut them out and paste them onto an "I'm sorry card" to bring to his teachers today. Yep, my kid can use scissors all right. That was a definite "would not".

Next, we addressed the "aggression", which was defined as "everything turns into a gun or a sword at playtime". Okaaaaay. Now, he's a boy, with nothing but older boys in the family, so this will be a tough one. But, no more gun play at home or with friends until he understands the zero tolerance that schools have towards this. I understand, but thankfully he's not actually hurting anyone.

The teachers were worried about him wanting to go home and "do boring things". I laughed, which I probably shouldn't have, but whenever Evan balks at going somewhere, I say, "why would you want to stay home and do boring things? Let's go do something fun!" or, I tell him I will only do boring things without him while he is at school, since he worries that he is missing out. When I explained where he got that from, and he was obviously saying he didn't want to be at school, they looked relieved.

Now the whole "I don't want to" and "not cleaning up his area" is pure rebellion. He tries it at home every day. When I asked them what they do when he says that or doesn't listen, there doesn't seem to be a clear cut punishment or consequence. Today, he refused to do his art project again, so he sat at the table and did nothing the whole time. Seems to me, he got his way. Of course, today his aggression was taken out on two St. Patty's Day hats, which he stomped on an smooshed, much to the teacher's dismay. I asked if he apologized, they said no, so I refused to let Evan leave for the day until he did- it took 15 minutes or so, but he finally said he was sorry.

My main concern about all of this is that he's bored out of his mind of coloring letters he already knows and cutting out shapes and sticking them to paper. Maybe I'm thinking he's more advanced than he is, but when his classmates are having trouble counting to 11, and he counts to 100 on his own, I worry he's bored. When they are trying to remember what comes after 15, he's doing subtraction at night with daddy- his new favorite activity (yeah, he totally gets that from dad). He's reading level 2 books on his own and tries to read every word he sees. Today at school, while we were waiting for an apology, he noticed the number 11 was missing out of 25 cards on the wall that were placed in numeric order. Seriously, tell me he's not bored in some way.

My husband thinks he's just being difficult and stubborn, as he has always been. The teachers probably think he has a behavior or learning disorder. I think he's trying to tell us something but does not have the maturity level to get it across. Regardless, the other kids file in and sit down and do what they are told. Evan tells them "No! I don't want to!" and gets away with it. How do I work with that?

I went online searching for advanced curriculum for 3-4 year olds in our area. I choked at the $16,000 a year tuition at the school nearest to us. Seriously, there has to be a place that works with advanced kids that does not cost as much as college! How the hell do people afford that? They had a page on taking out student loans- for a 3 year old??? I value his education more than anything else, but come on. I think being able to eat is up there with education.

So, for now, I'll keep working with him at home and we'll keep chipping away at his behavior issues at school. But at home today, he said, "mommy, let's pretend like we are explorers on the planet Mars!" And I said, "Ok!". And then I immediately thought about how little I knew about that planet! Sigh. I better start educating myself to keep up with him.

15dpo- The Wait Is Almost Over

2008-03-17T09:11:00.000-07:00

After a crazy-hectic weekend where I stood for three days straight and talked to upteen thousand people, I'm finally at 15dpo, i.e. The Last Day of the Two Week Wait. I have no symptoms and my temperatures have been stable the last three days. What that means, I have no idea, since this is my first month charting temperatures. So? I'll know by the end of the day whether or not I have any reason to test again. My gut tells me there's no reason to test again.

But, the good news is that my cycle went right back to normal after being 5 1/2 weeks pregnant and miscarrying. I need to hold onto that fact- some women take much longer to be back to "normal" physically. Of course, on the other hand, it makes me go right back to the "why not this month" questions on why we didn't conceive again. Sigh. I hate this routine. Especially since now I should be like 9-10 weeks preggo. It sucks.

Anyway, I think I'll keep charting, just to see what it is my body actually does each cycle, but really, I don't think it actually helps at all. It actually makes me obsess a bit more, which I don't really like to do. I'm not an obsessive person, but this whole TWW thing turns me into a mad woman- checking physical signs, taking my temparture at randow times during the day to see if my normal temperature is higher than my waking temperature, and running into Walmart five minutes before closing to buy hpt's like some crazed crack addict needing a fix on a Sunday night. That's just not normal for me, but again, it makes me feel like I have some control of an out of control situation.

So, that's the update. Unless some spectacularly double pink lines shows up on a test, that's the last you'll be hearing about this cycle. Back to "normal" from here on out, right? Ugh.

11 DPO = Insanity

2008-03-13T17:17:00.000-07:00

Ok, I got the elbow nudge from Krissy, which I needed. I am 11dpo today, and I tested this morning because of my temperature- it "jumped" this morning, which could mean a sudden surge in progesterone (aka- pregnant). Progesterone raises your body temp, and a spike in temperature could mean that your body is cranking out some pregnancy hormones- or that it is out of whack after a miscarriage. Anyway, a big fat negative stared back at me. I might try again in the morning if I have time. This is an insane week, which keeps me from obsessing somewhat (she types after she pauses to pull her hpt out of the garbage can to double check that it was indeed negative- it is).

So, that's the update - or lack thereof.

I promise if I see anything exciting, I'll share with you guys :)

8dpo

2008-03-10T06:58:00.000-07:00

For the ladies who know what 8dpo means, you know that means obsessing time. Was that a cramp? A twinge in my boob? Am I more tired than usual? Did that glance at the coleslaw just make me nauseous?

For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, "dpo" means days past ovulation. In an ideal baby-making world, if you timed everything right, and home pregnancy tests tell the truth, some women can start testing to see if they are pregnant today. I am one that needs to test on 10dpo, but really, even the most sensitive home pregnancy tests may not pick anything up until you are due for your period anyway. But at 8 dpo, you could be pregnant, but not producing enough pregnancy hormones for a hpt to know it yet. So you obsess about every little thing your body is or is not doing.

I'm trying not to obsess, and god knows I have a thousand things to keep me busy this week, but it's still there, in the back of my mind. Hoping. Terror. Hoping. We'll see in a few days. With the miscarriage, I tested positive at 10dpo, so only a couple more days to go...

Ugh. I really wish I wasn't going through this stupid two week wait again.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

2008-03-10T06:54:00.000-07:00

Funny how it's cold outside, there is a dusting of snow on the driveway, yet it feels like Spring because there are birds signing outside my house. I walked to the mailbox this morning, and just stopped to listen. It was warming to hear them- twittling and chirping to their hearts' content, like it was a balmy 60 degree spring day. I hope they know something we don't. Yes, it's supposed to warm up this week, but then it's right back into freakin' cold for the weekend. I'm so sick of the cold, I'm going to listen to those birds, and screw the weather man!

Snore

2008-03-05T18:42:00.000-08:00

I'm seriously going to bed RIGHT NOW. It's 8:43 PM and I am doing everything I can to keep my eyes open. The catch is that means I'll wake up early. Then go to bed early. Then get up earlier.

I know, because this has been my life for the last week. I don't know how to snap out of this weird bed cycle. And I SO want to watch The Daily Show tonight. Sigh. I'll DVR it and watch it at the crack of dawn tomorrow.

And I'd give anything for a coffee. But my new "Two Week Wait" routine includes no caffeine, no hot baths, no alcohol, no meds but Tylenol, no diet soda or artificial anything, no fast food, no sushi and no coffee, including decaf. Ugh. I already battled the two-day caffeine headache and won, so I'm thinking maybe I just won't drink it anymore instead of suffering each month. Unless, of course, we get pregnant again right away, then I'm already detoxed and prepped for the next 9 months.

So I'm off to bed. I managed to make myself stay up 10 minutes to write this. Zzzzzzz.

Ugh.

2008-02-28T14:18:00.000-08:00

Evan has been battling a fever of 104 degrees the last 2 1/2 days, and has missed two school days in a row. He's miserable and it's been exhausting. His fever finally broke last night, enough where we could actually go out and get the dogs and cats food before they realized there was no more left come dinnertime tonight, and that was all we could handle. I need a nap, but I need to work and clean and organize and I just need a freaking nap. The last two weeks emotionally has caught up with me physically, and I'm exhausted. Evan is sleeping on the couch right now, so what am I doing? Laundry. Filing. Correspondence with business associates. And I need a freakin' nap.

Hubby goes out of town for all next week, and I'm starting to see spots from knowing how hard next week will be. Because, with my luck, I'll hit that "fertile window" exactly when he's out of town for us to try for kiddo number two again. And any other month, I'd suck it up, but this month, it will probably take me down to my knees. Because "trying" is the only control I have over the miscarriage. I'm actually praying to God that my whole system is messed up enough to make me at least a week off schedule for that "window" so that I don't lose my mind while he's gone. I've been fine up until I realized this morning that our attempts for #2 may be thwarted by an ill-timed business trip, and now I am hoping to god my body is messed up. What's up with that? Oh well. Final doctor's visit is tomorrow morning, and hopefully she'll tell me that it's not messed up, but just enough off course that hubby going out of town next week won't matter.

On another note, I'm currently surrounded by 4 dogs and a cat while I type, and it's cracking me up. We are watching a friend's dog, and she is the scardiest giant dog you'd ever meet. The cat is constantly stalking her, and if one dog/cat is laying in a door, she won't enter/exit that room at all. She won't make eye contact with the cat, as she is sure as all get out that eye contact will melt her down into a puddle of dog goo. The cat is seriously enjoying this. He has no fear to begin with, as he just walked up and sniffed the ear of our grumpy dog, and she just raised her eyebrows at him. Our friend's dog watched out of the side of her head, pretending like she wasn't watching, but totally was. Animal dynamics crack me up.

It's supposed to snow AGAIN tonight, and I'm just ready to quit. Can we move someplace where snow doesn't exist? And I'm not sure if I can handle one more "Ready for the snow?" comments from the neighbors. NO I'M NOT READY FOR THE SNOW! I'M READY FOR SOME FREAKIN' SUNSHINE AND 70 DEGREE WEATHER. But that's not very neighborly, is it? So I laugh and make some appropriate comment, when really I want to stomp my feet in protest like a 3 year old.

Speaking of 3 year olds, Evan is reading me bedtime stories now. We went out and bought him a bunch of level 1 and level 2 Learn-to-read books that are actually pretty cute, and he's reading TO ME. I love it. He gets stuck on some words, as he should, but he very carefully, and with proper inflection, reads me stories about Spiderman and Cars characters. Last night, I asked him what story he wanted me to read, and he said, "No Mommy, I read YOU a story!" and he did. It makes my heart ache with pride, especially when he gives each character it's own voice like we do with his stories at night. I love it.

We are also regularly reprimanded by him if we say "Stupid" or "But" (because he thinks it's "butt"), and he makes sure to point those words out on tv, since those are words that we have taught him are not nice to say. Normally, we wouldn't care about "butt", except every conversation became, "Did you have a good day, Evan?" "Yes, butt! It was a very butt day!" or songs simply became "Butt Butt Butt Butt Big Butty Butt". You seriously get sick of hearing the word butt when it is inserted into every sentence multiple times. It never ceases to amaze me how certain things are just programmed into little boys. Of course, when he got his hands dirty the other day and I made him use extra soap to get them clean, his use of "dammit" was pretty much my fault, and right on, though I asked him "What did you say?" and he repeated it perfectly. We have found that the best approach is either correcting him with a better alternative and telling him what he just said didn't make sense, or simply ignoring it and then later saying "darnit!" since he pays attention to exclamations. If we call him out on it and make a big deal about a certain word, it gets stashed into his arsenal of "things that tick off mom and dad". Believe me, he has quite the collection already. He's very proud. It should be huge by the time he's 16.

So, my rambling is pretty much done. I'm so tired I can't think straight and I can now hear him stirring on the couch, which means I've got about 30 seconds before I am bellowed at for a nose wiping. Adios for now.

Taking Charge

2008-02-22T13:45:00.000-08:00

I was supposed to get my blood test results back today, and the damn dr.'s office is closed. What? Don't tell me to call when you won't freakin' be there. ARRRGGGH! So, I have to wait another day. So, Evan and I trekked out to take my mom to the doctor, and instead of sitting around feeling like I have no control while waiting for her, I went shopping.

We went to Carter's, since Evan needs new jammies, and I got teary eyed only once while fingering a soft little sleeper in newborn size, then decided that was enough of that. So, I bought a Onesie for the next baby. There. I'll show you, body. Ha. I then proceeded to buy Evan a ton of pajamas for next to nothing. Man, I love that store.

When I got home, low and behold, another friends is pregnant and sent me a picture of her digital pregnancy test via email. My screen shouted "PREGNANT" at me, and my eyes welled up with tears. This is massive improvement over sobbing 4 days ago, so mentally, I'm healing well. I won't know if physically all is going well until my damn blood test comes back tomorrow, but I feel ok other than that helpless feeling.

I had read just yesterday that taking one baby aspirin a day can help your uterus become more baby-friendly, so I popped one just a bit ago, and plan on taking one now through when I'm 36 weeks pregnant. I'm getting on the treadmill tomorrow just as soon as I get the nurse's ok, and then it's back to healthy eating and that positive pregnancy test. I'm not waiting. Studies show that it makes no difference if you wait or not after a miscarriage, so why wait? The best thing I can do for myself now is take control of my life again, so that's what I'm doing.

Pity Party is now over.

Random Thoughts of a Tired Mind

2008-02-21T12:00:00.000-08:00

The last few days have been a whirlwind of emotion, trying to get back on track, and vascillating between a pity party and feeling optimistic. It's exhausting. My mind seems to be wandering to random things at weird moments, and I had to laugh while running errands today because I was listening to my Ipod, and with the flashes going on in my head, it was like I had my own music video going on in there.

I had to go this morning to get my blood drawn to make sure my hcg levels are decreasing, as they should be now. The nurse was sympathetic and a wonderful needle-sticker (thank you, dear nurse). I laughingly told her that she could draw my blood any day after my ER experience with Dr. Harsh Hands and Nurse Jabs-a-lot. Seriously, ER doctors should NOT be allowed to do any sort of gynelogical exams AT ALL. Good God, I wasn't in pain until that damn ER doctor got a hold of me. And if you work in the ER and commonly have to put IVs in people, shouldn't you actually be good at it??? Anyway, I'll have the hcg level reading back tomorrow, and we'll know if it's all going in the right (or is that the wrong?) direction.

The weird thing is the purging. Not throwing up, mind you, although that might do me some good after the TWO meals of french toast waffles with chocolate syrup pity party I threw myself on Tuesday, but the opposite of nesting. I cannot stop. I am a crazed zombie in the "must clean NOW" department. And that is so not me. I have a method to my madness that my husband does not understand, but I can find a single paper in a pile of 500 papers, can find one lone sock in a giant pile of clothes- but I have no organization skills that really count. But, all of this week, I have thrown out, organized, cleaned, scrubbed, vacuumed, polished, and basically purged my soul of how dirty and wrong the house feels. Weird, isn't it? I'm sure there is some deep psychological explanation for it, but the simple explanation is that it's all helping to heal a wound and making me feel like I'm in control of something.

The fact of the matter is that I'm terrified now that if we try again, the joy, the wonder, and the excitement of being pregnant will be gone. That this will overshadow everything. I'm not used to being scared of life. I don't quite know how to handle this part of it, so I'm purging. Emotionally, I've grieved and am getting back on track and looking forward to the future. Physically, I'm done with the cramping and the bleeding is now down to a minimum. But, in reality, I'm still a bit unsure of things. I know it takes time. And I know all the flashbacks and random memories are helping piece "me" back together.

But it still sucks.

An Explanation

2008-02-20T07:47:00.000-08:00

Evan was playing on the computer just now, and clicked on a link to my pregnancy tracker. He said "Yook! Yook! Mommy, dis is what the baby looks like right now". So I went over to him and looked at the illustration he was looking at, and said, "Evan, would it be ok with you if the baby came a little later than we thought? Like maybe after Christmas?" and he said, "But Mommy, I want to have a Halloween baby!"

I had to think about what to say next, since I hadn't exactly planned this conversation. I said, "well, a Halloween baby would mean you would have to go slow trick or treating because Mommy and a baby couldn't push a stroller as fast as you run." So, he thought about it, and said, "Otay, Mommy. We can have our baby later." I gave him a hug and told him that we wouldn't look at baby pictures for a while since the baby wouldn't be growing in Mommy's tummy right now. We'll work from there. It's the best I could do on short notice, but he definitely isn't worried about it.

Love Is

2008-02-19T09:05:00.000-08:00

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."
Terri - age 4

Amen, kid. Ain't that the truth.

5 weeks 2 days

2008-02-19T05:31:00.000-08:00

That's as far as we got. I began to miscarry last night. I spent the majority of the night in the ER, which only confirmed what I already knew- that this pregnancy wasn't going well.

I knew almost from the beginning that something wasn't right. I prefaced baby conversations with "if nothing goes wrong". I haven't bought any baby clothes or maternity pants. I only marked my calendar to 12 weeks, thinking that if something went wrong, I'd have a lot of white out to use. I just knew. I wasn't like that with my son- I was the opposite. With him, I knew all was right.

I'm sad, but I'm ok. We'll try again. I just hope the next one doesn't take 18 months. And I need to figure out a way to tell Evan that doesn't scare him. Any suggestions are welcome.

Overwhelmed

2008-02-13T13:30:00.000-08:00

Ever get so overwhelmed with your list of stuff to do, you do nothing?

Yeah, I'm right there. Staring at this crazy-ass list of things to do that I don't know where to start. So I don't. Which, of course, makes me panic. Which then makes me look at this list again, which repeats the cycle, taking me nowhere- fast.

Seriously, when you have 10,000 things to do, how do you start? Because right now, I just want to take a nap, and hope when I wake up, at least one thing on my list is crossed off.

The T-Shirt Battle

2008-02-10T05:44:00.001-08:00

I WILL NOT WEAR THIS SHIRT! TAKE IT OFF!

FINE! I DO NOT YIKE DIS SHIRT, YOU POOPOO!

A Fruit Roll-up? Otay, mommy, oh sure. Cheese!So, we pulled it off. It took bribery that consisted of one Fruit Roll-up (High Fructose Corn Syrup is not normally a snack in this house!) and one Brand New Power Ranger. It was worth it. He wore the shirt for the whole night after that. It will hopefully be easier to get him to wear it next time. Grandma noticed the shirt right away. Now to tell the rest of the family!

Ok, Maybe It's Real Now...

2008-02-08T15:20:00.000-08:00

I had this grand plan of using our 3 1/2 year old to tell Daddy he was going to be a big brother. For those of you who do not yet have a 3 1/2 year old, let me tell you how my scheming went:

"Evan, let's put your "Big Brother" shirt on so we can surprise Daddy when he gets home!"
"NO! I WANNA BE A YIDDOW BRUDDER! NOT A BIG BRUDDER!"

"Evan, when you're done with your bath, let's put your Big Brother shirt on for jammies, and then you can take one of your new Big Brother books downstairs for Daddy to read to you for a bedtime story!"
"NO! DAT IS NOT A JAMMIES. DAT'S CLOTHES! NOT JAMMIES. I WANT MY JAMMIES SHIRT NOW!"

Instead, I peed on that lovely digital home pregnancy test after Evan went to bed, and since Hubby had been talking about tax deductions before I had taken Evan upstairs, I presented the pee stick like this:

"Well, I don't think we can get a deduction on this year's taxes, but this should help with next year's taxes" and I showed him the pee stick. He then looked at me and said, "You're kidding, right?". And being the smart ass that I am, I looked at him deadpan and said, "Yes, I'm kidding." He then got excited and did the whole supportive husband thing. The hilarious thing is about 30 minutes later, he said, "You know, the tax thing is great- the kid will only be here for 2 months and we'll get to deduct him for the whole year!" Ah, ever the mathematician.

So then comes the fun part- when do we tell people. It was decided right away we would wait the obligatory 12 weeks, but then Hubby wanted to tell his brother. Well, if he tells his brother, I have to tell my Mom. And if I tell my Mom, I have to tell my Dad. And my brother. And my aunt. And, oh, crap. Why wait? I'm so nervous, going through the whole "what if something happens" routine, but then I think about how these people will know if something goes wrong anyway, so what's the point in waiting?

The plan is to tell my Mom and her husband when they come over tomorrow for a concert we're all going to. And, of course, the plan involves that damn Big Brother shirt and the cooperation of a 3 1/2 year old. BUT! I have bribes! Not one, but TWO Power Ranger toys that this kid has been coveting since he discovered the karate-kicking fiends in his cousin's toybox. One is to bribe him to put the shirt on if he will not. The other is to get him to tell Grandma that he is going to be a Big Brother. I am SO not above bribing in this situation. So, we'll see how it goes.

On a side note, is it just my imagination, or are my pants too tight already? I'm writing this with the top button undone. I'm so screwed. I'm gonna be a walking dinosaur.

A Look Under The Hood

2008-02-06T06:01:00.000-08:00

In an effort to figure out why we have been having difficulty conceiving, I made an appointment with my obgyn. I was run through the typical gamut of tests for an annual exam. But other than talking about basic fertility treatments, I got a "keep trying", an "everything looks good" and a pat on the knee. That didn't go over well with me, but I left with new prenatal vitamin that is the size of my thumb and tastes like vanilla, and a homework assignment to have as much sex as we could stand around ovulation time.

I was somewhat frustrated because I wanted answers. Now. I mean, isn't that what we look to professionals for? The reasons why?

And, there has been a running theme in my life lately- other people having babies or getting pregnant. Again, I am happy for them. It just makes me wonder- am I noticing this more now because we're trying, or are we trying more because other people are succeeding? I don't know, but until we started trying, NO ONE we knew was getting pregnant! I've gone over and over the people we know, and I'm not exaggerating.

Last week, we found out that my husband's best friend and wife are having twins. At 43. Without any help from the medical world. Now, granted, I don't want twins, but COME ON.

What's even more frustrating is we needed to take the last month and this month "off" from trying because of my husband's travel schedule at the end of every September. He goes to Hong Kong every year for 2 weeks at the end of each September. There was no way I wanted him in Hong Kong while I was here at 8 or 9 months pregnant! No Way! So no ovulation predictors, no charting, no nothing. We had to avoid sex around that window of opportunity. And it makes me sad and frustrated because still, that is 2 months lost.

Or so I thought.

How many lines do you see in these two tests?

Ain't mother nature freakin' hilarious? I will be NINE months pregnant when my husband is halfway around the world. But I don't care. And in case you are having trouble believing it yourself, pictures speak louder than words...

Shhhhh... it's still a secret, at least for another 8 weeks. It's going to take me that long to believe it myself!

The "What If" Battle

2008-01-21T06:38:00.000-08:00

I've thought about posting this a few times, but am a private person, so I haven't. I've found comfort in talking to people I barely know about this on a lovely support group I happened to stumble upon, but other than my husband, I don't think anyone really knows. And the main reason no one knows, is that I loathe people feeling sorry for me. So I'm going to tell all of you this on one condition: No "I'm so sorry" or "You poor thing" or any of those other things people say that really don't help at all. Because we've discussed this as a family, and we're ok with the What If's that come along with what I'm about to tell you.

The fact of the matter is, we've been trying pretty darn hard to have another kid, and it's not happening. We may not be able to. I'm having a bunch of tests done next week to see if it's me- hormone imbalance, cysts, whatever- but it could be my husband as well, seeing as he's 12 years older than me. I have a sneaking suspicion it's me.

I went off the pill over 2 years ago with the intention of "let's see what happens" turning into a pregnancy. Nothing happened. So I started keeping track of period lengths and used a computer to "predict" my ovulation window. Nothing. 17 months ago, we really started trying every month around that predicted window. Nothing. So 5 months ago, I started using digital ovulation predictor kits to make sure we were getting the timing right. For the most part, we have. Still nothing.

When I got pregnant with our son, it was a total surprise. We weren't trying- we were preventing, actually. So I figured the next one would be just as easy. Wrong. Turns out that secondary infertility is fairly common. I started researching what I could do to help myself, and it's surprising the things you can do to take control- exercise more to regulate hormones, chart your morning temperature to see when exactly you ovulate (I'm terrible at this), natural supplements, timing of sex- there's a lot! But, I still need the doc to "look under the hood". I spot every month before I menstruate, sometimes for days on end. Spotting is something that has happened my whole life, but it starts earlier each month I'm off the pill, sometimes making me spot a whole week before Aunt Flow comes to town. That, combined with the fact I had a c-section with our son, worries me.

We've talked about the what if's, and we've decided we won't go to any extremes. If it's just us and our son, we'll be ok with it. I'm not itching for a baby so badly that we'll adopt or go through invitro-fertilization- if this was our first child, maybe. But for now, we're going to get healthy, try harder, and get the basics checked out.

I found a wonderful group of women on a great website for those trying to conceive, and we all hold each other up at the end of the month when that pregnancy test is negative. I go for my pity party there, and then get on with my life. No one there is feeling sorry for anyone else. They are strong women, and we're all going through various versions of this. One of them has gone through 4 miscarriages in the last year, losing one baby at 17 weeks- I think I'd stop trying at that point, but she soldiers on. Our predicament seems light compared to hers, and it keeps things in perspective for me.

I hope to have some answers next week, but maybe we won't. Why did I decide to post now? I don't know, really. I guess I've talked about it enough with strangers who have become friends that I finally feel ok with it. I still rejoice in my friends pregnancies, still like baby showers, still like babies in general- I don't have any of those harsh feelings that some women tend to get, and I'm sure a lot of that has to do with having a sweet boy of my own to love and cherish already. If we cannot give him a sibling, then we can't. If we can, we'll keep trying. On the bright side, if we can't, we'll save a ton of money on birth control pills the next 10 years!

So there you have it. I'll post an update next week, if there is one to post.

Big Loser

2008-01-10T15:04:00.000-08:00

In an effort to stave off my genetically inclined big ass, I have joined the Biggest Loser Club. Will it work? Who knows. Does it inspire me to get on the treadmill and move? Yes. For how long? Only God knows. I may not be the Biggest Loser, but hopefully I'll be a Big Loser anyway. You know, in a good way.

Heart attack and then some

2008-01-09T16:46:00.001-08:00

Last night we were watching the news, only to see that this touched down in the small rural town where I keep my beloved horse.

This F3 Tornado (yes, that's a picture of the actual tornado) left a path of destruction over 13 miles long, and I couldn't get a hold of anyone to tell me that the barn or the house were still standing.

Can I tell you right now how much I LOVE the internet? Because at 10pm last night, I was online tracking the path of the tornado in comparison with google maps to see just how far north of my beloved horse's home the tornado weaved its destructive powers. And the answer- not far. But, I had enough relief to think that all was fine. No names of the hospitalized matched up, none of the pictures of smashed properties looked familiar. But as of this morning, I had still heard nothing. With one foot out the door to drive there, I got an email finally stating all was fine, and the tornado indeed landed north of where my horse is at. Thank freakin' god.

I love my horse, as I love all creatures who depend on me for my care, but I have joked sometimes that a lightning strike wouldn't be such a terrible way for him to go. Last night, I was freaking out that maybe some God had taken me seriously, and the bile kept rising up in my throat. Good god, I never actually really meant that. I mean, yes, he's a VERY expensive lawn mower, and not even a riding lawn mower at that, but he's a living, breathing, loving creature with a fantabulous sense of humor that I would hate to see wiped off this earth in a whirlwind of destruction. I'm so glad that all four of his disfunctional and non-earning feet are still on the earth tody.

The Heart Of The Matter

2007-12-29T16:17:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is my dad's mother's 80th birthday party, and toady I found myself angry and my heart aching. Yes, this woman is my grandmother in the blood sense, but not in the way it really matters. She was never loving or fun, we never felt special or wonderful, nor were we a burden or a bother. We were simply "the other" grandchildren.

We grew up in the same area as all the other grandkids, went to all the same family holidays and parties, but because my dad married my mom, and my mom was proper and polite and quiet (quite unlike the other wives), she never pushed us to the center spotlight (thank god!), but let the pushier, pettier women shove their kids, my cousins, into the "best grandchildren" category. We never fit in. We never felt loved. We were often the recipients of our aunt's twisting of the knife in my mother's direction. Growing up with my dad's side of the family was often painful. And when my brother and I were old enough to say no, we did. No more.

On the other hand, we grew up loved, sheltered and supported by my mom's side. We laughed, we were loved, and we were always happy. My mom's mom made sure we were the center of her world when we were with her, and because of it we felt connected, and safe when we were with her and her family. Her eyes lit up when she was us, her smile was always for us, and us alone. She loved us with her whole heart and then some. She was "Grandma", even though another existed on my dad's side. And she's been gone a year ago October, and my heart aches with an emptiness that will never be filled.

Gram's holiday was Christmas Eve, and this one came and went with her on my mind, and the hope that my hosting of the holiday now lived up to her standards. Even in her death, I still long to make her proud, to make her smile. And I think I did pretty ok, but when my dad called today to remind me of his mom's 80th party tomorrow, I was filled with a sadness I haven't felt in a while now, and a surprising anger that we're celebrating the wrong grandmother's birthday. It should be MY gram that is still with us.

The only other soul in this entire world who understands is my brother, so I called him. Ironically, I was on my way to Hallmark to get a card for tomorrow, and he was already there. In all seriousness, but in a joking tone, he read out different cards that just wouldn't work: "Dearest Grandmother, the memories I have of you growing up will always remain with me..." and "Words can never express..." blah blah blah. We vented to each other about how much tomorrow will suck, how much we miss Gram, and how we wish she was still with us. I told him I cried on the way to Hallmark because I missed her so much today. He admitted both he and his wife cried during Fred Claus because the movie played Gram's song and they just couldn't help it. And we were angry for the love we can no longer wrap ourselves around whenever Gram is near.

Is it wrong to be angry? It's not my grandmother's fault that my Gram isn't with us anymore. But I feel cheated by her anyway. And my brother and I will fulfill our duty as grandchildren to appear tomorrow at her party, and then get the hell out of there until our next required visit. It's just not fair. I just miss my Gram so much.

I hope you had one hell of a Christmas party in Heaven, Gram. I'm sure the eggnog was killer. And I really wish you would've been here with us instead. I could sure use a hug from you.

2007-12-27T16:05:00.000-08:00

We're busy bailing ourselves out of the Christmas flood of presents for Evan, and I'm busy digging myself out of work, but here are a few amusing things from this Christmas. I'll leave the drama for another post.

***************************************************************************************

Evan was admiring a necklace I put on, since I rarely wear necklaces. It's an open diamond-shape, with a little speck of diamond on the bottom corner. I said, "Look Evan, this is from your Uncle P and Aunt L. Isn't it pretty? It's shaped like a diamond, right?" He took the charm in his little hands, looked up at me, and said, "But Mommy, did you get this from Zales The Diamond Store?".

***************************************************************************************

The night before Christmas Eve, Evan got all upset when we started to let the fire die out in the fireplace. "But Mommy! Santa won't be able to see our chimney! He'll get lost!" When we explained that Santa could find the chimney, and that he wouldn't be coming down it until the next night, and that we didn't want Santa to burn his butt when he came down the chimney anyway, he was all ok with the fire going out. But then on Christmas Eve night, when the fire was still blazing when he went to bed, he wailed and pleaded to put the fire out, "cuz if Santa burn his butt, he be real mad and won't put any presents under da tree!"

****************************************************************************************

We have a new cat named Conner. Conner is a cute orange tabby that is as friendly as they come. Somehow, the trailers for the movie, The Waterhorse and Conner's arrival have entwined themselves in Evan's imagination. Somehow, the cat is now a waterhorse. Evan will get this glint in his eye and say, "Mommy, have you seen a Waterhorse around here?" and then will spy Conner and say , "Hello, Waterhorse!"

****************************************************************************************

Holiday Babble

2007-12-20T15:32:00.000-08:00

We're all slowly getting back to "normal" after being beaten over the head with various illnesses the last few weeks. Poor Evan has had the worst of it, being his first year in preschool. He seems to be sick at least once a week, or in other words, constantly. Last night he couldn't sleep from an earache, his first ever, and it almost kept him home from his school party today - almost.

Evan had his first Holiday Celebration at school. And oh, what fun! A 3 year old's dream is what today was. Not only was it show and tell day, where he brought his favorite monster truck, but it was bring gifts to teacher day! He so proudly went up to Ms. M and handed her the little gift bag with the Birthday Cake scented candle in it that he picked out all by himself (really, who wouldn't like to smell birthday cake all day?). He was too shy to hand it to the other teachers, so I left the bags where his teacher could encourage him to bring them to them in class.

So what else happens at a 3 year old's Holiday Celebration? A Candy Cane Hunt, that's what! Complete with obstacle course! And of course, you can't forget the singing of "Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer", the making of a foam "s'more" reindeer, wrapping of your mom & dad's secret gift to put under the tree, make-your-own-holiday-cards, and of course, donut holes! I mean, what 3 year old party isn't complete without your standard donut holes? Seriously, the kid was a sweet pile of sugar by the time I picked him up, his eyes glazed over in a sweet semi-coma, and his was just so happy. A day of bliss for a 3 year old.

Santa is not a part of this party, which is a good thing. See, we already have a glitch in the Santa department because everyone in a Santa suit is no more than our friend, Matt. Yes, Matt does volunteer work with me, and every year he plays Santa for photos. So Evan always sees the Santa suit in the box, so I have to explain that Santa's suit is WAY nicer than the one we have in the box, and that the REAL Santa doesn't have time to take pictures with doggies, so Matt dresses up like Santa to make the doggies happy. So now, every guy dressed up like Santa is "Matt". Houston, we have a problem .We may never get a picture of Evan sitting in "Santa's" lap again. And I'm terrified that when we do see a "Santa", Evan is going to ruin it for other kids by saying, "That's not Santa, that's Matt!". He totally knows a real Santa exists, but he's already way too smart for the mall Santas. What have I done?

But, every morning Evan wakes up and when he rubs the fog from his eyes, he says, "Mommy! I woke up again! It's December 20!" Seriously, teachers should use advent calendars to teach kids the days of each month. Evan has it down pat after 20 days of waking up to chocolate treats in a calendar. He knows the dates, and he's starting to get the "nd" and "ths" after the date. Advent calendars are the genius way to teach. If teachers did math with chocolate, every kid would learn. 3 chocolate Santas plus 6 jelly beans equals 9 candies! Wahoo!

So, I'm scurrying around the house, because of course we're hosting Christmas Eve. I'm pretty much in Dyson mode now, trying to make this place look like a model home. We did get our kickass new rug in time for Christmas though, so whatever else happens, it doesn't matter. We've had our first official fire in the fireplace (and 2nd, 3rd, and 4th), we've hung blinds, we've finished the bathroom downstairs, and we've even managed to park two, count them, TWO cars in our 2 car garage. Call me crazy, but that's a miracle in itself.

There's the update. Sorry so sporadic in postings, but when you're on the computer all day typing, the last thing you want to do some days is type some more!

I hope all of you have a happy holiday. I can't wait until Christmas. Have I mentioned it's gonna rock?!

Dear Santa

2007-12-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

This year, Christmas rocks. Evan is so excited, it brings all the magic back into the holiday. What's even cooler is that we just "mailed" his list to Santa, which, because I love the fact that my 3 year old can write, I'm going to share with you cuz it makes me all fuzzy and proud. He even decorated it with stickers and wrote "Santa" on the outside of the envelope before we mailed it. The whole experience this year is just awesome.

So, here's his letter, front and back, to Santa Clause:

and in case you need translating:

Dear Santa,

100 Cars,
Race Track
Pop Up Ramp
Monster Truck (Truck is written on page 2)
Video Game
Train Set
Race Car (written in pink, so it's hard for even Santa's Elves to read!)
Lincoln Logs

I didn't have to help the kid with any of the letters. He just told me what he wanted, and he'd say, "Mommy, you spell it for me?" and I'd tell him the letters, and he'd write 'em down. My favorite part is "100 Cars". This kid isn't messing around! He knows what he wants! We were playing Lincoln Logs this morning and I said, "We need more Lincoln Logs! We can't build the big tower building like on the box!" and Evan said, "Mommy, I wrote it on my list to Santa. Don't Worry!" So then I had to try and explain that Santa doesn't bring you everything on your list, just what he thinks you'll have the most fun with. I'm not sure he's buying that, but either way, I think I'm more excited than he is!

It Makes So Much Sense

2007-11-28T18:28:00.000-08:00

Evan and I were talking in the car today about what kind of cookies we should make for Santa.

"Ev, what kind of cookies do you think Santa would like?"
"Ummm, maybe... car cookies?"
"Car cookies, eh? That's a nice idea!"
"No! No, No, No! Toy Story Cookies!"
"Toy Story Cookies? What do Toy Story Cookies look like?"
"You know, toys. Because Santa yuvs toys!"

Of course he does! Silly Mommy!

This Christmas is gonna rock!

A Few Rambling Thoughts

2007-11-19T16:19:00.000-08:00

Sorry Kids, it's been a while. Time is racing by at warp speed, and I cannot seem to catch up with anything important. But, thought I'd stop in and say hi!

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

We went to see Lowen and Navarro at Park West in Chicago again this past weekend. It pretty much rocked. They played a lot of new stuff, which was all mellow and melancholy and tear-out-your-heart beautiful. I prefer this greatly to their Hogging the Covers album, where they cover a lot of other people's songs- sorry guys, you guys are a step above most of those song writers and musicians, which is why we come to see you. And the surprise is that they'll be back in Chicago in just a few weeks. Eric Lowen has ALS, and the concert will benefit the Erick Lowen Fund- if you can make it out to St. Pat's on December 8th, you should go. You will never find more harmony than with these two guys. They can sing their way right into your soul. My only disappointment of the night was that they didn't play "Maybe Tomorrow It Will Rain"- my all time favorite grab-you-by-the-heart song. They played it a while back several years ago when we saw them at Martyr's in the city, and granted we've missed a couple of concerts due to schedule conflicts since that one show, but there is nothing like them singing that song live. Maybe they'll play it at St. Pat's if I'm lucky.

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

I bought 10 reusable grocery bags in an effort to save the world. One of my husband's friends lives next door to Al Gore. Yes, Al Gore. I guess Al Gore has taken over the entire cul-de-sac with trucks, equipment, and lots of workers because he's changing his house over to geothermal energy. Humph. I guess I need to do something in addition to those reusable bags, or Al Gore wins this one.

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

For those of you who don't know that I work in Animal Rescue, I do. I don't like to talk about it here, because I'm inundated with it 24/7, and this is a place to blow off steam about other parts of my life. But, could someone, anyone, just donate a million dollars or 10 acres of land to our little rescue so we can do a bit more saving? Because I was at the pound this weekend, and I got to bring one wonderful and beautiful dog out while leaving a good 10 that needed my help behind. And until we have our sanctuary built, I have to relive that each and every time I go there. And that is the hardest part of my job.

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

Evan has taken to crossing his arms, stomping his feet, and literally saying "Humph!" when he has decided he doesn't want to do something in particular. And then he says, very crossly and most serious for a 3 year old, 'No. No fun for me. No bath for me. Just never more. Humph!" It's all I can do to not giggle hysterically. I know he's just testing his limits, blah, blah, blah, but where he got the crossing of his arms is beyond me. The way he juts them way up and then thumps them onto his chest to make his "Humph!" more effective, all the while with his pouty lips on... oh god, it's just way too much fun to try to get him to do it right now.

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

Just a quick countdown- only 3 days left until Christmas explodes all over our house!

What You Didn't Know

2007-11-03T07:19:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine told me that he and his wife were having a baby, and I was so excited for him. You could see the excitement in his eyes, the sheepish pride of the fact that they were even pregnant, and all the hopes and dreams that come with your first baby on the way.

I remember all of that, though some days it seems a million years away as Evan sits here telling me that the last song we heard had drums and a guitar in it, and that a certain cartoon is "Borwing", and as he actually writes his list to Santa within the practice lines of his notepad as long as I spell the words for him. Three years and 5 months ago, we held this little bundle of hope, of love, and of happiness, and couldn't be happier. It was the best day of our lives, and still is.

Since then, I've tried very hard to not give unwanted advice to new parents. Do you remember all the "sleep now, you'll never sleep again!" sort of wisdom people thought they'd bestow on you? God, we had heaps of it. And the thing is, until you are a parent, you just don't get it. You try, don't get me wrong, but you simply don't.

Until I was a parent, I never got:

-why people would bring other food for their toddler to a restaurant chock full of food. The answer for non-parents is if you want a quiet dinner, as we do, you'll bring whatever food and other paraphanelia to keep little bubba happy while you eat. Duh.

- why mothers would just let their screaming, loud, obnoxious toddler fling and wail on the floor of whatever store I was at in the mall- I mean, seriously, could you shut that kid up? The answer for non-parents is No. No, I cannot shut that kid up. That's why he's laying there kicking and screaming until he learns to shut himself up. If I could shut him up, I would have by now.

- Why would parents call and wake us non-parents up with a Saturday phone call at 9am? I mean seriously, the whole world is sleeping still, right? Umm, yeah, all those people were right. Once you have kids, you never sleep again. Well, maybe once they get into high school. Sleep until noon while you can, suckers!

- Why would a full-grown, college-educated adult have to stoop to bribing a toddler to do anything at all? Seriously, a lollipop to get into the car? Just put the kid in the car already! Until you have tried to lodge a tantrum-throwing demon of 30 pounds into a car seat, put them in a sitting sort of position, and buckle 5 damn straps, all the while being kicked in the chest and punched in the head simply because they don't want to go to the store, you don't have a clue of what bribery is worth. Sometimes, it's worth avoiding a black eye.

- Don't you watch anything but cartoons in this house? Umm, no. You can't watch any "adult" tv with a kid awake because it's either too violent and they pay attention or it's too boring and they want your attention. You don't get to watch tv until they go to bed. And by then, you're too exhausted to watch tv.

- Don't your kids ever listen to you? Believe me, they have selective hearing by age 2. Take my toddler for a while. You'll get it soon enough.

There are so many things that I wouldn't trade for the world, including the sleepless nights, the tantrums, the walking around with a closet in your purse/diaper bag to keep the little one happy. And all the things people told me, or I didn't understand, when I was a non-parent, I smile knowingly at now when passing another parent caught in the jaws of parenthood in public. And of all the things I could tell my friend and his wife, the one thing I think I'll tell them is this:

"You'll love the ride, and you'll understand so much more once you've been there."

How about you? What didn't you get until you were a parent?

Leaves! Leaves! Everywhere!

2007-11-01T14:02:00.000-07:00

Boo! It's Halloween!

2007-11-01T13:46:00.001-07:00

Halloween was pretty fun. Evan didn't want to wear his costume until a few dozen kids had come to the door. Then the "big kids" in the neighborhood came by and asked him if he wanted to go with them- how nice! Of course, I could barely get the costume over his head before he dashed out the door.

About 45 minutes and 3/4 of a pumpkin later, he was done, and we headed back to the house to check out his stash of candy and watch Charlie Brown.

All in all, it was a pretty good night, even if he only looked like this for a few houses:

The Eve of Halloween

2007-10-30T18:52:00.000-07:00

Today Evan refused to wear his Dhost Costume to school. Refused to wear his Dhost costume in the costume parade. Refused to wear his Dhost costume for Grandma. Only when a popsicle was used as a bribe did he don his costume for a meer 60 seconds, and then it was stripped off like it was on fire.

Tomorrow should be interesting... you're not getting a damn dinosaur costume, kid. I will win this one. Oh, yes, I will win.

The Eve of the Eve of Halloween

2007-10-29T16:06:00.000-07:00

Evan's new favorite song is Frera Jacka, but instead of singing the "normal" words, it goes something like this:

"I want to hit you. I want to hit you. Yes I do! Yes I do! I want to hit you. I want to hit you. Because I do. Because I do."

The good thing is that this little ditty has pretty much replaced most actual hitting. The bad thing is that his favorite made-up song is full of violence. Ah, Violent Rock. It starts so young.

______________________________________________________________________

We have a big Frankenstein on our front door- you know, the flimsy cardboard type, complete with "moveable" limbs, that you tape to the door and hope it lasts through this year? Anyway, we bought one that was sort of "cartoony" for Evan's sake.

The first 2 weeks went something like this:

Door Opens.
Evan: "AHHHH! A MONSTER!"
Door Opens.
Evan: "AHHHH! A MONSTER!"

The last week or so goes more like this:
"Hiya Fwank!" Proceeds to give Frank a high five. "Seeya Yater, Fwank!"

____________________________________________________________________

I actually made Evan's costume this year. He wants to be a ghost. Has wanted to be a ghost since the minute Halloween was mentioned. He hasn't even turned to look at the the pre-made costumes I've tried to lure him into. He would just shake his head, and almost in defiance say, "no, I want to be a Dhost!" So, he's been wearing a sheet of fleece over his head with 2 little eye holes for the past 3 weeks like it's made of a million dollars. Finally, this weekend, I slaved away at the sewing machine and actually made my own little ghost costume for him, complete with hood and a cloth "mask" that he can flip out of the way if he gets sick of the ghost thing. It looks damn sweet, if I do say so myself. He was so excited, he put it on, screamed at himself in the mirror, and promptly announced:

"Mommy, I don't want to be a ghost anymore. I want to be a dinosaur! "

Yeah. You'll all be seeing his ghost pictures. Screw the dinosaur.

_____________________________________________________________________

When asked what he was going to be for Halloween, Evan obediently told the next door neighbor, "A Dhost!" He then proceeded to tell the neighbor that she was going to be a Witch and Grandma was going to be Spiderman. The neighbor just laughed, but I'm not sure what Grandma is going to do when she hears that Evan expects her to be wearing tights and a mask this Halloween.

A Riddle For You

2007-10-21T19:34:00.001-07:00

Q: What do you get when your 3 year old flushes Sidewalk Chalk down the toilet?

A: Flooded Bathroom.
B: Gurgling Toilet, complete with colored foam.
C: Broken Pipe.
D: Flooded Basement.
E: All of the above.

Any guesses?

Dear Sir, Get the Hell Out of My Bubble!

2007-10-20T15:56:00.001-07:00

Ok, unless you are my husband or my child, or there are six people crammed across the backseat of a car and it usually fits three comfortably, there is no need to be that close to me, so why do you insist, freaky man? Either you are oblivious to the bubble that is so sacredly mine that you are repeatedly bursting with your creepy closeness, or you are, for lack of a better word, retarded.

Get out! What don't you understand about my body language? Am I so out of tune with other men that you think my side-stepping, shoulder-turning, eye-avoiding and conversation-ending is mistaken as an invite for closer contact? Must you be fractions of a centimeter away from me at any given time? Must you track me down to intrude into my bubble just when I thought I've made my point, that I have escaped you??

I am aware that you think you are god's gift to women, you little troll, but you are not. You are bizarre, and beyond lucky you found a woman who may think you are at least half as attractive as YOU think you are, so stick with that. Take your sleeveless 80's gym shirt elsewhere and stop fishing for compliments and flattering yourself- believe me, you don't want to know what I'm thinking about you. Please go back to your troll world where you are the King, and get the HELL out of my bubble.

Shudder

Bad Bad Day

2007-10-17T12:53:00.000-07:00

Days like today, I wish I could turn my brain off. Just make it stop. But instead, I'm tortured by thoughts that just flow, non-stop, until the thoughts puddle and overflow into other parts of my life.

Today's main thought stream is: Do you think that souls that are tortured in this life, be it man or animal, receive some sort of "get out of jail free" card in the next life? Do you think those souls get a better deal the next time around?

I'm a believer in the afterlife. Not necessarily your typical cartoon-like rendering of heaven, though that's a good name for whatever it is that is out there. But the soul of each of us has to go somewhere, even if it's just the essence of each of us, the energy, the heart- whatever you call it, there is definitely something in each of us. A lot of people don't believe that animals have that same something, but I do. I have dogs, after all, and I know and feel their personalities and sense of humor and humility and happiness. They have souls, too, and I don't care what any body else says about that.

But what happens when a soul is damaged so much in this life that it cannot go on? That it becomes broken, unrepairable, or anguished? Does it get a make-over on it's way onto the next world? A band-aid? Or will it always be a broken soul?

I have a theory that when a being dies, it soul will go to wherever it is happiest, and that in being happy, a soul can be healed. When my gram died, and I dreamt she was happy, and healthy and oh-so-real at her cottage, the place that meant the most to her in this life, I knew that's where she was. Her soul was living on there, somewhere. Whether that energy became part of the trees, or the water, or just hangs out making sure everything is ok, I knew some part of her went there.

Maybe souls get to travel the world, maybe the universe, no longer constrained by a cumbersome body. Maybe the just settle in wherever they are needed most. And I'm sure some get lost.

But I like to believe that, someday, when my body goes, my soul can go somewhere happy and content, where it can wait for the souls of the people and animals I have loved and will love, and we can just have one big happy reunion.

What do you think is waiting out there?

Sticky Note To Self: Wash the Floors!

2007-10-07T08:32:00.000-07:00

We were at a friend's house last night to help them with a new puppy, and as is rule in our house, we take off our shoes there. What I should have noticed was that the lady of the house walked around in flip-flops, man of the house walked around in gym shoes, and daughter of the house walked around in slippers. That should have been my first hint.

After about 10 minutes of walking back and forth with the dog and Evan, I had to brush something off my foot. I was horrified to see the bottom of my foot was already a shade of grayish black. I stopped to think. Had I walked around outside at home before coming over? No. Walked in the garage barefoot? No. I had showered just before coming over. That dirt was from their floors. Oh, yuck.

Now, I thought it would look obvious if I put my shoes on right then after being barefoot for the first portion of our visit, so when we went to take the dog out, I thought I could just leave my shoes on when we came back in. But my manners are well-engraved, and D'oh! I took them off again without even thinking. So, for the rest of the night, I brushed various substances off my feet, tried not to openly grimace at my blackened feet, and couldn't wait to get home and wash them off. And when we got home, I did just that. I scrubbed Evan's feet , too, as he slept soundly in his bed- his clean sheets, for crying out loud! I also took a hard look at my floors.

Don't get me wrong, my house can get messy. I have a 3 year old and 3 dogs. You will more than occasionally find a tumbleweed of dog hair or a sticky spot of juice. The catch is, I take care of cleaning it up when I find them. I vacuum 5-6 times a week (3 dogs, remember?) and wash the floors weekly as well. When I don't have time to do either, I sweep up the dog hair on the wood floors and spot clean the floors. You may walk in and find dishes in the sink, matchbox cars all over the place, and magazines sprawled over the table, but underneath all of the mess is a clean house. You will not get black feet from walking through my house, nor will you have to brush off various substances from the bottom of them. Yes, you may pick up some dog hair if you wear socks, but it's clean dog hair- they all just got baths yesterday.

My house gets messy, no doubt about it, but I invite you to walk through it barefoot. You won't be sorry. Bottom line is that there is a difference between a messy house and a dirty house. Don't you agree?

May Day! May Day!

2007-10-02T18:38:00.001-07:00

It's official. We miss Daddy. We had our first major meltdown today, and when I say "we", I mean "we".

First Evan punched the dog hard enough to make the dog yelp. Then I yelled at Evan, who snottily said "sorry" to the dog, so I told him it was time for the naughty spot. Fast forward to kicking, screaming, seething ball of 3 year old and seething mommy trying to get said kid to stay on the naughty spot. My blood pressure was waaaay up, so I myself sat in my "naughty spot" to cool down while Evan carried on, throwing his naughty spot (aka, the chair) across the room and glaring at me, daring me to make him sit, which I eventually did, but not without practically losing an eye to a flying kick and not without physically holding him down like a crazy prisoner. The whole time he's sobbing, screeching, and just going ballistic.

10 minutes later, when the timer finally went off, I asked him why he punched the dog.
"Because I don't know what to do."
"About what?"
"I am vewy vewy sad."
"Why are you sad? Do you miss Daddy?"
"Yeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaasssss! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

The absolute heart-wrenching thing was how hard this poor child sobbed. He put his whole soul into missing his daddy, you could feel his heart just writhing in pain. I scooped him up and told him how much I missed Daddy, too, and that he'd be home soon, and we talked about all the fun stuff we'd do when daddy got home. All this through my own tears, missing daddy, too.

When he calmed down, he sniffled and confided, "I wuv daddy, really really, a lot."

I know, buddy. Me, too.

Two days to go.

What Must The Neighbors Think?

2007-09-30T20:48:00.000-07:00

Evan in the bathroom: Uh oh! Oh no! Mommmeeeee! Help!

Me: Uh oh, what? What happened?

Door opens, and I gasp. Evan has peed a bucket-worth of pee all over the floor. Not that he wasn't trying to pee in the potty, but he decided to sit instead of stand, and obviously did not adjust his aim.

Me: Evan! Why did you pee all over the floor??? Why do you think that happened?

Evan: Because I didn't do good?

Me: No, buddy, you did a great job of trying, ...

(I walk to the kitchen to get the lysol wipes to clean up the floor. All the windows are wiiiiiiiide open right where I am yelling back to Evan in the bathroom...)

Me: ...but for the love of god, next time POINT YOUR PENIS DOWN!!!

Seriously, what must the neighbors think?

What A Whorable Thing to Say!

2007-09-30T16:51:00.000-07:00

Let me preface this by saying I hate family functions. Not my intimate family functions, where it's all love and warm fuzzies with family who I truly consider "my family", but those family functions. You know, in-laws, out-laws, half-siblings, and the other odds and ends that make up "family". Ahh, yes, today was one of those family functions.

Today was my nephew's baptism, followed by a luncheon where we all could share our discomfort of being crammed into the same breathing space while eating pizza. Yes, pizza. A holy choice, don't you think? Anyway, the fun little perk about these parties is watching my parents squirm through their discomfort in completely different styles. My dad, the drunk, my mom, the instant Mrs. Cleaver.

My parents divorced when I was 26 years old, after almost 30 years of marriage. My dad is still dating the whorable woman who he left my mom for, and my mom has since remarried. Other than my, ahem, step-dad trying too hard most the times, he's an ok guy, and we get along ok. Not comfy-cozy, but good enough. My dad and his whorable girlfriend, well, let's say we'll never be ok. It would be one thing if she was cute (she's not) or if she were polite (so not) or even intelligent (oh god, so not that either), but the thing is, she's like a drunk trucker at a ballet. Really. Ask anyone. I can't find a single thing to like about her other than she likes dogs. And unfortunately for her, that's not enough for me.

When I had Evan, I had to go through the trauma of drunk trucker whore wanting to hold my baby, while she was drunk. Thankfully, (or is that unfortunately??), I am a bitch, and did not allow such things, and made it well known that the drunk trucker whore could not touch my baby. So what did she do? Waited until I had to go to the bathroom or something to that effect, and then she would snatch Evan out of the arms of whoever was holding him. I finally learned to take Evan to the bathroom with me, and drunk trucker whore is still not allowed to be near my son alone. Ever. Today, we got to relive crazy flashbacks of this very experience as she drunkenly snatched my nephew from my dad's hands as my brother's mother-in-law physically restrained herself from bitch-slapping drunk trucker whore. It was hi-lar-ious. In a mean, ha! now see why I'm a bitch?! kind of hi-lar-ious fun. For once, I was the spectator, and I have to admit, it's pretty amusing when you're on the outside. Unfortunately, we're sort of on the inside, but I could see the humor in the situation since it wasn't my kid this time.

Instead of being bitch-slapped, however, drunk trucker whore, obviously being too drunk to notice, had my sister-in-law seething and demanding through her teeth, "Go. Get. Him." to my brother, who then yelled, "DAD!", but dad was too drunk to hear him, so then my sister-in-law yells to her mom, "Get the baby. I. Need. To. Change. Him. NOW." Then there is a good excuse to yank baby out of drunk trucker whore's hands in a politically correct way. Drunk trucker whore, being the stellar human being she is, never let my dad hold his grandchild at all before my sister-in-law was yanking the baby out of her hands as if she had the plague.

The afternoon came to a climax when my dad and my mom, trying to pass each other between tables, found themselves in crazy close quarters, and my dad, being drunk, slipped his arm around my mom's back and started flirting with her. Mom, smiling and playing along, flirted back. But only because drunk trucker whore was about 7 feet away, trying to pretend like she didn't see it. I had fun watching her pretend she wasn't watching. Her face, usually a nice ruddy hue from alcohol, became as red as a vine ripe tomato, and you could almost see the muscles in her fact starting to twitch with rage. Oh, does the fun ever end!?! To be a fly on the wall in my dad's car tonight. Ha!

Seriously, every time the family gets together, I feel like it's some crappy Jenny Jones hidden camera moment. I hate family get togethers. When Evan was born, I made it well known that he would not be involved in any family get togethers of those kind unless absolutely necessary. I just don't think he needs to think that sort of family is what love is. Because it isn't. The family he knows, my closest, most wonderful family members who strive to stay together and be strong together and support each other, that is what I want him to think that love is. Because it is. And maybe that's a horrible thing to say, to say that I pick and choose which family members I let influence my child and represent love to my child. He has plenty of time to learn that all families have some degree of crazy. I just don't want him to know that until he's old enough to understand some fraction of it. Call me crazy, protecting my child, but that's what I'm doing. Right now, I want him bundled up in a cocoon of love, laughter, and support- he can deal with the crazy drunk trucker whores of the family later.

CAN YOU HEAR ME NOW????

2007-09-28T12:45:00.000-07:00

If you know me at all, you know I hate garage sales. Hate them. Hate going to them, hate having them. But crap, they are good fundraisers for my non-profit, and occasionally we have one. Like this weekend. Ugh.

Thankfully, hubby is out of the country so I have Evan to distract me (ahem, keep me away from the public shoppers), and I only occasionally have to step up to translate a little Spanish or pull out a shopping bag for someone. The other volunteers can count to, oh, five in Spanish and that's where it ends. Our garage sale is right smack in the middle of Little Mexico, however, and Spanish comes in handy. So, at least I can contribute without having to actually haggle.

I haven't really conversed in Spanish since I was 20 or so, when I taught horseback riding lessons at a local stables. In case you weren't aware, the equine industry employs a good chunk of not-quite-legal immigrants and those with work visas, so again, Spanish comes in handy. I am not fluent by any means, but I can hobble along in a conversation well enough to make my intentions known and to understand the intent of the other person as well.

When I worked at the stables, it never failed to amaze me how the rich kids were actually able to pretend like the Mexican helpers did not exist. No hellos, no thank yous, just plain old no eye contact. I never got it. Maybe because I wasn't a rich kid- I was the barn slave, the kid who shoveled shit and polished leather saddles and other rider's boots for a chance to be around horses, to breathe in horses, and to ride. I loved every minute and I earned every minute. They didn't. But I digress.

The Mexicans always liked me because I actually tried to converse with them. I would show up to work and I would get a "Hola Don!" and they would often laugh in good humor when I asked them "mas despacio, por favor" (slow it down! Geez! You think I speak Spanish or something??). They would eagerly bring me their 1st grade level Spanish-to-English work books and show me what words they had learned, ask me how they should be pronunciating those new words, and displayed great pride in learning a new language at 30 or 40 years old. I liked to help, I liked to speak with them, and I liked that I wasn't like those rich kids. It even got to the point where the manager would ask me to ask them something because her dictionary just wasn't helping her out. I never understood how some people reacted simply due to a language barrier. And damn, Spanish is not that hard. But even without it, an Hola! would suffice- much better than pretending someone is not there.

The one thing I always noticed, and of course it's a huge joke on tv, is when someone didn't understand a question, it was repeated louder, as if that helped clear things up. You know, someone asks where the bathroom is, and Jose says, Que?, and they ask WHERE. IS .THE. BATH. ROOM. Oh, Jose totally gets it now. Because louder English is way easier to understand than just plain old English. Today, it was that weird side of human nature all over again.

One lady obviously knew certain English phrases, and could form small sentences, but she pronunciated things so loudly, it was hard not to laugh. Of course, then our volunteers would answer back in English, louder and with hand gestures, because we all know hand gestures make things easier to understand as well. Seriously, it's hard not to laugh, but you have to imagine that's what these poor people go through all the time. I am one of those people who thinks that if you are going to live or work in America, you need to learn English, but everyone has to start somewhere. You don't just learn a new language in a couple of weeks. I understand that. But I also think that sometimes, people just don't learn English because it's easier just to not have to deal with the consequences of only knowing a little bit of English while dealing with Americans. Like the consequence of going deaf from so many loud repetitions of a question. I understand that, too.

Tonight, I'm actually going to brush up on a few phrases that will help us out at tomorrow's sale, relearn a few good verbs, and go out armed with some conversational tools that may help a few good immigrants get a good deal and still allow them to keep their hearing.

Oh My Gawd.

2007-09-28T07:16:00.000-07:00

Evan and I were at the park yesterday, having a good ole time, when one of the neighborhood moms showed up with 2 out of 3 of her kids. The mom is very nice, somewhat boisterous, but always willing to talk and say hi to everyone. Her kids are nice, too, and Evan loves her 5 year old little girl.

Now her 5 year old little girl is not, um, little. She's a big girl. Not necessarily fat, but mom could definitely ease up on the high fructose corn syrup in this girl's diet. You can tell she's going to be "big" anyway from her bone structure and height, but come on Mom, help the kid out a little! Mom is carrying on about how she's starting kindergarten late because of Mom's "personal issues" and how "she just couldn't handle it right then (Mom, not little girl)" and so now the poor child has to endure stepping in front of the entire class as the "new kid", just because mom had too much on her plate to register her at the school two blocks away. Unbelieveable.

Little girl and Evan are running around playing tag, so I don't really pay a lot of attention to the little girl until Mom takes a phone call and I start to watch them play. Little girl is wearing a cute little 2 piece outfit, like a little work-out suit, black and simple, but it has a sweet glittery decoration on the hoodie and is adorned with small jewels. The whole outfit is hemmed in a beige stitching that stands out and gives it a little something extra. Cute, I think to myself. The little girl spins on her heels and dashes away after Evan. My jaw hits the ground.

On the outside of the pants, the stitching actually runs up each butt cheek and across the top of her butt, creating a THONG on the outside of her pants. I can't believe it! I must be seeing things, so of course, I have to get a better look. I go up to wipe Evan's nose and take a good look- yep, it's a stitched-on "thong". Good gawd.

My respect for Mom plummets. How on earth do you allow your FIVE YEAR OLD to strut around in a jump suit that has a stitched on thong on the outside of it? Is there no decency left? This poor girl will have enough issues in school, so why not give her an outfit where the underwear is not only revealing, BUT INSINUATED ON THE OUTSIDE OF HER PANTS???

Seriously, what has this world come to?

6 Degrees of Separation

2007-09-27T14:19:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite songs is called "The People You Know" by Robynn Ragland. It's a great song, basically about the reality of the "small world" phenomenon. You know, you dated some guy in high school and now work with his sister's brother-in-law, though you're like 60 miles from where you grew up? My favorite line:

Isn't it odd? Take you and me - We're two little ants in one giant community But whether it's fate, or proximity You're one of my people, the people I'm into - I miss you - yeah, I feel akin to you.

Occasionally, my mind chooses to focus on this phenomenon of proximity while I'm driving because, well, that's the only place I ever get enough quiet time to actually think. So my mind tends to go into overdrive. Anyway, today I was driving through my old stomping grounds, aka where I went to high school, and I started thinking. How many people have I driven past today that I know? What are the odds that I would ever pull up to them at a stop light and be able to recognize them? Would they recognize me? Would I want them to? Would I wave, or beep, or just silently acknowledge who they were and drive away? Thoughts like this filter through at a rapid pace.

I tend to do this at concerts, too. You know, scan the crowd of eight bazillion people, thinking you'll recognize someone. Actually, my hubby is great at this. He can find one person he knows at pretty much any concert. It's incredible. But if I go to a concert, and know I could probably find half a dozen people I know or more, I never find a single one.

Am I the only one who obsesses about this every now and then? I do it in the airport, too, by the way. Sometimes, in the backyard, I even stop to ponder if that giant 747 flying over my yard contains someone I know. Is this a disease? Or is it somewhat normal? If you think about all the connections you've made in your life up until now, don't you think it could be totally easy to simply drive past people you know every single day, even in areas you don't normally trapse through?

Go Cubs Go!

2007-09-23T13:41:00.000-07:00

Right now, hubby is enjoying his second row Cubbies tix while I am tending to the kid. Sigh. Oh well. But, damn, the Cubbies are on fire! Wahoo!

I've been a Cubs fan forever. I remember being really small and watching Cubs games at my Gram's house in the summer time, singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" and later "Go, Cubs, Go!" at the top of our lungs. Summer just wasn't summer unless the Cubs were on the radio or the tv somewhere.

Thankfully, I married me a Cubs fan. A true Cubs fan, not one of those "yeah, I like the Cubs" when they are winning fans. And now, Evan is a little Cubbie bear :) We took him to a game last month, and he liked the cheering and the yelling and the singing, though I'm not sure he could figure out just where the heck that speck of a ball was at most of the time. It rained, but we had fun, and those are the kind of memories I hope he will have about the Cubs when he is my age.

Daddy couldn't be prouder of his little Cubs fan. When you ask Evan who his favorite baseball team is, he yells triumphantly, "Da Tubbies!" and then will sing a rowdy version of "Tate Me Out To Da Bawl Game!" Complete with "ONE! TWO! THREE STRITES AND DEN YOU ARE OUT OF DA OLE BAWL DAME!!!!"

Even if you're a Sox fan, you gotta admit, it's still freakin' cute.

Idiots, beware!

2007-09-21T12:02:00.000-07:00

Seriously, some days it simply amazes me how stupid people are. How incredibly irreversibly dumb, right down to the bone. Not your typical spaciness or forgetfulness or occasional ignorance- I'm talk D-U-M-B.

Case in point- a phone call at work today from a 30-something female:

"Hi, umm, I am interested in your [product] and need to fax you my information, but I don't have a fax machine- how am I supposed to get it to you??" My response: 1. Kinkos. 2. Snail Mail. 3. Email. I explain we do not have an actual [storefront], so everything is handled via fax/email/P.O. Box.

Her next question: "Ok, but I don't have the sheet to give to you with my information on it- how do I get that?" My response: 1. Email 2. Snail Mail. Again explain that we do not have a [storefront] where she can simply fill this out, so everything is handled via fax/email/P.O. Box.

Her last questions, "Ok, so once I get the sheet in the mail, where can I drop it off?" I explain one last time about the whole fax/mail/email thing, you know, without an actual physical place for her to drop it off at.

Seriously, she then says, "Oh, well I don't have a fax machine, so now what?"

Shut up.

It was the bestest day I've never known!

2007-09-19T15:57:00.000-07:00

Preschool is awesome. Very awesome. Evan loves every minute of it, except for the minute where I come to pick him up to go home. The instant he sees me, his little lip starts to tremble, his eyes well up, and he stares at me as if I have crushed his little spirit, and he says "I stay here. You go away!".

The other parents laugh and always say "oh, that must be a good sign!", and thankfully, I'd rather have him crying when he leaves school versus crying when I drop him off. After he gets over the initial shock that, yes, good things come to an end, he puts on his little backpack, climbs up the stairs, grabs my hand, and is happy as a lark for the rest of the day.

We chit chat about what he did at school, what they sang, what they drew, who he played with, and he is ecstatic. He loves every minute, every second, every ounce of oozing fun-ness and newness about it. I love that he loves it. It makes me burst with pride and happiness for him. And even better is that almost every conversation ends with this:

"Mommy, today was da bestest day I've never known!"

Ode To Aunt Flow

2007-09-19T15:56:00.000-07:00

Chill, lady, would you?

What now?

2007-09-13T16:36:00.001-07:00

I haven't been writing lately because, quite frankly, my mind goes blank when I think of all the things I want to write about. All day long, I can write stories in my head, think of a gazillion things to say, can talk on the phone with an adult for far too long, but when I sit down to hammer it out into words, I'm too exhausted to go any further.

So, I'll talk about what's going on around here. My DH is soon going to be going away for almost 2 weeks to the lead-tainted land of China. Of course, his company has everything made over there, but thankfully, none of their products are painted. But 2 weeks without him is hard. Especially now that Evan is 3 and NOTICES THINGS. We've talked about China for a couple months now, pointed it out on a globe (who cares if daddy is on that side of the ball? I can still see him!), and talked about him having to sleepover somewhere else. But it won't sink in until about day 3, when his buddy daddy has not returned, and the bad behaviors will start up again. And they have been Oh-so-good the last few days! Progress, only to be twarted by Daddy's travels. Ugh.

On another note, we are looking into life insurance. Which scares me, right before DH goes flying off to a foreign country post-9/11, but is necessary. Not that I think it invites death or anything, the whole prospect is scary, but to put a monetary amount of money on a life never ceases to disgust me. But again, I guess it's a necessary evil, eh?

Evan is just a bowl full of cherries this week, just full of hugs and half-willing cooperation. School is doing wonders for him. And me. Yay for school!

Well, that's all for now. I'm sure I'll have more later. But now, I'm too tired to stay one more minute on this computer. Over and out.

Little E- Skool is Tool!

2007-09-06T14:56:00.000-07:00

So, we did it. First week of preschool under our belts. And it was heartbreaking and uplifting and liberating all at once.

Evan started Tuesday, and was so excited he practically skipped out the door, little Diego back pack and all. He left the house with his official "in case of emergency" clothing, a snack labeled with his name, and lots of energy. I couldn't wait and neither could he! Daddy even came with, too, so he knew something was truly special about this day.

We arrived at the preschool along with another gaggle of parents, and Evan immediately got shy and quiet and decided to give in to the lure of the ginormous bookshelves of toys. He didn't want to join the other kids at the table, and it took a good 5 minutes of convincing that he should go play with Play-Doh like the other kids. When he finally sat down, we gave him a hug, told him to be a good boy and to tell Ms. M if he had to go potty, and calmly left his little self at the big table, in the hands of a stranger for the first time ever in his life.

I worried, of course, but more about poor Ms. M than Evan. Would he hit? Kick? Yell like a crazy child? I awaited a terrible report, only because I know how he is about conforming already. But when I arrived a few hours later, I asked how he did, and she geniunely replied with a smile "He did great!". I raised an eyebrow and said, "No problems?" and again, geniune with the answer, "Not at all. He did great.". Wow!

Of course, when he saw me come down the stairs, his little eyes welled up, his lip trembled, and he defiantly sat in his chair and said, "You go away. I stay here." Hooray! He liked school. He then proceded to punch me in the side of the head when I pulled up a seat next to him. Ok, we'll have to work on that.

When I told him there was a surprise in the car for good boys who got through their first day at school, he forgot his anger at having to leave and said a cheerful goodbye and we were on our way. He made friends, sang songs, and got to do some seriously awesome artwork.

Day 2 of preschool he practically dashed out the door to get there, barely acknowledged that I was leaving, and didn't even try to punch me when I picked him up, though he was mad again. Progress, and in the best way.

When you ask him what he thinks of school, he says, "Skool is Tool!" I think so, too. A few hours to myself, to do what I want, is almost beyond belief. After all, staying at home with him, my life has not been mine for THREE YEARS. I don't get a break, I don't get a nap, nothing. I've been on duty 24/7, 365, non-stop. I have no idea what to do now.

But I think I might sign up for the gym across the street. It's cheap and it's convenient. I could go work out, go grocery shopping and then go get him. Or I could go home and read a book or clean or do absolutely freakin' nothing.

Oh, the possibilities! I love that my little guy is old enough to go off on his own, even in such a small chunk of time. He enjoys it, I enjoy it, and I think we're all going to like this school thing!

My Apologies

2007-09-06T14:53:00.000-07:00

Been sick as a dog for almost all of last month and still sick now, though better. Did you know you can hack up your lungs for 3 weeks straight? Yep, you can. Damn virus. I'm feeling better, and starting to conquer the giant piles of everything I need to catch up on.

First off, a congrats to Back To Me- She's finally preggo! Yay!

And another congrats to Speckblog for her little one joining the forces of school kids everywhere! Yay Wallace!

And finally, sorry for the lapse in postings. I'm feeling better, so I'll post some updates. My apologies to all.

How Does Your Garden Grow?

2007-08-15T15:50:00.001-07:00

A day of container gardening...

"Yook! A yittow tow-mato!"

"Here Mommy... you eat it."

"Der's a yittow green pepper, too!"

"It's smells yike... green beans!"

"Here mommy. You eat it!"

Skinny Bitch

2007-08-06T17:04:00.000-07:00

On a normal day, my diet is composed of cereal, some fruit, and lots of "crap". I am, by no means, skinny. I have tried dieting, exercising, and dieting again, but I always fail because, other than wanting to be thinner, there is no motivation for giving up the yummy food I love to eat.

Ladies and Gentleman, the tables have turned. I. Hate. Food.

What? You ask. Is she crazy? Well, yes, but not for the reasons you think. And I don't hate all food. Just gross food. Over the weekend, I read the book Skinny Bitch. I thought it was a book about dieting with a snarky edge to it. Boy, was I wrong. And I'm glad I was.

Let me enlighten you with a few excerpts, and urge you to go buy the book. It has literally made me think about each and every piece of food I put in my mouth, and it has nothing to do with calories, fat, or carbs. Really.

"Aspartame (an ingredient commonly found in diet sodas and other sugar-free foods) has been blamed for a slew of scary maladies, like arthritis, birth defects, fibromyalgia, Alzheimer's, lupus, multiple sclerosis, and diabetes. When methyl alcohol, a component of aspartame, enters your body, it turns into formaldehyde. Formaldehyde is toxic and carcinogenic (cancer-causing). Laboratory scientists use formaldehyde as a disinfectant or preservative. They don't fucking drink it. Perhaps you have a lumpy ass because you are preserving your fat cells with diet soda. The FDA has received more complaints about Aspartame than any other ingredient to date."

Is that enough to make you stop drinking diet soda? It is for me. They go on to divulge that when aspartame was put before the FDA, it was denied eight times. Then, through changing of the guards and "hire him so he doesn't blow the lid off of aspartame" scandals, not only did aspartame get approved for dry foods in the 80's, but got pushed through without further testing for liquids in the 90's, despite Ninety-Two side effects. Guess what? Splenda is no better. It's called "98% pure". The other 2%? Heavy metals, methanol, and arsenic. Yum.

How 'bout this little excerpt?

"The Food and Drug Administration's own Total Diet Study found that bacon had 48 different pesticide residues, bologna and other luncheon meats had 102 different industrial pollutants and pesticides, fast food hamburgers had 113 residues, hot dogs had 123, and ground beef had 82 industrial chemical and pesticide residues, just to name a few."

Oh, my friends, the book is eye-opening. It is not for the faint of heart, or who those who wish to keep poisoning themselves. What the United States allows as "food" is appalling. Disgusting. And terrifying. And we eat it, multiple times a day.

Read it. Live it. I don't think I can be a vegan, but I started today out with an organic cereal with fresh blueberries and vanilla soy milk, and it was excellent. Not a bad start. Organic Peanut Butter on Organic Whole Wheat bread for lunch. No coffee, no soda, just water and organic tea.

And the thing is, I'm not doing it to lose weight. Not a single thought about it. I'm terrified I'm poisoning my family, inducing illness later in life, shortening our lives by eons. I'm not an alarmist, either. Read the book. Really. It will change your life for the better.

To Be or Not To Be...

2007-08-03T14:04:00.000-07:00

Krissy Poopyhands poses a fine question about weight loss. Even if you lose weight, will you ever be happy with the weight you become? Will it ever be enough?

At the fittest part of my life, I was 18. I ran every day, I walked everywhere, I rode my horse a good 5 times a week, and over all was not a lazy ass. I made little time for eating, and it was usually a bowl of cereal or a bagel, and I was out the door again. I weighed 118 for my senior prom, and that is, to put it politely, impossible to reach again.

So why is it that when I don work out clothes, and go sweat my butt off, that my brain still expects to see a 118 staring back at me from the mirror? Why is it that I cannot look at myself and feel good about what I see?

I'll never be 118 again. But I could weigh 130. It would take some effort and some actual self-control, but I could do it. But what if I get there, and want more? Or worse, what if I get there and just slide back to where I'm at now? Is there a happy medium? 140?

I guess I should just get my butt in gear and see what happens. Something is better than nothing, right? And 5 pounds lighter is better than 5 pounds heavier, I guess. Oh, to be 18 again and able to eat Twix and Sunkist for lunch and not think twice! Gone are the days.

So, I've Been Tagged

2007-07-31T06:13:00.000-07:00

I hate Tag. Just so you know.

Speckblog tagged me to write 5 Things That Are Awesome About Me after doing so herself in this post.

So here goes:

1. I like that I have crazy monkey toes- not that they look like monkey toes (they don't), but the fact that I can pick stuff up with them off the floor. Evan can do it, too- ha! For example, if Evan takes his socks off, and I have an armful of other crap to put away, I can grab the socks with my toes, bring them up to my hands, and never miss a beat. Comes in handy when you have a full cup of coffee and you drop something, too. You never have to bend over. Of course, it only works when I am barefoot.

2. I like that if I put my mind to something, it happens. Everything I ever REALLY wanted, I have right now. Not many people can say that. I like to think that my uncanny ability to follow my heart got me right where I want to be in life.

3. I like that my eyes squint when I smile. My grandma's always did, and my dad's, and now my brother's and mine do, too. Evan's eyes get squinty, too. Yes, I'll get crow's feet, but that is so much better than frown lines that some people get, right?

4. I like that I'm not afraid to cry. Some people stop showing negative emotions around their kids, but I think it's a part of life. My mother never cried around us- I can only remember it once in my entire life! But Evan has seem me cry over real issues, like him punching me in the windpipe or my grandma dying, and he feels sad and sorry, and tells me "it's otay mommy. It's ahwight!" I'm not a cry baby, but I do think it's important that you cry when it's necessary. It's healthy, and I want Evan to learn that from me, instead of how I had to learn it.

5. I like that I am strong, both physically and mentally. I can take care of myself, can get shit done when it really counts, can get by without help if I have to, and can mow the lawn and weedwack and trim the hedges without waiting for my husband to do it. I also like that I'm learning to balance asking for help without feeling needy. But I really like that I can get shit done.

So, there you have it. And since I only read a handful of blogs, I am just going to tag Back To Me, because she could use this right now.

Such A Big Boy

2007-07-31T05:50:00.000-07:00

It's been a monumental weekend around here, with two full days without diapers and ZERO accidents. Sunday was the start of "no diapers for big kids", inspired by Speckblog. We ditched the diapers and donned Cars undies, and began the chant, "Do you have to go potty?"

Evan gets a sticker on his potty chart for every time he tries to go potty. At the end of an entire row, he gets a prize. This chart has gathered dust until just this past week, where finally we are picking up speed. We even had an official poop on the potty both days, which is beyond exciting. What's more exciting is the light bulb going off in Evan's head. Thank God for that light bulb!

Last night, Evan got mad when I pulled out the pull-ups to go to bed. "No! I wear Unduhwewr! I uh Big Kid!" We explained the pee-pee while you sleep thing, and he begrudgingly accepted, but after I buy a waterproof mattress pad, he can wear underwear 24/7.

That's the other thing. Today we are going to buy him a full-size bed. A true "big kid" bed. His toddler bed has run out of room for his restless nights of toddler dreams, and by morning, he ends up with all of his blankets and pillows, sleeping soundly on the floor. It kills me. I have a sneaking suspicion that once he gets a solid night's sleep again, his terrorizing with fists will subside some. Maybe not, but I can hope, right?

It seems like just yesterday when I was peering down at his little infant self, bundled like a burrito in his blanket, in the middle of his crib, which seemed so huge and endless around his body. I remember thinking we should have bought a bassinet. Now we're shopping for a full size bed.

It goes so fast. It breaks my heart, but I'm so proud of him at the same time. Such a Big Boy.

P-P-Preschool!

2007-07-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

Well, it's official. Evan will be entering Preschool on September 4th. My little boy is going to school.

After grilling neighbors for the best preschools in the area, it always came back to our park district being the best for 3 year olds. We could enroll him in a very expensive program a couple miles away where it's an accelerated program, but the kicker is- he already knows everything on the 3 year old curriculum. Since this is more a test of how he does with his peers, we're going for the fun park district program instead of bumping him up to the 4 year old program. If he's bored out of his gourd, we can change in 7 weeks. But he knows half the stuff on the 4 year old curriculum as well.

We celebrated by going to Kohl's and picking out his very own backpack, where he eagerly snatched up a cool Diego backpack, complete with wheels. After all, what is a backpack if it doesn't have wheels? Then we picked out new shoes, which I told him he needed for school, but really, that was only because his shoes are so tight, he trips every 5th step. Giving up the old shoes is always traumatic.

He happily put his new backpack and shoes up on the counter, and the girl asked him if this was for school. He thought for a second, smiled knowingly, and said condescendingly, "No! PWEE-school!" Duh. As if! Ah, my little smart-ass is growing up so fast!

Just Do It.

2007-07-23T15:58:00.001-07:00

If I were a Nike Ad, my slogan would be "Maybe Tomorrow". Or possibly, "Later Will Be Here Soon Enough".

I am a procrastinator at heart, only throwing myself into things that I am fairly sure I'll be good at and that I will succeed in. Or that I will enjoy. Anything else, I put off until I don't have any more time to put it off to.

But, in an odd "I am my own destiny" sort of mode, I started running again. And damn, it's hard to run when you are fat. Thighs do not help you run gracefully when they squish against each other with each thud of your foot. My advice to those graduating from high school- never stop running. It sucks to learn how all over again. So don't stop.

I found a nice little marsh with a path by our new house, and it's quiet and nice, and lots of people run there. I tried running around the neighborhood, but I am too self-conscious in an area where everyone pays attention to their neighbors. I can imagine them smirking and saying "go, fat girl, go!" They probably aren't, but it doesn't help that my brain tells me they are.

The funny thing I always forget is how quickly your body adjusts to exercise. How after one time, I could not walk up or down stairs for 3 days, but just a week later, I am stiff only for a few minutes in the mornings. Makes me want to keep running- nah, not really.

But, I am going to. At least until its too damn cold to breathe comfortably, and then I'll try the treadmill, which I hate with a passion. Maybe I'll lose weight, maybe I won't. But I'd like to think I'm going to be one of those old folks who wears out, not rusts out. Better start now- well, maybe in a bit...

Like Strawberry Whine

2007-07-19T08:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I did it. I turned the big 3-0. Just another day, another 24 hours, and it came and went, just like any old weekday.

I didn't have a break down, fall into a deep depression, or any stereotypical response to surviving in this world for another full decade- no, not me. I simply ran away. And it was great.

We drove 4 hours to Michigan to my Grandma's cottage, which is now my aunt's cottage, and spent 2 whole days just living. There are no phones, no cable, not even a VCR that works. You swim, you suntan, you go out on the lake in a slow-ass pontoon, and you grill. It's fabulous. There's no shower, no hot water, but thankfully, indoor plumbing. When my great-grandfather built that place by hand, he had enough common sense to install a toilet. Thank God.

Evan was thrilled. He's only been up there a few times, but to a three year old, the ability to throw rocks into a lake as long as he wants is equal to heaven. He sobbed hysterically when it was time to go, and asks frequently when we are going back. Soon. I can't wait.

The part about running away to the cottage is that it is a way of running backwards in time. There have been no major updates, no renovations, no keeping with the times. You walk into a wood-paneled, 4 room cabin where the kitchen still has an icebox, the family area still has a coffee table where the drawer is a hidden record player, and there is green and white formica tile throughout. The chairs are vinyl so you can use them in wet swimsuits, the windows have pins to keep them open. The original door still uses a skeleton key, which cannot be copied. You walk into a time warp, and you never want to leave when it is time to go.

We spent many weeks and weekends there growing up. You think about that a lot while you are shoving your 30-year old fat ass into a tankini, thinking how you wish your thighs didn't touch when you walked down to the beach. I used to skimp around in a 2 piece and thought I looked terrible- when I was 15. God, what I wish I knew then! So, I did a lot of fantasizing about being a smidge thinner by the time I came back in addition to reminiscing about all the fun we had growing up there.

I have to admit that I only became Misty-eyed once, while driving alone to the store in the beautiful woods of Michigan, while listening, of course, to country. The song that came on was a favorite in college, when I was head over heels in love, passionate about just about everything in life, thin, adorable, and energetic. The song hit me hard- I will never be "young" again. So I sang loudly, got a little choked up, and then went on enjoying my weekend and looking forward to what the next decade brings me.

So, I leave you with the lyrics to Deana Carter's "Strawberry Wine".

He was working through college on my grandpa's farm
I was thirsting for for knowledge and he had a car
I was caught somewhere between a woman and a child
When one restless summer we found love growing wild
On the banks of the river on a well beaten path
Funny how those memories they last

Like strawberry wine and seventeen
The hot July moon saw everything
My first taste of love oh bittersweet
Green on the vine
Like strawberry wine

I still remember when thirty was old
My biggest fear was September when he had to go
A few cards and letters and one long distance call
We drifted away like the leaves in the fall
But year after year I come back to this place
Just to remember the taste

Of strawberry wine and seventeen
The hot July moon saw everything
My first taste of love oh bittersweet
Green on the vine
Like strawberry wine

The fields have grown over now
Years since they've seen a plow
There's nothing time hasn't touched
Is it really him or the loss of my innocence
I've been missing so much

Like strawberry wine and seventeen
The hot July moon saw everything
My first taste of love oh bittersweet
Green on the vine
Like strawberry wine

Things I Didn't Have to See Before 8am.

2007-07-04T06:46:00.000-07:00

1. A Dead Bunny. In my yard. That my dogs chased down. Damn chain link fence.

2. A Dead Bunny in a Box that I had to pick up after it's poor little heart stopped.

3. A Dead Bunny in a box being flung into a local business' dumpster so the little kids around here wouldn't come across it.

4. Driving home from Dead Bunny Disposal, a Woman, probably in her 50's, walking outside to get the paper in nothing but a skimpy nightie and high heels. Cellulite does not age well, lady. Cover that junk up. I don't show you mine, you don't show me yours.

5. Giant Thunder clouds rolling in.

6. An empty coffee creamer bottle in my fridge.

Can I start today over?