Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?

2012-01-12T12:50:00.000-05:00

Poppy and I tell the girls at every available opportunity that smart people are the kind of people who make mistakes and then learn from them.

This Christmas I made a great mistake. The children were all going to be home every day, and I had a ton of Christmas things to do, so I thought I would take one of my magic pills (Nuvigil) every day for a week, then crash on Christmas. I didn't even make it three days. If you don't have it to give, no amount of uppers will create it. The result was that I crashed in a very real way on the Thursday before Christmas. I threw a fit, I think it was on Friday, which involved me feeling more than a little suicidal, because, really, what's the fucking point of sleeping through your life? This is a Stage. I go through this Stage, then typically I pull my bootstraps up and Consult the Oracle. Not that it has ever really helped my symptoms, but if you're looking for the latest research then you're Doing Something to try to fix things, and that means Hope. Also, you can research on the couch.

This time the latest research mentioned they thing mast cells are involved. I also read an interesting paper that suggested Quercetin and Chondroitin could be used to sort of muffle the mast cells, but quercetin is difficult to absorb.

Armed with this info, I slept as much as I could for, like, four days. Then I bought some new goods. And now, after week of trying my new regimen, I can say that it's made a measurable huge difference. I'm not cured. Things are still off and weird, but I can truly say that I feel like I might be healing, and that next week I might feel better than I do this week.

Nothing very witty or insightful to say. I just wanted to mark the point at which Thing Got Better, in case it turns out to be true.

Love,
ephelba

PS
If you have chronic fatigue syndrome and wonder what my regimen is, I'll share:) Just email me.

In which I consider apologizing in advance, then don't.

2011-08-13T23:07:00.006-05:00

Wow. So I've been stewing hard on this for some days now, and I think I'm ready to serve it up.

I have a unique view of xianity, having been raised in that camp and made to study the bible hard. I've been listening to some xians have their say in their own space for a while now, and I've decided that this, being my space, is an appropriate place to have my say.

Right now I'm thinking about Jesus, and what he'd do. Methinks he'd go out and do what needed doing. If he didn't want mothers murdering babies, maybe he could ask his sweet omnipotent dadoo to quit imparting the spark of life to the wombs of mothers who aren't in a good place for child rearing. You know the type, those neer-do well floozies that get raped by their fathers, or the un-wed 14 year olds in favelas, or that most evil of beings, a woman who couldn't keep her knees together and has decided things are so bad that she'll accept the possible shame, the risk of the procedure and pay the not inconsiderable financial cost to murder a child she thinks she shouldn't have. At the very least, maybe his dad could use his grace to allow women's wombs to reabsorb their young in stressful times, like rabbits.

Since his dad seems prone to ignoring good sense*, I'm betting Jesus would go out and create safe environments for mothers to raise their children, complete with meaningful work and safe, supportive, nourishing environs to raise their kids in. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even hand out condoms in high schools and city streets. I sincerely and utterly doubt that he would ever shoulder a sign that looked like (trigger warning - graphic images of murdered babies, complete with bloody severed limbs) these. He certainly wouldn't shoulder the burden of pointing out to other people (with penises, who already agreed with him) how much sense he made while real breathing women were deciding whether murdering their baby really wasn't the best option. And "I know that I know" that he'd certainly sit in utter silence while those who had already murdered told their story, whether they felt sweet relief or sadness or guilt or all three or none of the above, because he was cool like that.

In fact, when the bible mentions Jesus hanging out with the kinds of people who pontificate about god, he ends up kicking their asses. Like, physically and on the church steps.

Of course, I'm assuming he'd even give a damn. I mean, I find it interesting that although women have been sticking twigs up their hoohas since they figured out what was going on up there, Jesus didn't bother mentioning it. I mean, the bible gets pretty specific on what kind of sleeping with men is not cool, and whether it's ok to eat four legged insects** and how evil cheese burgers are, but murdering children, and (again, trigger warning, graphic coroner's photo of a n4ked w0man) frequently their moms, doesn't warrant a mention.

Maybe he just figured he ought to mind his own business.

Feeling much better now,

ephelba***

* Also, quite possibly, because he's imaginary. But that's just my certainty. Your milage may vary.

** You gotta love you some Leviticus.

*** Comments turned off. This is my space, and I don't feel like sharing with xians today, so I'm going to pull a Cartman and not share with anybody.

Huh.

2011-07-15T09:47:00.002-05:00

It would seem that health things are still improving. I'm not sure if it's real or not. Sometimes when you want something very badly you can make yourself believe in things that aren't there.

I dreamed that Simon called a family meeting to tell me I was pudgy. I told Simon about this when I woke up, and he asked, "Was it a happy dream?".

Ummmm, that would be "No".

Yesterday was a marathon day. Simon and I are sharing a car, so I drove him into work at 4:30, then came home and took a little nap, and then got up and made lunches for everybody, breakfasts for everybody, got everybody up and into the car and drove to Baltimore. Dropped the Boy off, drove back, stopped at Trader Joe's on the way, stopped to let a friend's dogs out, stopped at home to let my dogs out, went to pick Wayne up, came home, showered, went to work, then came home to take care of chores and kill a bunny.

See, we've acquired a Jack Russel sometime between that post I didn't write about moving into our new house and that other post I did write about not posting posts. He's a hoot. He does all the Jack Russelly things, like hunt, dig, and chew things that squeek. This has enabled him to find a rabbit's nest in our neighbor's yard, dig under the fence to steal a bunny, then, umm, damage it. Damage it, but not kill it. You should know, baby bunnies are notoriously difficult to raise because you have to have a grown up rabbit available to provide poops to feed the baby so you can culture their stomachs with the bugs they need to digest grass. Gross, but true. So not having a grown rabbit, or a way of treating the damage that Bingo did to it, I decided a quick death would be better than a slow one.

It is remarkably difficult to dispatch a cute, helpless animal. I don't mean difficult as in tricky to manage, I mean heartbreaking. Disturbing. I'll spare you the details and hope that you never find yourself in the same situation. That said, I found myself in the throes of inappropriate humor last night, humming "Kill the rabbit" and imagining new nicknames for myself. A dear friend who moved away used to call me Amy the Atheist, but I suppose I can expand the moniker to Amy the Atheist Bunny Killer, which makes me seems fearsome.

The latest good news is that I seem to have found Simon a granny car. It's a 96 toyota with only 78000 miles on it. Woohoo! We'll see if that pans out.

Boy is now at his other family's house, playing with his other sisters and brother, getting to know another set of parents. I'll have to devote a post to this subject soon. In the meantime, we miss him already and can't wait to have him back.

Workin hard or hardly workin,

ephelba

Changes

2011-07-01T12:29:00.002-05:00

I haven't even looked at how long it's been since I've written. It doesn't matter. I've spent what seems like a couple of years eeking out a life between naps and more naps. It has been rough.

I have seen Doctors. Very few abnormal lab results, and none of them really helpful. Most frustrating is Doctors telling you that most people who have chronic fatigue feel better within 5 years. In five years the Bean will be 10 and the Bug will be 8. This is not encouraging.

I have been trying to raise children. It is a hard job when you're in the best of health, and when you crave sleep like a hoople head craves whiskey, it's really hard. You do not do the best of jobs.

I have been trying to be a wife. I have not been doing enough of any of the wifely duties, and it breaks my heart to know I'm breaking Poppy's heart.

I have not had nearly enough energy to even try being myself. Do men experience this? I don't know. Maybe men just don't talk about it. I only ever hear women describe it.

I have always been trying to find relief. When we couldn't find a cause, I resorted to just finding relief and began using Nuvigil. It's the latest and greatest medical answer to amphetamines. It has been of limited use to me, because whatever resources I'm low on get used up when I take it, and I have to recover, but it did give me a day or two at a time of normalcy.

Lately I've been trying something new that seems to be working. This week I have gotten so much more done, so much easier than I have in ages. I have enjoyed the company of my children. Their cute-ittude and preciosity are completely overwhelming. I had no idea that teenagers were cute, but the Boy is every bit as cute in his own way.

It tears me up. I keep missing out on things because I'm sleeping. I watch the life I wish I was living pass me by.

I wish with all my heart that this is the end of this nightmare.

ephelba

Packing like a mad woman

2010-05-10T23:05:00.002-05:00

or re-packing. Opening lots of boxes and getting rid of half the contents which means I have to fill it back up by opening another box and look! I haven't seen that book in ages and then I start reading my old journals and

Holy

Shit

Can I just say I have the most amazing mind ever? I mean, I'm reading events in these journals and saying to myself, Wow! That was a Big! Upsetting! Event! and I can't remember jack shit about any of it. Sometimes I might remember the feeling I had, but by and large I can't remember bubkiss in the way of details.

Which just goes to show you should update your blogs more often;) Except Z, who is amazing.

Signing off without really updating her own blog in a meaningful way,

ephelba

Sandals of Death

2010-05-06T12:58:00.002-05:00

I would wander around barefoot all day everywhere if I had my druthers, and flip-flops are the closest thing to my ideal. However, there's something about wearing foam shoes that makes me feel trashy. Then one day I was in to the Salvation Army and found a pair of leather flip-flops. Ah ha! I thought, Here's the ideal shoe in a material that isn't trashy, and the pair costs less than $3! (For me- they're j-crew, so they cost more than that for the original owner, which made the sandals that much happier.)

Round 1- I win.

And then I discovered why they were un-loved. First off, the original owner had stretched them out, and they fell off at every step. No prob, I just cut and sewed the leather straps and Voila! Good as new!

Round 2- The Sandals Strike Back

And as I ran out the house and down the back stairs I discovered the second reason they'd been abandoned- leather soles are slick. I went ass over applecart, bruised my butt, bent my leg all funny and ripped the strap right out of the sole of one sandal.

Round 3 - Minor kerfuffles with no clear winner

So I glued the strap back in and wore them around the house for a while, slipping on the steps now and then when I forgot I was wearing assassin shoes, until the day the glue gave and I was back to square, ummm, two. At which point I left them on the floor in a corner in the kitchen where they prompted me to feel shame that I couldn't fix them. And more shame that I couldn't just throw them away. And sadness that my shoe-love was unrequited.

Round 4 - And then another fixing method dawned on me and I took them to the basement and poked some more holes and sewed some more and have the straps back on and the sole patched. Ready for round 5.

Which is a silly thing to write a whole post about, except that I felt inordinately proud that I had beaten the damn things, and had no one to tell at the moment.

Thanks for listening,

ephelba

Getting rid of stuff

2010-04-29T11:09:00.002-05:00

There's a hump you have to get over when de-cluttering, but I find that once I'm over it there's almost nothing I want to keep. Especially now that we're moving into a space all our own, I feel like I should get rid of all our furniture and focus my efforts on getting "new" furniture that works there.

I say "new" because I've never bought furniture before. There's enough awesome stuff people put to the curb that I've never needed to. Like our very solid wood couch, or our oak dressers, or our precious little pie safe, or our radio cabinet. Actually, I think I'm going to keep all that stuff, but I'm hoping to change shelving. We've got a lot of books. We used to have crappy particle board shelves, but we left those in MI. We haven't unpacked all our books since we've lived in NY, but we did put up shelves. Crappy steel shelving that my former boss was throwing out. Well, the shelving is nice, the "finish" on the shelving is what's crappy. Anywho, I'm going to relegate it to the basement where it belongs, and make/find something awesome to put our books on. Can't wait.

In the process of packing up to move I'm realizing how wonderful computers are. Music and books and art and recipes, all manner of things can go into the computer and thereby take up much less room than they do in the real world.

I found my old planner that I used to use all the time. Now my addresses, calendars, even book lists and pictures are all on my iPod. The only thing that was in my planner that isn't in my ipod are poems I used to carry around. Apparently I had the annoying habit of writing down poems without bothering to write down the author. Thank goodness for google, because now I know the following was written by Feyyaz Fergar. I don't know who the hell he is or why I was reading Turkish poetry.

DIVISION OF LABOR

I have problems
I know them well
They know me well
We get on nicely together
I let them worry me rent-free
Sometimes when I am reading a book
I lift my head to give them
The look of sustained recognition.
Sometimes when I’m eating my heart out
They lift their heads
To look at me and relax.

One day, during a class on Linear Algebra, I was sitting next to a man who decided to flip through my planner. He did ask first. I think he was keen on me. Anywho... After reading my to-do lists, and my lists of movies to watch, and my lists of groceries, and my lists of life goals, he wrote the following list himself:

My name is Karl!

I am "this many" years old.

I am tall enough.

I like to sleep, but being

awake is nice, too.

I like to eat.

I like to talk, but

listening is better.

If a person is nice to you

but mean to the waiter,

he is not a nice person.

I am cold right now.

Good thing I have clothes.

I park far away because

I can walk.

I take the stairs because

I can walk.

(a + 2, b + 3)

That's not a linear transformation

But I don't care!

Ha, yes I do.

I've kept that in my planner for years. Time for the planner to go, but I just had to put that down somewhere. As poetry goes, it ain't much, but I think it was sweet for him to open himself up and put that down for me. I think it was his payment for looking at all my personal lists.

Having posted that for posterity, I suppose it's time to get back to packing.

TTFN

ephelba

Unprecedented Mayhem

2010-04-15T08:48:00.002-05:00

Right now, right this minute, my husband is in Pennsylvania working at his new job. I am still back here in New York. My son is dutifully trying to better his grades at the local High School, and the girls are feeding their toys to our new pet rabbit.

Also?

We're trying to buy a house. We always always rented. This is big and scary and wonderful, and I thought it suitable to note on the blog.

The house is currently occupied by three men who are either developmentally disabled, or mentally ill. Not my business really. All I know is that they all have caseworkers. Also, they all have a lot of stuff. Also, they aren't that great at keeping house. The upshot of the whole thing is that we will be purchasing a lot of house for a little price in the best neighborhood we've ever lived in.

I'm all excited about guest bedrooms and paint colors and who knows what all. Simon is looking forward to a garden. The Boy is looking forward to picking a bedroom.

Of course, Simon and I worry about his future job security. If you rent, it doesn't take that much to pull up stakes and move to where the new jobs are. This house is supposed to be worth more than we're paying for it, and (unlike here) it's in an area that has many diverse job markets, so if something happens to his company we should theoretically be able to sell and leave rather quickly. Just makes us nervous.

Now all I have to do is pack.

When we moved out here it took the largest truck that Uhaul had. Since then we've had another kid. I'm trying to be ruthless whilst packing- my goal is to get rid of half our stuff- but I don't know if I can fit back into that truck.

I should go get back to it now.

Heigh ho, heigh ho,

ephelba

Reading books for children.

2010-01-30T12:58:00.002-05:00

I am a fast reader. I think most people, most Americans anyway, feed their families, wash the dishes, then settle down for a couple of hours of TV. In the same amount of time that the average bear takes to catch up on 30 Rock and American Idol, I can finish a book. If it's terribly thick, maybe it'll take me a night and a half. I know the librarian thinks I'm nuts for checking out 10 books at a time, but if I only checked them out one at a time I'd have to come back everyday.

Have you heard of Goodreads? It's a site that lets you keep track of what you've read, and then you friends your friends and you can see what they're reading too. Slightly Orwellian, but honestly very handy. I can't count the times I've known I read a book on a subject but couldn't remember what the hell the book was called. Our library system refuses to keep a list of what you've checked out in the past, so Goodreads is what I've been using.

Yesterday Laurie King friends-ded* me. I know this is a marketing move, that her publisher or agent said, "Hey, you should join Goodreads and friends your fans", but a little part of me squeed with delight all the same.

Then, right after the woot, I realized if I friends-ded her she'd be able to see what I read. I read a lot of books meant for children: young adult, juvenile and picture books. True, the picture books I usually check out for the girls, but not always. Young adult fiction is my favorite. It's heavy on the story, easy on the introspection. You rarely have to wonder what the hell the author's point is.

Modern adult literature, on the other hand, wears me out. I get seriously annoyed when the author obscures their point in flowery or random language. Is not the point of writing to communicate? Dear James Joyce, if it takes a group of people 13 years to read your book, doesn't that indicate you've failed? There's a difference between tickling someone's brain with the possibilities inherent in a subtle grouping of words and bludgeoning their lobes with a purposefully obtuse tangle of them.

Adult novels also wear me out with their grimosity. How does fiction serve as an escape when it's some fun-house view of your own troubles and angst? When I read The Story of Edgar Sawtell the ending broke my heart. I had come to the book prepared, because everyone compared it to Hamlet, and we all know how that ended, but since it was an American author** I expected him to pull out the happy in the end. Nope. I still get angry when I think of that book. I'll readily admit the value of such things, and credit the artistry involved, but when it's all over it doesn't matter how masterfully the piece rendered me to despair, I'm still despairing. Yuch.

This is one of those areas in which I'm trying to grow. I try to check out at least one grup book when I get my weekly stack o books, but the truth is it's always the last book to be read. I also frequently cheat by reading adult fiction that possesses my fave qualities: a good yarn and a happy ending. Baby steps, I suppose. Appropriate for one who delights in reading baby books.

Send me an email if you're on Goodreads too,

ephelba

*This post is full of made-up words. That's how I roll, especially with the problems I'm having word-finding. Be glad you don't live with me, as the requests for "things" and "thingies" are driving my family mad.

**ephelba's law of movie endings goes like this: If the movie was made in America, the ending will be happy. If the movie was made in France, the movie will end in tragedy for all. If the movie was made in China everyone will die except for one character, who is left to contemplate the balance of tragedy and justice. If the movie was made in England the ending is a crap shoot. I fully credit Loon and Simon for contributing to the discovery of these laws. Haven't watched enough Italian, German or Spanish movies to be able to offer an opinion there, and although I have enough data to come up with a Japanese law, I haven't yet synthesized it. And yes, I realize I was talking about books, but in the example given I was hoping the law could be expanded to include movies.

Why I don't post

2010-01-29T16:15:00.003-05:00

I remember this blog. It is important to me. I've spoken about its purpose in several other posts, so I won't carry on about it again. My point is that I don't want this blog to turn into a place where all I post about is how tired I am and how messy my house is. It's been said, and since my life is so small and mean right now I have little else to say.

I have high hopes though. I keep hoping I can beat this Thing and get on with my life. Treatment options are on their way. In the meantime I'm still learning to get a handle on how much I can get done without it being too much. Focusing on living life in small bites.

So, I guess I'll be back when I've got more to say.

Hope it's soon,

ephelba

Worse than I thought.

2009-11-16T22:25:00.002-05:00

And I thought it would be bad.

Raising a teenager, that is. I thought it would be hard, that there would be yelling and carrying on and much rolling of the eyes. I hadn't counted on the sheer terror.

The Boy scares me. Often. Badly. He comes home late, or disappears out of his bed in the middle of the night, or doesn't show up to school. True, it's a been a month now since the last of these shenanigans, so maybe I have brought home the magnitude of the Scary that happens when we don't know where he is.

He always thinks he's got it covered. There's always a misunderstanding or innocent mistake in there somewhere. The thing is, when it's all going down you, as parent, don't know this, and you imagine horrible accidents, trouble in great boiling clouds, worse trouble that grows from subtle and seductive beginnings. You imagine the million little things that could send a kid down a path that fucks their life up for years. For always. You imagine big unstoppable things bearing down on someone small and clueless. You imagine blood and bones. You imagine not being able to stop screaming when someone gives you the god awful news. And even though he's always come home before, you can't stop imagining it all over again because he's not home now.

He's got it bad too, of course. I'm sure he could write you a paragraph that would make you wonder why he ever stayed home, and why, if he made it out, he would come back home at all. That's what it is to be a teenager.

He is right to think he is misunderstood and unknown. I am right to think that he's fragile and naive. I am right to think he's selfish and just plain wrong, he's right to think I'm overreacting and unhinged. We can't help it.

Don't you remember this?

Wishing remembering helped,

ephelba

I know it's all temporary, and we'll both grow out of it, and we do a remarkable job of talking things through, actually. I just needed to vent a little.

For posterity's sake

2009-10-29T12:07:00.002-05:00

Item the first: Let it be know that Oct 2008-Oct 2009 was the year of the suck, in terms of my health. I have Something. The Doctors have tested me eight ways to Sunday and have discovered nothing. In the meantime, I get worse. Simon and I think Chronic Fatigue syndrome. Nuff said, I suppose, because I don't want this blog to turn into a record of how good I am at whinging.

Item the second: We are going to move. Don't know where, don't know when, but they don't really have the hours for Simon to work, and things don't look like they're getting better, so we're going to try to get out while the getting's good.

Item the third: Boy has started High School, and is celebrating by flunking three classes, suddenly becoming unable to get himself out of bed in the mornings, and generally making dumb decisions with the best of intentions.

Sigh.

I hope he lives long enough to outgrow this phase.

Someday when I have more energy this blog will become more than a kind of time line, but right now daily living is too much, so it will have to get in line.

Hope you and yours are weathering the recession well,

ephelba

Well hello to you too!

2009-08-09T11:38:00.002-05:00

At the park there's a bar that sits waist high (a grownup's waist, that is) that the little ones like to hang from. I was sitting next to this watching the girls. A little boy came up and starting swinging from it. The Bug came up, stretched, and just got ahold of it enough to start swinging too. I said "Look at you guys! You're professional swingers!" Then I looked at his mom, started laughing, and said "I totally didn't mean that the way it sounded!". That's me, the queen of playground innuendo.

Boy and I were in an "Anything but a Boat Race". This is the sort of thing where you build a floating thing and race it. We raced on a box spring. Came in fourth or fifth ish. Boat held up remarkably well- no leaks whatsoever. I loved being on a device of my own making, surprising people with its success, rowing in front of an audience. I learned that I am a ham, which is something I didn't know about myself.

As for Boy, my partner in crime, he was less than thrilled with the whole thing. Didn't want to do it, didn't think it would work (even though we'd had a successful test run), thought we'd come in last (who cares?), didn't want to be in front of a hundred or so people. He did it anyways though, for which I am proud of him.

Had my birthday. I got a box of homemade truffles (YUMMY!) and my very own ukulele, which Simon decorated in lovely fashion. I had never so much as held one before, and had no idea they were so tiny. They are the most tiny of precious cute little guitar-like things you have ever seen. I can't play it yet, but it's only a matter of time. I have grand plans. I want to learn to play the blues on it, or learn to finger pick it, or both.

I also got ahold of a trike and Simon and I put a seat on the back for the girls. Now I can toodle around town to just about any place I could need to go even when Simon has the van. The girls love it, the Bean especially. If the ride isn't long enough she cries when we get home.

Maybe I'll post some pics.

Hope your summer is warmer and drier than mine, although I kinda like it,

ephelba

Probly won't.

2009-06-15T08:27:00.002-05:00

Post much for a while. I'm just not in that kind of a space, but I wanted to share some articles I found to be very thought provoking:

This on changing the performance of schools by 1.3/1.4 standard deviations. For those who could care less about the maths, that's a lot. Most charter schools brag when they hit .3.

This on eating marshmallows. I have thought about this article very very often lately, and in regards to many aspects of parenting. Good read.

Count on me returning sooner or later. I always do:) In the meantime, I'm still posting pics on flickr...

Miss you guys,

ephelba

From my inbox:

2009-06-07T07:50:00.002-05:00

From: Malcolm Holder*

Subject: I saw you about a month ago,

God had told you exactly when

blahblahblah@blahblah.com **

and so it shall be,,five fingers in pussy!, ***

SPAM! Tasty and endorsed by God!

!!!111!!!1!

Wondering what special missives you've gotten lately,

ephelba

* Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

** Obviously, I changed this bit. Don't want to accidentally promote the wanger.

*** sic. I love the extra punctuation. Like, if you use more, everything's covered.

Ephelba is

2009-06-02T20:14:00.002-05:00

listening to the Weepies and playing Spider Solitaire. I have little more in me than a status update. Maudlin, because I've been visiting with friends for weeks, and now they've all gone, and somehow I feel all alone, even though I have three kids and a wonderful husband wishing I'd quit being bitchy.

And, on a completely different note, this evening we discovered and caught two chickens in our yard.

Huh.

Living the life of crazy random happenstance,

ephelba

Great Response!

2009-04-24T06:35:00.002-05:00

I must have good karma, because last night I picked up the toys, even though I'd already done it once, and this morning I insisted the Bean wear some panties, and when I got up I got dressed right away instead of waiting until I needed to leave the house, and all these trivial things combined meant I didn't have to be embarrassed about the state of my house or family when the police came at 7:30 this morning to ask if everything was alright.

Impressed with a two minute response time to her daughter's 911 call, embarrassed it was made, and hopeful it didn't take resources away from those who needed them,
ephelba

Hiya!

2009-04-18T07:13:00.003-05:00

Now then. This week just flew, didn't it! We went down to visit MyFarmer and have a lovely time. Wellll, by we, I mean me and the girls. Simon had to work, and the Boy had to grow up.

A few weeks ago the Boy began going to rehearsals. For something. He didn't really specify what. Or tell me when the something would happen. So ON SUNDAY he lets fly that he'll be recording some music with a band on TUESDAY. TUESDAY would be the day that MyFarmer and I had our hearts set on spending with each other. Would I have set us up for doing this TUESDAY if the Boy had informed me weeks and weeks ago that he had something planned? Ummm, no. So Simon and I discussed it and decided that the Boy should pay the piper and stay home.

BUT WAIT! THERE'S MORE!

So I'm at a rest stop on the Pennsylvania border when the Boy calls, all in a dither, asking me HOW HE'S GOING TO GET TO THE RECORDING STUDIO.
.
.
.
I responded "Fuck if I know!" and hung up on him whilst I calmed down. Because, honestly! I had assumed this was going to be a small thing, a get together at the Y where he practices, recorded on portable equipment. And I assumed this because he had never, NOT ONCE, mentioned needing a ride. After I calmed down a bit I called him back and we discussed the fact that this was just another problem to be solved, BY HIM, and went through a few options. He ended up getting a ride, and it was all good, but heaven help us if he doesn't learn some things from this adventure.

I'm a bit of a flake, but I like to think I've overcome most of the problems that generates by using crutches. Calendars and Yahoo and all that. The Boy appears to have inherited my flaky tendencies, but he needs to learn to use crutches too, because this shit just won't fly. So we discuss whether what he's doing works. And what would work better. And I give him chances to mess up, because it's better he messes up now when we're here to back him up, but I wonder if I'm even going to have hair left to gray by the time he figures this out. He'll probably get it down about the time his sisters start giving me grief.

But I digress. I visited MyFarmer, who is not farming just now. She is looking for a place to live, because her landlords decided her house is so marvelous they want to live there. Nice, huh? We drove past some options and looked at some more online. It's hard to find a place for a family of five. And two dogs. Wellllll, one dog and one miniature barking horse. Max is a sweety, but he's HUGE. In the morning he would flop down on his side and try to get the girls to play with him by gently waving his paws at them. Our dog Mabel used to do the exact same thing to play with her much smaller sister Lucy. It's very sweet to watch.
What else?
We told stories and drank coffee and stayed up too late and signed MyFarmer up on Facebook and it was all over too fast. We'll be going back down Memorial Day weekend to do it up right with the whole family. YAY!

The drive back was a doozy. I was pooped, too little sleep for too long, and the girls were pooped too. When I was trying to leave I almost got stuck in the driveway- the van handled so strangely!- until MyFarmer asked if the parking break was on. Oh yeah! Hot Stuff, coming through! I kept trying to think positive thoughts about how the day was going to go, but it was hard when Google Maps steered me wrong, and the construction slowed me up, and the girls cried and asked for milk OVER AND OVER, and I had to pee desperately but the construction just didn't let up and I couldn't get off the road. As soon as I ended up driving North like I was supposed to, and the state of PA saw fit to let me off the road, we took a nice long break. This helped, so we did it once more before home, but the five hour trip still ended up taking us nine hours. Nine llloooonnngggg hours.

Which meant that when the Loon called and said she wouldn't be visiting this weekend because she was chickening out at the prospect of making the nine hour trip with her baby alone, I completely understood. Oh yes I did. Wait till your wifey can go too and then have a go at it, by all means.

In other news, I've ordered glasses online. Zenni Optical had the cutest glasses, so even though The Oracle warned me that they have had problems recently getting their stuff through customs and to the customers, I sent them the money and hoped for the best. Yesterday I called to get a tracking number, but no one answered the phone and the mailbox was full, which isn't a good sign. They'll get here eventually. My contacts don't fit well, and these glasses suck wooky, but all that means is that when my new lovely specs get here I'll be that much more grateful to have them, right?

The Bean has decided that using the potty is fun. She objects to the wearing of pantys- floweredy, sparkly monkey or just plain pink, but as long as she's not using up diapers I don't think I care. One thing at a time, man, one thing at a time.

Hoping you're wearing happy undergarments,
ephelba

Good idea?

2009-04-09T07:17:00.002-05:00

"With college costs continuing to soar and more college graduates struggling to make their student loan payments, the Reduce The Rate Petition is urging lawmakers to extend the benefits of the federal bailout to students.

The plan, designed to help college students and their families in this fragile economy, calls on Congress to do the following:

Reduce the interest rate on all student loans to 1%.
If banks can borrow at 1% or less, then so should our students.
Extend the grace period before loan repayment begins from 6 months to 18 months for students who graduate.
In these tough economic times, it takes a college graduate an average of 6 months to 1 year to find a job. The rules should reflect this reality.
End the penalties assessed to schools for student loan defaults.
Schools should not be held accountable for students who don’t pay back their loans.
Increase Pell Grants to cover the average yearly cost of a public
4 year institution instead of the amounts in the current stimulus package--$5,350 starting July 1 and $5,550 in 2010-2011"

Blatently cut and pasted from the site. Seems like a really good idea to me.

Am tired. Up at least once for every child last night. Simon didn't sleep good either. No coffee upon waking. Cookies for breakfast.

BUT! Yesterday I raised my high score on Scramble to 155, and found the word "ganglion".

Really hoping today is a better day,
ephelba

Also?

2009-04-03T09:30:00.001-05:00

I just have to share. I had always made the argument that the bible never said women couldn't have sex with each other, but I thought I was the only one who noticed. Nice to know I'm not.

And I had no idea there would ever, ever be a need for a web page entitled "Fisting and God's Will".

Doesn't that just put the yeller in yer daffydils*?
ephelba

I made that up right this second and have no idea what it means.

In Which I Probably Write Enough For a Novel

2009-04-03T07:32:00.005-05:00

You've been warned. I have a lot to post.

First. My Mom came for a visit. You need to know that my relationship with my mother has been strained since I was a senior in HS. When I was younger we were thick as thieves, and it seems to me that when I started to grow up and away she wigged out. I think she would say I wigged out. Whatever. This is the nature of things, but it meant that our togetherness was weakening. Add to this the fact that she left for Russia to "Do the Lord's Work", while I spent the next year un-xianing myself. Religion was a huge part of our relationship when I was growing up, and I removed it. I removed it, spat on it, kicked it in the nuts and did a little jig. Every visit we've had since then has been strained by a tacit conversation about this issue in my head. In the beginning it wasn't so tacit, actually. Mom would remind me of what the lord wanted, and I would blow her off. I made it more and more clear that I didn't want to hear about his plan for me, so Mom got quieter and quieter. I knew (or thought I did) what Mom thought about the way I lived, so I got quieter and quieter too. Once Boy was old enough to understand what was what, I told her in no uncertain terms that proselytizing conversations with him would mean no further visits. I told her we needed to have a relationship with each other without god being there, and she told me she didn't know how. I said we'd have to learn. She cut her visit short and left.

This visit with my Mom would be the first time I felt like we made progress with our relationship as a twosome. We talked about when and why I quit believing in God, and she acknowledged that she wouldn't be changing my mind. I told her that I knew religion worked for her, and I wouldn't try to change her mind either. I know it pains her to see the choices I make, but I'm finally growing up enough to let that be her bag. I'm telling her things even when I know they won't make her happy. Our relationship can grow into something new because I'm done letting it be about pleasing her. Yay us!

So while we were doing all this growing and relating, I came down with a cold. And just as I was getting better, Mom caught a stomach bug. And right after she left the Bean came down with it, so I spent a day or two in her bedroom comforting her and cleaning her up and feeling pretty poorly myself (although I wasn't puking). Because dealing with a sicko wasn't, um, swell enough on its own merits, I decided to step on my glasses and break them in two. This being the last pair I had that I was willing to leave the house in. I'm down to my welfare glasses.

Ahhhh, my welfare glasses. I tend to not pay much attention to how I look. I can go for days without looking in the mirror. I'll run to the grocery store in yoga pants and unbrushed hair. I never wear makeup. Ask me to wear these glasses in public, though, and I feel a need to apologise to strangers for my grotesque appearance. The rational part of my brain posted an alert that this was odd and needed examination. I've spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, trying to decide if they're really that bad. It's hard for me to admit this, but I don't think they are. They aren't good, but they don't make small children cry. Maybe I'm hung up on them because they really are welfare glasses. They are the standard issue glasses that medicaid buys. Medicaid buys a set of frames that don't really fit my head. Also? Medicaid buys you low index lenses. These factors combine to create a heavy clunky seeing device that falls off my head every time I bend over. I mean, they completely fall off. Of my head. When I bend over, they fall off of my head. They frequently wander about my nose if I look down or turn too quickly, which is also annoying. When I first started wearing them I thought I needed to get over myself, because I can see through them and that makes them good enough, but after spending a week with them I think I'm justified in buying a new pair. They actually hurt me because I keep trying to use my head muscles to keep them on/up.

Let's sum up: I have these glasses that I hate, but I think I need to get over myself and wear them because I can see through them and I don't want to be the kind of person who lets their external trappings dictate their self image, but they fall off and make my head hurt so maybe I should get new ones, but I worry this argument is speciously justifying an unnecessary purchase, and jumping Jehoshaphat I know how to over think a thing, don't I.

I'll be buying new glasses, necessary or not.

Let's see, what else. OH! Mouse shenanigans! So we got our first mouse in our new digs. I was using the cast iron skillet to brown some onions, when I realized there was an extra special ingredient*. Simon and I tied up several traps worth of pepperoni, then laughed at Lucy as she set them off, then set them up in dark corners around the kitchen. The next morning Boy came downstairs to discover the mouse sitting on the counter, staring at him. Staring at him with huge, impossibly cute eyes. He caught it with a colander, and left me this note**:

"DO NOT PICK UP THIS COLANDER. THE MOUSE IS TRAPPED UNDER IT. I SWEAR ON MY LIFE THAT THERE IS A LIVE MOUSE UNDER HERE THAT WILL TOTALLY TAKE OFF IF YOU PICK UP THE COLANDER.

Love,
Boy

P.S.
Can we use live traps from now on?"

Simon and I plunked the girl into a tupperware and he dropped it off on the side of the road on his way to work. Lucy set off a trap again, because she's stupid and doesn't learn, and the baby picked it up and sucked on the pepperoni. There haven't been any more mice leavings, so we may be done. Wouldn't that be nice?

Last night I went grocery shopping. Not news, really. I mention it because I've been trying to spend less on groceries. I was hypothesizing to MyFarmer that the results would follow a curve that would go down at first, but then go back up and reach a plateau close to the starting point. I've been trying to only buy what we need for our menu, not buy whatever we're out of. I figured that at first we'd save some money, but once we used up what was on hand the bill would go back up because we'd need every ingredient in a recipe. I think we may have reached that point. We'll see. I only bought what we needed for the menu, but the total was still $180. For one week. Not counting the milk, butter and eggs I buy elsewhere. True, there will be several of next week's meals coming out of this week's purchases, but will there be enough to even out? I'd like to keep it to $150, including toilet paper and coffee and beer. Even that seems like a lot, but unless I start buying the kind of food that comes with coupons, or I start growing the kind of food we eat, I don't see it happening.

Ok, enough. I think that's all I meant to blog about. Whilst I sat here typing the girls tried to strangle each other, sampled Cocktail Sauce and decided they liked it both as a food and as a paint, festooned the dining room with flash cards, and took off all their clothes.

I should go now.
ephelba

*Mouse turds! Honestly people, keep up with me here:)
** He also wrote this note, but didn't leave it because it was April First and he thought I'd think it was a joke:
"DO NOT PICK UP THIS COLANDER!
Dear Mom,
This morning I saw the mouse just kinda sitting there (he was very much alive though) so I picked up the colander and put it over him. He's wicked cute. Just remember, if you pick up the colander, he's gone! I leave it up to you to think up what to do.

Love,
Boy"

I find both of these notes to be unbearably endearing. Maybe it's the way the first note is in his atrocious cursive, and the second is in all caps.

We Have a New Record!

2009-03-20T08:59:00.005-05:00

A half gallon of milk in three hours. That's $3.49. BAM! Normally it would be $2.75, but we ran out of the cheap stuff and had to go to the grocery store for the inferiorly* farmed, yet vastly overpriced version. Not that you even care, but damn people, I was impressed and had to share.

We had a wonderful visit with Simon's folks. It was truly a lot of fun. Grandma and I took the girls to Rough and Tumble, an indoor gym that the Bean's speech pathologist had just opened. It was a blast, not the least because we were the first people there. A TV crew stopped by unannounced, so the only children they had to film were mine. TA DA! I give you The Bug.

's head.

Ok, it's not a great shot of her, but it's not about her, so I can't blame them. And yes, that is my cr0tch.

Mostly the visit was us doing the things we always do, watching the girls do what they do, and laughing. Although, we did get all gussied up to watch Boy play trumpet in the All-County Band. His band gave an excellent performance. I mean it. It was a joy to listen to. As was the chorus. The orchestra had tuning troubles, but it's harder to keep the strings in tune- it's not like violins come with frets.

What else.

OH! Boy's Bday! We did good on the presents. At least, he says we did. He wouldn't tell us if we didn't though, so I'm left hoping that he truly is pleased. I know he knows we love him, which is the point, I guess. Here is the t-shirt I made him.

That's Bob Ross. It came out so well, I can't even tell you. For almost every gift giving occasion we make a t-shirt, and this is the best one yet. I also finished the booklet at the very last minute. Imagine the following, printed on square pages in various colors, fonts, and with nifty pictures, bound with little metal jump rings:

Create a list of the 25 most influential or important people of your life. Do not explain the project, but ask them if you can take a picture of them, and allow them to choose the spot. If they are far away, ask they to have someone take the picture for you. After you have 25 portraits, print doubles. Display one set somewhere in your home. With the other set, write a note to the person featured in the portrait on the back of each photo. Tell them why they are important or influential. Send the photo to them in the mail. Or you can hand deliver it but make sure you are not there while they read it.

Perform a random act of kindness.

List all the schools you can remember going to, then describe the classrooms in as much detail as you can - the toys/materials you liked the most, the way the room smelled, where you kept your coat, how the daily routine went, etc....

Grow something. It can be inside, outside, big, small, edible, pretty, plant or animal. Document its growth.

Have your portrait made by someone who loves you. Make a portrait of yourself.

Protest something.

Make something from scratch that you would normally buy.

List 100 of your favorite things.

Make an action figure of someone.

Make an illustrated timeline of your life.

Make a list of 10 things not to do before you die.

Perform a scene from a Shakespeare play with one other person, unrehearsed, while someone records it.

Make up a game,complete with rules, playing pieces and game board.

Think up your own project.

I gave it to him instead of a store bought card.

I've actually been piddling away on some projects myself. It makes me happy to make things. Truly theraputic. There were Boy's presents, of course, but I've also been working on that mix "Tape", and a sweat shirt, and learning to play the penny whistle. I can play the music as written, but you're supposed to slur and embellish, not tongue, which is hard to do, and probably hard for you to understand unless you play a wind instrument yourself. Sorry.

I've also been having a ton of fun taking pictures. A friend of mine from college must have noticed, because out of the blue he gave me a Pro membership to Flickr. I am deeply touched by the gift. I've wanted to upgrade for a while, but I kept putting it off because it felt selfish and unnecessary. Now I can look at all our pictures, load videos, etc. If you'd like to look, just let me know in the comments and I'll send you the link. If and when you go, be sure to click through to the very first page, I think it's page 23. Marvel at the Tiny Bean.

I probably have a lot more to say, but I can't remember it and there are a lot of dishes to wash, so
OH YEAH! Simon's step dad can't stand to have us wash dishes,apparently, because everytime he visits and we don't have a dishwasher he makes sure we get one, so this visit that means he bought us one, so as of next Weds we will be joining the modern age again. THANK YOU DEAR O!

Off to go take care of some crap,
ephelba

* I know this isn't a word, but I can't think why it isn't....

I need your input!

2009-03-13T08:17:00.002-05:00

I'm trying to make a "mix tape". The songs have to be so catchy you feel compelled to sing, but the words so unintelligible you to have to sing in tongues. So far I've got Matalli Ja Mustii by Varttina*, Bathtime in Clerkenwell by the Real Tuesday Weld, A folk song by a Thai street singer, and just about anything by Tom Waits. Not enough to fill a CD, obviously.

Suggestions?

Because she's perverse,
ephelba

*If you have children, perhaps you know it as The Binky Song.

The Bean wants poo.

2009-03-10T17:36:00.002-05:00

Our dog was naughty. The Bean, being a resourceful girl, got a rag, picked it up, then came and told me "Lucy pooped!". The Boy, when similarly informed, refused to deal with it. He said he didn't know what to do. I replied there was a reason that janitorial positions aren't degreed. * After he cleaned things up, the Bean cried and cried because She wanted to clean up the poop. So I suggested that we clean up pretend poop. Since then she's been exclaiming over a rock. It's a big one. And stinky.

It was a big day for her. I am here to inform you that today, for the very first time, the Bean peed on the potty. I am greatly relieved, as there was some doubt we were going to get the concept across any time soon. There was much clapping and hurraying and even- gasp- celebratory sparkly pink monkey panties.

That she promptly peed in. Then she peed on the floor. Twice. Then she put on a diaper and peed on the floor again somehow. I didn't think she had had that much to drink today. At least she has a notion of what's going on. I wasn't prepared for this sprinkler reaction to the concept, though, and am retreating a bit as I gear up for a messy learning process. And try to find even tinier panties.

Also- today we had friends over for playgroup. Whee! It was good to have a house full of friends, and I hope it happens more often.

Now I am going to comfort the smallest daughter, and relax. We'll have company for the next week, so it might be a while before I post a pic of the sparkly pink monkey panties....

She knows you want a pair,
ephelba

* I'm not saying you have to be stupid to do the job, I'm just saying you don't have to be smart. I've made my living that way several times.

Ta Da!

2009-03-09T07:14:00.002-05:00

Ever since we moved in there's been a pile of stuff sitting in the corner of the dining room. Random papers, the cuckoo clock, tools, things that needed to be dealt with. This weekend my family and I dealt. Then we de-piled all the other horizontal surfaces too. I still feel somewhat assaulted by the number of objects that are visible- I prefer the look you get when everything is behind cabinet doors- but in terms of how it feels to live here now, well the difference is night and day. When you want to put a dish away you don't have to figure out how it's going to fit with the books and hair clips and papers and whatnot, you simply put it away.

Having conquered the downstairs, I sallied forth to the girls' room where I put all the toys away, and the clothes, and vacuumed and straightened and TaDA! As long as nobody goes into the basement, attic, or our bedroom, I don't have to be embarrassed. Which was my goal. I wanted them to visit without me feeling embarrassed that we live like we do. Now I can relax and enjoy it.

As soon as I clean the fridge and the car.

The weather has suddenly warmed. First there was snow, then more snow and freezing temperatures, then nothing but warm. In all the years that we've lived here this first blush of spring has been followed by threeish feet of snow in one day, so I'm not too excited yet. I do have plans to start the seeds though. This year I want to pretty up the yard with flowers, and maybe try to do something with hops up the side of the house, since the landlord chopped down our trees. We're going to need some kind of shade.

Boy was such a huge help this weekend. He had to clean up all the dog poo that materialized in the thaw, and he didn't complain much at all. The girls did their part by playing nicely with each other, and Simon helped by washing the kitchen and cooking.

Now then.

I'm a little baffled. Usually I end up attacking the house the day before company comes, maybe even the day of. It's weird to not have this house looming over me. Not that there isn't anything to do, but there isn't anything that needs to be done right now, and really should have been done days ago. I suppose I'll go and see how hard it is to keep things this way. I can't believe it's as hard as this weekend was. Maybe I'll even find some time to work on a Project.

Simon is starting his new schedule today. I don't think I told you about it. Huh. That's odd, because it's the most life altering thing that's happened to us in a while. His company changes the schedules of everyone who works there on a fairly regular basis. Changes so drastic that whole families have to rearrange their lives. Just about the time that everyone gets settled, they up and do it again. Just now they've decided there must be three shifts instead of two, and everyone should work Monday through Friday. This would mean Simon couldn't work his other job, so he took second shift. Now he'll be working four hours in the morning at one job, come home for a few hours, then go back for a shift at the other job. This will be the plan until I can get a job. Until then, it means Simon won't hardly get to see the Boy. It means we won't eat dinner together every night, or watch TV as a family either. It means Simon still won't get enough sleep, because he won't get home till midnight and he has to be to work again at 8. I have no idea when we're going to have sex. The good thing is it means we will all be home at the same time for two whole days, which hasn't happened in almost a year. And he'll be making $30 an hour at the one job, which is also good. It isn't going to last forever, which is the important point. Once I get a job he'll be able to stay home with the girls and get enough sleep. Not that me going to work isn't a major change either, but at least he wouldn't be working himself silly.

On a completely different note- All winter long our house has been traveled by box elder bugs. What do they run on? There is nothing for them to eat here, but they're still plodding about the place as resolutely as ever.

Enjoying the view from the top of the ball,
ephelba

No really, I'll do them today.

2009-03-06T09:29:00.003-05:00

Simon says that all we need is for the dog to poop on the floor, and we'll be an article on fark. I say it's not that bad yet, but today is the day, for reals. Once I finish this coffee.

I can't tell you the pleasure that fills me when the clock peeps. Glee. Pure glee.

Yesterday I took the Bean to playgroup. The other children all cried when their mothers left. The Bean watched them with wide eyes, as if she was trying to decide whether she should be upset too. She was so excited to go, chatting and laughing in the van, but the group grief was very intimidating. I left her behind with some intimidation myself. Not so much for her, but for the other little ones.

In the afternoon Simon and I packed up the girls and went to see the Ear/Nose/Throat doctor, where they gave Simon a high five for using his medicine and preventing future troubles, then tested my ears and told me I can hear like a little child. Apparently my hearing problems aren't hearing problems. I'm calling it good news and leaving the subtitles on the TV. I'm very relieved that I still have functioning ears, because once the bits go they don't grow back. I must just need to practice listening. Maybe I should turn the subtitles off.

I went to bed when the girls did. Can't explain the tired, and can't be bothered to fight it. Hence the house. Today is the day though, because I have extra chores to complete before the visitors arrive, and I can't very well get them done if I'm still playing catch up on regular house work. It really looks like a bomb went off. A small, two-monkey bomb.*

With that in mind, I'm off.

Love,
ephelba

*The Bean can now say "Naughty monkey" clear as a bell.

Finally!

2009-03-05T07:53:00.003-05:00

When I was 15 I went on a tour of Europe with a band from Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp. We were there for almost a month, if I remember right. Our first stay was in the Black Forest, and I decided to buy a small cuckoo clock. The dude who sold it to me couldn't speak English, but he made sure I understood you couldn't tip the thing upside down. So. I spent the entire trip carrying the clock around in a bag. It was my pet clock, and if jostled too much it would complain with a tiny Bong! noise. I babied that thing across Europe, through several airports and state-side visits, and finally home. Once there, I pounded a nail in my wall, followed the instructions for setting it up, and hung it up in eager anticipation of hearing the "Cuckoo" for the first time.

Instead, it promptly pulled the nail out of the wall, smashed to the floor, broke some of its ornamentation and LANDED UPSIDE DOWN.

I don't know that I have ever sworn so mightily, before or since.

Several times I have tinkered with it, trying to put the chain back on its gear. Coaxing the cuckoo to chirp.

Yesterday, in a fit of housekeeping mania, I decided to tackle the last Pile in my house. I decided that each item I picked up would be Dealt With. One of the things in the pile was the cuckoo clock. It took me all day, and several false starts, but after 19 years of sitting broken in a box, my pet clock is merrily ticking on the wall.

Isn't she pretty?

I also ran a new phone line so our house isn't festooned with phone cords. Yay me!

Still didn't wash dishes. But! But! you say, How do you have any dishes left? Ummm, we don't. And it's Simon's day off, which is sad because it annoys him to have the kitchen knee deep in dirty dishes. You can' find anything to eat off of, and even when you wash something you have no place to set it down to fill it. I'll be working on that today. While listening to the tick-tocks and pleasant peeps of the clock.

No therapists today. Developmental play group instead, which is a collection of kids who receive Early Intervention services getting together to play and pick up contagions in a daycare setting. Last time the Bean managed to bring home an unusual cold and the throw-ups. Two for one. Keep your fingers crossed that she only brings home some scribbles on construction paper.

Cuckoo, Cuckoo,
ephelba

Let's see...

2009-03-04T07:57:00.003-05:00

Yesterday... Yesterday was one of those days where you feel like you're in a movie, and you're being filmed in slow motion, but everyone else seems to be clicking along just fine. I thought slowly, I moved slowly, I ran late and felt tired. It's like being high, without the giggles. The important things got done anyway. Mostly.

I tried printing Boy's birthday present out again before we left to go to playgroup, but then I touched some wet ink and got it on several pages and felt The Seether rear its head so quickly and viciously that I decided to screw it and come back to it later. In the mean time, I took a shower, dressed the girls, packed up the squash and headed over to Saille's.

Saille has knitted some really spiffy socks, which makes me want to knit socks. Saille's son is impossibly cute, and says many cute things. Saille turned the squash into a yummy risotto.That's quite a trick, you say, because you thought risotto was made of rice. It is. I should have said, Saille used the squash as an ingredient in a yummy risotto, which I'm hoping will become staple recipe for our family.

Poppy cooked dinner, which was very yummy. Nobody washed dishes, which was very bad. I went to bed when the girls did and slept all night long. I didn't wake up when Simon came to bed, or to get up and pee, or because one of the girls coughed, or because the people on the street decided to get into a yelling match or share their music. That, my friends, never happens, and is worthy of note as far as I'm concerned.

Which brings me to now. Now the house is a MESS. There are two therapists coming over this morning, library story time after, and I'm bound and determined to do something to this place so that I'm not embarrassed when Simon's folks come over. Busy day for me, then. Also, I feel obliged to tell you that this "Day in the life" thing will go on for a while, and then I'll do something else for a while and return to it later. I'm thinking the something else will be some projects, because I like the projects I'm giving Boy, and maybe I'll do some myself. Like draw a picture of The Seether.

Wishing she had a house elf,
ephelba

No Spoons

2009-03-03T08:05:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I ignored the dishes, let the toys free range, and worked on making a book for Boy's birthday. It's a book of fourteen project ideas, since he's turning fourteen. They seem pretty cool to me, I'm hoping he likes the idea.

What he wants for his birthday is a trip to MI for his friend's bar mitzvah. We don't have the money just now, and although we might have pooled everyone's efforts together to pull it off, the idea should have occurred to us sooner. I'm still racking my brains though.

It took me all day, but I got the diapers washed and dried. If I had my poop in a group, I would wash and dry them every night after the girls go to bed. There's enough time there, but I FORGET. ARG. Cloth diapers don't save you any money at all if you have to use disposables because you forgot to wash them.

What else... Oh. Simon says he couldn't sleep the other night because I spent the whole night running in bed. Like a dog. I woke up feeling like I had slept unusually soundly. Go figure. This morning I woke Simon up because it was 6:30 and I was sure he had to be at work. Nope. It's his day to sleep in. My bad. Then I went back to sleep and dreamed I was working for my old boss, but instead of making pregnancy tests we grew velociraptors. They were wily and kept getting out and running around the office trying to eat us. Oh the hijinks!

I bought groceries last night, and stayed well within the budget. Yay! For future grandchildren's benefit: I spent about $80, and bought less than is really comfortable. When we run out of things I don't buy more unless I planned that thing into the menu. Which means the cupboard is getting bare, but we're still eating nice dinners. Lunch is always peanut butter sandwiches, and breakfast is down to toast and oatmeal. The grocery spending is the only place in our budget to squeeze, so we squeeze. Other people have much smaller grocery budgets, but they tend to use coupons and sales to their advantage. I have never seen a coupon for apples. Or potatoes. I don't seem to be able to find the ones for whole wheat flour or oats. I suppose there might be some now and then, but by and large it's hard to find discounts on what we eat. Although- I did see a sale on frozen pizzas and bought some for dinner last night. I asked the Boy to cook them whilst I ran to the hardware store. He put them in the oven and forgot about them, and by the time I got home they were charcoal. Poor thing. He was very upset. I told him these things happen and you move on, but mostly I think he was upset because it meant more peanut butter sandwiches for dinner.

But! I was at the hardware store buying D rings and clampy businesses and screws so I could make attachments for a strap so he could carry his trumpet conveniently. It worked like a charm and looks lovely. We'll see how it holds up. I find myself being inordinately pleased with these little successes.

Today I'm off to take the girls to a playgroup with friends. The Bean is singing "Loodaloodalee", and the Bug has a poopy diaper. I have to pack up a squash and some coffee and get out of here.

On that note,
ephelba

This thing I'm a gonna do.

2009-03-02T11:03:00.002-05:00

So, again, in keeping with the purpose of this blog, I've decided that I'll try to post a one sentence summary of what I did everyday. This will not be interesting to most of you, but someday my great grandchildren will enjoy it. I'm also hoping that doing this will create the space in my life to record the things that I keep meaning to put here but never get around to.

Such as, the fact that lately I've taken to pulling the largest wooden spoons we have out of the drawer, making the best Maori attack face/stance I can, and chasing the Boy around the house. I can't tell you the fun. I've again said thanks to the gods of Architecture who designed the loop around this floor, which means that, once out of sight, one can still and hide in wait for someone else to come around the corner. It's a HOOT!

Let's see. One sentence. Ummm, Yesterday I stayed on the ball- that is, I kept the house as clean as it was the day before, made dinner, and even went so far as to bathe.

I'm working on an idea for Boy's Bday that I will share with you after it's given. I don't think the Boy reads this, but I'm fully aware that if he doesn't, it's only because he knows I don't want him to. I post this tease as a reminder to follow through.

See you tomorrow,
ephelba

Your help getting the disbursement we require

2009-02-19T08:17:00.004-05:00

I was thinking of getting a little part time job. If I could work from home that would be even better, so I'm thinking about seeing how much I could make off of Nigerian scammers. I don't know why, exactly, but all of a sudden I'm getting A TON of emails from the little twerps. So. I'm thinking that I reply to each one of them, and tell them that I need, oh, say, $10, to be wired TO ME, to prove to me that they really are Toyota, or the United Nations, or a Nigerian Banker and not some skeevey scum bucket. I'm sure most of them wouldn't bite, but if one percent bit I would have enough extra money to buy some toys for the girls, or pizza a couple of times a month.

Speaking of what I'd buy with a $100 a month, I told Simon what I wanted for my birthday, namely chocolate, a new fuzzy bathrobe, chocolate and chocolate. And then I thought for a minute, and I pointed out to him how lucky he is that I'm into expensive chocolate and not shoes or clothes or hair or makeup. I mean, when I splurge I buy a $4 bar of chocolate, not a $400 pair of Jimmy Choo's. He scored when he married me.

Just needing your name, birthdate, job title and sex*,
ephelba

*I always laugh when the Nigerians ask me that. Sex? No thanks, I'm good, man.

That good.

2009-02-18T08:24:00.003-05:00

Simon spent some time yesterday diddling his beloved stereo system, and when he was done he visited some of his music. Wellll, I say music. At one point he put on "Winter was hard" by the Kronos Quartet. After listening to a few tracks, I said "Winter was hard. It was soooo fucking hard we had to sell our music and play this shit." When the baby started to cry, Simon gave in and turned it down a bit. To be fair, I'm sure that if I were in the mood, and the children were in bed, and I had a really, really large glass of wine, I could get into it.

Do you read Whoopee? I love reading her because my mental picture of her house resembles the actual view of my house. Usually when I read a blog I picture the author's living space as much spiffier than my own. Like, if the internet is a zoo, and each blog is an exhibit, than most of the blogs I read remind me of the Lion cage, maybe, with big beautiful cats lounging around a tasteful arrangement of grasses and rocks. My household would be the monkey cage, complete with random toys strewn around and primates scratching their nethers. All I can say in our defense is that we usually wear pants and never fling poo. Boogers, wet dishrags, and used diapers, yes. Poo, no.

I'm still trying to get caught up on the mess we made whilst we were ill, without getting behind on the mess we're making now. I've said it before and I'll say it again- staying on top of the housework is like staying on top of a big ball. Once you start to lose it, the whole thing goes sideways like THAT and it's completely gone. And when you're trying to get back up you have to pull it all together at once. At least, that's the way it feels to me.

Leaving you with the mental picture of herself as a monkey in a tutu balancing on a large ball whilst holding a dirty diaper and scratching her ass,
ephelba

Much better now.

2009-02-17T11:11:00.002-05:00

When Myfarmer gifted us with a loft bed for Boy, I wondered to myself what the mess would be like if he puked up there. I had also wondered, when I got pregnant for the Bug, what it would be like when a family of five got the stomach flu, especially if Simon and I got sick at the same time.

Poor Boy was feeling sort of icky, but I thought he had a cold, so I gave him a Benadryl and we all went to bed. Benadryl puts him out in a serious way though, and even when he started barfing he slept through it. Of course, this meant he was puking in his loft. The result was spectacular. I couldn't help but giggle a little when I got my first look at him.

The Bean got it first and gave it to us all, but she really wasn't very sick. The Bug was sick all night long, but never cried. In fact, she slept in her puke for half the night because I didn't figure out what was going on until 3:30 in the morning. Simon, Boy and I all came down with it on the same night, meaning the next day there was no one in shape to take care of the two perfectly happy girls. I opened their closet door (where I store the toys that are out of rotation) and lay down in the Bean's bed. The novelty of the situation kept them busy all morning. Then there was nap, and after that the grown ups were feeling better enough to move downstairs. We survived, and it was awful, but it wasn't as bad as I had imagined.

In other news, the Boy's birthday is coming up. We're giving him presents along two lines- one is the usual Gift of Entertainment, i.e. books, comics, movies, and the other is Gifts that You Give Grownups, because he's never gotten these before and he actually appreciates them. So Simon and I were looking at pens, and we couldn't decide if he'd like a cheery orange one, or a bad ass orange-gray-black one (can't tell which one I like, huh?), and finally I brought the Boy down for a hypothetical. We asked him if he'd rather have a cheery orange coat, or a orange/gray/black coat. O/G/B. But Simon says, no, that's not the same, so I say, what about shoes? And the Boy waffles. So I say what about a bike, and he says Orange, definitely, so then I'm like, what if we painted this wall ... and then Simon comes out and says, "That that's not like a pen at all" and I'm all like, "Shit!". At which point we just show him the pens, and he picked orange. Sadly, I have always held the policy that if you figure out what you're getting before the gift giving time it goes back to the store, which means that Simon blew it and now we have to figure out something else. Sigh. To top it off, Simon is all proud that he picked the right color.

The Boy was looking through a Oriental Trading Company catalog, and he started figuring out how much he could make at school selling the candy. At which point he decided he wanted to go into business. He's got all sorts of schemes worked up in his little brain. I'm really hoping he'll have a go at some sort of money making effort, although canday at school is right out. He's already learned a lot about basic business principles just by thinking things through- for example, it takes money to make money, so how could he go about getting the initial investment? This right here is how learning happens. It's exciting to watch.

Alright. Gotta go, feeding time for the monkeys.

Wondering why February isn't National Puke Month,
ephelba

Twice in one week

2009-02-12T07:21:00.002-05:00

People with pen1ses have held up a diaper full of poop and asked "What do I do with this?", as if we are saving the turds up for a set of dishes, or storing them until they ripen, or reusing them as skin creme, perhaps.

For the record?

Poop goes in the potty,
ephelba

Sometimes.

2009-02-07T11:33:00.007-05:00

Sometimes I don't know what to do with this blog. I started it because I read my Grandmother's journals and it gave me a whole new understanding of her. I wanted to leave something like that for my family. Also? My mother and I have issues with memory. We can forget the things that did happen and remember things that didn't. It's a gift. I try to leave written accounts of things so that I have a record of the life I actually lived, as opposed to the fun house mirror version I remember. Lastly, I have found that reading about other people's lives on the internet comforts me. I feel less singular. Most of my day is spent without the company of other adults, so this is not trivial. Writing in my blog is my way of paying it back. Maybe some other mother sees herself mirrored here and finds her way to having some compassion for herself. I hope so.

The problem I find myself having is that I don't blog as much of my daily living as I'd like, because I've wanted this to be a blog I wouldn't have to be ashamed of my family finding. I don't want them to stumble across this, recognize my life, then be hurt by the things I've said. I have a lot to say, however, and I don't see how I can serve the purpose of this blog by not saying them. This is the problem inherent in putting your diary on the internet, and I haven't solved it yet. Ideas and suggestions from the peanut gallery are most welcome:)

So.
Anyway.

In the interest of having this blog adhere to its purpose, I will fill you in on what's been up this winter. I've been sick. I get these spells where my legs don't work too good, I'm tingly in spots and unbelievably tired. It comes and goes, now and then. Right now my Doctor says that since my lab results are normal it must be in my head, and has written me up a script for SSRIs. I know they won't work, because I've done this several times around. However, I do think he is a good Doctor, and I will try anything, because if it worked I would be very very glad. Also? Whatever it is isn't going to kill me. It's just life alteringly annoying. And another also? I want to be the willing patient so that he will work with me to figure this out. And the last also? I have been depressed this winter. Not the teenage kind of depression, where being alive=anguish. More of a middle-aged depression, where everything fucking annoys the piss out of me, it's all a bit too much, and really, why even bother anyway. So. SSRIs it is.

My Mom is in the states for a while and is staying with my Aunt. My mom is attempting to finish my Aunt's basement. Mom has the time to do this, and no one else does. It is good for all concerned. Auntie M saved up some time off and they came out here for a visit, also good for all concerned. They got to stay for a week and play with babies. The first day they were here they played with the Bean so much she pooped out and went to bed two hours early. Her favorite game was to get somebody, usually Auntie M, to walk around the house on a loop from the kitchen through the foyer through the living room through the dining room and back to the kitchen. If the Bug could be convinced to join, all the better. And for an extra special touch, all the girls would put on their snow boots and march and yell on their way around the circuit. This came to be known as the "Pink Boot Parade". Other options including singing various songs, counting steps and jumping on ten, and occasionally playing chase. By the time the visit was over, the Bean was finally saying "Four" after "three", instead of "nine", or perhaps "two" again.

My Mothers also bought me a cabinet and some table legs so I could put up a counter in my kitchen. The kitchen here is good sized, but strangely lacking in cabinetry. MyFarmer had given me a butcher block when she moved, and with the stuff they bought me we had all the parts necessary to remedy the situation.

It was interesting putting it all together. My woodworking skill set is weak. Simon's job entails many of the skills needed, and when he came home to find me working on the legs and things he let me know how he would have done things differently. I had spent all day working on the damn things, and was feeling pretty proud that I had managed to get them attached, seeing as how my past wood working projects had ended up in pieces or flames before I finished them. Simon was looking at the legs and feeling pretty certain they wouldn't hold up, although I still think he was doing the mental calculations based on whether what I'd done would keep an airplane together at 20000 feet.* I let Simon know that he had hurt my feelings, and he said sorry, and I believe there were some physical apologies all around. The next day I took the legs off and had another go. This time things went much better.** Even he was impressed. Then we proceeded to throw a new set of hissy fits at each other over getting the counter on the cabinets. It's deuced awkward to land a two ton counter and its holes smack onto the screws sticking up from the cabinet. And no, we couldn't just screw the screws up into the counter because it's made of maple and maple is HARD. In the end, Simon came up with the genius idea of using the kid's building blocks as shims, which we put under the legs and on top of the cabinet, which let us see what we were doing, and then we smacked the shims out and tada! We did it! The end result may not be aesthetically pleasing, but it is much better than the three legged card table I had been using. Srsly.

Let's see. What else. The Bean's birthday means that her therapies are going to be provided by the school district instead of the county. There was a round of testing, followed by the recommendation that she see a speech therapist 3 times a week, a physical therapist 2 times a week, and a special education teacher two hours a week. Currently she sees a speech therapist twice a week, and physical therapist once a month. Since her test scores were the same for the school district as they had been for the county, Simon and I are left wondering whether she hasn't needed more services all along. The therapists themselves are of differing opinions.

I think it's a matter of who typically receives services. The county usually sees kids who were born with a syndrome or illness that is so severe they don't have to be tested in order to get put into the system, or the Doctor decides that something is wrong and asks for an evaluation. Given that the Doctor usually spends 10 minutes with a kid, said kid has to be pretty off for the typical Doctor to notice. I suspect that there is a large group of kids who would qualify for services if they were tested, but they don't get tested because their parents either don't know enough about child development or don't know that services are available. The upshot of all this is that the county spends most of its time with very, very messed up kids. The school district, on the other hand, sees all the kids in the district once they start school. This means they see all the kids that slipped through the cracks and didn't get seen as toddlers. They end up providing services to many kids who have issues but mostly function. It's a matter of degree. The county's speech therapist is teaching kids to swallow, the school district's speech therapist is teaching kids to pronounce their "l"s. So when the county looks at the Bean they say "She's getting along fine", and the school district says "This girl needs a lot of catching up.". Of course, this is just my theory. She's getting more services now, so it doesn't matter why, I guess.

She's still being served by the county, but based on the school district's recommendations they're sending out a special ed teacher, upping her physical therapy to once a week and sending her to a play group with other special needs kids. For my part, I've signed her up for story time at the library and am getting together with a couple of moms who have 3/4 yos. Last week she went to story time on Weds, playgroup on Thurs, our friend's on Fri, and came down with a bad cold on Sat. Since then we've missed two therapy sessions, one playgroup and story time. Oh, and lots of sleep. Now the Bug is coming down with it, so more fun will be had by all, I'm sure.

On a happier note, the house is clean right now. It was clean yesterday too. Yay us! We're celebrating Simon's birthday tonight with a good dinner and presents, which will be fun. Yay again!

Suppose I better go get working on that, because I sure loves me some Simon.
I'll be back soon,
ephelba

*His day job is airplane mechanic. Since you can't pull an airplane over to the side of the sky, the mechanics are making things very tight and strong. Can't fault them for that.
**Can I hear it for JB Weld?

Hoi polloi

2008-12-24T08:28:00.002-05:00

I went to Walmart yesterday. In our house this store is known as "The Devil Store". We heap scorn upon it because of the consumer mecca it is. Because of the little local stores it squashes. Because of the waste it engenders. And yet, since it has so successfully obliterated the local competition, when I am left making a choice between box stores I often end up choosing it because it's the closest.

We started our adventure in the returns line, where I had ample time to contemplate the intellectual abilities of the cashier on duty. The unwashed hair. The coats that couldn't close over the beer guts. The very special choices of hair cuts. The mass produced cheap clothes that are saying lots of things, but none of it worth hearing.

After completing the tour of the store we got in the checkout line, and both Boy and I were astonished to see what appeared to be a very, very small turd on the floor. A turd. On the floor. We skirted around it and moved up in line to take the place of the people who were just leaving which is when I was washed in the odeur of raw, human sheee-yit. Seriously. I believe the man in front of us in line had pooped himself.

It was at this point that I began to feel a growing sense of panic. Usually I'm the great apologist in the family- the one to point out that no one poops themselves if they can help it, and people have it hard these days, etc.- but right at that moment I was hung up on two horrible thoughts. The first was that everyone here was so common. This store was grotesque, a freak show hawking a peek at the horror that is the working class.

The second horrible thought?
I belonged there.

The Bug's coat was all manky around the edges from some cream cheese on a bagel fed to her in the car. Fed to her in the car the day before yesterday. I lose points for feeding her in the car and for not washing her coat.

The Bean's coat was in better shape, but her hair was sticking up "ever hwhich uhway". I smoothed down the worst of it with my fingers, but no amount of smoothing is going to hide the unbelievably bad job I did of cutting her bangs. I know how to cut bangs, but I didn't do a single thing I know I should do, and the result is that most people think she cut her hair herself. I lose points for not brushing her hair and for mangling her do.

I myself wasn't in the best state. I'd hid my hair under my hat rather than do anything with it.

I understand that people are the way they are for a reason. We generally make the best choices we can with the knowledgeand resources we have at the time. Spending time at Walmart, however, does not bring out my compassionate side like I want it to. I get overwhelmed by the ugly and the stupid and I want to run from the store, tearing my clothes and screaming. I feel so classist. I desperately want to be able to say that these aren't my people. That this place is beneath me. That I don't belong.

Sometimes I think I will never again step foot in that store. Other times I think I need to shop there until I have conquered by inner classist and regained solidarity with my fellow man.

I haven't gained any real insight from this. All I'm left with is the feeling I need to shower.

Going to make her snobby self another cup of coffee,
ephelba

Ooo! Ooo!

2008-12-21T10:22:00.003-05:00

Here's a good Idea- Candle Night! It's non-religious, doesn't require buying shit, there's no big meal involved- the point is to hang with your loved ones. That's a holiday I can get behind.

Thanks, Z, for directing me there!

Going to go wash some socks that are three sizes too small,
ephelba

Wish

2008-12-19T12:18:00.002-05:00

I wish that every woman on the planet knew what her natural hair looked like, and that if she decided to mess with it after that, it was because she enjoyed doing so.

I wish that every woman could enjoy the sight of her own face without makeup on it.

I wish that every person could appreciate their body for the miracle that it is, whatever color, size or shape it comes it.

And while I'm putting my order in, I'd like a large peace-on-earth and some extra good-will-towards-men.

Love,
ephelba

Notes for Posterity

2008-12-08T09:30:00.002-05:00

You're a year and a month old now. You've finally gotten the hang of walking. We'll tell people you walked at a year, but it was probably the very last day of that last month before you started to take a few steps by yourself.

You love fuzzy things. Hand you a stuffy and you'll plop flat over so you can smoosh your face in it, then you'll waggle your head back and forth so you can really enjoy the soft. Oh, the soft.

You've got Four teeth on top, three and half on bottom, and one molar's worth of prickles in the back. Three more molars are about to come through.

You have quite the vocabulary- "Moooommm-my!" (ascending pitch) means food, me or Poppy. SooSee! (Descending pitch) Means Lucy doggie. "Hi" is self explanatory, and rare. "Gank Goo" means Thank you and is spoken after every bite of food. You also spend a lot of time saying "BaaaBoo!", but I couldn't say why.

Just this week you've been spending a lot of time learning how to walk whilst holding something. It's proven to be very tricky. You've also been devoting a lot of time to Sip, your sister's stuffed guiney pig. She is less than thrilled, so we've been trying to convince you that Cookie Monster is a suitable alternative. You usally agree, because he says things, like "Dumdeedumdumdum" and "Cooooookie" and he burps. Sip never burps.

Your brother noticed that you are very photogenic. He's right. Seems like all the pictures we have of you are good ones- big smiling baby face. Everyone should be so lucky.

Nothing much else to say, I just wanted to make a note of how wonderful and fun you are right now, because it all goes by so fast.

Love,
Mom

Jiggety Jog

2008-11-11T13:17:00.003-05:00

Home again. Sort of. I didn't mention it here, but I went on a trip to MI to go see Loon's new baby whist she was still new and squirmy and mewling. And of course, I couldn't go all that way and not show off my own babies to the family we've got out there. Most of them had never even met the Bug,and they hadn't seen the Bean since she weighed more than a sack of sugar.

I realized several things on my trip. Almost immediately I realized that I would not be able to visit every store/place/person I miss in Ann Arbor/Ypsi. I also came to realize that making plans with small children in tow is like making chairs out of spun glass; when the time comes to use them they seem to fall apart. Honestly though, I can't blame it all on children. You think you know where you're going, but there's construction; you tentatively agree on four hours, but arrive to find they've only got two; you're rushing from one place to another for a meet up, but you forget to email the people you're meeting directions. Throw nap times and snacks in on top of it and it's a wonder I saw anyone or did anything.

Things I did do:
*Held a Very cute, very small baby.
*Make lots of noise in Loon's house. The better to appreciate the quiet with when we're gone:)
*Made her baby smile. This is a new skill and suitably rare.
*Go to IKEA.
*Drive through Ann Arbor and visit the Salvation Army and my favorite Chinese grocery store there.
*Look up a few friends we were afraid we might have lost. Phew, that was close:)
*Met my brother-in-law's and cousins' girlfriends. I approve of their choices and hereby suggest they get on with things and marry them already. Nobody's getting any younger.
*Realized there is a whole class of toys that the Bean has no experience with, namely toys with pedals. Huh.

Things I did not do:
*Did not get to go to Jerusalem Garden, The Peacable Kingdom, Zingerman's, The Big Ten, The Recycle Reuse, Jewel Heart or Fizzywigs. It appears Fizzywig's may have gone out of business. The Discount Bookstore on Main that was there FOREVER, where many people I new worked, has gone out of business or moved. I didn't look, but now I'm wondering about a the other used book stores I hung at.
*Take pictures of my children with Loon's child. How did I miss that?!?
*Get in touch with my old boss. I tried hard enough that I won't feel guilty about it.
*Get drunk and tattooed. Shit. I should have thought of that while I was still there.

I am now back in NY. The whole trip really reminded me of how many people we have left there. It's where we belong. Our trip back to NY took 12 hours, but when we got here I felt like we had come back to Simon and left home behind us.

Of course, coming back to Simon was very good. We were apart for 10 days. That's the longest ever in our six years together. We agreed that being apart that long really sucked and said that we shouldn't ever do that again, but I'm starting to think the reunion is a lot of fun. Maybe we shouldn't do it often, but it might be healthy to do it every now and again.

Alright. Enough of this. There's unpacking to do and windows to caulk and children to chase.

Glad she skipped Nablowme this year,
ephelba

Life goes on.

2008-10-19T19:10:00.005-05:00

Huh. Guess everything Scott Westerfeld writes isn't meant for young adults, huh? Who knew? Here I was expecting a nice story about angst ridden teens in space, and what I got was rough and rowdy butt sex. That is, I didn't actually have butt sex myself, I mean, the characters in the book did. It was a good story anyway. Not that I have anything against butt sex. Especially if I'm not having it. To each their own.

ANYWAY.

The baby is busy climbing up things she can't get down from. Actually, I lie, that part only takes a minute. The baby is busy crying because she can't get down from what she has crawled up on. I am busy getting her down so she can do it again in another spot. I have tried moving her little legs in some kind of attempt to teach her that crawling works up AND down, but she's too busy crying to pay attention.

Boy is busy talking on the phone. Everyday after dinner the phone rings. Neither Simon nor I so much as look at the phone. It will not be for us. We don't giggle nonstop. We don't wonder whether she likes us, has asked so and so out, is going to be asked out by so and so, can be connived into saying "Yes" when asked, etc. We don't have a prank to play on someone over the phone, such as pretending the connection isn't working. Above all, even if we did, we couldn't make conversations about all this last for several hours every single night. Which is why we're not teenagers, I guess. I'm not complaining. About being a teen, that is; I am complaining about this addiction to the phone.

The Bean is busy being terribly cute. She is especially fond of stories just now, and if we're not reading one to her, she is reading one to the baby, or the dog, or the world at large. I don't know how to impress upon you how cute this is, because I don't have words for it and fonts don't come with a cute button. Imagine a "Hello Kitty" font, then imagine me using it to type "She's soooo cute!". That cute.

I have an idea!... wait a sec... there!

See? Told you she was cute.

The Simon is busy working. Six days a week, every week. But when he's done, six days a week, he pulls onto our street and I tell the girls he's home**. The dog starts barking, and I let her out to start the parade. Then the Bean says "Oh! Poppy!" and goes to day hi. Once he's in the door and the baby realizes what's going on, she crawls over at her fastest speed- thumpthumpthump -and says "HAI!". It's an event. Maybe it makes up for the working, at least a little bit.

I am busy being housewiferly. I made jam. I had never canned anything before, and we had these grapes we didn't know what to do with, and now we have deep purple delight in many, many little jars. I like it. I just may do it again. Boy is awed by the notion that Simon is making our bread and I am making the jam that goes on it; in short, he's amazed that food can be made by hand.

I also made chili sauce with a box of Gorgeous chilies that my NSES* sent. Yummy. And I roasted some, and am drying some. And I cut up and froze a mess of peppers and some leeks. And dried the leek leaves to use like chives. And made soup for lunch with radishes, leeks and miso, which gave me the wind so bad I like to died, which is probly TMI. And then I went to library, the bank, the store where I pick up milk and veggies, the grocery store and the farm where I get meat, all whilst toting the girls.

This morning I am so tired I poured granola into my coffee instead of milk. Oh, how I wish I were joking about that.

Going to pour herself a less chewy cup***,
ephelba

*Not So Evil Stepmom.
**His truck needs some muffler work.
*** Of course I drank it! I couldn't waste a whole cup, now, could I.

Reading

2008-10-09T09:40:00.004-05:00

Lately I've been indulging myself in children's lit. Simon thought it was bad that I'd been reading YA, but I've regressed even further. I'm a sucker for STORY, man, give me some STORY, STORY is where it's at. Adult fiction writers generally go light on the story and heavy on the, ummm, introspection? Contemplation? Navel gazing? and when I finish the book I can't recognise whether I got the point or not. I do understand that one is meant to have a certain ambiguity there. It's meant to be art, something that you look at that fires the neurons and acts as fuel for thinking, and yet, sometimes I just want them to tell me what the hell it is they're trying to say.

I abandonded the family last night and went wandering in the stacks. It's a new library to me. Soon I'll be able to tell what row I'm in by the colors of the covers, but just now it's like a cross between a shopping spree and a reunion. Hi Orson Scott Card, see you're still using that tacky cover art. Howdy do, Mr Foer, the movie turned out well, didn't it. And who are you, my little pretty, with your Japanese name and a clockwork elephant on the cover... The truth is, when you're browsing the aisles all you have to go on is the title, name and cover art.

This time I found myself skipping entire shelves because I felt like I'd read one too many male names there. Nothing deep, I'm just in a mood. I want to read something by a woman that isn't, ummm, romantic? Soap Opery? Anything Renee Zelwiger would want to act in? I want an interesting story written by a woman, and it can't have dragons, corsets, political intrigue or hot breathy moments in it. It can't be about women falling for men who are cunning sleuths and fierce street fighters and grand master chess players and award winning chefs and geologists and lovers (I particularly loathe that kind of book...) I want a good story, lots of plot, heavy on the wit and clever, and a big dash of surprise. With a spoon. Gosh, if I could find some books like that I might need a bib.

So anyway, I started out in the adult fiction, grabbed some Pratchett in spite of myself, wandered through some nonfiction which brought me around the corner and back to YA, what the hell, so I grabbed some graphic novels. At least I didn't end up in the children's section.

Hey, I know several of you guys have youngsters of your own. If you're looking for a creepy Halloween read, might I suggest Coraline, Rosemary's Witch (Please ignore the atrocious cover art on the Amazon site, it's a good book in spite of that:) , and/or Well Witched . All of these are seriously spooky, so I think they should be read alouds for the 7-10 set, especially if they are of a sensitive nature. I'm especially fond of Rosemary's Witch. It's super creepy, yet there is a possibility of redemption in the story which you don't often see. Well Witched has that going for it too.

If you've got olders, say, 10/11 and up, I can recommend Baltimore. Very gruesome and scary. Boy loved it. The only complaint I have is that the three narrators are supposed to be very different people, but their voice is the same. The sailor who had no real education sounds the same as the dude who grew up posh. Ah well, no book is perfect.

I checked out The Graveyard Book, I'll fill you in on it the next time I write.

And with that, I'm off to wash dishes. If you've got some book recs for me, feel free to share. Not that I need to spend more time reading, but if I'm going to neglect the housework anyway, it's probably time I was doing it in the name of reading grownup books.

Heigh ho, heigh ho,
ephelba

HAHAHHAHAAHAHA!

2008-10-03T15:28:00.002-05:00

SO he says, I'm out of dishes to wash, HA!, like that EVER happens, and I'm all what about the ones on the table, and he's saying there aren't any on the table, and I'm saying what about the salad spinner and the pan , I mean, if you wouldn't eat off it it needs to be washed! GAH!, and he's saying but they blend in, and I'm saying, you mean, with the other dishes that need washing? on the table? the table that you said you couldn't find anything to wash on? and he says, Isn't there anything to wash that isn't a pan?

And he starts to complain about how many dishes he's having to wash, and how low I've stooped to have him wash them all, and I ask him if he really has any idea how much he scared us last night. To which he says, no, but all of them? And I say, You know what? and he says no, nevermind, I take it back, forget I said anything.

Damn straight,
ephelba

Baby steps.

2008-10-01T11:43:00.004-05:00

Why do I persist on forgetting that the key to accomplishing any large task, especially when you have small children, is to work on them a little at a time? Hell, I'd go so far as to say it's the key to accomplishing small tasks too, because the little boogers always need rescuing from sisters who are attempting to inflate them with bicycle pumps, or someone to get them another glass of juice-not-milk-no-no-no-NOT-MILK-fine-if-it's-all-I'm-going-to-get-milk, or someone to go get their bike from the police station because they forgot the combination and the guy at the Y shooed off the little fuckers who were trying to steal it before snipping the lock and sending it away with the cops. And yet, every damn day I forget this and wake up in a tizzy wondering how in the heck I'm going to finish putting-stuff-away-caulk-the-windows-put-up-the-drapes-make-pants-for-the-Bean-that-don't-fall-off-get-the-"cooking once a week"-thing-going-etc-etc-etc-etc.

Maybe it's because I like to start a thing and finish a thing. I enjoy finishing a task. When I'm interrupted, by the very children I may have been performing the task for, I get Very Annoyed. It's silly and it's stoopid and I wonder how long it is going to take me to learn to take baby steps. I have to believe you can teach an old dog new tricks. Probly, the truth is I've got PMS and I just need to get over myself.

On another note, imagine that you fastidiously keep your real world name off the internet because you've gotten some gruesome hate mail before, and it's shaken your faith in your fellow man. Then imagine that on the one video you have on You Tube, a video of your littlest baby, you receive the comment "I know where you live, (Real Name Here)" You look at the user name and you don't recognize it. The choice of favorited videos makes you think it's a teen aged boy, but the age given is 33. You double check all the profiles you can think of, but your given name isn't on any of them. You send a polite email asking the person if you know them, but inside you're dying to think that some creep would post this on a video of your baby. Your baby!

Then your son gets home and, thinking it might be one of his friends, you ask him if he recognizes the user name.

"Oh yeah, that's mine."

So you explain in graphic detail how scared he made you feel, and explain why it was STOOPID, and why it isn't funny, and why you don't use someone's real name online, and why he can go wash all the dishes without a single tiny thought of a complaint whilst you rest on your laurels and contemplate why a boy as smart as he is does dumb shit like this.

Firmly believing he'll learn to use his powers for good, and wishing her daughter wouldn't try to drink milk with a spoon,
ephelba

Why do babies catch colds?

2008-09-24T15:20:00.004-05:00

So that, once they're better, you'll be giddy with glee they woke up at four in the morning.*

Ha. Ha.
ephelba

*That is, as opposed to 10:00, 12:00, 12:30, 12:33, 12:36**, 1:30, 2:00, 3:30, 4:30, 6:30 and 7:00.
**Three minutes being the time it takes to soothe a baby, assume she's gone back to sleep and get back in bed yourself.

Newspaper Bag Project

2008-09-22T08:34:00.002-05:00

One of the blogs I like to read is written by Z, the very same Z who leaves comments here now and again. If you've got a moment, click through to see how to make shopping bags out of newspaper, like her son does in his greengrocer's shop.* Of course, I know all you guys already use reusable bags**, because you're cool like that, but it's good fun, especially if you've got kids. If you do make a bag and post a picture, tell 'em Z sent you, K?

TTFN,
ephelba

*I love reading the Z's blog because her world is so different from mine, and because she writes about it so well, and because I just do. Go on, go have a look at it.
**With the exception of the ones you keep in your pocket when you go for your evening walkies with the dog, because I also know you guys aren't the type to leave big steaming stinkers on the sidewalk either. I love you guys.

The Hadron Collider is On.

2008-09-13T13:55:00.001-05:00

Did you notice the end of the world? Seems to be the same shit, different day over here. Apparently, now they're saying it will all go kerflooey in October. Can't say I'm worried. Seems like a good excuse to party though.

I'm slightly more worried about whether or not we'll be seeing house centipedes in these new digs. Every other house we've lived in has had them, and with all the spiders (their idea of a tasty lunch) here and the lovely wet basement (preferred digs) I can't imagine them skipping this shangri la. Don't know what a house centipede is? Aren't you lucky! Here is one for your screeching pleasure.
Now, imagine that two inches (just the body, not the legs and feelers and whatnot) long tearing across your floor and up your wall and under your bed. They are wicked fast. When they zoom along, they go with an amazing wave motion to their feathery legs, and when you smoosh one end the unsmooshed bits keep going. Bug websites say things like "Oh, they hunt bad bugs in your house! They nosh spiders! Isn't that great! You should love them! In Japan they keep them as pets!". All I have to say to that is that the people writing these articles have either never witnessed the terror, or they're bent.

The only thing that makes me hesitate when throwing shoes at them is the knowledge that they can live for years. If I swat a fly I don't feel bad because I couldn't have shortened its life span by more than a few weeks, but the thought that this might have lived for five years or more before I screamed at it does give me pause.

They always show up in the fall when their 30 tootsies get nippy outside. So I'll know soon. In the meantime I'll be happy watching the squirrels. There's a walnut tree right outside our window, and the dog and the babies just discovered the squirrel who likes to hang there.

Do you have a squirrel near your house? Does it quack? This one absolutely does. Sounds just like Donald Duck. It puts on quite the show for Lucy. Lucy stares with rigid determination. I am confident that she's trying to use telekinesis to bring the squirrel inside. This is much preferable to barking like a mad fool all day, which is what I'd thought she'd do when she noticed it.

We've also discovered a Big Bertha. A Big Bertha is the highly technical term for one of those barn spiders (Araneus cavaticus), the same kind of spider as the ever so famous Charlotte. Everywhere we've lived we've had one make her web (they're always a girl, doncha know) on or around our house. In every case, we've become sort of fond of her, and kept track of how she was doing. Every winter she goes away, but since we see one again the next late summer/fall, we tend to pretend it's the same one.

And on a note that has nothing whatsoever to do with creepy crawlies or atom smashers, Loon is still on track to take home a gorgeous baby girl tomorrow. It is, ummm, harrowing (?) to be in the no man's land between the birth of the baby and actual legal adoption of the baby. She's busy holding the baby today, and tomorrow she'll be busy bringing her home, but when she gets the time to post I'll to it.

Going to see if Betha's writing notes,
ephelba

For me, it's like this,

2008-09-12T12:07:00.002-05:00

I'm going through stuff and bemoaning the fact that I've already given away the premie sizes, and where have the receiving blankets got to (?!??) and this isn't too grotty, is it, and can I afford to send this overnight and why don't we have a health food store in this town, honestly and shit if this doesn't go through and they're heart broken (again) and then this box turns up on the door step that will really, really, suck, like "Hello, painful reminder here." (sing to the tune of "Speedy Delivery) but then again, it's all stuff they'll need for the baby that they are going to mother when she does arrive, because it is going to happen and of course, there's no reason to think that this isn't the time it's going to happen. This is it. This baby is so going home with them and they're going to be up all night and if the Bean didn't have strep and I had gas money I would so be driving there because who is going to bake casseroles for them, dammit.

Imagine what it must be like for them.

Crossing my fingers till it hurts,
ephelba

Huh.

2008-09-07T12:52:00.002-05:00

You're probably saying to yourself "She really isn't herself these days". I'm so not myself that I've turned into my son, and typed up a mess of silliness in the new post window. Then, I came to myself and hit publish, because I knew that I would embarrass myself a little if I did, and because I'm proud of how well I write.

If you can follow that, you're good.

What happened was, I was starting to write a post, then I had to get up, so Boy started typing in my absence, and I thought it was funny and hit PUBLISH POST, because I knew he'd be slightly mortified and slightly pleased.

I'll finish that other post later,
Have to wash some windows just now,
ephelba

Waiting.

2008-09-07T12:29:00.002-05:00

Ahhh, the joys of a new house. New houses are a joy, in a joyful way. Many debate the exact extent to which a new house is joyful, but even these debates are joyful, in their own way. Alas, they are not new houses. To see a discussion board on the difference between new houses and debates, click here. In short, new houses are joyful, and I have big saggy boobs.

Yes, I'm still here.

2008-08-31T09:11:00.003-05:00

Not quite my usual self though. Until I return, I thought I'd post a list, just to remind myself I have a blog.

Things I'm grooving on right now:

*Loon getting a freshly minted baby. I am in ecstatics and am tripping over myself trying to decide what to make for the coming munchkin. Cross your fingers that things don't go all wonky.

* Starbucks Mocha Dark chocolate (they say it's ethical and sustainable:) eaten with red Swedish Fish. Nuff said.

*The girls when they're giggling together. Cockaboody in the making.

*The Bean making sentences with the words she has. "Eat nana peese. Uh huh." "In bag" "No baby! No!"

*Having a drier. Simon and his friend put in a gas line and now we've joined the modern age. Of course, it's been sunny most days since it's gone in, because the universe is ironic like that.

*Simon had three days off in a row last week, and he gets Labor Day off. I loves me some Simon.

*Making things. I've got a list of projects I'm working on and am slowly dinking away at them. So far I've dyed some playsilks with koolaid and have been getting a skirt ready for dying. Hopefully, by the time xmas gets here I will have a set of gnomes made for the girls, maybe even some clothes made for them with my own hands? My own hands and what time, I wonder.
Today I hope to help Boy make some t-shirts for to wear to school. Indie clothing:)

*The girls going to sleep easily and sleeping (mostly) all night. This, my friends, is a biggie.

*Terry Pratchett.

Things that I am not grooving on:

*That the babies in most board books are white. White and blond haired. Boo hiss.

*That my baby cries like the Nazgul. It does not make me feel motherly.

*That, whilst I am having a shoving match with depression I really should avoid the beer. Oh beer, I miss you much, your flowery hops, your bibbledy bubbles, your golden hue.

*That none of my bestest friends live in the same state as me.

*That my mother is coming to visit. Hilarity is sure to ensue.

*The Bug, at 10 months old, discovering the joys of toilet bathing, dagnabit. The Bean is 2 and a half and still hasn't indulged.

*Squirrels in the attic. (Literally, not figuratively.)

* The Bean's periodic assessment. She is who she is regardless of how she scores, and I understand the tests are somewhat, ummm, problematical in how they work, but no one likes to read that their kiddo is seven months behind in anything, or that she's in the 18th percentile. I don't like to read that because she's 110 percent perfect to me. She's perfect and wonderful and precious. Also, I don't like to read that because I begin to wonder if she's going to catch up. For my wonderful, precious daughter, I want the kind of life you have if you catch up. Ah, worry. It's the perfect companion for guilt. The matched set of free gifts that come in the parenting fun kit.

Going to take the kids outside before it rains,
ephelba

Sad

2008-08-11T07:39:00.002-05:00

MyFarmer has up and moved away to Pennsylvania. I have been helping her pack up and whatnot while somehow managing to pretend she isn't moving. Now that she's gone, I have to face facts. Which means that yesterday I was a mean old bitch. I feel like I'm all alone in New York. This is silly, because I do still have friends here. Good friends too. I'm just really missing her.

Sigh.

Last night we had one humdinger of a thunder storm. Usually storms rumble through. A few weeks ago I thought we had a doozy because the wind was whipping and the thunder went Bam! and made the usual storms sound like they're mumbling in their beards. Last night it wasn't thunder that woke me up- it was a new thing altogether. The lightning itself was super bright, and it went POW! Sometimes it went CRACKPOW! It took a while for it start to rumble, and even then the rumblings were so loud they shook the house, not just the windows. It was eerie to hear the rain and the hail and the thunder without the sound of cars or, as is usual whenever it rains here, the sound of sirens. Once the storm petered down to a massive rumbling I began to hear church bells. They rang for a half hour. I can not tell you why. Once the storm really had begun to blow by all the emergency crews broke out and raced all over the place. What I did not hear were two little girls sitting up and crying. Honestly, it sounded like bombs going off, and neither one woke up.

Wishing I could sleep like that,
ephelba

The Summer of Bugs

2008-08-03T08:59:00.006-05:00

Here's the ginormous beetle, with Boy's finger for scale. It is a really big beetle, no?

Here's a happy beetle we saw on vacation. Notice the feathery antennae. I have little idea what it is, although I would guess it's some kind of sand loving scarab. And no, I did not make that up.

Here is a moth that we grew from a catterpillar. I don't know what went wrong, but that butt just ain't right. However, seeing as how it's a gypsy moth, I think I won't feel guilty.

Update: That butt doesn't look natural, but apparently it is. The female gypsy moths got back. And How.

Re-Double-Update- I just discovered you can click on the pictures and see them in much larger glory. So large, you can see the dirt in Boy's nails and the lobes on the ginormous beetle's antennae. Dude!

Close Call

2008-07-27T23:13:00.003-05:00

So I was returning a movie to the video store, and there in the parking lot was a gorgeous, ginormous brown and polka dotted beetle. I had to share, of course, but what could I bring him home in? In the trash outside the store there was a candy box, so I scootched him in and brought him into the van. The Boy held the box closed till we got home, then taped the end down while we began the nightly rituals. Before Simon went to bed I wanted him to behold the glory, so I got the box out and realized the window on the side of the box didn't have plastic in it. The entire time we were holding the end of the box down, the glorious, ginormous beetle could have traipsed right out the side. As much as I enjoy bugs, I'm glad he didn't.

Will post a picture tomorrow when it's light enough to take one,
ephelba

Just when you're ready to quit.

2008-07-16T14:19:00.002-05:00

The Boy is 13. Sometimes, now that I've been telling him the same thing for all of those years, I get discouraged and begin to think nothing is getting through. And then the Boy tells me that when he was on vacation and was invited to kayak, he used every tool I taught him. He took a deep breath, and he gave it another try, and so on and so on- he said the most useful tool was the one where you just do a thing. And when it was all over, he had such a good time he wants to do it again.

I guess I am having an effect after all.

Just keep swimming,
ephelba

The Vacation

2008-07-14T07:49:00.003-05:00

Well hello there!

2008-07-06T15:28:00.002-05:00

Hi! How are you? We're doing pretty good. Enjoying the new house. Missing Boy, who is off visiting friends. This morning he called, and the Bean got on the phone with him and was just so pleased to recognize the voice on the phone. I don't think that had happened before. She lit up and said "aHA! Bubba! Hello!", which was altogether too precious.

The little one is crawling. As in, eventually making forward progress on her hands and knees, not as in, zipping across the floor getting into everything that is dangerous or gross. I figure I've got a week or two before that happens.

The house is full of flies. I was sitting in the yard with the girls thinking "Wow. Would you look at all those flies!" The flies were flying into my house thinking "Wow, Would you look at that wide open door." There are so many I'm going to have to open it again and let them out.

On that note, why is it that whatever window I am near has three flies in it. Are they the same three, following me, or is it some strange kind of fly equilibrium?

I've been trying and trying to find funny things for us to watch of an evening. It's surprisingly hard, but I found another winner. The first was Extras. The latest is The Office. As we're watching the manager behave like a complete and total twat, Simon looks at me and says "This you can watch?" The difference is I sorta like the characters in the Extras, so it hurts to watch them blunder, whereas I have no love for the Manager at all. Nope. None. It's refreshing.

The inlaws are bringing Boy back to us from MI, then we're all going to go stay at a "Cabin" on the lake. That's "Cabin" as in "Nicer house than we live in", I expect. My kind of vacation. I find no joy in leaving the life I lead to go sleep in uncomfortable quarters and make do without creature comforts like, oh, running water or electricity or a stove. "Whee! Pooping in the woods!" How is that fun? No, going to stay in a space with more amenities than I usually have is where it's at. "Whee! Dishwasher!" See? That works.

Last night the girls or I were up every hour. Yeah. So this morning I was good for nothing. Of course, come noon we all slept for three hours straight. So. I suppose it's time to be getting on with things.

Look for me in a week or two,
ephelba

Funny things

2008-06-30T21:25:00.003-05:00

Extras.
I can't figure out how to link to it in Netflix. You're smart people, you can find it. Loon turned me on to it, and I laughed myself silly. That is, when I could stay in the room, because the kind of humor where people are doing things they shouldn't do frequently makes me squink, and I have to leave and then bug Simon from the kitchen- "What is he doing now? He didn't say yes did he? Did he? Is it over? What is he doing?". I can watch spouting blood, scary monsters, things that go bump and boo, but a person lying for comedic effect is just too much. You should have seen me try to watch Borat.

Dried Apricots.
Mimi has pointed out they look like little monkey scrotums. I completely agree. And now I shall say that to myself when I eat them. "Nom nom the mon key balls." And when next you see them, you will think this too. Ha! Your brain has been polluted.

Elmo, Zoe and Telly Monsters
At least, the Bean think so, because when they were trying to figure out how to line up with Elmo Between, she was ROFL. She can't talk, but she can laugh at Sesame Street. I think it's a good sign.

Someecards.com

Well, they make me laugh, at any rate.

snicker snicker,
ephelba

If you gave a witch some money...

2008-06-24T08:50:00.008-05:00

If you gave me more money, I'd go buy children's books on Amazon. If I bought all the books I wanted on Amazon, they'd bust the shelves and fall through the floor. If there was a hole in the floor, the land lord would get mad. If the land lord got mad, he'd kick my book buying butt out onto the street.

So it's a good thing I can't afford to buy books like these:

On the usefullness of attics.

2008-06-22T13:19:00.002-05:00

Most of our stuff is up in our attic. I'm guessing half of it will end up going away. Right now, the downstairs is almost pulled together and it has all the stuff we need in it. It is very freeing to be able to put everything away in a home just for it.

Ahhh.

In truth, I am alternating between the joy of creating an uncluttered house, and the crushing weight of the sheer volume of work required to get there.

I think listing some achievements will help.

1) I've organized the girls' toys into bins and will only have one bin down at a time, thus preventing clutter and toy-overload. I am pleased, because in doing so I realized they don't have too many toys. I hope I can keep it that way. My plan is to get/make open ended toys, like blocks, play scarves and boxes. They'll have to use their imaginations. Plastic fantastic stuff will have no home here. Now, if I can just get the grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends and relations on board:)

2) You can get to the pantry now. The pantry is organized. Thank you, ancient architect, who designed it to perfectly hold a Clementine's box. Thanks you, crazy self, for having two hundred Clementine's boxes to put in there.
This is, of course, a mixed blessing, because now when I want to throw something away my crazy self will say "But maybe you'll come up with a use for this, like you did with those Clementine's boxes".
I would like to achieve Farm Status with my stuff. That is, there are no useless animals on a farm, there should be no useless stuff in my house. I am a long way away from this, but getting closer.

3) The living room is good. The furniture is arranged, the toys are set, the floor is clear. Lovely.

4) Boy's room is arranged. It has issues, but they are the issues born of a room too small for the furniture in it. It's as good as it can be till we build a loft or some such.

5) The end is in sight in the dining room and foyer.

6) Boy met a kid across the street who is his age, going into the same grade, and isn't a hoodlum. Super!

I will take a deep breath and do one thing at a time. Eventually, it will all be sorted, put away or gotten rid of.

Feeling better,
ephelba

Surprisingly Traumatic

2008-06-21T08:10:00.003-05:00

Somehow I thought we'd move, and the sun would come out and angels would sing and life would be perfect, because we would be living in a better house. I know this is teddy bear thinking*, but I did expect that when we got here the worst of the stress of the move would be over.

Nope.

In an attempt to cope I've been trying to think of things as adventures. Alrighty! A new grocery store! What an adventure! Where is my granola?!? And then I realize they don't even have it, Quaker's granola, for crying out loud, and I start to feel a little panicky, because what if they don't have my favorite noodles or my toothpaste or anything? Going on an adventure to find your stuff is one thing, going on an adventure where you have to learn about all new stuff is quite another.

I left feeling completely wrung out. Silly, but true.

Yesterday we just drove around to see what we could see. We found another grocery store, the local Y and a community arts center. We did not find a bookstore. Not even a jinky one that sells used romance novels. What does this mean?

After lunch we made our first trip to the local park. Lovely equipment, sat upon by a bunch of middle school twerps swearing in front of the Bean**. No doubt they're the same ones who wrote the same swear words on the play equipment. That night I couldn't sleep for thinking about the fact I'm sending Boy off to school with those twerps (or twerps just like them) next year.

And then it hits me that we've moved. OH YEAH BABY! I know I'll end up loving this town, and this park, and these twerps. I know I'll make new friends. The sun'll come out. Whatever. But just now? I feel slapped in the face by the enormity of what a move means.

Going to unpack a box,
ephelba

* Teddy bear thinking - the belief that a chance in circumstance will make a chance in the substance of your life. Example- "If I move to Chicago I'll be happy, even though moving to Chicago will do nothing to fix my low self esteem, perfectionism or halitosis."

** Yes, we swear around the Bean, but I expect at least a "Oh gosh, sorry!" when others do.

Time for something completely different.

2008-06-17T19:58:00.003-05:00

Are you gearing up for the upcoming election? I feel a nail-biter coming on. Whether you're voting for McCain, Obama, or Mickey Mouse, I think you need to see this. It needs to be said.

Sorry, I couldn't help myself,
ephelba

PS,
If you need an explanation, one can be found here.

Bye Bye Old House.

2008-06-17T18:17:00.002-05:00

This is the view from the entry of the apartment we lived in for the past two years.

This is where the Bean grew from a five pound baby ball into a giggling toddler. Her first steps were here. Her first words too.

This is where her sister was conceived. Where the Bug had her first bath. Her first bite of cereal.

The Boy had three birthdays here. Two years of homeschooling. One and a half broken bones. Lots of growing up.

Mabel the dog is buried in the back.

As glad as I am to be out of there, I can't help feeling a little sad. It was our home.

Going to go unpack,
ephelba

Too many Posts!

2008-06-16T09:51:00.002-05:00

I know you can't see the posts yet, but moving has given me much to say without giving me the time to say it in. Suffice it to say we are done putting the stuff into this building. We will now commence with saying "Has anyone seen the ???" for the following, ummm, year.

Enjoying saying "Hello there!" to all her things, and planning on saying "Goodbye" to many of them,
ephelba

The Aerobed

2008-06-16T09:47:00.003-05:00

Feeling like I'm going to slide off the side - One and a half hours of sleep.
Having the sheet ride up under me, leaving me stuck to the rubber mattress - One Straw*.
Discovering we were sleeping on the thing upside down - Priceless.

Feeling much better now,
ephelba

* The last I had. I went and slept on Boy's bed after that.

These days

2008-06-08T17:10:00.003-05:00

The Bean is always squealing. Either she's running through an empty house and enjoying the echo, or she's bewailing our state of non-stop transition. She's actually been having a lot of fun. Hiding in closets, exploring our new yard, getting into EVERY BOX TWICE - once in this house, once in the new house.

The Bug is frequently dismayed. She is 7 months old and doing what 7 month olds do, namely, crying every time she sees me leave the room, edge toward the room's exit, or think about that one time I was in another room by myself.

The Boy is very helpful. He is 13, did you know? That means he can go up and down and up and down and up and down the stairs and not get as tired as we do going up and down once.

Lucy the Dog is delighted to discover our new neighbors have cats. She's not so fond of other dogs with their nosing of her nethers and their friendly attempts at playing. She prefers felines, which she expects to befriend her, cuddle up with her and clean her ears. I doubt the new cats know what she has in mind, despite her attempts to explain.

Simon and I are hot, sticky and tired. Sometimes we switch it up and become tired, sticky and hot.

Today Simon and Boy got their asses soundly whupped by me and my fun noodle*. They will tell you otherwise. Do not believe them.

Just now I must go empty the local ice cream parlor of a family's worth of kiddie cones,
ephelba

*You know, the swimmy things....

The latest suck

2008-06-04T21:32:00.002-05:00

If you're going to give your baby up for adoption, chances are, there's a fair bit of drama in your life. Drama and suck. If there weren't, you'd probably be keeping your baby, no?

The baby momma has drama, which, sadly, is not of her own doing, and the whole thing may collapse in a heaping pile of suck. Which sucks for Loon and her wife, whose heart strings are wrapped around the tiniest fingers you ever saw, but much much much much more for the owner of the fingers, and her sister, and her momma. It's just a really sucky situation.

Loon and her wife are focusing on alleviating the suck for this little family. This is good and healthy.

The whole thing still sucks, though.

Ouch.
ephelba

I'm an Auntie!

2008-06-02T09:41:00.002-05:00

Loon has a baby! I'M JUST SO EXCITED!* Bet I'm not as excited as she is. I'll leave it to her to tell the story, but she's too busy by half right now. Sooner or later, it will be up here.

It's a tiny little girl. She will grow up and play with my girls and it's just going to be great. Wish I lived a lot closer.

Going to send her a ham**,
ephelba

* (!!!!!1111!!!11!!1!)
**Like flowers, only tastier.

My new favorite song.

2008-06-01T18:25:00.002-05:00

Rats and Pizza.

I heard it on Pandora, and will be buying the whole album soon. I fell in love with it even before Boy pointed out it was about Upchucky Wheezes, and now that it's obvious I love it all the more because I completely concur.

Enjoy!
ephelba

Things to be grateful for.

2008-05-30T21:44:00.003-05:00

I'm grateful I live in a mostly functioning democratic country.

I'm grateful that we have so much money that we can afford such things as light up balloons. As Boy said, they are the Best Balloons Ever.

I'm grateful we're all pretty healthy.

I'm grateful we got to see the fireworks and no one was hurt, even when one seemed to go off awful low.

I'm grateful Simon cajoled me into folding laundry. Stupid, poopy laundry.

I'm grateful for public schools.

I'm grateful I have a son who isn't lazy.

I'm grateful I have a warm comfy bed to sleep in,
ephelba

PS
Loon may be getting picked to have a baby! I'm just so excited!

Firsts.

2008-05-29T20:56:00.002-05:00

Today was the first time I paid more than $4 a gallon for gas. I honestly thought the sign was wrong. I had to think, have we already gone all the way through the $3s? And then I decided yes, we had, and now the suck is here.

Yipes.

I can remember when the first Bush made a mess in Iraq and the price of gas jumped. I was cleaning out my car for cans because you had a hope of getting a gallon of gas with what you might find. I also remember thinking gas was expensive then. Now,here in NY, I'd have to have 85 cans floating under my seats to get a gallon.

On a happier note, today was the first time the Bean had her own ice cream cone. She knew just what to do with it. It dripped on her hand, and she couldn't have that, so she tried to wipe her hand on her pants and she dropped her cone. Simon said "She can't eat that now, can she?" I said "You can't stop her, can you?" and it was back in her mouth just like that. Then she got a napkin and tried to clean up the ice cream that was on the ground.

She's terribly cute today. She saw some paint on the ground and said "LELLO!" I said "Blue." She said "BLOOO!" and then I tried to teach her the Blue song. She's been working on the katamari damacy song all day, and proceeded to sing that instead (You can hear it here.).

On a completely random note, our local brewery is afire even as I type. We are sad. It made pretty good beer, and I was hoping to go on a tour with the whole family this summer. Instead, I went to the grocery store and bought two kinds of their brews. It'll just have to do.

Going to bed before the beer wears off,
ephelba

Wrastling with donkeys.

2008-05-26T09:45:00.002-05:00

Myfarmer is off to go see the big mouse down in FL, so the Boy and I are doing the farm. This is, by far, the easiest round of farm chores ever. There's grass, so we don't have to haul hay. She has a spring on her farm and lots of water here and there that they are penned around, so we don't have to haul that either. Boy collects the eggs and washes them whilst I take grain to the chickens and geese and do a walk about to see that everyone is hanging loose.

We're waiting on two sheep to lamb. They got into the game at the last possible moment. Everyday I walk out there and stare at them and feel really stupid. My goal is to notice when they lamb, catch the lambs so I can sex them, and check on the mom. The honest to goodness truth is that every time I go down there I have to figure out who the pregger sheep are all over again. You'd think tt would be really obvious- they're the two fat ones, but I swear some of the nursing moms are pretty portly too. I always end up staring at each sheep in turn "Ok, that one is a boy, that one already has lambs" etc etc until I get it figured out.

The donkeys and the horse have a history of taking advantage of my good nature and conniving me into feeding them more than they need to eat. Last winter I was worried we were going to run out of hay before Myfarmer got back, because they were going through 8/9 bales a day. Myfarmer said that was ridiculous, and I should cut them back to three or four bales. When she came home there was hay on the ground around the hay-holding-thingy, which the critters usually eat up when she was on duty. She expressed dismay, and the horse started picking up the hay and putting it back in the rack, as if she was shamed of how they'd played me.

Of course, I was again worried they were going through the grass sort of fast, so I decided I'd just set up more fence and then I wouldn't have to worry. I'm like a farming Jewish mother "Eat! EAT!". So in the process of laying out new fence, I lay a section on the ground for a second, forgetting what the purpose of a fence was. The donkeys did not forget, and promptly traipsed through to the fresh grass. They completely ignored me yelling "NO NO YOU FUCKING BITCHES! GET!" Maybell the horse heard me beg, "Please, Maybell, Stay in there. No! NO!" but she was all like "What? Huh?" as she walked past. I can not figure out how to tell that horse "No".

So. I figured, if I keep one donkey here, the other won't go too far. The donkeys don't care about the horse, but the horse cares about being near the donkeys, so if I've got them She won't go far either. It was a sound plan, and in the end it worked, but in order to put it into play I had to grab a donkey.

Donkeys are smarter than sheep. If the sheep are out and you show up they go the other way. Sometimes it's tricky, but you use this fact to herd them to where ever you want them. When they reach the edge of the pen they say "Rats! Foiled again! A pen!" but because of the herd's inertia they go in anyways. Donkeys are clever. When they see you move they say "Why is she going that way? OH! Because she wants to get in my escape path, cut me off, and put me back in the pen. Bet I can take her." and then they run. With stealth and speed I did manage to catch the younger of the two. I put her in a head lock and yelled for Boy to hurry. She expressed her frustration by stepping on me. She really wanted to kick me, but she'd have to get loose to do that. Thinking things through she decided to try and bite me. When that proved useless she decided she'd just drag me along wherever she intended to go. Of course, I weigh enough to be annoying, so when she got annoyed enough she'd try again to shake me off and bite me.

Eventually Boy brought the grain and things went according to plan. In the meantime? I spent a lot of time wondering just what donkeys were for, and how they'd taste*.

Oh! I forgot to mention, we took a neighbor kid with us on this adventure. He's never gotten to hang out on a farm, so it was a true adventure for him. He said several cute things, such as "I wonder if the wind is alive..." and "The geese hissed at me. I guess they learned that from hanging around with the cats." When he gathered the eggs I told Boy to make sure there were no hidden eggs- the hens are trying to go broody. When we explained they were trying to get the eggs to hatch, he asked if that meant these very eggs would hatch if you kept them warm.

Possibly.

He kept one egg in his hand the whole time. I gave him a dozen eggs, including two turkey eggs, to take home and eat. They came from the batch that included some eggs that had chicks in them, because he seemed to think that was neat. Not that you want to eat those, but because he could see what goes on. Instead of eating them, when he got home he put them in a muffin tin and put a lamp on them. Honestly, I have no idea what will happen. The ones that had gotten started and then got put in the fridge are already dead, I'm pretty sure. But the ones that hadn't started yet might still be viable. If he doesn't get bored turning them. I don't know. I do know the turkey eggs are duds. The Tom likes to hump anything with feathers, including the chicken hens, but he just can't get the hang of how humping works. He's very serious, but when you watch him his tail is miles away from the girl's tail. Miles and miles.

I do hope that someday we end up with the space to some farming of our own. Not enough for other people, just enough for us to have meats and eggs and veggies, and maybe milk.

I've been spending a lot of time day dreaming of how much farming we can legally do in our little city yard. Plants are easy. I've been wondering about rabbits. Myfarmer says they're the most efficient meat to grow. Can we use them for lawn mowers? Am I strong enough to break a rabbit's neck?

Simon is reading over my shoulder, and says no.

Simon also accuses me of mommy blogging. While ignoring the children. I counter this is not a mommy blog.

going to feed the children,
ephelba

* I do not have the visceral response to the thought of eating horse/donkey meat that most of you have. When I was little I asked what hamburger was made out of, and somehow I got it into my head that the answer was cows and horses. It wasn't until I was almost in high school that I learned otherwise. The upshot is that the thought totally does not gross me out at all, and I find it slightly amusing how gross other people think it is.

Yay!

2008-05-22T07:51:00.002-05:00

Last week I was hustling the kids up the stairs, and when I opened the door both Boy and I were like, WHOA, because there was the most overwhelming smell of bandaids. I'm making the Boy open his window and putting the girls to bed and then running through the house like a hound dog, sniffing the air and saying "Do you smell it in here?".

The Oracle says it could have been heroin. Crack and crank have more of a burning plastic thing going on, apparently. Truly? I don't care, I just want OUT.
O!
U!
T!
OUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUT

I spend so much effort into making sure my family eats healthy foods, and does healthy things, and then to have some kind of vile smoke invade my baby's lungs just makes me crazy.

As does the toxic waste in our backyard. See, back in the day, every building in this town had something to do with the mills. Either it was a mill, or it housed the mill's workers, or it sold things to the mill workers, etc etc... Then such things went overseas. The mills closed. Before selling the bits and pieces of the mills, they used solvents full of polychlorinated biphenyls to clean them up. I ask you, how is that cleaning? Especially when you just throw the runoff out the back door? I wasn't there, maybe it was an accident, but the up shot is that the dirt that blows around from the empty lot behind our house has PCBs in it. So does the creek that runs through there that the children played in all last summer before the announcement in the paper about the PCBs.

OUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUTOUT

So, it is with great relief that I announce our move.

Except, of course, that it means moving. What a load of suck that is. The packing, the sorting, the finding of new grocery stores, new gas stations, new friends and neighbors, the unpacking, the more sorting, the losing of things for at least a year.

At least we'll be doing it smoke free. Whilst enjoying having our own bedrooms, a second toilet and a basement. And a yard. A yard AND a porch. A YARD and a
PORCH and a GARAGE.

I suppose I shall look at like this: Whee! We get to sort through our stuff and get rid of crap! (I do, actually, like that part. It's very liberating.) And then we get to have adventures and check out all these new places! Super! New stores! New people! Alrighty! And I can stick everything we own into our huge attic and only let it down when it's learned to behave! Yay!

Thinking it's definitely worth the suck,
ephelba

Ready or not? (A brief swinging of the arms at the monster of ignorance)

2008-05-15T22:09:00.004-05:00

If you ask a white West Virginian if they are ready to have a black man for president, they say "no".* On camera. They say they don't want a Muslim for president. That they want someone who knows the pledge of allegiance. That they want someone who was born in America.

Essentially, they say "I am ignorant."

A. Obama is not Muslim. That is not a matter of opinion. You can't just say "I think he's a looking a little Muslim-y today. A little Islamic around the edges.."

B. Obama knows the pledge of allegiance, having had to say it everyday in school like everyone else because

C. he was born and grew up here. You Can't be president unless you were born in America, you big fat-heads.

How bout this. How bout you decide if you want a president who gradated from Yale with better than a "C" average.** Who can actually speak coherently.*** Who organizes things.**** How bout you get over his dermis and pay attention to his mouth.

If you vote McCain because you want four more years of Bush, that's fair, ok, whatever, but don't you dare vote for McCain because he's not black, you dumbass mother fuckers.

And lastly, can we all quit saying "Hard working white voters" as if the ones who aren't white aren't hard working? For less pay?

Thank you.

* I suppose there are exceptions. I also suppose many of them ain't from round there, and are sorry they ever did move there, bless they hearts. I bet they's fixin to move.

** I don't know this for a fact. Having listened to him speak, I'm willing to bet on it.

*** I'm not saying "My, isn't that wonderful diction from a black man!" I'm saying "What a relief to hear ANYBODY give a speech WELL for once!" I have to turn the radio off if I hear the Bush talk, because he's just such an awful speaker.

**** Hillary and He were in, umm, Ohio? Maybe? He had headquarters all arraigned ahead of time, with his number in the phone book and everything. She had to take what rental space they could find. Her number in the book? Not so much.

***** Yes, I swear much. The Bean can now say "Shit" perfectly, and at the appropriate time.

saddened by the truckloads of stupid she heard and read today,
ephelba

How cool is this?

2008-05-15T15:14:00.001-05:00

Ok, So I could do with a little less of the Music Video , but the idea can't be beat. What do you think?

Carrotmob Makes It Rain from carrotmob on Vimeo.

Aha!

2008-05-12T20:37:00.004-05:00

I think I finally figured out how to force the bitrate and convert my .mov files to .avi without any hiccups, and also how to compress the files so they're a manageable size. Which is all to say, you can now see the Bug suck her toes.

Just to give you a better picture...

2008-05-11T04:33:00.003-05:00

So I walked down to the family dollar wearing my "I make milk, what's your super power?" T-shirt. Two dudes were in there putting plastic fantastic stuff on the shelves. One reads my shirt, starts giggling, and tells the other what it said. Then he says, "Wait. But that's not right- she can't make milk..."

Wondering where the cavemen got their formula,
ephelba

What doesn't work.

2008-05-05T20:56:00.002-05:00

Making a conscious effort to choose what I'm doing and piddling away at things a bit a time works, but only if you're in a physical state of functionitude. Functionitude can not be attained if you stay up too late, the baby wakes up, the toddler wakes up, and then you don't go back to sleep.

So.

I'll be the kind of mom who tries really hard to go to bed on time.

This weekend Boy had an event to go to. The Oracle told us to go here, turn there, take a "slight right" there and lo and behold we arrived in the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere has its own high school, did you know? On the way there I felt bad because we drove past some Amish who were having trouble with their carriage thingy. It was right in front of their house, so I didn't feel too guilty about not stopping, but still. I knew it was their house because a little girl was holding the reins, the Dad was walking up the road, and every last one of their other kids was running running running to go help. Nothing on this planet is cuter than their youngest daughter running twice as fast as everyone else just to keep up. Boy asked if he would be that cute if he ran, and I said he was that cute when he was little, because he was.

We spent a large part of the ride discussing the Amish. Not that I know much. I've read a book (which I recommend). I buy cheese from some. I've heard stories. I've got a healthy respect for the wonderful communities they have, and for the way they make their living. I tried to explain that to Boy, but he's too stricken with the limitations they've accepted for themselves. They give him the creeps.

Wondering if she should sew some bonnet thingies for her little girls,
ephelba

Things that work.

2008-05-01T21:28:00.002-05:00

Parents can't do everything. There's too much- too much to do, too much to teach. I didn't learn everything I needed to know from my Mom, but I can't fault her for it. I just have to teach myself. I have been trying to learn, but sometimes when I look around and I look at how much I want to improve I feel guilty and overwhelmed.
For years I've been trying to work on the guilty part. I figure I'll beat it sooner or later- guilt doesn't get anything done and I'd rather be productive. As for the rest: two things have been working for me lately. The first I learned rather recently from playing Zelda. If you work at something a little at a time you will get even huge intimidating tasks done. So. Instead of doing the perfectionist's freak out because I can't start and complete a task like I want to, I just do a little bit. I haven't finished much yet this way, but I am confident I will because I'm plugging away at it. The second I got from a fellow blogger's post. She was saying if you don't want to be the kind of person who has a messy house, go clean it. Which is sort of obvious, but the thing that got me was the wording. The "kind of person" part. So now and then when I'm faced with a choice, I asks myself does I want to be the kind of person who (fill in the blank). And then I know what I will do. Can't honestly say the house looks much different, but I sure feel better about things.

Just thought I'd share.

going to be the kind of person who runs the dishes and goes to bed on time,
ephelba

Hi.

2008-04-25T21:57:00.004-05:00

How are you? What's new with you? What's the best thing that happened to you today?

Me? I'm good. I did not get a speeding ticket yesterday. I did this by not speeding. Duh. I didn't see the copolice hiding behind the sign, and then I was automatically afraid I was speeding, even though I hardly ever do, and then he pulled out, and I was all "Oh Shit", and then he pulled somebody else over. I felt so smug. I was all "Ha! Take THAT for Speeding! Yeah! Bet you wish you weren't all up in my business now!" because when you don't speed, everyone passes you and you begin to feel like they're all commenting on you somehow. Ok, so maybe it's just me.

ANYWAY.

Apparently clothes take away the Bean's superpowers or something. Like, if cloth touches her skin she'll melt. Some kind of Samson-esque thing, with the addition of clothing = the cutting of hair. She's convinced, at any rate, because the worst tantrums for the past few days have been over clothing and diapers. Usually I just give up and let her run around butt naked. Of course, hilarity ensues because she isn't potty trained. Yesterday she comes up to me saying "Butt?" and holds out a hand full of turd. I shriek "Uk!", to which she replies "Uk!" and drops it, splat. I laughed good and hard at that. No really, I did. It was funny. Last night and today she's decided a better idea is to poop in the diaper, then take the diaper off and bring the whole mess to the grown up in charge. Hilarity, folks, hilarity! It's like Easter, only the eggs aren't chocolate.

I miss my husband. I know he's around here somewhere. I've been carting the Boy to acting rehearsals and what have you, and he's been home finding those special eggs. It's funny, because it's not like we've spent That much time apart, it's only been, maybe, three days this week, but it feels like much much more. I love him and I miss him.

My little baby sleeps with her feet in the air, like this:

I ask you, how?

It is warming up here in New York. I'm still wearing sweaters, but I usually do that till about 75 degrees. I'm just pleased there's no snow.

ASIDE:
Die, snow, die! Hahahaha! You've melted! I fart in your general direction!
I FEEL MUCH BETTER NOW, THANKS

Tomorrow we're going to be drinking margaritas in celebration. Simon has made a bet with Boy that he can get me to eat the worm. He can't believe I've made it this far in life wormless. He says three drinks and the money is his. I say, I can't have three drinks, I'm nursing, and even if it were thirty drinks I still wouldn't eat the worm. The bottle says the worm is there because it's traditional blah blah the worm is a key blah blah blah something something it's not there for looks. It does not say "Super tasty! Doesn't even crunch like bug! Yum!" I say it's there because a bunch of Mexicans are chopping agave and thinking "The sun sure is hot, and these things are prickly, but at least I can get a chuckle out of the notion that some drunk idiot gringos actually eat these nasty ass grub bugs". I refuse to be pwned thus.

Imagining how hard it is to get those little pincher things out from between your teeth, whilst apologizing for the randomness and atrocious run-on sentences,
ephelba

Definately a bad witch.

2008-04-23T21:41:00.003-05:00

So, the night before I cooked some spag sauce for the folks staying home, insisted the Boy make a dinner to take with him to his play rehearsal, and forgot to feed myself. I got some fast food and opted for Coke to drink, thinking I'd get some shit done when I got home. What I hadn't counted on was the caffeine high lasting till two in the morning. Or the Bug going on some wild sleep strike, waking up at six in the morning, and pretty much not sleeping the rest of the day. I was whupped.

This would also be the day that the Bean doesn't eat breakfast. She throws a record tantrum at lunch, but in the end consents to eat. Because of this I have high hopes for her demeanor after her nap, but Boy has Jazz band practice smack in the middle of her nap time. After much heart ache, I decide she needs the nap too much, and he needs the practice too much, so I'll put her down and pray the house is still standing when I get home. Only she won't go to sleep either. So. I pack everybody up and we all got to the school to discover there is no practice.

Ooooo Kay.

Later I drop the Boy off at his rehersal. I'm really hurting by the time I get home, and as I open the door I listen to see what kind of mood the Bean is in. She's nearly always throwing a fit over something lately. I didn't hear her, so I listened for the baby, and that's when I realized she was downstairs in the van.

Horrors!

Simon and I watched a few episodes of the Wire, and then I was getting the Bean her medicine and changing diapers and trying to get the silly baby to sleep, when the Boy called to ask why I wasn't there to get him. Oh, sorry, it's because I have forgotten you.

Shit.

I blame the tired. I just can't beat the tired.

Going to bed now,
ephelba

Book Slut

2008-04-18T17:51:00.003-05:00

Simon has accused me of being a book slut. He says I'll read anything with a cover on it. The truth is, I don't even need a cover- I'll read blogs, pamphlets, even cereal boxes. However, I counter that because Simon reads the same books I read, he must be a book slut too. He says he's just slumming.

Mostly, he picks on me because I read YA novels. YA novels rock because they're an easy, quick read. When you're too mommy brained to remember to put diapers in the drier, an easy read is good. I do read adult books, but I find myself frustrated. Take, for example, The Brief, Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I'm reading it, and I'm very pleased that I catch almost all the Geek references. I know enough Spanish that I can make most of those references out too. I do have a basic understanding of the literary tools used- the author uses other characters to narrate Oscar's life because he wants to emphasize Oscar's singularity. I think. And there's obviously symbolism employed, because there's a great golden mongoose that keeps showing up, and large animals that aren't really there have to symbolize something, I'm pretty sure. My problem with the book is that once I'm done reading it I can't tell you why everyone thinks it's so great. I don't get it. What was the point of Oscar? Why do we spend so much time following his mom? What the hell does the mongoose mean? I'm not left with the warm fuzzy feeling of having read a great book, I'm just left feeling stupid.

Taking refuge in the fact she was a chem/math major,
ephelba

Children

2008-04-17T20:49:00.002-05:00

What an odd day. The first half went sooo well, and the second half soooo bad.

Morning: got the kids together enough to go eat lunch in the park. Even remembered the camera. Remembered to wash and dry the diapers. Folded laundry.

Evening: I took a much needed nap with the girls, and woke up with a sore throat and a general craptacular feeling. I told the fam it was cereal for dinner, then took the little one with me to the grocery store. Did not cook for the family. Did not make a list before going to the store. Was not the kind of mom/wife I want to be.

I am totally fighting a cold, I can tell, but I have high hopes that I will win.

On another note, there was a dude at the grocery store wearing a t-shirt that said "Fuck you, You Fucking Fucker". It is my opinion that such a t-shirt was meant to be worn at, say, an adult party, perhaps, or maybe at a bar. It was not meant to be worn at a grocery store where one is likely to run into nine year old kiddos. At such times, the meaning of the shirt changes from "Fuck you" to "I'm a Tremendously Large Asshole". And that's what I have to say about that.

Hoping to wake up feeling snappy,
ephelba

Well, she's ours.

2008-04-14T21:16:00.006-05:00

Ain't she pretty?

Myfarmer took me to get her. When I saw her I felt so, hmmmm, awed. Yes. I was in awe. I knew I was going to buy her and she was going to be the most awesome vehicle I had ever owned.

ASIDE:
I say "I" but I mean "We". You know. I'll be driving it the most though.
BECAUSE I LOVES ME SOME SIMON:

The Nissan? I loved her. But. Imagine if you will, being nine months pregnant. You've put your daughter's carseat behind your seat for ease of putting her in the car, but that shoves your seat up. You have stand on one leg, fish the other leg around the steering wheel, lower your rump to the seat, grab the wheel and haul yourself into place. Getting out is just as fun. After the baby arrives you add her carseat to the mix. Now both of the front seats are shoved forward. The Boy has to inhale to reach his seatbelt buckle. Every time you go anywhere you know that a car wreck means your legs are going to be soooo screwed, but you know you won't care as long as the children are safe. Sadly, you're not sure you can count on that either. Then the littlest one needs a new carseat, and suddenly you have to take two cars to go anywhere as a family.

So. It was time. Now we've got sooo much room it's like driving a house. I can rest easier about the kiddos being safe. The little things are nice too- like having a heater and a cd player and lots of pockety places to put things. Oh! And it's a great excuse to get some flash new deedley balls. Behold:
Detail:
And today I got some matching placemats to put over the seats where the girls put their feets, because we want the seats to stay nice.

In other news: The littlest girl grows a tooth. Apparently she plans on using it to take my nipples off.

The house is still clean (Yay us! Everybody, even the Bean, has helped with this.)

I am not pregnant. Hormonally bitchy? OH YES.

The dog has received her annual spring haircut and is on her way to looking fly. Or at least, not matted.

And with that, I go to bed.

Goodnight,
ephelba

We might have a winner!

2008-04-10T21:19:00.002-05:00

A 2000 Honda Odyssey with slightly less than a million miles on it. If things work out, as soon as we buy it we'll have to take it to the shop because it's due for its 100000 mile maintenance fest, but they are good vehicles, they are, and the price is low, it is, so we're calling it good.

It took me more than 30 years, but I've turned into a minivan-driving-mother of three.

Huh.

I think I'm ok with that.

Guess I'll have to sign the girls up for soccer next,
ephelba

Can Zofran get you high?

2008-04-10T13:04:00.005-05:00

Ok, so, like, No. It's for nausea. Nausea is a fancy way of saying "feeling like you're going to throw up and wishing you could just die". Zofran doesn't make you feel high, it makes you stop feeling like barfing.

It's twenty dollars for 4 milligrams. You can't find a cheaper way to (try to) get high? Might I suggest cough syrup?

How bout you check out 52 projects, or Learning to Love You More, or the Generosity Game or You Are Beautiful. How bout you go for a walk. How bout you learn to be happy with the life you've got?

Who am I kidding? I'm talking to the kind of asshat who steals Zofran from their grandfather who's dying of cancer.

A little tired of people finding her blog this way,
ephelba

Things to be proud of.

2008-04-08T21:26:00.002-05:00

Today I could have taken a nap, because the planets aligned in such a manner that both the girls slept at the same time for nearly three hours. Instead of taking a nearly three hour long, lovely, golden, sweet, delicious, warm, fuzzy nap, I cleaned the kitchen. I even mopped the floor a bit.

Damn skippy.

Also? I made dinner, including the cooking of the eggs* all by myself, on time and with more than one item.

Also? I kicked the monkey off my back and didn't drink any coffee. Of the caffeinated sort.

Also? I researched, called, emailed about and dithered over, like, a million and a half cars, minivans, suvs and such. Yeah. They're still sofa king expensive. And how.

Also? When the Boy got upset about whether he'll be able to hack going to school, I didn't beat him with a chair whilst shouting "WTF? Dude! Quit thinking up things to upset yourself with and go to sleep because guess what! You're homeschooled!!!" I wasn't super sensitive caring Mom, because this kind of shit pushes my buttons, but I was nice enough to talk him down before I sent him back to bed.

Also? I was tempted with the Hanging Out With Friends after the meeting, but I knew Simon and the girls were waiting and I didn't want to let them down, so I came home right away. Even though I really wanted to stay and play. I didn't. I was good.

Ummmm. I think that's all. Cleaning your house, feeding your family and not beating your children is supposed to be a given. It's sort of sad that I feel like it's an accomplishment. Seeing as how that's what I want to have happen in my house, though, means I can be glad that I got what I want. I would like to think it only gets easier.

Going to go to sleep in her cleaner house much earlier than usual, thus earning even more bonus points,
ephelba

* I can and do cook, but Simon is the Egg Master. I know eggs seem like a simple thing to cook, but I generally cock it up somehow. They're always edible, but rarely super. I did pretty good tonight.
The other thing I tend to do is cook one food and call it dinner. Like, if I said "We're having pancakes for dinner" then we're having pancakes. No bacon, no eggs, not even syrup. You think I'm kidding. Simon knows I'm not, and wishes I'd consent to at least using plates on pancake night....

Kirikou and the Sorceress

2008-04-07T23:33:00.002-05:00

This takes the prize for The Cartoon With The Most T1ttays Ever! Some are round, some are flaccid, some have pasties, but none are covered. This is appropriate, one could argue, given the setting of the cartoon. They aren't really sexualized. Seriously though? for us Mericans it takes a bit of getting used to.

The actual story line is ok, but I was bothered by (what I took to be) the blatant message "Sex makes you a man". The baby Kirikou heals the Sorceress, then talks her into kissing him and grows instantly into a handsome man. She, of course, is still kneeling, which creates a tableau that made me and Simon laugh heartily. Then she and he decide to "Stay in the forest a while". Oh yeah they do. Boy says I'm blowing things all out of proportion, and anyways, sex does make you a man.

Obviously needing to do some more parenting,
ephelba

PS
Cars? They are sofa king expensive, and I'm not even kidding. I'm going to end up driving a cozy coupe.

I R HAZ STOOPID

2008-04-05T22:23:00.004-05:00

Alright, so it's a given that I can't be trusted with my own fertility. No news there. And we know that, although the plumbing has been rerouted, the baby juice is still lingering in The Mister's pipes. OK. Yeah. So. See, even though I'm nursing, my body kicked into "We could make a baby"gear last month. Cool. I was down with that, because This time we would be Good and use condoms and stuff when we were supposed to. Yeah. Which would have been on such and so date. Which means that yesterday my Aunt should have come to visit. But she didn't. Nor did she come today. Ok, Fine, Shit, Whatever, I take a pregnancy test and it says "Hey! You passed! Alrighty! No Baby for You!" except I'm like "Hey? Where's my Aunt?" so I consult the Oracle and it says "You big dumbass- nursing can cause random wacky cycles complete with extra fun fertility at unpredictable times" and I'm all like "Shit! How can I not know this !?! Because ACK- Like there's been so much fun lovin lately and who the hell knows what is going on!"

If I make it through the next two months without getting pregnant it will be SUCH a miracle.

Going to look at minivans on Craigslist,
ephelba

Indeterminate

2008-04-03T11:17:00.004-05:00

When you're talking about a system of linear equations, indeterminate means you've either got infinitely many solutions or none at all. Our life is indeterminate right now.

Our apartment is perched at the intersection of four other functions. We smell the smoke from one neighbor's apartment, hear the music from the other, wake to the parties and door slams of the bar next door, and worry about the PCBs from the old factory site behind the house. The solution to this system? We could move. Anywhere. Somewhere warm, maybe? To the neighboring town? To the town where Simon works? That would be the set of infinite solutions. We could stay here and suck it up like we have been sucking it up for the past two years. That would be No Solution.

Then there's the transportation problem. Simon drives a truck that we can't all fit into. I drive a little Nissan Sentra that I Love, but frankly, when we all piled in we looked like we were in a clown car. Then the Bug grew out of the baby bucket car seat and into a new carseat that doesn't fit in the back with the Bean's seat and the Boy. Now when we go somewhere all together we have to take two cars. The water pump and possibly the timing belt have gone on it (EEEP). It's in the shop awaiting a diagnosis, but it brings home the point that, really, we need a new car. Do we spend the money to fix the Nissan? That doesn't fit us? But is cheaper than buying a new car? That would fit us? Infinite Solutions or No Solutions.

This year is setting up to be a good year for us financially. Simon got a raise. We're going to be able to pay off most of our debts. We're hoping to be good little Americans and make some long awaited purchases. It's frustrating because it seems like whenever we take two steps forward we have to take one step back.

I suppose the truth of it is that all the available solutions are good. Either we're moving to a better housing situation and driving there in a new minivan, or we're not changing a thing and we're no worse off than when we started. Somehow it just doesn't feel that way.

Right now, as I'm typing this, Chef is singing "Suck on my chocolate salty balls" and Boy is about to see Mr. Hanky for the first time. The girls are fairly entranced too. Ahhhh, South Park.... the cartoon your whole family can enjoy.

Feeling oh so proud,
ephelba

Because you, yes you, need to laugh more.

2008-03-27T20:17:00.001-05:00

Go here.

Updated to add, there's more.

Stumped.

2008-03-15T20:36:00.002-05:00

Can't think of a name. Ideas?

And while I'm asking for advice, on Facebook is it considered rude not to friends everyone you ever knew, or met, or maybe passed on the highway? I know more people than I have friendsed (?), because I'm picky like that. I tend to make a couple of friends and then devote myself to them like, like.... like a, um, loyal devoted thing. A squire maybe. Anywho, it seems weird to friends people that I was never that close to, or maybe didn't even like. I've friendsed people I don't know but would like to know better. That feels right. I don't know. I'm not going to bother worrying about it, really, because that's just silly.

We watched an animation collection tonight. The funniest part was the introduction, but there were a couple of good bits. Several pieces by the same folks who did Harvey Krumpet. Boy and I found a very good piece of music by way of a short about cuckoo clocks. He's tickled pink that he got an itunes card for his birthday and gets to buy songs all on his own. I just hope he picks out good stuff that I want to hear too- our world is very small and the walls are thin.

Which reminds me, a while back Boy said "The baby sure was noisy last night!" and I said "No she wa... YES. YES SHE WAS. The BABY was very noisy last night".

Going to stick a sock in it,
ephelba

In case you were worried,

2008-03-13T22:04:00.003-05:00

I decided I'd tell you the test results. Unlike any of our Dr.s, I am capable of letting you know the results when I get them. I got the results by talking to the secretary at the Dr's office in Syracuse. She wasn't supposed to tell me, but she had mercy on a worried mom and told me I didn't need to worry.

Bless her heart.

She said to act surprised when they called. She thought they'd call today, because she was faxing the results just as soon as they were official. She said this at nine this morning.

Still haven't heard a thing from a Dr. I'd be miffed if I weren't so relieved. For once, it's not one thing or another.

In other news, I'm discovering Facebook. Many things therein are good unto me. Finding people is very fun- a bit like treasure hunting. Many things are just big-ole time wasters. I'm not too tempted by most of them, but Scrabulous is fabulous.

And in still more news, probably between the classifieds and the sports pages, it was Boy's b-day. The dog decided to eat one of the Bean's crayons and leave bright green presents for him all over the house. One day he'll look back on that memory and laugh. He wasn't laughing today. He got to watch a movie, go listen to a pianist, and hang at a coffee house with some friends, but he started to moan about the dog ruining his birthday. I threw a small fit and told him he was in charge of how well his birthday went. He could either focus on the one bad thing or all the good things. If he wanted a pity party for his birthday he could help himself, because I've spent 13 years giving him the tools to handle this sort of thing, and I was feeling done.

He came around. Please, please tell me that he learns to do this without me at some point.

Wondering if you're on facebook,
ephelba

And around we go.

2008-03-12T20:54:00.003-05:00

So the nice lady said they'd read the EEG and send the results to our doctor that same day. Didn't hear a thing, but I thought it was a bit early yet.

The next day I call our Dr's office, who says that Dr Whosit will read it and get back to us. No one did.

Today I called that Dr Whosit's office. They said "What? We wouldn't read an EEG from there. You'll have to call your Dr's office". So I called my Dr's office again, and they said they'd get back to me.

Tomorrow I'm going to call Syracuse, and I Know they'll say they read it on Monday, would I like to hear the results?

On another note, the mister's hairs are growing back in where he had to shave. The effect, in bed, is not unlike having a menage a trois with me, him and a brillo pad. TMI, I'm sure, but I had to share.

Sigh.
ephelba

So pleased with myself.

2008-03-11T22:36:00.002-05:00

I've just decided that I'm going to have an imaginary friend. Oh yes I have. I was out tonight with the homeschooling moms, and one of them said she was always so pissed at her sister's imaginary friend because her sister would list all these horrible things the imaginary friend was doing to her, but she couldn't fight back because she couldn't see her, and I had the sudden epiphany that I needed one. She will have a name that is great and terrible and she will help me get through my day. I'll let you know how it goes.

I am so tired and forgetful. I'm having a hell of a time sleeping for no particular reason. If I'm dead beat, why can't I sleep? Worse than being tired, worse than forgetting how to talk, is the fact that twice tonight I forgot I had the baby daughter in the car with me. Both times I was still in the car and on the road, but I realized that it would be totally possible to get out the car and forget she was still in there. It was like those times when you're driving and you can't remember the last ten minutes of the proceedings.

Yeah.

So.

I'm thinking I'm going to write on the window with soap marker "Got Kid?".

This bad witch is going to bed,
ephelba

My Daughter is Hard C0re!

2008-03-10T15:54:00.003-05:00

Dude! She stayed up till midnight last night, and probably would have stayed up later but I had pity on her when she started signing "blankie" over and over. At six this morning I got her up and she kept going until about 11:30 before she took an hour long nap.
Wish I was so perky.
These shenanigans were for the purpose of getting good results on her EEG. I was worried she would cry and scream at the sight of the room and a person in scrubs. She, in fact, did. Then the nice lady sat us in a Comfy Chair, and I didn't assume the blood-draw position, so the Bean knew something was different and she became content to glare at us suspiciously. The lady was a pro and the Bean didn't cry anymore. Yay!

As for the results- wait and see. As usual. I stared hard at the screen whilst the test was going on so I consult the oracle when we got home. Having done my usual google fest I am very confident that most of the test went just fine. There were a few spots that I remember wondering about at the time because they looked different than what was usually going on. Having not been trained in this sort of thing I can't really say it was good, but I am positive that it wasn't really bad. How's that for a convoluted thought.

On another note, the hubby says he doesn't so much like being referred to as the hubby. I shall therefore attempt to remember to call the hubby "The Mister" instead. He likes "the mister" much better than "the hubby". Notice I got to call him "The Hubby" four times just then:)

On yet another note, someone put up a flier a the post office. It had a picture of the cutest chihuahua/jack russel puppies for sale. I want a puppy. Simon says we can't have one because it would get lost in the mess. I said I would clean the house if we could have a puppy. Simon just laughed. I don't think there will be a puppy.

There won't be a baby either. Simon went and got a vasectomy last Friday. We waffled for a bit the night before. There's something sad about knowing you're done having babies, because babies are the best. They're better than puppies even. When you think about how great they are and how much you love the ones you have you begin to think you want more. And then you remember being pregnant. And how hard it is to get anything done. Including making more babies. And you realize that sometimes what you need isn't more.

So.

If we can make it for a few months without getting pregnant we're home free. I freely acknowledge this is a large "if", given my history, but hopefully nursing will be some protection when other protections fail.

On the last note, my state governor got busted for fucking with hos. Swell.

Wishing I lived back in MI,
ephelba

Today.

2008-03-04T13:52:00.003-05:00

Today I woke up exhausted. Not because anything major or exciting happened last night, but because the little one woke me up right smack in the middle of a dream. I had been explaining how not to be a racist prick to a white guy, but he wasn't listening to me, so he turned into a black guy. Then the baby was fussing and I was awake and desperately tired. I wake up slowly at times like this.
The Bean peeked over the edge of the crib.
"Shra shruh shra shra?"
Which is apparently how she says "You awake?"
The dog heard her, and in a typical fit of morning glee came bounding up over the bedclothes to nurfle me. A few seconds of that and she bounded off again. The Bean squealed with joy. I called the dog back and the Boy heard me, so both the dog and the Boy showed up to get into the bed. I kicked Boy out to get the Bean, and now the morning crew was all accounted for.
The Bean crawled over me and laid down on my chest to snuggle for a bit. The Boy commented on the freakish boniness/wrinkliness of my elbows. The girl got up to see what was going on in the living room. The Bug growled. The Boy moved on to express dismay at discovering I was wearing granny panties and hilarity at my double chin.
I kicked him out.
After feeding the Bug I got out of bed and went to feed the Bean. She seemed happy to eat granola, which made this morning much easier than those that involved fixing her various breakfasts for her to play with. Those mornings suck, because if she doesn't eat she gets cranky. The Bug lay in her car seat and (surprise!) growled. The Boy began to work on English. He ended up coming out to the kitchen to have a snack and watch the Bean while I took the Bug into the living room for some floor time. She growled at the floor while I checked my email and RSS feed. I discovered a new blog, and read a bit. Boy said the Bean was done eating, so he cleaned her up and got her down.
The Bug was tired, so I took her into the bedroom to sleep. I put her pacie in her mouth and sat down on the bed next to her. The Bean came in to jump on the bed, and I suspect when I left she pulled the pacie out of the baby's mouth. Which made the baby fuss. Which meant I had to go back. Which meant the Bean followed me in there to see what was up. I went through this loop at least three times before I noticed what was happening and just brought the Bug out to the living room for her nap.
The Hubby called.
The Bean played.
The Boy read.
I read.
I picked up the living room a bit, but not as much as I wanted to.
I fed the Bean some lunch.
I rinsed the ketchup/body paint off the Bean and got her dressed for the Speech Therapist.
I fed the Bug again.
The speech therapist came.
The speech therapist left.
The Bug and the Bean went down for a nap.
The Bug got up, and the Bean hasn't been to sleep yet.

And then I blogged. Not that you've read anything terribly interesting as a result. I just was in a mood. I've been in a mood lately. The mood to sleep. The mood to play chase with the Bean. The mood to be warm in the sun. What I need is to be in the mood to clean house, pay bills and organize shit.

I find myself wondering what it would be like to live in New Mexico. I imagine it is warm.

Not having to imagine snow,
ephelba

For my kiddos...

2008-02-26T15:40:00.003-05:00

Ok, I've got 10 minutes that I'm going to spend blogging here, let's see if I can finish the thought I've been having...

I've been thinking that several women who I would assume feel comfortable with children do, in fact, not. I assumed they would because they have adult children. I have no idea how they managed, given the level of discomfort they display now.

I've also been surprised by how much other women forget about when they had children. I ask questions about cloth diapering or whatnot, thinking they would know, and I'm sure they did at one time, but the memory has faded.

So now I'm thinking I better leave some notes, or my kiddos will be asking me questions and I'll have forgotten, and it will be a shame, because the baby phase is one part of mothering I feel I'm very good at.

With that in mind, Notes to self regarding the first three months:

The whole goal for these months is to learn to eat and sleep. If you end up feeding formula for some reason, then the eating thing has probably gone well. Breastfeeding is trickier. I will assume that La Leche will be there for my daughters and daughter-in-laws, and leave the advice giving to them, with the caveat that it isn't supposed to hurt much, and if it does, seek help fast before it gets worse.

Burping isn't half as necessary as some people seem to think it is, but it does work wonders if you've got a spit-upper. Simply laying the kiddo down and setting them up, putting them face down on your knees and patting them, or putting them high on your shoulder for the patting works when the usual method doesn't seem to be accomplishing anything. If they don't burp, they fart, much to the hilarity of the adults present.

As for the sleeping- if you can teach your kiddo to sleep when it's dark, and to (mostly) put themselves to sleep by the three month mark, you're doing well. I recommend having the baby sleep in your room, although not necessarily in the bed. You want them to be close enough that you can keep an ear out for them, and so that you don't have to go to far when they want to nurse. Of course you'll bring them to bed to nurse, but the trick is to put them back in their own spot when you're through so they learn they don't need you in order to sleep. Swaddling is good, and so is rocking or swinging or bouncing. Of course, these are crutches your kiddo will be using to sleep, but I think if you're careful it doesn't have to be a big deal. For example, I put the Bug down for her naps by swaddling her and putting her in the bouncy seat. I give her a pacie if she fusses. I only bounce her to sleep if she's really fussy or it's really crucial to me that she sleep Now- like if she wakes up at two in the morning. Other babies like different things- the Bug likes me to stroke her face above her eyes, but the Bean likes to lay on her belly and get her butt patted (which, in a younger kid, means you have to roll them over onto their back after they go to sleep...)
As for "Sleeping through the night"... all most people mean by that is their baby lets them sleep 5 hours at a stretch, and your baby will do that once a night when they grow enough that they can skip a feeding. Alas and alack, some kids wake up every night till they're six, others sleep for an eight hour stretch at two months old. You have to go with the flow, to a certain extent, but a five hour stretch by three or four months of age is a good goal.
I let all my kiddos into the bed with me when they need to be comforted, but I kick them back out when the crisis has passed (or the b00b emptied). It works the best for us. Back when I was a single mom I let the Boy stay in bed with me more than I let the girls, but even he had a crib that he started the night in.

Wow. Ok. That was poorly written, but at least it's down. If I get the chance I can always rewrite, right? In the meantime I've got things to do...

Off to scale Mt Laundry,
ephelba

Oh Ho!

2008-01-26T22:05:00.000-05:00

I bring you a waster of time.

I found this because I'm up late reading. I say reading, but I really mean consulting The Oracle (aka the internets). The Bean has been doing some very odd things, leading Simon and I to have this conversation a lot:
"That was a seizure."
"She's fine.
...
...
Do you think she had a seizure?"
"That's totally a seizure"
"She's fine."

She has a Doctor's appointment next week,so barring a really obvious seizure-y event, we'll have a big fun visit then, I'm sure, complete with EXTRA FUN BLOOD DRAWS YEAH BABY! I don't want her to have to have any more of those. No sir. It just makes me sick. I have to be the big bad mom and hold her down, then I have to be the strong comforting mom who gets her to stop screaming.

I'm sick of having to do hard mom and strong mom things. I'm also sick of all the uncertainty that being Bean's mom seems to require. No one's certain why she doesn't talk. Whether she'll have other learning problems. This visit will be more of the same. I'll describe her spells and no one will be certain if they're seizures, and tests will have to be done, and even if they decide they were seizures, chances are no one will know if she'll have more, or if they'll be getting worse or better as time goes on. No one will know if there's a connection between one thing and another. I'm sick of it.

I'm feeling slightly "sick" anyhow. Like I'm at the end of my tether, but for no real reason. I'm getting my stuff done, but I feel like I've got something hanging over my head. Like I've got a paper due tomorrow and I haven't started yet. It's making me crazy because, like, Hey! No Paper! But yeah, still the stress. I don't understand why the stress. I think I need some spliff.

ASIDE:
I just decided I'm going to call my farmer friend "Myfarmer", because that's her email address, and we all had a giggle over it and proceeded to tease her a little about it when she told us what she'd chosen.
THAT'S THAT THEN:

So I told Myfarmer that if I got some we'd go smoke behind her barn and then laugh at the kids all afternoon. Like I could get ahold of anything, or could afford it if I did find a source. Sigh. Sometimes I think I'm the only one in this one hole town who isn't hooked up. Honestly though,it's been years and years. I don't even know if I can remember the last time I toked. I never could smoke a lot- too hard on my lungs, and I don't think it's very good for the rest of you either, but it sure was fun.

I suppose I could make do with a good laugh instead. Harold and Kumar Two comes out soon, doesn't it? That shit's funny, even when you watch it twice. I watched "Dude, Where's my car" expecting it to be pee yer pants funny again, but it faded to being just generally funny. It was funny enough that I wanted to make matching t-shirts for Simon and I that said "Dude" and "Sweet" on the back, but he said he didn't like the movie That much, and there you have it.

Why do you have to pass it on the left hand side?
ephelba

What I'm doing these days.

2008-01-22T15:22:00.000-05:00

* Obviously, I haven't been subjecting you to bad writing. Seriously, the Bug's birth story was so poorly written I'm tempted to delete it, but its poorly-written-ness is a testament to the state of my brain, so I'll leave it stand.

* Have been playing Zelda, Twilight Princess. The Boy and Simon are too. Sometimes we bond as one or the other of us tries to figure out a sticky problem. Sometimes we yell something to the effect of "Jump Back Bitch" when one or the other of us gets too bossy . The Boy, especially, tends to become a sort of back-seat-driver when he sees us going about something the wrong way.

It's very fun to have the boy in the room when we discover something he hadn't found, or do something he said couldn't be done. We're continually trying to explain to him that there are no real risks in this game, it being, well, a GAME, and so he should just try everything. What could it hurt? He tends to get hung up on what he thinks should happen, or on not wasting bombs or arrows. When us old fogeys find something his outrage is palpable. And sometimes earsplitting. It's a hoot.

Note: the designers of the game put a lovely feature on the menu screen that keeps tabs of how long you've played. That way, when you get together with your gaming friends, you can say "My penis is bigger because I finished the game in twenty hours and five minutes with only the original three hearts...blahblahblah." For the rest of us mortals it serves other purposes. For Boy it is an unfailing record of the fact that he did, as a matter of fact, play for more than an hour today, and needs to get his ass up and do something else. For me it serves as a record of how much time I've spent not doing laundry, not doing the bills, not cooking and not cleaning. It's a measure of how guilty I need to be. I'm trying to change my view of it, and start using it as a timer like the Boy does. There shouldn't be anything wrong with playing for a little everyday if I'm doing my other stuff too.

Right?

It's definitely served as an object lesson that if you work on something a little at a time the hours add up, because Boy and I have both been putzing at it a bit here and there and have accrued more than forty hours. And no, we haven't finished the game yet, and yes, yours is probably bigger- bite me.

* Let's see. I've also been looking up old friends on the internet. I think I always do that around New Years. Seems like I always find the same ones, which is good, but I'm also hoping that one day I'll find my best friend from elementary school, or some more of my good friends from the first time I went to college...

* Been watching my friend's farm. It's been doing this:

that is, it's been having sheep. And a horse and donkeys and cats and chickens. The chickens are just about my favorite, but I don't have a picture of them yet, so you'll have to content yourself with the cats.

* I've decided that since I was a very successful office worker I should try to apply the skills I used there to my home life, and see if it doesn't help me get my shit together. I've been feeling sentimental about my old office. I had an office. An entire office to myself, where I organized and worked and kept things neat and tidy. It was a tiny universe whose workings I got to govern to a degree I haven't managed anywhere else in my life ever. Isn't that odd? I mean, I'm the mom of this house, so why doesn't it run more like I want it to? You could argue that the other four people here have something to do with it, but I disagree, because basically we all want the same thing. We'd all like to be able to see the floor, and have said floor be clean enough it doesn't turn our socks brown. We'd all like to have our laundry washed and then put away, instead of heaped into an over-full basket in the laundry room. We'd all like to eat dinner by six. I just can't figure out why this is so damn hard.
Stage one of my "Run it like an Office" plan is to use my daily planner like I did in the work world. I'd sit down every morning and plan out what I needed to get done that day in writing. I don't know why, but this does wonders for me, and it seems to helping in the two days I've tried it so far. I'll let you know how it goes.

* Lastly, as usual, I've been discovering odd things on youtube. Such as this:

You gotta love that.

Wow. This was a bit longer than I had intended. Shit, how bout I make it even longer and put in some gratuitous baby pics.

There now.

Going to go be a good witch,
ephelba