I'm very tired and it's very late, since I decided to start doing my housework at 9:00 when the peeps went to bed.
Imagine, if you will, that I have written a witty opening remark. Pretend I follow it with a funny anecdote. Hell, we're imagining here, so make it really, really funny. Absolutely hilarious.
Cap it with a clever one line observation.
If you want, you can throw in one grammar error, just to keep it real.
There. Entry Done.
Hang in there, NaBloPoMo is over tomorrow,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
I did something right.
I am more than ambivalent about Christmas, which has led to a somewhat odd exposure to the holidays for Boy. I'm sure I've blogged about it before, but I can't find it now, so I'll recap the highlights:
1) One x-mas when it was just him and me I didn't tell him it was x-mas. I got him breakfast, went back to bed, slept in till 10, then got up and said, "Guess What? It's Christmas! There's no chimney, so Santa hid your toys!" and Boy ran around and found them where I'd hidden them in lieu of wrapping them. Boy actually remembers this fondly.
2) It may have been that x-mas, maybe the next, when I introduced the concept of the Yule Cat. It's a black cat the size of a house who eats up little kids who don't get clothes for Yule. You're not going to believe this, but I'm not actually the one who made this up. Some people in the old country who wanted their kids to spin a lot of thread did. Anyway, Boy thought it was grim. Later that season he saw America's Funniest Home Videos for the first time. There were people falling off stages and into trees. Boy started crying and said "Is this what Christmas is about? Is it about hurting people?" He sited the Yule Cat and the Show as examples.
3) One Christmas I told Boy he was getting a Barbie for Christmas. At first he was horrified, then he joined in the joke. But when he opened a package to see a picture of a very pink Barbie on the wrapper he cried. That's when I realized I took the joke too far. In all fairness, I had made a Barbie label and slipped it over the wrapper of a video game, thinking he'd realize it was fake right away.
In all of those Christmases he was never asked to make a list. I think that practise is disgusting. I think if gifts must happen at x-mas they should be a surprise to the recipient, and come from the heart of the giver. Making a list defeats both of those purposes. Where's the surprise if you made up the list of acceptable gifts? And how is it a gift from someone else's heart if you told them what to get? People should give you something they thought up, maybe even something they made up themselves. Alas, in my family all the grown-ups can't get on with x-mas until we tell them what Boy wants. And they seem to insist that it be something they can buy. If we ask for gifts that don't cost money, like pages for the family book, they'll make them, then ask what to get him for Christmas, because the pages didn't count.
This year I made a HintBug list with stuff on it for Boy and Peanut, but Boy doesn't know what's on there. There are things that you could make for free, and things you could buy. Whatever they choose, it's a surprise for Boy.
Anyway, I told Boy about how some kids make these lists of stuff they want, and how icky I thought that was, and he was like, "No Way! That IS icky!" Which leads me to believe that there is at least one thing I have gotten across to the Boy. Christmas isn't Gimme-Toys-Day, and he knows it.
going to put on socks that are three sizes too small,
ephelba
1) One x-mas when it was just him and me I didn't tell him it was x-mas. I got him breakfast, went back to bed, slept in till 10, then got up and said, "Guess What? It's Christmas! There's no chimney, so Santa hid your toys!" and Boy ran around and found them where I'd hidden them in lieu of wrapping them. Boy actually remembers this fondly.
2) It may have been that x-mas, maybe the next, when I introduced the concept of the Yule Cat. It's a black cat the size of a house who eats up little kids who don't get clothes for Yule. You're not going to believe this, but I'm not actually the one who made this up. Some people in the old country who wanted their kids to spin a lot of thread did. Anyway, Boy thought it was grim. Later that season he saw America's Funniest Home Videos for the first time. There were people falling off stages and into trees. Boy started crying and said "Is this what Christmas is about? Is it about hurting people?" He sited the Yule Cat and the Show as examples.
3) One Christmas I told Boy he was getting a Barbie for Christmas. At first he was horrified, then he joined in the joke. But when he opened a package to see a picture of a very pink Barbie on the wrapper he cried. That's when I realized I took the joke too far. In all fairness, I had made a Barbie label and slipped it over the wrapper of a video game, thinking he'd realize it was fake right away.
In all of those Christmases he was never asked to make a list. I think that practise is disgusting. I think if gifts must happen at x-mas they should be a surprise to the recipient, and come from the heart of the giver. Making a list defeats both of those purposes. Where's the surprise if you made up the list of acceptable gifts? And how is it a gift from someone else's heart if you told them what to get? People should give you something they thought up, maybe even something they made up themselves. Alas, in my family all the grown-ups can't get on with x-mas until we tell them what Boy wants. And they seem to insist that it be something they can buy. If we ask for gifts that don't cost money, like pages for the family book, they'll make them, then ask what to get him for Christmas, because the pages didn't count.
This year I made a HintBug list with stuff on it for Boy and Peanut, but Boy doesn't know what's on there. There are things that you could make for free, and things you could buy. Whatever they choose, it's a surprise for Boy.
Anyway, I told Boy about how some kids make these lists of stuff they want, and how icky I thought that was, and he was like, "No Way! That IS icky!" Which leads me to believe that there is at least one thing I have gotten across to the Boy. Christmas isn't Gimme-Toys-Day, and he knows it.
going to put on socks that are three sizes too small,
ephelba
Monday, November 27, 2006
Ahhhh, finally.
The baby is asleep, the dishes are caught up, the boy is schooling, I am no longer in a state of zombi-hood, therefore I am free to blog for a bit.
We were thinking that the baby was teething, because it seemed impossible for her to have have a cold when we didn't give it to her. I now have the sniffles and a sore throat, proving that she is fully capable of picking up a cold all by herself. Who knew?
Two nights ago was the worst night in the whole affair. I hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in days. I was a wreck. She was a wreck. She was miserable, and the only thing that seemed to help was for a grown up to hold her. Sometimes the grown up had to be patting her butt. Sometimes the grown up had to be gently swinging her from side to side. Sometimes it was ok for the grown up to rock in the rocking chair. She prefers her grownups to be mushy from lack of sleep, so she kept me in a constant state of ripeness by waking up twenty minutes to an hour after I managed to drop off.
Interestingly, I had a lot of trouble doing that. I have never in my life been more tired, and yet I had a hard time falling asleep when I finally had the chance. I can't decide if it was because I was running on sheer adrenaline and I couldn't turn it off, or if it was the worry. It was crazy making though, to know that she'd cry any minute now, and if I didn't drop off that very second I might not get any sleep at all.
At the lowest of the low, when I thought I just could not take any more, I remembered a startling fact- this too would pass. At some point she was going to get better. As my wise aunt has told me, you can take anything if you know it's going to end. This kept me going, let me mother and comfort her like she needed.
And that very night, thank goodness, she turned the corner. Started drinking more, sleeping longer. She's very boogery, but otherwise she's almost back to normal.
Of course, now that she's better I'm getting sick, but honestly I have a lot to be thankful for.
1) She never got overly dehydrated. Yay!
2) I wasn't sick at the same time she was.
3) I have caught her cold, proving it was a cold and not her tooth, meaning that we won't have to repeat this whole fiasco when her second upper tooth comes in. Honestly I don't know what I'd do if I knew I had to do this all again next week.
Simon is recovering well, despite not having me spoil him rotten like I intended. He has, in fact, been taking care of me and the baby, bring me coffee and watching the baby so I can sleep. Not what I had in mind at all. Boy has lain low for the past two days, knowing that I was short on resources. Last night we had pizza and played a few rounds of jenga before watching Battlestar Galactica. I planned this evening for him, ordering stuff he liked on the pizza and letting him pick a game that isn't the fave of the grups. Now that we're back in school (and Peanut isn't constantly crying) he can get the attention he's due.
And I am sitting here looking like I've been attacked by a herd of slugs- there's glistening snot trails all over my shoulders, the front of my shirt, even my pants. I gave her a bath today, maybe I'll avail myself of one too.
Enjoying my return to the world of the living,
ephelba
We were thinking that the baby was teething, because it seemed impossible for her to have have a cold when we didn't give it to her. I now have the sniffles and a sore throat, proving that she is fully capable of picking up a cold all by herself. Who knew?
Two nights ago was the worst night in the whole affair. I hadn't slept for more than an hour at a time in days. I was a wreck. She was a wreck. She was miserable, and the only thing that seemed to help was for a grown up to hold her. Sometimes the grown up had to be patting her butt. Sometimes the grown up had to be gently swinging her from side to side. Sometimes it was ok for the grown up to rock in the rocking chair. She prefers her grownups to be mushy from lack of sleep, so she kept me in a constant state of ripeness by waking up twenty minutes to an hour after I managed to drop off.
Interestingly, I had a lot of trouble doing that. I have never in my life been more tired, and yet I had a hard time falling asleep when I finally had the chance. I can't decide if it was because I was running on sheer adrenaline and I couldn't turn it off, or if it was the worry. It was crazy making though, to know that she'd cry any minute now, and if I didn't drop off that very second I might not get any sleep at all.
At the lowest of the low, when I thought I just could not take any more, I remembered a startling fact- this too would pass. At some point she was going to get better. As my wise aunt has told me, you can take anything if you know it's going to end. This kept me going, let me mother and comfort her like she needed.
And that very night, thank goodness, she turned the corner. Started drinking more, sleeping longer. She's very boogery, but otherwise she's almost back to normal.
Of course, now that she's better I'm getting sick, but honestly I have a lot to be thankful for.
1) She never got overly dehydrated. Yay!
2) I wasn't sick at the same time she was.
3) I have caught her cold, proving it was a cold and not her tooth, meaning that we won't have to repeat this whole fiasco when her second upper tooth comes in. Honestly I don't know what I'd do if I knew I had to do this all again next week.
Simon is recovering well, despite not having me spoil him rotten like I intended. He has, in fact, been taking care of me and the baby, bring me coffee and watching the baby so I can sleep. Not what I had in mind at all. Boy has lain low for the past two days, knowing that I was short on resources. Last night we had pizza and played a few rounds of jenga before watching Battlestar Galactica. I planned this evening for him, ordering stuff he liked on the pizza and letting him pick a game that isn't the fave of the grups. Now that we're back in school (and Peanut isn't constantly crying) he can get the attention he's due.
And I am sitting here looking like I've been attacked by a herd of slugs- there's glistening snot trails all over my shoulders, the front of my shirt, even my pants. I gave her a bath today, maybe I'll avail myself of one too.
Enjoying my return to the world of the living,
ephelba
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Babbling Idiot
Penut is still sick. I have not slept, and have reached the babbling idiot stage. I will spare you the taudry task of witnessing it.
ephelba
ephelba
Friday, November 24, 2006
In which Boy is ignored and Simon is left to fend for himself
Peanut is very sad. She has quit eating, which is a worry because all she eats is breast milk, so no eating means we have to watch her for dehydration. I told Simon that I would like just one week to go by without some new worry developing on her behalf.
Simon is sick of the apartment, so after we went to the Dr to have the stuffing taking out of his nose we went to a coffee shop I'd heard about. Boy hadn't really experienced a college town coffee shop in full swing before. He sat wide eyed with wonder as a group of girls carrying a sign on a stick that said "MAKE NOISE" ululated and giggled their way around the shop. There were the obligatory broody young men reading deep books, and a girl with a t-shirt that said "call the white house" and listed the number. Alas, Peanut was in no mood for the shenanigans, so we cut the field trip short. After we left Boy said he wanted to come back often, and that there were weird people in there, and that he really liked it.
Boy is spending the night at a friend's house. The friend just got a Wii. Lucky.
Simon and I watched Battlestar while I jiggled and rocked and held and patted the poor baby. The good news on that front is that I finally figured out how to slip the girl a mickey. Giving her any medicine drops caused her to gag hard, but she'll drink them in an ounce of breast milk. The problem is getting her to drink that ounce, since she's not having any today. The trick is to put her in her crib, because she's so well trained to drink as she's going to sleep that we can get a few swallows in her before she remembers she's on strike.
I'm off to go deal with her now, send me any extra sleep you've got laying around the house,
ephelba
Simon is sick of the apartment, so after we went to the Dr to have the stuffing taking out of his nose we went to a coffee shop I'd heard about. Boy hadn't really experienced a college town coffee shop in full swing before. He sat wide eyed with wonder as a group of girls carrying a sign on a stick that said "MAKE NOISE" ululated and giggled their way around the shop. There were the obligatory broody young men reading deep books, and a girl with a t-shirt that said "call the white house" and listed the number. Alas, Peanut was in no mood for the shenanigans, so we cut the field trip short. After we left Boy said he wanted to come back often, and that there were weird people in there, and that he really liked it.
Boy is spending the night at a friend's house. The friend just got a Wii. Lucky.
Simon and I watched Battlestar while I jiggled and rocked and held and patted the poor baby. The good news on that front is that I finally figured out how to slip the girl a mickey. Giving her any medicine drops caused her to gag hard, but she'll drink them in an ounce of breast milk. The problem is getting her to drink that ounce, since she's not having any today. The trick is to put her in her crib, because she's so well trained to drink as she's going to sleep that we can get a few swallows in her before she remembers she's on strike.
I'm off to go deal with her now, send me any extra sleep you've got laying around the house,
ephelba
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanksgiving Accomplished
* Meal prepared? Check.
* Thankfullness expressed? Check. Simon is thankful for having us as a family, we're all thankful for Peanut (who slept through the whole dinner), Boy was thankful for the food, and Simon and I were thankful that his surgery went well.
* Meal eaten? Check.
* Another woefully under-developed entry posted for Nabloblahblah? Check.
We are now digesting in preparation for PIE.
piepiepiepiepiepie,
ephelba
* Thankfullness expressed? Check. Simon is thankful for having us as a family, we're all thankful for Peanut (who slept through the whole dinner), Boy was thankful for the food, and Simon and I were thankful that his surgery went well.
* Meal eaten? Check.
* Another woefully under-developed entry posted for Nabloblahblah? Check.
We are now digesting in preparation for PIE.
piepiepiepiepiepie,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Worst night on record.
Peanut takes the prize. In Boy's whole life he never had a night as bad as hers was last night. You're thinking she must be pretty sick, oh boy, to wake up At Least once an hour. At least once an hour all night long. Well folks, I hate to break the bad news, but she's teething. Symptoms: crankiness, tiniest bit of a runny nose (clear), fever, crankiness, redness where the tooth is coming through, and crankiness. Prognosis: a full recovery is expected some time in the next few days, with a repeat performance scheduled soon thereafter for the second upper tooth.
Of course, today is Simon's nose surgery. He's got a week off, and I had sort of planned on it being like a mini-lame-vacation. There's all the thanksgiving food. I figured he could pick out some movies and we'd hunker down for a week and vegetate. I would pamper the Simon with tea and custard and we'd watch the baby roll on the floor and hang with the Boy.
Yesterday Simon said "I don't want Thanksgiving to be stressful"
I said "So we're not having a turkey?"
He said "I just want a nice relaxing meal.. We don't have to eat at any certain time."
The problem is, anytime I have anything to do besides take care of the baby I get stressed. I don't necessarily actually freak out, but my stress level rises. As all you mothers know, there's always something that needs doing, so I am usually running in a constantly stressed state. I try to relax and find my zen, but it seems to slip from my grasp on a daily basis. I realize that there's no deadline for having the turkey ready, but just the thought of trying to fix a bird, keep the baby happy, make the side dishes, pump, time everything so it is ready when the bird is, and feed/diaper the baby has got me stressed. Which Simon knows, even though I haven't said it aloud.
And now on top of everything she's teething and I haven't slept. I've had issues with fatigue, and I fear it the way other people fear pain. I start out sleepy, then I progress to feeling stupid and slow, I go from there to a phase where I doggedly undertake some obnoxious chore that's been waiting on me for a while (?), then I usually get nauseous, and much past that I'm just a gibbering idiot. I will be progressing through this cycle today while we jump through the hospital's hoops, and tomorrow when we do the turkey, because I don't see Peanut sleeping any better tonight. Poor Boy will be the only one anywhere near 100%. Feel sorry for him.
Wish me luck,
ephelba
Of course, today is Simon's nose surgery. He's got a week off, and I had sort of planned on it being like a mini-lame-vacation. There's all the thanksgiving food. I figured he could pick out some movies and we'd hunker down for a week and vegetate. I would pamper the Simon with tea and custard and we'd watch the baby roll on the floor and hang with the Boy.
Yesterday Simon said "I don't want Thanksgiving to be stressful"
I said "So we're not having a turkey?"
He said "I just want a nice relaxing meal.. We don't have to eat at any certain time."
The problem is, anytime I have anything to do besides take care of the baby I get stressed. I don't necessarily actually freak out, but my stress level rises. As all you mothers know, there's always something that needs doing, so I am usually running in a constantly stressed state. I try to relax and find my zen, but it seems to slip from my grasp on a daily basis. I realize that there's no deadline for having the turkey ready, but just the thought of trying to fix a bird, keep the baby happy, make the side dishes, pump, time everything so it is ready when the bird is, and feed/diaper the baby has got me stressed. Which Simon knows, even though I haven't said it aloud.
And now on top of everything she's teething and I haven't slept. I've had issues with fatigue, and I fear it the way other people fear pain. I start out sleepy, then I progress to feeling stupid and slow, I go from there to a phase where I doggedly undertake some obnoxious chore that's been waiting on me for a while (?), then I usually get nauseous, and much past that I'm just a gibbering idiot. I will be progressing through this cycle today while we jump through the hospital's hoops, and tomorrow when we do the turkey, because I don't see Peanut sleeping any better tonight. Poor Boy will be the only one anywhere near 100%. Feel sorry for him.
Wish me luck,
ephelba
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
there will be no capital letters today
the baby is ill, and she won't let me put her down. ever try to pump with a baby in your lap? if you've mastered that, try typing whilst holding the keyboard over the baby with one hand.
it's going to be a long night,
ephelba
it's going to be a long night,
ephelba
Monday, November 20, 2006
Why My Husband is a Saint
Because when I'm stressed and freaking out because I can't do everything at once, and it stresses him out and the kids out and probably even our dust mites need a chill pill, He will figure out a way to help.
I sure do loves me some Simon,
Ephelba
I sure do loves me some Simon,
Ephelba
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Saturday, November 18, 2006
Clarification:
SO Simon says to me "I read your blog" in that Uh Oh voice, and I'm totally confused.
"Yeah?"
"I'm not your biggest baby."
Oh! So, as I explained to him, I am here to tell you that he is my biggest baby in a honey-sugar-lovemuffin kind of way, not the whiny-needy-wah kind of way.
We just watched High Fidelity, which we thoroughly enjoyed. *Spoiler alert* I was worried for a while, because the main character was Such An Ass that I thought he couldn't recover, but at that moment his girlfriend walked in and I said to Simon, I said, "He's going to ask her to marry him", which he did, so I felt better. And I
felt like hot shit for predicting it. Not like it took tremendous mental abilities or anything, but it's nice to be right.
We don't have any Battlestar Galactica in the house right now. We've been steadily working away at the series. The whole family enjoys the show. I especially enjoy singing "Ellen's a bitch, she's a big ole bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..." because (I can't stand her)Squared. And how. I have the same visceral reaction to her that I have to the president's voice. If she isn't a cylon I don't know who is. (And don't tell me if she is, because we're many discs away from season three.)
Sometimes we talk about getting cable or dish or somesuch. I don't think I could ever, ever, Ever buy Dish now that I have spent the entire time we've lived in New York telling various Dish representatives that I want off their list. I seriously can't count how many times I've answered the phone to hear "This is Jerry with Dish".
"Jerry's a bitch, he's a big ole bitch, he's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..."
But I digress. We can't get even a single station in over the air, so our choice not to pay for TV effectively means we don't have TV. There are pluses: It is good to not have commercials. Also, I have no idea when we'd find the time to watch TV if we had it, seeing as how we have a hard time fitting in the Netflix. Sometimes though, you think about all the PBS and SciFi you're missing, you read all the blogging excitement over Lost, and you think it might be worth it. Then I think about all the time TV eats, and how little return it gives, and I think better of it.
We're starting the xmas preparations. I don't mean the tree- I refuse to have much to do with that- I mean the making of the gifts. It is important to us to make gifts, but it's hard to make gifts that someone would actually want that a kid can put together. I have no idea what we'll do when Peanut is three and we have to think something up. I know that there are all kinds of meaningful things you can do with kids, but unfortunately many of them would have required more foresight than I have exercised. Seriously, if you have ideas, please share.
night night,
ephelba
"Yeah?"
"I'm not your biggest baby."
Oh! So, as I explained to him, I am here to tell you that he is my biggest baby in a honey-sugar-lovemuffin kind of way, not the whiny-needy-wah kind of way.
We just watched High Fidelity, which we thoroughly enjoyed. *Spoiler alert* I was worried for a while, because the main character was Such An Ass that I thought he couldn't recover, but at that moment his girlfriend walked in and I said to Simon, I said, "He's going to ask her to marry him", which he did, so I felt better. And I
felt like hot shit for predicting it. Not like it took tremendous mental abilities or anything, but it's nice to be right.
We don't have any Battlestar Galactica in the house right now. We've been steadily working away at the series. The whole family enjoys the show. I especially enjoy singing "Ellen's a bitch, she's a big ole bitch, she's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..." because (I can't stand her)Squared. And how. I have the same visceral reaction to her that I have to the president's voice. If she isn't a cylon I don't know who is. (And don't tell me if she is, because we're many discs away from season three.)
Sometimes we talk about getting cable or dish or somesuch. I don't think I could ever, ever, Ever buy Dish now that I have spent the entire time we've lived in New York telling various Dish representatives that I want off their list. I seriously can't count how many times I've answered the phone to hear "This is Jerry with Dish".
"Jerry's a bitch, he's a big ole bitch, he's the biggest bitch in the whole wide world..."
But I digress. We can't get even a single station in over the air, so our choice not to pay for TV effectively means we don't have TV. There are pluses: It is good to not have commercials. Also, I have no idea when we'd find the time to watch TV if we had it, seeing as how we have a hard time fitting in the Netflix. Sometimes though, you think about all the PBS and SciFi you're missing, you read all the blogging excitement over Lost, and you think it might be worth it. Then I think about all the time TV eats, and how little return it gives, and I think better of it.
We're starting the xmas preparations. I don't mean the tree- I refuse to have much to do with that- I mean the making of the gifts. It is important to us to make gifts, but it's hard to make gifts that someone would actually want that a kid can put together. I have no idea what we'll do when Peanut is three and we have to think something up. I know that there are all kinds of meaningful things you can do with kids, but unfortunately many of them would have required more foresight than I have exercised. Seriously, if you have ideas, please share.
night night,
ephelba
Friday, November 17, 2006
Thanksgiving Shopping
I wanted to get the majority of the feast shopping done before Saturday, because the grocery stores become mad houses and the cranberries are all gone otherwise. I thought I would be clever and go after dinner tonight, because who the hell goes to the Walmart at 8 o'clock on a Friday night?
Every Fucking One.
Who knew? Not I. But there I was, wandering around aghast at both the warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart, and the large numbers of toddlers who should be in bed. I don't mean to be a sanctimommy, but as 9:30 approached I just couldn't believe that every aisle had a toddler in it. Why aren't they at home in bed?
For that matter, why the hell aren't all the parents at home in bed? I thought the store would be empty, since by nine o'clock on a typical night I'm either pumping my last pump or feeling guilty that I haven't yet. But then, our house calls it quits very early.
I was picking out apples, and I turned around to see a man with the most unbelievable dreads I have ever seen. They were past his ass, and each one was a lovely inch wide cylinder. There weren't any of those funkity mats you sometimes see, and he had a full head of them. That's three-ish feet of dread. I wanted to go up and pet them. I ran into him several times before I left, and I kept catching myself staring. I wonder if he gets that a lot, and if he's sick of it already. If half of his conversations with strangers are about his startling hair.
He had a toddler with him, clutching his blankey and sucking his thumb.
My little baby was put to bed before I left. My biggest baby went to bed just after I left, and the middle baby started worrying about me when I took too long to come home, then ran out to the car in his bare feet and boxers to help me carry groceries up at 10:00. Being 11, he thought that 30 minutes was plenty of time to complete a shopping trip in. He was quite worried by the time he heard the car.
It is past time for me to call it quits. Going to bask in the joy that only a heated mattress pad can bring,
ephelba
Every Fucking One.
Who knew? Not I. But there I was, wandering around aghast at both the warehouse of schloppy cluttery crap that is Walmart, and the large numbers of toddlers who should be in bed. I don't mean to be a sanctimommy, but as 9:30 approached I just couldn't believe that every aisle had a toddler in it. Why aren't they at home in bed?
For that matter, why the hell aren't all the parents at home in bed? I thought the store would be empty, since by nine o'clock on a typical night I'm either pumping my last pump or feeling guilty that I haven't yet. But then, our house calls it quits very early.
I was picking out apples, and I turned around to see a man with the most unbelievable dreads I have ever seen. They were past his ass, and each one was a lovely inch wide cylinder. There weren't any of those funkity mats you sometimes see, and he had a full head of them. That's three-ish feet of dread. I wanted to go up and pet them. I ran into him several times before I left, and I kept catching myself staring. I wonder if he gets that a lot, and if he's sick of it already. If half of his conversations with strangers are about his startling hair.
He had a toddler with him, clutching his blankey and sucking his thumb.
My little baby was put to bed before I left. My biggest baby went to bed just after I left, and the middle baby started worrying about me when I took too long to come home, then ran out to the car in his bare feet and boxers to help me carry groceries up at 10:00. Being 11, he thought that 30 minutes was plenty of time to complete a shopping trip in. He was quite worried by the time he heard the car.
It is past time for me to call it quits. Going to bask in the joy that only a heated mattress pad can bring,
ephelba
Thursday, November 16, 2006
My Favorite Poem
Ten Years It Took
Ten years it took
To build my little cottage.
Now the cool wind inhabits half of it
And the rest is filled with moonlight.
There is no place left for the mountain and the stream
So I guess they will have to stay outside.
by Song Sun (1493-1583)
Translated by Virginia Olsen Baron and Chung Seuk Park
If you are interested in reading more like it, go here.
I'm trying to get my zen on,
ephelba
Ten years it took
To build my little cottage.
Now the cool wind inhabits half of it
And the rest is filled with moonlight.
There is no place left for the mountain and the stream
So I guess they will have to stay outside.
by Song Sun (1493-1583)
Translated by Virginia Olsen Baron and Chung Seuk Park
If you are interested in reading more like it, go here.
I'm trying to get my zen on,
ephelba
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
Nabloblahblah revisited
I don't love it. I don't love it because it takes me a while to work a post up sometimes. It takes me a while to work up a post sometimes because I like to ruminate. I like to ruminate because, if nothing else, you catch more grammar errors that way. Even better, I find that my ideas condense and my writing becomes richer for it. These daily entries feel rushed and diluted to me.
moooooooo,
ephelba
moooooooo,
ephelba
Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Lovely warm.
I broke down and paid the ridiculous price for a Queen sized heated matress pad today. Have you ever slept on one? You crawl into bed expecting that horrendous full-body cold-sheet-freeze, and instead of shivering you experience the delicious sensation that "somebody's been sleeping in my bed, and they got it all toasty before they left". Yummy.
I have issues with staying warm though. Namely, I can't manage it. I wear a sweater all the time, try to keep slippers on my feet and have begun wearing a hat indoors, and yet I still haven't gotten warm. Maybe long johns... I can't help but think a body shouldn't have to go to all this trouble to stay warm inside the house. I guess a body doesn't have to if it's a rich body, but our bodies can't afford to buy more warm, so there we are. And actually, my body is the only one that shivers. So we're good. I can't complain whole heartedly.
I remind myself of this many times a day. We've got two craptacular computers, two craptacular cars, and we live in a somewhat craptacular apartment, but I try to keep it in perspective by reminding myself of how many people have no computers, cars, or even decent housing. How can I bitch when we've got more food than we can eat?
Trying to tuck in an entry at the end of the day results in a piss poor entry. Methinks I'll try to blog earlier tomorrow,
Done for today, and how,
ephelba
I have issues with staying warm though. Namely, I can't manage it. I wear a sweater all the time, try to keep slippers on my feet and have begun wearing a hat indoors, and yet I still haven't gotten warm. Maybe long johns... I can't help but think a body shouldn't have to go to all this trouble to stay warm inside the house. I guess a body doesn't have to if it's a rich body, but our bodies can't afford to buy more warm, so there we are. And actually, my body is the only one that shivers. So we're good. I can't complain whole heartedly.
I remind myself of this many times a day. We've got two craptacular computers, two craptacular cars, and we live in a somewhat craptacular apartment, but I try to keep it in perspective by reminding myself of how many people have no computers, cars, or even decent housing. How can I bitch when we've got more food than we can eat?
Trying to tuck in an entry at the end of the day results in a piss poor entry. Methinks I'll try to blog earlier tomorrow,
Done for today, and how,
ephelba
Monday, November 13, 2006
My son, the perfectionist
is DRIVING ME MAD! MAD I SAY!! MAAAAAADDDDDDDD!!!!!
He'll play two notes on his trumpet. One will be wrong. He'll slam something and say to himself, "Jesus it's two notes!" He'll try again, and if he fails, he'll say "What's wrong with me? This is awful? I can't stand this!" He may try again, or he may spend the next FIVE MINUTES calming himself down, or better yet, working himself up into a fit that ends up with him crying on his bed, apologizing about how Weak he is and carrying on about how stupid he's being.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
Because it's not like I haven't been trying SINCE HE WAS IN KINDERGARTEN to teach him to relax, acknowledge that these things take practise and accept that he's just going to have to get it wrong for a while before he figures out how to get it right. Years, YEARS, I say, I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS!!!
So I calm him down, and we go over how he's still practising how to relax and let things go just like he's practising trumpet, so if he makes a mistake and freaks out he's just got to let it go and try again. Inside, I'm thinking JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT'S A LITTLE NOTE WILL YOU GET OVER YOURSELF! I'm also dying a little inside, because YOU ARE THE SWEETEST LITTLE BOY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD DON'T YOU DARE THINK THESE AWFUL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!
It's worn me out. Times like these you wish you could pop their little skulls open and adjust the gears inside directly. I never know if I'm getting anywhere. Why does he still do this after SEVEN YEARS of "learning to cope" lessons?
Going to bed,
ephelba
He'll play two notes on his trumpet. One will be wrong. He'll slam something and say to himself, "Jesus it's two notes!" He'll try again, and if he fails, he'll say "What's wrong with me? This is awful? I can't stand this!" He may try again, or he may spend the next FIVE MINUTES calming himself down, or better yet, working himself up into a fit that ends up with him crying on his bed, apologizing about how Weak he is and carrying on about how stupid he's being.
What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?
Because it's not like I haven't been trying SINCE HE WAS IN KINDERGARTEN to teach him to relax, acknowledge that these things take practise and accept that he's just going to have to get it wrong for a while before he figures out how to get it right. Years, YEARS, I say, I'VE BEEN TRYING FOR YEARS!!!
So I calm him down, and we go over how he's still practising how to relax and let things go just like he's practising trumpet, so if he makes a mistake and freaks out he's just got to let it go and try again. Inside, I'm thinking JESUS FUCKING CHRIST IT'S A LITTLE NOTE WILL YOU GET OVER YOURSELF! I'm also dying a little inside, because YOU ARE THE SWEETEST LITTLE BOY IN THE ENTIRE WORLD DON'T YOU DARE THINK THESE AWFUL THINGS ABOUT YOURSELF!
It's worn me out. Times like these you wish you could pop their little skulls open and adjust the gears inside directly. I never know if I'm getting anywhere. Why does he still do this after SEVEN YEARS of "learning to cope" lessons?
Going to bed,
ephelba
Sunday, November 12, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Much Better Now
I have gone through my usual worship ritual, and the Internet responded by informing me that Peanut had low birth weight, not very low birth weight. The difference? In her case, 300g, but also an improved outlook. There is a direct correlation between birth weight and likelihood of developmental delay, low IQ, sensory impairment, and psychological problems. So she's more likely to have issues than a 7 lb baby, but less likely than a 3 lb baby. It also helps that she's a girl, white, and born to a married woman who has health insurance.
I've also done some reading in the baby book put out by the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's on the low end of normal in gross motor and language development, maybe just behind normal, but at least in the same neighborhood as the ballpark. She's dead on in social and fine motor development. She plays peekaboo and can find objects hidden by a blanket, so those parts of cognitive development are ok. The ones that are dependent on language aren't there yet, but we've still got time.
I think. Because the book isn't very specific on the when these things should happen. I will do more looking on the Internet and see what I find. All the reading I did last night and this morning has reassured me that she's probably going to be ok. At least I'm not freaking out anymore.
On a more entertaining note, the Doctor prescribed iron drops for her, which we are to slip into her bottle morning and night. Knowing how she feels about Tastes I was dubious, but after an initial ugly face she drank it right up. Boy and I were curious what it tasted like, so we each tried a dropperful.
The initial bouquet is lemony, almost yummy. Then other flavor notes take over; bitter, an overtone of nasty nasty bitter, and highlights of metallic bitter. The best part? The aftertaste just won't quit. You can't wash it out of your mouth. Eating something doesn't completely expunge the taste either. We didn't resort to scraping our tongues on the carpet, but we were tempted. So explain to me how the girl who can't stand the taste of apple sauce swigs this stuff back with no problem?
Delighting in the wonders and mysteries that are my family,
ephelba
I've also done some reading in the baby book put out by the American Academy of Pediatrics. She's on the low end of normal in gross motor and language development, maybe just behind normal, but at least in the same neighborhood as the ballpark. She's dead on in social and fine motor development. She plays peekaboo and can find objects hidden by a blanket, so those parts of cognitive development are ok. The ones that are dependent on language aren't there yet, but we've still got time.
I think. Because the book isn't very specific on the when these things should happen. I will do more looking on the Internet and see what I find. All the reading I did last night and this morning has reassured me that she's probably going to be ok. At least I'm not freaking out anymore.
On a more entertaining note, the Doctor prescribed iron drops for her, which we are to slip into her bottle morning and night. Knowing how she feels about Tastes I was dubious, but after an initial ugly face she drank it right up. Boy and I were curious what it tasted like, so we each tried a dropperful.
The initial bouquet is lemony, almost yummy. Then other flavor notes take over; bitter, an overtone of nasty nasty bitter, and highlights of metallic bitter. The best part? The aftertaste just won't quit. You can't wash it out of your mouth. Eating something doesn't completely expunge the taste either. We didn't resort to scraping our tongues on the carpet, but we were tempted. So explain to me how the girl who can't stand the taste of apple sauce swigs this stuff back with no problem?
Delighting in the wonders and mysteries that are my family,
ephelba
Friday, November 10, 2006
Easier Said Than Done
I wonder if I feed her enough. Or if she's had low iron her whole life and it's done something. Or whether we're stimulating her enough. I see an obviously developmentally disabled woman leaving the grocery store hugging a sack of potatoes like they're a life raft whilst someone says "You're doing a good job Karen" and I think there is absolutely No Fucking Way that's going to be my daughter.
Is it?
What if there's something wrong and there's nothing I can do to fix it? What if there's something I can do to fix it and I don't know what it is?
Going to seek hope from my personal god, the internet,
ephelba
Is it?
What if there's something wrong and there's nothing I can do to fix it? What if there's something I can do to fix it and I don't know what it is?
Going to seek hope from my personal god, the internet,
ephelba
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