Monday, November 29, 2004
Unfortunate Cards
Yes, I know, it's completely juvenile, and lord knows I am unamused at...um...juvenility. Yeah.
Every now and then, I need a good laugh, and that's when I turn to the Unfortunate Cards. The Christmas cards are always a good place to start, this time of year. Ooh-new ones!
Every now and then, I need a good laugh, and that's when I turn to the Unfortunate Cards. The Christmas cards are always a good place to start, this time of year. Ooh-new ones!
Egads, I'm Blind
So, it snowed about a foot yesterday (oh, the beautiful sparkling snow! the delighted children! the cursed shoveling! my aching back!) and I'm working from home so that I don't have to drive all the way to the office in neighboring town. And it occurs to me that when you have a basement home-office, and you keep the curtains down so that you don't get the creeps working at night, and then you work all the next morning, and it's a snowy day, and you go upstairs to get lunch...
Put on some sunglasses first, for cryin' outloud.
Holiday Surprise:
Well, it isn't really a surprise, but what do you want, I'm blind here.
"It's a Wonderful Life" is The Best Christmas Movie Ever. And if you disagree, well, naff off, you're wrong. It is absolutely necessary to watch it while drinking Baileys every. single. year.
FFFM: I can write backwards with my left hand.
Put on some sunglasses first, for cryin' outloud.
Holiday Surprise:
Well, it isn't really a surprise, but what do you want, I'm blind here.
"It's a Wonderful Life" is The Best Christmas Movie Ever. And if you disagree, well, naff off, you're wrong. It is absolutely necessary to watch it while drinking Baileys every. single. year.
FFFM: I can write backwards with my left hand.
Maternal musings...
The discussions over at Profgrrrrl's, Geeky Mom's, Dr. B's, and--oh, just about every other blog I read--have got me thinking about family, specifically the parent/child relationship.
I was raised primarily by my Mom; my father left her when he found out she was knocked up. We lived with my grandparents for the first few years; Granddad died just after I turned 2; we stayed with Grandmom until Mom remarried when I was 8 and she stayed in that marriage until just after I graduated college. My mom and I have had a somewhat complicated relationship. We're very different in a lot of ways and frighteningly similar in others. As a child, I was probably closer to my Grandmom than to my Mom, who worked to support us; Grandmom was the one who stayed with me while Mom worked. That changed after Mom remarried, but Mom's second marriage was abusive on a number of levels that I don't want to get into right now, which tainted our relationship for a long time. I did the typical enmeshed-daughter eating disorder routine, and it took me nearly 30 years to figure out and begin to let go of the responsibility complex I'd built up so nicely.
Despite all this, we now have what I consider to be a great relationship. Even when we disagree or when I feel that she doesn't understand me, I feel loved and supported, and I hope Mom feels the same. I think the key is, despite her shortcomings and mistakes, she's always wanted me to be my own person and to be truly happy, on my own terms. She's told me that at several major points in my life (e.g., when I was starting school, when I graduated h.s.) many of her friends said, "Oh, doesn't it just kill you to see her growing up?" And her response was always, "No, I think it's entirely fascinating to watch her grow. It's so neat to get to be here to see all she's learning and to see the woman she's becoming." Now, being a mom, I understand what an amazingly generous and loving sentiment that is. To find such a place, between wanting to hold on to your kids or being so fed up with them you wish they were already in college, is no small thing. I think she's always been a stronger person than I gave her credit for; I especially believe this now that I know what it's like to be a single mom. I hope that I've learned from her mistakes, but I also hope that I've learned from her successes. Sometimes it's so difficult to see both in our parents.
Sometimes--especially during an altercation with the Boy--I look ahead and have this horrible moment of fear that one day he'll be filled with resentment about all the times I screwed up. Then I take a deep breath, and try again to be my mother's daughter--a woman who isn't perfect, but who's still growing and learning, and who loves her kids enough to let them in on her mistakes.
But I'm starting a therapy fund. Just in case.
I was raised primarily by my Mom; my father left her when he found out she was knocked up. We lived with my grandparents for the first few years; Granddad died just after I turned 2; we stayed with Grandmom until Mom remarried when I was 8 and she stayed in that marriage until just after I graduated college. My mom and I have had a somewhat complicated relationship. We're very different in a lot of ways and frighteningly similar in others. As a child, I was probably closer to my Grandmom than to my Mom, who worked to support us; Grandmom was the one who stayed with me while Mom worked. That changed after Mom remarried, but Mom's second marriage was abusive on a number of levels that I don't want to get into right now, which tainted our relationship for a long time. I did the typical enmeshed-daughter eating disorder routine, and it took me nearly 30 years to figure out and begin to let go of the responsibility complex I'd built up so nicely.
Despite all this, we now have what I consider to be a great relationship. Even when we disagree or when I feel that she doesn't understand me, I feel loved and supported, and I hope Mom feels the same. I think the key is, despite her shortcomings and mistakes, she's always wanted me to be my own person and to be truly happy, on my own terms. She's told me that at several major points in my life (e.g., when I was starting school, when I graduated h.s.) many of her friends said, "Oh, doesn't it just kill you to see her growing up?" And her response was always, "No, I think it's entirely fascinating to watch her grow. It's so neat to get to be here to see all she's learning and to see the woman she's becoming." Now, being a mom, I understand what an amazingly generous and loving sentiment that is. To find such a place, between wanting to hold on to your kids or being so fed up with them you wish they were already in college, is no small thing. I think she's always been a stronger person than I gave her credit for; I especially believe this now that I know what it's like to be a single mom. I hope that I've learned from her mistakes, but I also hope that I've learned from her successes. Sometimes it's so difficult to see both in our parents.
Sometimes--especially during an altercation with the Boy--I look ahead and have this horrible moment of fear that one day he'll be filled with resentment about all the times I screwed up. Then I take a deep breath, and try again to be my mother's daughter--a woman who isn't perfect, but who's still growing and learning, and who loves her kids enough to let them in on her mistakes.
But I'm starting a therapy fund. Just in case.
Sunday, November 28, 2004
Finally...
I hate it when my procrastination is foiled. Finally, the server is up!
Holiday Surprise: Elf Balls (haha)
If you have kids, this is a good way to keep them occupied on Christmas Eve, or you can put these in the stockings, or whatever. Heard about them from an old college friend, whose parents used these to stop the whining about friends who got to open presents on Xmas eve. The parents would sneak them onto the mantle while they were leaving for Xmas eve service, so the kids would find them when the family returned. The parents said, Oh, the elves must have come by ahead of Santa and left these for you.
You take a roll of crepe streamer, unroll it, and tape little goodies (candy, little toys, whatever) all along it, every foot or so, then wrap it back up into a ball. Cheap, simple, and keeps kids occupied for ages while they unroll it. Plus, the cat gets all worked up over the streamers after they're unstrung.
FF(FM): Once, I was naked in a dressing room a mere 1/2 hour before Harrison Ford. I missed him by a measly 30 minutes, but it's probably better because, although I am not typically impressed by celebrity, it was pre-midlife-crisis Harrison Ford, for cryin' outloud. I would have made an idiot out of myself. In any case, the incident will play a big role in my fantasy life once I hit senility, at which point I'll conveniently forget about that pesky 1/2 hour and add a lot of interesting, non-existent details.
Holiday Surprise: Elf Balls (haha)
If you have kids, this is a good way to keep them occupied on Christmas Eve, or you can put these in the stockings, or whatever. Heard about them from an old college friend, whose parents used these to stop the whining about friends who got to open presents on Xmas eve. The parents would sneak them onto the mantle while they were leaving for Xmas eve service, so the kids would find them when the family returned. The parents said, Oh, the elves must have come by ahead of Santa and left these for you.
You take a roll of crepe streamer, unroll it, and tape little goodies (candy, little toys, whatever) all along it, every foot or so, then wrap it back up into a ball. Cheap, simple, and keeps kids occupied for ages while they unroll it. Plus, the cat gets all worked up over the streamers after they're unstrung.
FF(FM): Once, I was naked in a dressing room a mere 1/2 hour before Harrison Ford. I missed him by a measly 30 minutes, but it's probably better because, although I am not typically impressed by celebrity, it was pre-midlife-crisis Harrison Ford, for cryin' outloud. I would have made an idiot out of myself. In any case, the incident will play a big role in my fantasy life once I hit senility, at which point I'll conveniently forget about that pesky 1/2 hour and add a lot of interesting, non-existent details.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
One thing I love about my daughter
This little prancing walk/march thing she does. When she's feelin' kinda frisky, she starts walking, then kinda starts lifting her feet up really high and sort of almost marching in place but still moving forward. It's the funniest damned thing I ever saw. What, one isn't enough? Okaaay...
The way she says "O-TAY!" or "Ummmm" when she's thinking of an answer.
The way she runs up to us and says, "I whan tiss you!"
The way she sings "Michelle" to herself while she tries to mess with the Christmas tree without me seeing her.
The way she says "O-TAY!" or "Ummmm" when she's thinking of an answer.
The way she runs up to us and says, "I whan tiss you!"
The way she sings "Michelle" to herself while she tries to mess with the Christmas tree without me seeing her.
Because I haven't started enough silly projects...
So, just for the heck of it, I thought that from now until Christmas, I'd include some sort of daily Holiday Surprise here. Because I love Christmas, dammit. It'll be like an Advent calendar, only instead of something worthwhile (i.e., chocolate), it'll just have...well...whatever I come up with. Take it or leave it.
Today's Holiday Surprise: The Brandy Alexander Frappe
If your goal is to lose 10 pounds before New Years, don't drink these every day. I can personally attest (going on day 10) that it will not help your cause. But the good news is that after one or two, you won't really care. And if you make a regimen out of it, you can always fill in for Santa. Yippee.
In a blender, put 1 jigger brandy & 1 jigger creme de cacao (note: "1 jigger" is such a stingy phrase. Christmas is the season for giving! Jigger, shmigger. I use at least 2 jiggers each. At least. What?), 1/4 cup milk (or 1/2+1/2, or cream, or soymilk), and 1 quart ice cream. Blend it, baby.
Fun fact for today (well, fun for me): I work with a woman whose cousin is Joe on Blue's Clues. No kidding! If you have a child under the age of 5, this puts me nearly on the level of oh, Simon Peter. Or Simon Peter's coworker, I guess. Whichever.
Today's Holiday Surprise: The Brandy Alexander Frappe
If your goal is to lose 10 pounds before New Years, don't drink these every day. I can personally attest (going on day 10) that it will not help your cause. But the good news is that after one or two, you won't really care. And if you make a regimen out of it, you can always fill in for Santa. Yippee.
In a blender, put 1 jigger brandy & 1 jigger creme de cacao (note: "1 jigger" is such a stingy phrase. Christmas is the season for giving! Jigger, shmigger. I use at least 2 jiggers each. At least. What?), 1/4 cup milk (or 1/2+1/2, or cream, or soymilk), and 1 quart ice cream. Blend it, baby.
Fun fact for today (well, fun for me): I work with a woman whose cousin is Joe on Blue's Clues. No kidding! If you have a child under the age of 5, this puts me nearly on the level of oh, Simon Peter. Or Simon Peter's coworker, I guess. Whichever.
Friday, November 26, 2004
And now for the Baileys!
My tree is up. My wreath is up. My garlands are up. (Hey, that sounds kinda kinky! I wish.) I am ready to park my heinie in front of "It's a Wonderful Life" and write Holiday cards tonight. I am so down with my bad self.
Oh, did I mention Way #58 to feel really old?
The other day, the Boy was going through a box of stuff that I'd finally cleared out of the Then's nightstand (after only a year, whatdya know). He yells downstairs, "Hey Mama, I found a square disk player and some little square disks!" Confused, I head into the living room and look up to the landing, where he's holding up--
a walkman. And some cassettes. Or, as they are apparently known by the youngins--square disks.
I think I feel the arthritis starting already.
Oh, did I mention Way #58 to feel really old?
The other day, the Boy was going through a box of stuff that I'd finally cleared out of the Then's nightstand (after only a year, whatdya know). He yells downstairs, "Hey Mama, I found a square disk player and some little square disks!" Confused, I head into the living room and look up to the landing, where he's holding up--
a walkman. And some cassettes. Or, as they are apparently known by the youngins--square disks.
I think I feel the arthritis starting already.
Ignorance does NOT equal bliss
It equals a bunch of knocked-up teenagers. Profgrrrrl's 11/26 post does a lovely job of covering the Mad Cowboy's stupidass idea of funding sex-ed that teaches only abstinence, emphasis on the "only," God help us.
This week, I reviewed our school district's proposed junior high/high school sex ed curriculum. It's been revised to include abstinence as the "most strongly encouraged" method (guess why? Public outcry last year when the district wouldn't agree to teach ONLY abstinence, agh), but it still includes a full discussion of contraception, STDs, and emotional/social aspects of sexual relationships; all in all, it looks pretty good from what I can see. I am fine with encouraging kids to wait if the way you're encouraging them is (as Profgrrrrl described her mom doing) by giving them the facts about what's involved in being sexually active. The whole Puritan Hangover in this country gives me a headache, though. Especially when so many people get so holy about sex and abortion but god forbid we should educate kids about the natural act of reproduction! Or do anything about violence against women--no, let's make a requirement that women's shelters have to RECORD THE WOMEN'S PERSONAL DATA (you know, so that they're abusive husbands can track them down). Fine Janet Jackson's boob but show 50 murders a day as entertainment.
Wow, I'm starting to foam at the mouth. Time for a deep breath, more coffee, putting up the Christmas tree, and making a plan about what I might be able to do this week to work toward the good--maybe volunteer for Planned Parenthood.
This week, I reviewed our school district's proposed junior high/high school sex ed curriculum. It's been revised to include abstinence as the "most strongly encouraged" method (guess why? Public outcry last year when the district wouldn't agree to teach ONLY abstinence, agh), but it still includes a full discussion of contraception, STDs, and emotional/social aspects of sexual relationships; all in all, it looks pretty good from what I can see. I am fine with encouraging kids to wait if the way you're encouraging them is (as Profgrrrrl described her mom doing) by giving them the facts about what's involved in being sexually active. The whole Puritan Hangover in this country gives me a headache, though. Especially when so many people get so holy about sex and abortion but god forbid we should educate kids about the natural act of reproduction! Or do anything about violence against women--no, let's make a requirement that women's shelters have to RECORD THE WOMEN'S PERSONAL DATA (you know, so that they're abusive husbands can track them down). Fine Janet Jackson's boob but show 50 murders a day as entertainment.
Wow, I'm starting to foam at the mouth. Time for a deep breath, more coffee, putting up the Christmas tree, and making a plan about what I might be able to do this week to work toward the good--maybe volunteer for Planned Parenthood.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Best things I heard this Thanksgiving
"She needs to figure out what she wants to do with her Schlinkhaus."
"Why don't you go pound away at the breast?"
"In the bathroom, I tooted three times!!"
"My shells are not toast, understand?"
"It's a Chinese monkey. [Pause] Menu. [Pause] I need more wine."
"I also have coffee, shuzhu neezhum."
Happy Thanksgiving! Schlinkhaus all around!
"Why don't you go pound away at the breast?"
"In the bathroom, I tooted three times!!"
"My shells are not toast, understand?"
"It's a Chinese monkey. [Pause] Menu. [Pause] I need more wine."
"I also have coffee, shuzhu neezhum."
Happy Thanksgiving! Schlinkhaus all around!
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Oh, Holy Night
Nothing like having your kid walk into the room asking, "What's this thing?" and holding your vibrator. Ho ho ho-boy.
Thank you, thank you, thank you
Though it might not be apparent from my mouth or my Scorpio Bitch demeanor, I am a Christian (of the Love Thy Neighbor variety, not the You're Going To Hell variety), and I do rely on my spiritual beliefs to a great extent, to get me through weeks like last week, for example. Two of the statements about faith that ring especially true for me are 1) Maya Angelou's comment about being a "practicing Christian", in which she said that anyone who says they're a Christian is full of crap; the best you can hope for is to be practicing the tenants laid out by Christ, because we're all screwing it up all the time and we just have to keep trying; and 2) Anne Lamott's assertion that all prayers can be boiled down either to "Help me, help me, help me" or "Thank you, thank you, thank you."
The ex is out of the facility and sounds incredibly better; today when I spoke with him and asked how he was doing he actually said "Good" instead of "Waiting for death" which is has been the gist of the answer for the past month or so. And over this past week, a person I've never met, a person who has helped me through a lot of crap over the past year, and a person who I haven't seen in months all contacted me to let me know they were thinking of and praying for all of us. Being someone who does believe in a Higher Power and in the divinity inherent in all life, that just meant a hell of a lot to me. And it even kind of helped me to cut myself some slack about my reaction to the whole thing, which I've been beating myself up over.
And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful. I'm thankful for my beautiful babies, and the fact that their father is still alive, and my mom (even though she voted for Bush, ach), and the Chica, and my friends, and the Marshmallow Cat who keeps my cold feet warm at night now, and (god help me) Starbucks (oh, leave off), and my job (even though I'm freaking behind again), and just everything. Oh! And Bailey's! It's Bailey's season now.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
The ex is out of the facility and sounds incredibly better; today when I spoke with him and asked how he was doing he actually said "Good" instead of "Waiting for death" which is has been the gist of the answer for the past month or so. And over this past week, a person I've never met, a person who has helped me through a lot of crap over the past year, and a person who I haven't seen in months all contacted me to let me know they were thinking of and praying for all of us. Being someone who does believe in a Higher Power and in the divinity inherent in all life, that just meant a hell of a lot to me. And it even kind of helped me to cut myself some slack about my reaction to the whole thing, which I've been beating myself up over.
And tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful. I'm thankful for my beautiful babies, and the fact that their father is still alive, and my mom (even though she voted for Bush, ach), and the Chica, and my friends, and the Marshmallow Cat who keeps my cold feet warm at night now, and (god help me) Starbucks (oh, leave off), and my job (even though I'm freaking behind again), and just everything. Oh! And Bailey's! It's Bailey's season now.
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Spooky...
So I'm standing in the kitchen, making dinner, enjoying the semi-peaceful end of the first day of snow, when I turn around and ...
There stands the Boy.
Buckass naked.
Wrapped in scotch tape.
B: "I'm a mummy!"
Me: "W-wow."
B: "Did I scare the pants off ya?"
Me: "Mmm. Definitely."
There stands the Boy.
Buckass naked.
Wrapped in scotch tape.
B: "I'm a mummy!"
Me: "W-wow."
B: "Did I scare the pants off ya?"
Me: "Mmm. Definitely."
Friday, November 19, 2004
dooce: You be well for me
dooce: You be well for me
This was really hard for me to read.
I know that this is what the Then has been going through. And I am glad and thankful that he's finally getting help. He has suffered from depression for as long as I've known him, and I've begged him to get help for nearly as long, and I am so, so glad that he finally is. I've done the phone calls to friends asking them to call him, to drop by, just to make sure he's ok--because I can't do that anymore.
I think I'm just sad that it couldn't have happened sooner. I don't really think it would have made a difference, but it's difficult not to wonder. And my neurosis is believing that somehow I am responsible for everyone being ok--so when I run up against something like this that I have NO control over, I get very freaked out and angry. But I'm working on it. And the Then called to say he was staying in until next Tuesday, which I think is good.
This was really hard for me to read.
I know that this is what the Then has been going through. And I am glad and thankful that he's finally getting help. He has suffered from depression for as long as I've known him, and I've begged him to get help for nearly as long, and I am so, so glad that he finally is. I've done the phone calls to friends asking them to call him, to drop by, just to make sure he's ok--because I can't do that anymore.
I think I'm just sad that it couldn't have happened sooner. I don't really think it would have made a difference, but it's difficult not to wonder. And my neurosis is believing that somehow I am responsible for everyone being ok--so when I run up against something like this that I have NO control over, I get very freaked out and angry. But I'm working on it. And the Then called to say he was staying in until next Tuesday, which I think is good.
Jr. Baby Doll T-Shirt > The Kitten that says, "I Love You" | CafePress
Jr. Baby Doll T-Shirt > The Kitten that says, "I Love You" | CafePress
I am so going to buy this.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tryst with Fantasy Boyfriend #1 and a castor oil pack. Ohhhh, aren't I the saucy one? And aren't you jealous?
I am so going to buy this.
And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tryst with Fantasy Boyfriend #1 and a castor oil pack. Ohhhh, aren't I the saucy one? And aren't you jealous?
To fight against the forces of depressing poetry
So here's what I think:
Child out of control
Ex out of control
Work out of control
Life out of control
Blah blah blah blah blah blah
The Whine Tasting is over. The only way to combat this misery is by dredging up funny-assed stories that probably only I will laugh at but hey. I'm a selfish SBFH, whatdaya want?
If you have not taken a gander at Profgrrl's boots--you should.
When I was about 3 months preggers with the Girl, and the Boy was about 2 3/4 and potty training, I went in to get him up from his nap. I'd heard him messing around in his room for about 10 minutes, but he sounded happy, so it was all good. Until I opened the door. At which point, I heard the words that no one (especially no one with morning sickness) wants to hear:
"My poopie is socks!"
Child out of control
Ex out of control
Work out of control
Life out of control
Blah blah blah blah blah blah
The Whine Tasting is over. The only way to combat this misery is by dredging up funny-assed stories that probably only I will laugh at but hey. I'm a selfish SBFH, whatdaya want?
If you have not taken a gander at Profgrrl's boots--you should.
When I was about 3 months preggers with the Girl, and the Boy was about 2 3/4 and potty training, I went in to get him up from his nap. I'd heard him messing around in his room for about 10 minutes, but he sounded happy, so it was all good. Until I opened the door. At which point, I heard the words that no one (especially no one with morning sickness) wants to hear:
"My poopie is socks!"
Faith, hope, and love
I don't know at what point today it hit me, but there it was:
I am losing it.
I am about to become one of those women that cries in the grocery store. I nearly was one of those women about 6 times so far today, and we aren't even to dinner yet.
I took the day off from work so that I could go to the dentist and volunteer at the Boy's school. After being up for 3 hours in the middle of the night--time spent primarily crying over stupid depressing poetry (ok, it was good, but still stupid and depressing. What the hell? Can we write something happy, people??)--I barely dragged myself out of bed and managed to pull on a sweatshirt and tights and get the kids to school. The School Lady practically had to drag the Boy out of the car, as we chose the dropoff moment to have a complete breakdown because I wouldn't let him take in his "treasures" (3 bobbypins, a paperclip, a nickel, and 2 buttons).
Dropping off the Girl at daycare, I ran into the father of one of the Boy's friends, and ended up getting into a long, slightly hysterical rant against the Evil that is Red Dye 40. It was one of those moments when there's a tiny part of your brain that realizes this person probably thinks you're one movie short of an Oliver Stone, but you just can't stop.
Late to the dentist appointment. Ate crap for lunch. Went to pick up kids and ran straight into the Boy having a total and complete meltdown because a kid at school was having a birthday and passing out Prohibited Cupcakes. Realized I'd sent in special treats for the Boy at kindergarten but not afterschool program. Felt like crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
All is calm--for the moment--we made our own "school snack" when we got home and talked about a solution--I'll track the snacks they're planning at school and send in substitutes. But I sooo need to get a grip. I worry that I am not doing the right thing to help my son. I think this has just been a long freaking week, and I need to take a big breath, say a little prayer... and at about 8:15 tonight, drink a big vodka.
I am losing it.
I am about to become one of those women that cries in the grocery store. I nearly was one of those women about 6 times so far today, and we aren't even to dinner yet.
I took the day off from work so that I could go to the dentist and volunteer at the Boy's school. After being up for 3 hours in the middle of the night--time spent primarily crying over stupid depressing poetry (ok, it was good, but still stupid and depressing. What the hell? Can we write something happy, people??)--I barely dragged myself out of bed and managed to pull on a sweatshirt and tights and get the kids to school. The School Lady practically had to drag the Boy out of the car, as we chose the dropoff moment to have a complete breakdown because I wouldn't let him take in his "treasures" (3 bobbypins, a paperclip, a nickel, and 2 buttons).
Dropping off the Girl at daycare, I ran into the father of one of the Boy's friends, and ended up getting into a long, slightly hysterical rant against the Evil that is Red Dye 40. It was one of those moments when there's a tiny part of your brain that realizes this person probably thinks you're one movie short of an Oliver Stone, but you just can't stop.
Late to the dentist appointment. Ate crap for lunch. Went to pick up kids and ran straight into the Boy having a total and complete meltdown because a kid at school was having a birthday and passing out Prohibited Cupcakes. Realized I'd sent in special treats for the Boy at kindergarten but not afterschool program. Felt like crap.
Crap, crap, crap.
All is calm--for the moment--we made our own "school snack" when we got home and talked about a solution--I'll track the snacks they're planning at school and send in substitutes. But I sooo need to get a grip. I worry that I am not doing the right thing to help my son. I think this has just been a long freaking week, and I need to take a big breath, say a little prayer... and at about 8:15 tonight, drink a big vodka.
Not Cleaning...Again
But for the Chica (who's like, the only person who ever reads this freaking thing anyway): Lookie!
"You must remember this, a kiss is still a
kiss". Your romance is Casablanca. A
classic story of love in trying times, chock
full of both cynicism and hope. You obviously
believe in true love, but you're also
constantly aware of practicality and societal
expectations. That's not always fun, but at
least it's realistic. Try not to let the Nazis
get you down too much.
What Romance Movie Best Represents Your Love Life?
brought to you by Quizilla
"You must remember this, a kiss is still a
kiss". Your romance is Casablanca. A
classic story of love in trying times, chock
full of both cynicism and hope. You obviously
believe in true love, but you're also
constantly aware of practicality and societal
expectations. That's not always fun, but at
least it's realistic. Try not to let the Nazis
get you down too much.
What Romance Movie Best Represents Your Love Life?
brought to you by Quizilla
I see the moon...
Conversation with the Girl:
G: "Mewn op, Mama!"
Me: "Yep, the moon is up. What does Papa call the moon?"
G: "POOPYHAD MEWN!"
M: "..."
M: "La lune, sweetie."
G: "La lewn! Sawie, la lewn."
The Boy had a great idea during bedtime snack last night: "Hey Mama! We should write a story about me! And it could be just like "Farmer Boy"! And we could say how I ate my slimy cantelope and it was sooooo good!"
Tonight, he had a meltdown after art class. On the way home, after about 5 minutes of jaggy crying, he suddenly sobs, "And I don't even care that it's almost Christmas! I don't mind if I get a big gigantic chunk of coal! I don't even want Christmas! I won't even open my presents, even if I get them!"
..........
G: "Mewn op, Mama!"
Me: "Yep, the moon is up. What does Papa call the moon?"
G: "POOPYHAD MEWN!"
M: "..."
M: "La lune, sweetie."
G: "La lewn! Sawie, la lewn."
The Boy had a great idea during bedtime snack last night: "Hey Mama! We should write a story about me! And it could be just like "Farmer Boy"! And we could say how I ate my slimy cantelope and it was sooooo good!"
Tonight, he had a meltdown after art class. On the way home, after about 5 minutes of jaggy crying, he suddenly sobs, "And I don't even care that it's almost Christmas! I don't mind if I get a big gigantic chunk of coal! I don't even want Christmas! I won't even open my presents, even if I get them!"
..........
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Postcards of Grief
Postcards of Grief
Good point made, methinks.
I am pretty damned discouraged today. I have gotten much better over the past few years, I think, at accepting my negative emotions and the more unsavory aspects of my personality, like my long-lived martyr complex and that oh so teeny-tiny (uh-huh) part of me that likes to be the good little victim. But this thing with the Then has really thrown me. I truly, truly, do not want to be this person who loses the ability to empathize or who hardens up to avoid painful or scary situations.
The truth is that I'm very frustrated and just plain tired. But I do hope that he doesn't give up, that he finds a way to heal, because I don't wish him ill. I'm just...tired.
Good point made, methinks.
I am pretty damned discouraged today. I have gotten much better over the past few years, I think, at accepting my negative emotions and the more unsavory aspects of my personality, like my long-lived martyr complex and that oh so teeny-tiny (uh-huh) part of me that likes to be the good little victim. But this thing with the Then has really thrown me. I truly, truly, do not want to be this person who loses the ability to empathize or who hardens up to avoid painful or scary situations.
The truth is that I'm very frustrated and just plain tired. But I do hope that he doesn't give up, that he finds a way to heal, because I don't wish him ill. I'm just...tired.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Red Devil Dye from HELL, etc, etc
So first, I'm feeling kinda shitty about being so completely over-the-edge out of sympathy for this person who I used to love and who I still care about. I was talking with the Chica, though, and god bless her, she totally gets it. You have to understand that I played receiving end in the "It's really your fault that I hate my life because you ___" game for 13 years. THIRTEEN. Which, you know, was my choice, so I'm not slinging any blame there--but I'm over it now. Really, REALLY over it. I truly do hope that he deals with his demons so that he can be healthy and happy, but in the meantime, I don't need this drama. I am the Drama Queen, I have drama enough all on my own, thank you very much.
And second--Red Dye #40 is Hell Spit. When we put the Boy on the Feingold diet, he showed improvement pretty much right away, but it's been pretty gradual so I haven't been a real food nazi about it. But ho-ly crap, after a weekend on Red Tylenol and Orange Motrin and Strawberry Keflex (strep throat), the child morphed into Damien overnight. It's that drastic. I just sort of watched him spin completely out of control yesterday, just standing there with my mouth open like a stunned researcher. It was incredible. So...back to the ped's to get a different scrip, back to the store to search for dye-free Motrin, and setting up a little shrine to good old Dr. Feingold, may he rest in dye-free peace.
And second--Red Dye #40 is Hell Spit. When we put the Boy on the Feingold diet, he showed improvement pretty much right away, but it's been pretty gradual so I haven't been a real food nazi about it. But ho-ly crap, after a weekend on Red Tylenol and Orange Motrin and Strawberry Keflex (strep throat), the child morphed into Damien overnight. It's that drastic. I just sort of watched him spin completely out of control yesterday, just standing there with my mouth open like a stunned researcher. It was incredible. So...back to the ped's to get a different scrip, back to the store to search for dye-free Motrin, and setting up a little shrine to good old Dr. Feingold, may he rest in dye-free peace.
I shoulda had the vodka
[In which I freak out because I'm totally worried about my ex, who has just called me to tell me he's checking himself into a psychiatric facility because he's suicidal. In which I am very thankful that he's getting help, but not in which I also freak out over the way in which he tells me (i.e., vaguely and angrily).
I decided to delete most of this original post because I feel uncomfortable about how much it might violate the privacy of the other people involved. Perhaps this violates the "honesty" of the blog, but hey. Call me Anais Nin, without the sex. I'll leave the following, which generally could be applied to me at any point.]
I have a staff meeting in 17 minutes. I considered running to the restaurant next door for a vodka but decided to vent here instead. I'm thinking I made a hasty decision. Another vote for hip flasks in desk drawers.
I decided to delete most of this original post because I feel uncomfortable about how much it might violate the privacy of the other people involved. Perhaps this violates the "honesty" of the blog, but hey. Call me Anais Nin, without the sex. I'll leave the following, which generally could be applied to me at any point.]
I have a staff meeting in 17 minutes. I considered running to the restaurant next door for a vodka but decided to vent here instead. I'm thinking I made a hasty decision. Another vote for hip flasks in desk drawers.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Manolo's Shoe Blog
Manolo's Shoe Blog
Courtesy of a link at Bitch. Phd. Nothing like a little shoe-lust to finish off the weekend (and to provide a diversion from the task of cleaning my office).
Bah. The rat poison issue, also noted by Dr. B., has me all discouraged and worked up. I need to sort it out and write about it, but not now. It's all connected, I think...people's fear, the desire to let someone else be in charge (and thus take the blame when things go wrong), the way our society now encourages people to rely on experts instead of on their own internal compass, the election, the way so many people view others' individual variance from their "moral standards" as a threat ...
Courtesy of a link at Bitch. Phd. Nothing like a little shoe-lust to finish off the weekend (and to provide a diversion from the task of cleaning my office).
Bah. The rat poison issue, also noted by Dr. B., has me all discouraged and worked up. I need to sort it out and write about it, but not now. It's all connected, I think...people's fear, the desire to let someone else be in charge (and thus take the blame when things go wrong), the way our society now encourages people to rely on experts instead of on their own internal compass, the election, the way so many people view others' individual variance from their "moral standards" as a threat ...
Friday, November 12, 2004
"Travels With the Snow Queen"
"Travels With the Snow Queen"
This is an old review of an older story, but god, I love it. Has anyone else read it? The Snow Queen is one of my favorite fairy tales--I grew up watching an old imported animated version that was on every Christmas--and this short story Just Rocks.
The entire collection is interesting, although this story was definitely my fave.
This is an old review of an older story, but god, I love it. Has anyone else read it? The Snow Queen is one of my favorite fairy tales--I grew up watching an old imported animated version that was on every Christmas--and this short story Just Rocks.
The entire collection is interesting, although this story was definitely my fave.
Encouragement and despair
Read this truly encouraging story yesterday, which helped (somewhat) to balance out this truly discouraging story. I like that Bush said that Gonzales has "helped shape" the current administration's policies--"policies designed to protect the security of all Americans while protecting the rights of all Americans." Yeah, right, all Americans. Because we're the only ones to whom that silly old "quaint" Geneva convention should apply, right? Right?
Sigh.
Open letter to our state's senators and representatives (which I also sent, by the way):
Sigh.
Open letter to our state's senators and representatives (which I also sent, by the way):
I am writing as your constituent to express my absolute opposition to the confirmation of Alberto Gonzales as Attorney General.
Perhaps Mr. Gonzales has many admirable qualities. Unfortunately, respect for human rights does not seem to be among them. His dismissal of the Geneva Convention as "quaint" is extremely disturbing and is grounds, in and of itself, for disqualification from the role of Attorney General.
I am neither naive nor ignorant. I understand the complexities of war and politics. I know that it is possible to rationalize and excuse any action. However, I do not wish to be counted among those who allow their leaders to rationalize torture. Furthermore, how can we, as a nation, condemn those who abuse human life when we ourselves have decided that we have the right to do so?
I am particularly interested in Congressional Resolution 31, in which you and your fellows expressed outrage at Iraq's disregard for the Geneva Convention and its abuse of American soldiers, including Iraq's subjection of "American prisoners of war to humiliation, interrogating them publicly and presenting them as objects of public curiosity and propaganda in clear contravention of international law and custom..." If you support the nomination of Mr. Gonzales, then it would appear that you are hypocrites.
I encourage you to demonstrate honor, resolve, and respect for the rights of all people by opposing the nomination of Mr. Gonzales as Attorney General.
Thursday, November 11, 2004
Synchronicity
You know, it's been a ... challenging ... year at our house. Well, you don't know, but trust me, it has been. Long story short:
July 2003: Married nearly 10 years. Bad things happen. Went through the usual routine of desperate attempts at keeping it together. (Maybe fodder for another time, but most likely not. To paraphrase [the now frighteningly realistic] "Handmaid's Tale", this was the part in which I acted badly. You wouldn't like it.)
October 2003: Separated.
May 2004: Divorced--amicably, amazingly.
September 2004: 5-year old son "provisionally" diagnosed ADHD (provisional because I refuse to accept a definite and final diagnosis of a child whose world has, excuse my french, gone to shit over the past few years).
So.
I've read a hell of a lot of parenting books over the past year. Done the parenting classes with the family therapist. Gone to the pediatric psychologist. Had consultations with the pediatrician. It starts when you're pregnant, and it doesn't end--no matter what the issue, everyone tells you something different. And in the end, you've got to go with your gut.
One of my biggest challenges in being a mom (and, more recently, in just being a person) has been learning to trust my instincts and intuition, especially when they meet with contradiction from the current expert opinion. A lot of the books and theories (regarding ADHD and just childrearing in general) I've read have just struck me as right, and some--even the ones I've gotten from doctors I trust and respect--just haven't. I happen to be a praying person, and believe me when I say that "guidance" is number one on the Want List. (Shoes are a close second, but I digress.) And I feel as though that prayer is constantly being answered, in ways both subtle and incredibly blatant. Starting with the book I happened upon while browsing the bookstore (for a completely different book) just before the world fell apart, to the very moving "Scattered", to my lifeline "Spiritual Divorce", up to (most recently) the book I'm reading now, "Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline", it's been as though each bit of information has led to an insight that's led to a new source of information. "Easy to Love..." seems as though it's a collection of all the right stuff from every other book/article/Web site I've found. All the little bits and pieces that just made sense. And lately, whether the day went smoothly or not, I don't lie in bed wondering whether I could have been a better mom today. Tonight I was thinking, "I just wish I'd found this book 5 years ago. I wish I knew then what I know now."
And I just wanted to share that. Because maybe doing so will help somebody else find something when they really need it--just like I did.
July 2003: Married nearly 10 years. Bad things happen. Went through the usual routine of desperate attempts at keeping it together. (Maybe fodder for another time, but most likely not. To paraphrase [the now frighteningly realistic] "Handmaid's Tale", this was the part in which I acted badly. You wouldn't like it.)
October 2003: Separated.
May 2004: Divorced--amicably, amazingly.
September 2004: 5-year old son "provisionally" diagnosed ADHD (provisional because I refuse to accept a definite and final diagnosis of a child whose world has, excuse my french, gone to shit over the past few years).
So.
I've read a hell of a lot of parenting books over the past year. Done the parenting classes with the family therapist. Gone to the pediatric psychologist. Had consultations with the pediatrician. It starts when you're pregnant, and it doesn't end--no matter what the issue, everyone tells you something different. And in the end, you've got to go with your gut.
One of my biggest challenges in being a mom (and, more recently, in just being a person) has been learning to trust my instincts and intuition, especially when they meet with contradiction from the current expert opinion. A lot of the books and theories (regarding ADHD and just childrearing in general) I've read have just struck me as right, and some--even the ones I've gotten from doctors I trust and respect--just haven't. I happen to be a praying person, and believe me when I say that "guidance" is number one on the Want List. (Shoes are a close second, but I digress.) And I feel as though that prayer is constantly being answered, in ways both subtle and incredibly blatant. Starting with the book I happened upon while browsing the bookstore (for a completely different book) just before the world fell apart, to the very moving "Scattered", to my lifeline "Spiritual Divorce", up to (most recently) the book I'm reading now, "Easy to Love, Difficult to Discipline", it's been as though each bit of information has led to an insight that's led to a new source of information. "Easy to Love..." seems as though it's a collection of all the right stuff from every other book/article/Web site I've found. All the little bits and pieces that just made sense. And lately, whether the day went smoothly or not, I don't lie in bed wondering whether I could have been a better mom today. Tonight I was thinking, "I just wish I'd found this book 5 years ago. I wish I knew then what I know now."
And I just wanted to share that. Because maybe doing so will help somebody else find something when they really need it--just like I did.
The Bandwagon
Yeah, yeah, I know ... everyone's done this already. Is that Gillian Anderson? I used to be in love with David Duchovny, when I was pregnant with the Boy and had plenty of hormones and an embarassing "X Files" habit. I have a long line of Fantasy Boyfriends, all of whom seem to be gay or married. Hmm. Well, as my friend the Fabulous J says, "No one's gay or married in Fantasy World." How true. Granted, I could go find a real boyfriend, but I don't think I'm ready for that barrel of monkeys yet.
Today, I had one of those moments when you miss an old friend, someone you haven't seen or talked with in years and years, one of those high school/college friends you gently parted ways with as you grew older and as your lives diverged. So, like any good stalker, I Googled her. I found an email address and an interview that her SO gave on Fresh Air last summer. It was a hoot to listen to, not least of all because he told some stories that I remember hearing from him in college. It was sort of like catching up via a really one-sided conversation. It would be great to hear from her, but we'll see. She is honestly the most brilliant person I know, and has the ability (which I totally respect) to not respond to an old friend just because they're an old friend, so she might choose to let this one go. But I honestly do miss her.
No Touch Monkey!
Yesterday evening, driving to the grocery store with the Girl...
G: [tuneless singing, chatting, then...] Nooo touch me. Nooooooo touch me!
Me: Are you practising using your words, sweetie darling?
G: Uh-hunh.
Me: You're using your words to say what you want. Good for you.
G: Nooo touch. Noooo touch me. Do nooo touch me. Do nooo touch mah monkey!!
Me: ...
Me: Did you just say, "Do not touch my monkey?"
G: Uh-hunh.
Me: Oooookey dokey.
Let's hope she can remember that one for the next, oh, 16, 17 years. Snort.
G: [tuneless singing, chatting, then...] Nooo touch me. Nooooooo touch me!
Me: Are you practising using your words, sweetie darling?
G: Uh-hunh.
Me: You're using your words to say what you want. Good for you.
G: Nooo touch. Noooo touch me. Do nooo touch me. Do nooo touch mah monkey!!
Me: ...
Me: Did you just say, "Do not touch my monkey?"
G: Uh-hunh.
Me: Oooookey dokey.
Let's hope she can remember that one for the next, oh, 16, 17 years. Snort.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Scrivenings
Scrivenings
Another blog that makes me happy.
Which reminds me of one of Anne Taintor's hilarious pictures...First one in the second row.
Another blog that makes me happy.
Which reminds me of one of Anne Taintor's hilarious pictures...First one in the second row.
Monday, November 08, 2004
The Same Old Story
The really lousy thing about leaving a relationship is that you lose your stories. You know the ones: The things that pop into your head and leave you snickering in the middle of the staff meeting, that make you go kind of misty in the aisles at the grocery store for no good reason--the ones that you try to share with other people but that no one but those who were there will ever really get.
I was thinking today about the time the bee flew up the Then's shorts.
We had friends over for some beers, so everyone was already a little giddy, and the Then said that that afternoon, while he'd been running errands, he'd stopped at a red light at the major intersection close to our house. A new restaurant had just opened at that corner, and had hired some poor sap to stand out in the mid-summer heat in a full-on armadillo costume, dancing around like an idiot, waving a sign (and probably fighting off heat stroke). The Then had the window down, sunglasses on, fully focused on his destination, looking cool, thinking about what a dork the Armadillo looked like and how glad he was he didn't have that job. Suddenly, something flashed before his face. Without thinking, he swatted at it--and realized that it was a bee and he'd just slapped it down into his lap, where it was even now crawling up his shorts.
He leapt out of the car and began jumping up and down in the middle of the intersection, trying to shake the thing out of his pants. Then he realized the car was beginning to roll forward into oncoming traffic. After leaping back into the car to stop a major traffic accident, he found the bee---squished flat under his fanny. The light had turned green, cars behind him began honking, he started forward and turned the corner. He looked up; the Armadillo was just standing there, staring at him.
Now, this was a story that had me laughing so hard I was crying. Of course, I got to see the full reenactment. And it was one of those things that just made me so happy to be who I was and where I was and with the person I was with...it was a little treasure. And the thing that sucks is, I get to keep the story, but not the stuff I'd bundled up with it. Oh, it's still funny, but for some reason, it sort of makes me want to cry, too.
I was thinking today about the time the bee flew up the Then's shorts.
We had friends over for some beers, so everyone was already a little giddy, and the Then said that that afternoon, while he'd been running errands, he'd stopped at a red light at the major intersection close to our house. A new restaurant had just opened at that corner, and had hired some poor sap to stand out in the mid-summer heat in a full-on armadillo costume, dancing around like an idiot, waving a sign (and probably fighting off heat stroke). The Then had the window down, sunglasses on, fully focused on his destination, looking cool, thinking about what a dork the Armadillo looked like and how glad he was he didn't have that job. Suddenly, something flashed before his face. Without thinking, he swatted at it--and realized that it was a bee and he'd just slapped it down into his lap, where it was even now crawling up his shorts.
He leapt out of the car and began jumping up and down in the middle of the intersection, trying to shake the thing out of his pants. Then he realized the car was beginning to roll forward into oncoming traffic. After leaping back into the car to stop a major traffic accident, he found the bee---squished flat under his fanny. The light had turned green, cars behind him began honking, he started forward and turned the corner. He looked up; the Armadillo was just standing there, staring at him.
Now, this was a story that had me laughing so hard I was crying. Of course, I got to see the full reenactment. And it was one of those things that just made me so happy to be who I was and where I was and with the person I was with...it was a little treasure. And the thing that sucks is, I get to keep the story, but not the stuff I'd bundled up with it. Oh, it's still funny, but for some reason, it sort of makes me want to cry, too.
Spamusement!
Spamusement! Poorly-drawn cartoons inspired by actual spam subject lines!
Can't...quit...laughing...Must...breathe...
Can't...quit...laughing...Must...breathe...
The Little Things
Here's what matters to me, what's important (well, here's a start, at least):
1) My kids. Honestly. The Boy, who's 5, is my darling boy, but he's going through a tough time. He's been "provisionally" diagnosed ADHD, which means "We think he has this problem but he could just be screwed up because his little world has been through emotional hell over the past 2 years". For me, it means learning that being a mom means being your child's advocate in the world. Teaching them that life throws things at you, and sometimes they're hardballs, but you get to choose what you do with them once they're launched at you. Life's a good thing, and you don't have to be perfect for that to be true.
The Girl, who's 2 (TODAY!) is my little monkey, and I worry that she ends up on the short-end of the attention stick because of the time and effort we're putting into her brother. I hope not.
Mama guilt blows.
1) My kids. Honestly. The Boy, who's 5, is my darling boy, but he's going through a tough time. He's been "provisionally" diagnosed ADHD, which means "We think he has this problem but he could just be screwed up because his little world has been through emotional hell over the past 2 years". For me, it means learning that being a mom means being your child's advocate in the world. Teaching them that life throws things at you, and sometimes they're hardballs, but you get to choose what you do with them once they're launched at you. Life's a good thing, and you don't have to be perfect for that to be true.
The Girl, who's 2 (TODAY!) is my little monkey, and I worry that she ends up on the short-end of the attention stick because of the time and effort we're putting into her brother. I hope not.
Mama guilt blows.
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Hello Kitty, Redux
I saw a calendar today called "Goodbye Kitty"; it was one of those things that makes me laugh in a sort of clandestine way. Every month, a drawing of a cat that sort of looks like the Hello Kitty cat is meeting its end (by toaster, by microwave). Which isn't really funny ... except ... it is. That damned Hello Kitty is everywhere. And I already lived through it once! And the Girl is turning 2 tomorrow, so I wager that Hello Kitty will soon be plastered all over my house because I talk a good game but I know I'll give in sooner or later.
Which reminds me, inexplicably, of the time the original Psycho Kitty (aka Marshmallow Cat, from whence came the screen name) decided that the floor was out to get him. He must have been, oh, about 2 or 3 years old. He was sleeping on a chair; a friend and I were sitting on the couch discussing something in a magazine. The cat awoke and jumped to the floor. I just happened to slap the magazine page with my hand just as he landed. At which point, he puffed up like a blowfish, launched himself back into the air, and wouldn't let his paws touch the carpet for the next 3 days. I had to carry him into the bathroom. Come to think of it, I think that's when he got his moniker.
Oh oh. He's looking at me now.
Which reminds me, inexplicably, of the time the original Psycho Kitty (aka Marshmallow Cat, from whence came the screen name) decided that the floor was out to get him. He must have been, oh, about 2 or 3 years old. He was sleeping on a chair; a friend and I were sitting on the couch discussing something in a magazine. The cat awoke and jumped to the floor. I just happened to slap the magazine page with my hand just as he landed. At which point, he puffed up like a blowfish, launched himself back into the air, and wouldn't let his paws touch the carpet for the next 3 days. I had to carry him into the bathroom. Come to think of it, I think that's when he got his moniker.
Oh oh. He's looking at me now.
Saturday, November 06, 2004
Blech
I am so obviously avoiding drinking these damned herbs. Yuck. Why couldn't I just have a one-track, Westernized ideal of health and happiness? A few synthetic hormones, Bush as president, and all would be right with my world. But noooo...
Today, on the way to the zoo, the Boy said, "You know, my head is full of ants. They handle all the words. When I say a name like 'stupid' or 'butt-head', they take the word and put it in the cutter-upper, and it comes out another name, like 'sweetie-pie', which is much nicer. Then they put the words in a pile, until they're all used up. Then of course they get some food, and some drink, because that's a lot of hard work."
The mind of a 5-year old. Those ants must be working overtime.
Today, on the way to the zoo, the Boy said, "You know, my head is full of ants. They handle all the words. When I say a name like 'stupid' or 'butt-head', they take the word and put it in the cutter-upper, and it comes out another name, like 'sweetie-pie', which is much nicer. Then they put the words in a pile, until they're all used up. Then of course they get some food, and some drink, because that's a lot of hard work."
The mind of a 5-year old. Those ants must be working overtime.
Ask Not
A lot of questions and not many answers floating around out there this week. Dinner last night with the Chica and J. Lots of sake and even more discussion about the election and aftermath. J, after a long absence from politics, dived back into the waters this year; she was exhausted and crushed Wednesday morning. "My initial reaction was, 'That's it. Never again. I am not going through this again.' Then I realized that now, more then ever, I can't give up."
The Chica said she woke up Thursday with JFK's "Ask not what your country can do for you" speech in her head. She said that for the first time, she felt that she truly understood it, and understood the basis for the social unrest of that time.
Ninety-two percent of the eligible student population at the local university turned out to vote last week. That's incredible. More than 6000 students--and believe me, speaking as an alum, this is not the most socially or politically active student body--stood up for Kerry. What a force that would make, if each one's reaction to this loss would be to take action in the university or community.
"A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt......If the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at stake."
--Thomas Jefferson, 1798, after the passage of the Sedition Act
The Chica said she woke up Thursday with JFK's "Ask not what your country can do for you" speech in her head. She said that for the first time, she felt that she truly understood it, and understood the basis for the social unrest of that time.
Ninety-two percent of the eligible student population at the local university turned out to vote last week. That's incredible. More than 6000 students--and believe me, speaking as an alum, this is not the most socially or politically active student body--stood up for Kerry. What a force that would make, if each one's reaction to this loss would be to take action in the university or community.
"A little patience, and we shall see the reign of witches pass over, their spells dissolve, and the people, recovering their true sight, restore their government to its true principles. It is true that in the meantime we are suffering deeply in spirit, and incurring the horrors of a war and long oppressions of enormous public debt......If the game runs sometimes against us at home we must have patience till luck turns, and then we shall have an opportunity of winning back the principles we have lost, for this is a game where principles are at stake."
--Thomas Jefferson, 1798, after the passage of the Sedition Act
Friday, November 05, 2004
Sorry Everybody -- How Can We Make It Up To You?
Sorry Everybody -- How Can We Make It Up To You?
This is good.
Chinese herbs, however, are nasty. Good, hopefully, but naaaaasty. Blech!
This is good.
Chinese herbs, however, are nasty. Good, hopefully, but naaaaasty. Blech!
Bah
It is my birthday, for Pete's sake. For my birthday, I gave myself the gift of telling the Then to freaking quit whining already.
You know, your life is your choice. Do crappy things happen? Yes. Are the choices easy? Hell, no. But I am tired of all this "my life is hell, my life is shit, I'm stuck in this country because of you, I'm tired of having no one," blah blah blah blah blah. Especially on my birthday, dammit. Do not call me on my birthday and moan about how shitty your life is, especially not when I'm on my way to the acupuncturist to try and get some control over the havoc created by the stress hormones that have been partying in my adrenal gland ever since you broke my friggin heart. BAH.
I probably sound like a total bitch, but what do you want from a Scorpio?
I said, "Look. I'm not saying this because I'm a bitch, I'm saying this because I actually care about you. You. Control. Your. Life!!! Crap happens, and you can't stop it, but you get to choose how you deal with it. Go get some therapy, do something, but quit giving control of your life away to me or your boss or the weather or whatever. Do you really think that living somewhere else is going to solve everything in your life? If so, then make that choice and move, but you better really spend some time thinking about whether that's the real problem."
Argh.
Great, now I sound like a pirate. And on my birthday. (shrug) I can work with that.
You know, your life is your choice. Do crappy things happen? Yes. Are the choices easy? Hell, no. But I am tired of all this "my life is hell, my life is shit, I'm stuck in this country because of you, I'm tired of having no one," blah blah blah blah blah. Especially on my birthday, dammit. Do not call me on my birthday and moan about how shitty your life is, especially not when I'm on my way to the acupuncturist to try and get some control over the havoc created by the stress hormones that have been partying in my adrenal gland ever since you broke my friggin heart. BAH.
I probably sound like a total bitch, but what do you want from a Scorpio?
I said, "Look. I'm not saying this because I'm a bitch, I'm saying this because I actually care about you. You. Control. Your. Life!!! Crap happens, and you can't stop it, but you get to choose how you deal with it. Go get some therapy, do something, but quit giving control of your life away to me or your boss or the weather or whatever. Do you really think that living somewhere else is going to solve everything in your life? If so, then make that choice and move, but you better really spend some time thinking about whether that's the real problem."
Argh.
Great, now I sound like a pirate. And on my birthday. (shrug) I can work with that.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
Happy SBFH Day ...
... to me. Although I would prefer to be celebrating a new administration on my birthday, starting to plot the resistance over a few large bottles of sake will have to do. Officially it isn't my birthday here yet, but technically, I wasn't born here; might as well take advantage of the fact. Day off from the editing mill, first acupuncture session (I've got such a crink in my qi), afternoon with the kiddos, dinner and sake with C and J. And more obsessive blog reading tossed in for good measure, no doubt. I realize, surprisingly, that I'm actually looking forward to the approach to 40--not quite there yet, but who's counting? For a moment yesterday I couldn't remember how old I was going to be. I would mark that up to my general post-election malaise, but it isn't the first time. A bunch of numbers dreamed up by some dead Roman: bah.
Bed.
Bed.
Oye vey
Ugh. Just spoke with the Boy's teacher. What a mess. The Boy started a class yesterday that's supposed to help him learn to recognize and modify his energy level. As part of this, the kids got fanny packs and "fidgets", which they're supposed to get used to and experiment with to find which ones work best when focusing on task. My understanding was that they weren't supposed to take these to school yet. Per usual, the Then and I are not on the same page (why did we get divorced again? Oh, yeah), and his understanding was that the Boy was supposed to take the whole damned fanny pack to school.
So of course, the Boy's been a complete wreck all morning, obsessed with this new thing; the teacher calls me in a complete tizzy because the woman is, oh, how shall we say, high strung? "This is awful, this isn't working, this class is the worst thing that's ever happened to him..." I have some real reservations about whether this woman understands what I'm saying when I talk about positive reinforcement and conscious discipline. Doesn't help that the class is understaffed and overcrowded, I know, I know, but--damn, woman. And of course now the Then is pissed at the teacher ... and I've got that nasty "must deal with all conflicts" knee-jerk reaction that I HATE. Urk. Where's the vodka?
On the up side, the teacher mentioned in passing that this day was so awful because he's actually been making progress over the past few weeks since we went on Feingold. Well, that's great, thanks for noticing. Did I mention the whole "positive reinforcement" problem?
Oh, and the Boy's spent the morning putting his hands down his pants, too. Well, yay, at least someone's having a little fun.
So of course, the Boy's been a complete wreck all morning, obsessed with this new thing; the teacher calls me in a complete tizzy because the woman is, oh, how shall we say, high strung? "This is awful, this isn't working, this class is the worst thing that's ever happened to him..." I have some real reservations about whether this woman understands what I'm saying when I talk about positive reinforcement and conscious discipline. Doesn't help that the class is understaffed and overcrowded, I know, I know, but--damn, woman. And of course now the Then is pissed at the teacher ... and I've got that nasty "must deal with all conflicts" knee-jerk reaction that I HATE. Urk. Where's the vodka?
On the up side, the teacher mentioned in passing that this day was so awful because he's actually been making progress over the past few weeks since we went on Feingold. Well, that's great, thanks for noticing. Did I mention the whole "positive reinforcement" problem?
Oh, and the Boy's spent the morning putting his hands down his pants, too. Well, yay, at least someone's having a little fun.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
One Good Thing
One Good Thing
Ahhh, it's been a few days since I checked in at this blog, and the Anais Nin post made me laugh almost hard enough to overcome my depression.
During one of the (many) political discussions I've engaged in this morning, I realized that one of the biggest problems I have with what's been happening in this country is that, you know what? I like God. I think God's a pretty good g(uy/al). And I don't know about you, but (to look at it simply from a Christian perspective) if I'd spent pretty much the whole Old Testament being pegged as angry, sadistic, and impossible to please; ended up showing up in person, more or less, and coming right out and saying "Look, you guys are not getting it" and laying out a whole "love each other" kinda scenario, hanging out with "sinners" to prove my point, and so forth; then getting my name dragged through the mud by a whole bunch of hate-mongering, finger-pointing, narrow-minded, fear-encrusted little humans--I'd be damned disappointed. And I realized this morning that it's gotten so that the word "moral" doesn't seem to have much to do with the words "ethical" or "decent" anymore. When did hatred become moral? When did prejudice become moral? When did "moral" become a dirty word?
So maybe that's the good that can come out of this horribly disappointing and demoralizing (hmm) election, for me at least. Now, more than ever, it's important for me to do my damnedest to pick up morality, brush it off, pull its skirt down, and remind it that it isn't Dick Cheney's whore. Oh, and maybe get it a drink. Cause, dang, I think I could use a drink.
Ahhh, it's been a few days since I checked in at this blog, and the Anais Nin post made me laugh almost hard enough to overcome my depression.
During one of the (many) political discussions I've engaged in this morning, I realized that one of the biggest problems I have with what's been happening in this country is that, you know what? I like God. I think God's a pretty good g(uy/al). And I don't know about you, but (to look at it simply from a Christian perspective) if I'd spent pretty much the whole Old Testament being pegged as angry, sadistic, and impossible to please; ended up showing up in person, more or less, and coming right out and saying "Look, you guys are not getting it" and laying out a whole "love each other" kinda scenario, hanging out with "sinners" to prove my point, and so forth; then getting my name dragged through the mud by a whole bunch of hate-mongering, finger-pointing, narrow-minded, fear-encrusted little humans--I'd be damned disappointed. And I realized this morning that it's gotten so that the word "moral" doesn't seem to have much to do with the words "ethical" or "decent" anymore. When did hatred become moral? When did prejudice become moral? When did "moral" become a dirty word?
So maybe that's the good that can come out of this horribly disappointing and demoralizing (hmm) election, for me at least. Now, more than ever, it's important for me to do my damnedest to pick up morality, brush it off, pull its skirt down, and remind it that it isn't Dick Cheney's whore. Oh, and maybe get it a drink. Cause, dang, I think I could use a drink.
Marry An American -- Take the Pledge
Marry An American -- Take the Pledge
I've always liked Canadians.
I am really, really, REALLY freaking depressed. Excuse me while I go and wallow in misery for a few hours. Oh, God.
I've always liked Canadians.
I am really, really, REALLY freaking depressed. Excuse me while I go and wallow in misery for a few hours. Oh, God.
Quiet sobbing sound
Jill: Hey ya Joe, lookit that, it's time for George's review already.
Joe: Wow. Well, how's he been on the job? Do we keep him?
Jill: Let's see. Ummm...accounting. Er. Not so good there; we're pretty much in the hole. I think we're going to have to pawn the cats.
Joe: Ouch.
Jill: The neighbors are all pissed at us cause George has been playing his war too loudly..
Joe: Ah, I hate the neighbors anyway. Who needs 'em?
Jill: Ooh, and that Afghanistan project? Got off to a good start, but he's kinda dropped the ball there.
Joe: Yeah.
Jill: Plus, his buddy Dick just gives me the willies.
Joe: Well, can't argue with ya, Jill, but you know...dang. I just like the guy, you know? And his wife--well, she's just a sweetie. And I tell ya what else, he don't hold no truck with those gays and them pesky feminists!
Jill: Well, thank God for that!
LET'S KEEP HIM!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.
Okay. Must be zen. Zen zen zen zen zen zen.
These are the kinds of days when my whole "I am the kind of Christian who doesn't believe that God likes war and prejudice and hatred and bigotry and zealotry but who believes that there's a purpose to all things" kind of ideology really takes a pounding.
Crap.
Joe: Wow. Well, how's he been on the job? Do we keep him?
Jill: Let's see. Ummm...accounting. Er. Not so good there; we're pretty much in the hole. I think we're going to have to pawn the cats.
Joe: Ouch.
Jill: The neighbors are all pissed at us cause George has been playing his war too loudly..
Joe: Ah, I hate the neighbors anyway. Who needs 'em?
Jill: Ooh, and that Afghanistan project? Got off to a good start, but he's kinda dropped the ball there.
Joe: Yeah.
Jill: Plus, his buddy Dick just gives me the willies.
Joe: Well, can't argue with ya, Jill, but you know...dang. I just like the guy, you know? And his wife--well, she's just a sweetie. And I tell ya what else, he don't hold no truck with those gays and them pesky feminists!
Jill: Well, thank God for that!
LET'S KEEP HIM!
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh.
Okay. Must be zen. Zen zen zen zen zen zen.
These are the kinds of days when my whole "I am the kind of Christian who doesn't believe that God likes war and prejudice and hatred and bigotry and zealotry but who believes that there's a purpose to all things" kind of ideology really takes a pounding.
Crap.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
Belly Ring. Not.
The Chica wants to get a navel ring and wants me to go with. I am all for it; my navel, however, has buried itself under the covers of my flabby stomach and is showing no interest in coming up for air (or piercing). I told C I'd get it done with her once the navel woke up and smelled the crunches, but she's going in a month and I can say with a good amount of certainty that one month ain't gonna cut it, navel-wise. I said I'd go with for moral support; she said I should get it done anyway. Her point: good motivation to work out. My point: good way to end up with a piercing somewhere under my left boob. I mean, god knows what'll happen to it once I actually lose weight. That's the main reason I haven't gotten a tattoo yet. Remember when you were a kid and you used Silly Putty to pick up a cartoon print, then stretched it 'til it got all wacky? Yeah. You get the picture. Brrr.
Must. Get It. Together.
Riiight...
When you're laying in bed kicking yourself because you spent all evening procrastinating instead of doing what needs to be done...say, working, cleaning up, exercising, or generally getting your crap together...and you hear your cat doing a pretty good impression of "Cat Chasing Mouse Through Filthy House", you really, REALLY tell yourself that tomorrow, you are going to get it together.
But of course in the morning, the Cat is doing that Cozy Cat thing and it's cold outside and 5:00 is sooo early and...
At least I got up. An hour late, but early enough to work out and clean up the kitchen. The Then-Husband will be bringing the Girl over a little after 8, so I have almost 2 hours to establish some semblance of order around here before we head out to vote. Please God please God please God...Last night the Boy promised me that he "isn't going to vote for George Washington." That's my boy! He said he'd vote for the guy on the other side. Which prompted me to ask him if that was the left side or the right side, and he said the right side. Ah well, he's only 5, he can be redeemed.
When you're laying in bed kicking yourself because you spent all evening procrastinating instead of doing what needs to be done...say, working, cleaning up, exercising, or generally getting your crap together...and you hear your cat doing a pretty good impression of "Cat Chasing Mouse Through Filthy House", you really, REALLY tell yourself that tomorrow, you are going to get it together.
But of course in the morning, the Cat is doing that Cozy Cat thing and it's cold outside and 5:00 is sooo early and...
At least I got up. An hour late, but early enough to work out and clean up the kitchen. The Then-Husband will be bringing the Girl over a little after 8, so I have almost 2 hours to establish some semblance of order around here before we head out to vote. Please God please God please God...Last night the Boy promised me that he "isn't going to vote for George Washington." That's my boy! He said he'd vote for the guy on the other side. Which prompted me to ask him if that was the left side or the right side, and he said the right side. Ah well, he's only 5, he can be redeemed.
Monday, November 01, 2004
Bitch. Ph.D.
Bitch. Ph.D.
Love, love, love this woman. Well, plus she scares me a little. But, you know, I can respect that.
Love, love, love this woman. Well, plus she scares me a little. But, you know, I can respect that.
Another Day, Another Obsessive Project...
Healthy outlet or self-involved procrastination? I may not be finished with my article, but hey, started another project. Erg.
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