Badlands

Does this make me a bad mom?

Promised Land

Sigh. I heart Bruce Springsteen. He's on The Today Show this morning. How can a scraggly, raspy-voiced guy from Jersey be so darned appealing? I know Jess is gagging right now, but man, he's amazing. I love the lyrics, I love the music, I love the live performances, I love the smile. I gotta go listen.

Big Girls Don't Cry

Okay, so I think motherhood has somehow tainted my music sensibilities. Since the beginning of Animal, I, like so many other mothers of my generation, prided myself on the fact that I would NOT lose my sense of cool, at least when it came to music. Okay, at least to the degree I started out cool. Which isn't a whole hell of a lot. I digress. I wear the fact that Millie witnessed two Billy Joel concerts and one Guster concert, all before she made her grand appearance, with pride. I love the fact that she was clapping and dancing to Amy Winehouse the other day. Not that I want my daughter emulate that poor woman's behavior, but she rocks an unbelievable house. Millie was in her booster on Monday while I was making dinner and Green Day and then the new Maroon 5 song came on. We both grooved. I swelled with pride. But then. THEN. I had the radio on today while making dinner and found myself singing along to Fergie. NOT Black Eyed Peas. But solo Fergie. I generally stick my snobbish rock and roll nose up at women who make her kind of vapid, cookie-cutter girly music. But, for some unknown reason, I like it. Shhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!! Don't tell a soul. My brothers would disown me, and rightly so. I'm considering a lobotomy. What the hell? Is it weaning hormones? Lack of sleep? My sinus infection? Help me. Someone. Please.

Surf's Up

I thought I liked my picture for Wordless Wednesday. That was until I saw my BFF's picture posted on her blog today. It's unreal. Check it out: http://jessica213.blogspot.com/. Please forgive the url rather than the cool link with just her name. I am blog-challenged. Said BFF is the one who designed my blog. I barely know how to create a post, let alone include a link. My bad.

Wordless Wednesday 9 26 07

Is it ever going to be cold? Or at least fall in New England?

What Would You Say

I can't believe that once again it's been forever since I have properly blogged. I don't know where the time goes. I have a few minutes today here and there since our one carseat is in my husband's car, parked at work. I don't really mind. I was supposed to take Animal to the Children's Hospital today to get bloodwork done for her low iron count, and was not looking forward to it. I guess we'll make it on Monday. I do have a forward-facing carseat for her but it's not installed and I have no confidence that I'll be able to properly install it whist corralling her to not run into the road. I'm such a bad mother.

I wish you could see her-she's sitting (for the moment) watching Bert and Ernie singing. She's dancing, laughing and clapping along. She's so freaking cute. She just turned around to smile at me and she has two trails of snot running out her adorable nose. She's on day 6 of her cold. It needs to go away. Another reason I didn't want to subject her to her first blood draw today. She's miserable enough. That's justification, isn't it? Not really.

We survived her first birthday mostly intact. We planned a small party in a local park, figuring if it rained, we'd cancel. I think my husband, who didn't grow up having birthday parties was hoping for this option. He almost got his way-it rained overnight and in the morning, but sort of cleared up by the time the party really got going. We have hearty friends and family-they donned their raingear and sucked it up. The sun came out eventually.

Nice allergic shiners, eh? Just like her mama.

She's not a big fan of sweets (unlike her mama). I made her a carrot cake and she ate it, but it wasn't the smear-it-in-her-hair, finger-paint-the-face kind of event that often surrounds a first birthday cake. Or maybe she just recognizes the value of a tasty cake and doesn't want to waste it. Much like my theory on the shoving of the wedding cake into each others' faces. Not to mention that it's a crappy way to start off your marriage and declare your devotion in front of your friends and family. But, I digress.

She got a baby doll from my mom and a metal dump truck from my mother-in-law. Talk about clash of the gender rolls. I love both gifts. She loves them both. The metal truck is upstairs until she's a little less likely to split her giant head open on it.

Teaching is going well. I got stuck with the honors section. The pesky little buggers ask questions that totally stump me. Damned them for being smart and inquisitive. I reiterate: I am an archaeologist, NOT a cultural anthropologist. I don't have a clue.

I applied for yet another job that I am totally qualified for. It's for an architectural historian, which I would give my eye teeth to do. And, it's in Rhode Island. Who knows. It's a position that they don't have a ringer in mind for in a CRM firm I am somewhat familiar with. They get some of the coolest projects in Southern New England. Keep your fingers crossed. We'll see.

Dane Cook: obnoxious and cocky or cute and funny? He's horrifying the women of The View at the moment (okay, I think it's just that little blond one and Baba Wawa that are horrified), so that's points in my book.

Animal is destroying the living room, so I should probably go.

There Was an Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe

So, I got home from work yesterday and walked up the driveway to get our mail and bring our recycling bins to their usual resting place. I hear this rustling in the window of the first floor apartment and a pair of little eyes peering out at me. It was our downstairs neighbor's granddaughter, about 6 years old. Cute as a button and sweeter than anything. I hear her say "No, it's not him, it's the old lady." Ouch. That stung.

Wordless Wednesday 9 19 07

One year old. Sigh.

Long Time Coming

Animal's first birthday is Saturday. It all started a year ago last night. My due date was September 12. At 11:30 p.m. on the 12th, I lost my plug and started having, let's just say, gastrointestinal issues along with every contraction. Fun, eh? At least it kept me from the almighty embarrassing pooping on the delivery table. Too much information? Likely. Sorry. And then the bleeding started. And continued. And continued. Was this normal? To this degree? I hadn't read that it was. And read obsessively I did. I called the doctor on call that night who told us to COME ON DOWN! So, down we went. They checked me out, monitored my 3" dilated cervix and crazed contractions for most of the night, and then sent me home. Iain slept for a few hours and I think I was able to shut my eyes for about an hour, interrupted by contractions. (editor's note: last night, one year later, we got approximately the same amount of sleep. Millie completely lost her shit. She was doing so well. What the hell happened???) My gut said it wasn't time, but why risk it? My husband could have delivered the baby, I am quite sure, but do I really want to ruin my sheets? Or worse yet, the interior of my husband's car? Nope.

A year ago today I spent hanging out at home, trying to rest, but was plagued by nesting and cooking urges. The contractions slowed down for about three hours in the morning and I thought maybe the baby decided we were way too frightening as parents-to-be and would never come out. She had functioning ears inside there for a while. She had heard all of the insanity. All of the bad singing of her mother. All of the crazy talk of her father. I wouldn't blame her for not wanting to come out. But, alas, the contractions came back with a vengeance by 1:00 in the afternoon or so. That night, I convinced my husband to get some sleep so one of us was rested. I think he slept a grand total of 5 hours. I sat up on the couch with his watch (since mine had died the night before-can you freaking believe that???? I am completely obsessed with knowing what time it is normally, but now I am trying to time contractions with no watch???), timing contractions, writing each one down. I'd have one, time it, try to write down its duration, and nod off for a minute or so. Long night. Not as long as the next one, though.

You've Got a Friend

Owen Wilson hired a $750-day sober companion to hang out with him and keep him on the straight and narrow??? Where was I when this job opportunity was posted? Never mind the salary...follow Mr. Wilson around and keep him, um, distracted....Sweet position.

I love my husband, by the way.

Remembering

I am teaching Social Anthropology this semester. I was scheduled to talk about Religion & Magic in Anthropology today, but last night I got a bug in my brain that I needed to have my students think about September 11th. In the first class, I introduced the concept that culture, among other things, is cumulative. One change can lead to another, which leads to another, which years or decades or centuries later, can produce a much different culture. A perfect example is the advent of agriculture. Agriculture as a subsistence mode leads to a more sedentary lifestyle, the development of more densely populated villages (and eventually cities), role specialization, social stratification, and all the evils that go along with city life-pollution, disease, poverty. It is an extreme example, but that's the gist of it.

So, I wanted them to think of the culture changes that resulted (and will continue to) from a moment in time six years ago. They were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen when the attacks occurred. Now they are college students, on their own to some degree, seeing the world through a different lens. In typical fashion, they froze when I asked my initial question-What changes in culture have resulted from September 11th? Also in typical fashion, once they felt comfortable talking, I couldn't (and didn't want to) stop them. They spoke of fear and paranoia. Of travelling abroad. Of defining being An American, about defining patriotism. Of not knowing when the next strike will come. Of overcoming prejudice and racism and hatred.

I had several students that bravely spoke of their parents in the World Trade Center that morning. I had an even braver student of Iranian descent who spoke eloquently of the United States' foreign policy and religious tolerance and posed the question if defining "American" is something you would want to do. What would An American look like? How would he/she worship? What ethnicity would he/she claim? What language would he/she speak? Why would we want to limit ourselves that way?

I encouraged them to go out today and think about tolerance, about how the events of that day affect them as they move through life, about how they can be better people because of the horrible actions of a handful of outcasts. About rising above it all and making a difference. Something I have to remind myself of more often.

Feeling Better Every Day

Animal is recovering. Man, I hate puke. No one likes it, but I detest it. My husband is all like "so what if she throws up again?" I'm all like "HOLY CRAP, SHE'S THROWING UP AGAIN!!!!" He has no problem cleaning vomit up from the carpet, my hair, the toys. I gag and gag and gag. She seems better today. Say a prayer that no one else catches it.

I have so much work to do that I feel like someone is sitting on my chest. So I thought I'd blog instead.

Here I Go Again

Vomiting stomach virus #2 for Millie in a matter of 4 months. Oh, daycare.

Won't You Stay

Sorry I have been out of commission for another week. Our guest just left yesterday. The plan was for her to stay for 3 or 4 days. She was so comfortable that she never left. Not that this is a bad thing. But, it's tough in a small apartment with a teething 11 month old. Millie was absolutely charming on Sunday and Monday. Crying. Whining. Throwing herself on the ground for a temper tantrum. Is she turning one or two in two weeks? Sunday it was largely due to her teething, I think. She had enough drool to thwart the drought at UConn, was holding her mouth, and gnawing on anything that stood still long enough to be chomped. She broke my heart. By Monday, I think it was a combination of that, the disruption of a guest being in the house for so long (although she was fairly unobtrusive), and, what was the other thing....? Oh, RIGHT. A total of 2 hours of naptime since Friday. That's right. Four days of 1/2 hour naps. Total. Per day. My middle brother stopped napping at all by the time he was a year old. And at 6:50 every single night, no matter what he was doing, where we were, or if anyone was doing anything to set him off, he's throw himself on the ground and kick and scream. You could set your watch by it. Please, God, don't let Millie be a Mini-Mark when it comes to that.

Or, part of her problem could have been that I was in total poor self-esteem mode and she picked up on that. Our visiting friend is one of the most sincere people I know, lacking a hurtful bone in her entire body. She is also about half my body weight, is always dressed JUST SO, even when we used to go to the school gym, perfect boobs, no waist, perfect hair. One of those women who are constantly putting on lipgloss with just a bit of sparkle to it. She's intelligent, witty, talented and driven. If I didn't love her so much, I'd hate her everliving guts. She has always had a way, I believe inadvertently, of making me feel like a cow. Or should I say, I have always had a way of making myself feel like a cow around her. The first day back, she went to Dunkin' Donuts and Victoria's Secret (I TOLD you I should, by all intents and purposes, hate her. A woman who can chow down two donuts in a sitting and then fit into a size 2 at VS....arrgggg.). When she returned, she showed me a set of things she got from there with a cupcake motif. How ironic....a store that doesn't sell anything over a size 8 featuring CUPCAKES on their panties. Hmmm. Anywho. After the second trip she took there, she showed me the "jogging" pants she got, which were clearly not for jogging but for lounging around the house waiting for George Clooney to show up. The conversation went downhill from there:

Weary traveller: Hey, why don't you go to Victoria's Secret? They are having a big sale on their Pink line.
Me: Um, no, that's okay.
Weary traveller: The sales are crazy! You have to go. They have panties on sale, 3 for $25.
Me (to myself): I can get a 6 pack of panties for $10 at Kohl's that actually fit my fat arse. I can't afford groceries. Do you really think I'm going to spend $25 on three pairs of underwear?
Me (to Weary traveller): Um, nah. That's alright.
Weary traveller: Why not?
Me: Because I can't fit into their clothes.
Weary traveller: What do you mean? Yes you could.
Me (choking back tears): Uh. No, I can't. Maybe if you sewed three or four pieces together.
Weary traveller: Not even in a large?
Me (still choking back tears, but not so successfully this time): Nope.
Weary traveller (holding up a teeny tiny t-shirt): Oh, come on, THIS is an extra small and it's huge. You could fit into a medium, don't you think?
Me: Nope. (shutting off the light so she can't see me attempting not to cry)
Weary traveller: Oh. Well, maybe after the baby is older and you have more time to work out...
My husband (aka my hero, trying to change the subject): SO, did you guys get out and enjoy the fresh air today?

So, I spent the next two days not eating and feeling completely Jabba the Hut-ish. My husband, God bless him, spent the next two days trying to convince me that I looked nothing like Jabba the Hut. All with a houseguest that wouldn't leave, all in a tiny apartment. So, perhaps that was part of Millie's problem, also. Or maybe she was just teething and tired.

Wordless Wednesday 9 5 07

That is one angry goose.