Dirt Digging for Mama

How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You)

2008-05-31T11:44:00.002-05:00

My BFF (http://jessica213.blogspot.com/), who also set me up with this blog, bestowed this very thoughtful award on me on her own blog, after one of our mutually favorite bloggers of all time (http://redstapler23.blogspot.com/) passed it along to her. And, no, I still don't know how to post the link as anything by the URL.

Jessica is one of the wittiest women I know, who possesses a unique combination of liberal feminist, intellectual giantry, and raunchy girl-down-the-block that all the boys want to get with and all the girls want to hang with. Check her out if for nothing else than the unbelievable photos she posts as the banner on the top of her blog.

Although I have never met SUEB0B, her blog puts forth someone who is smart, hysterical, thoughtful, thought-provoking, and determined to make the world around her a better place not simply be being in it, but by being an active participant. We need more women like these two, folks. Not women who spend their days in full-cat mode, living to cut one another down, hoping their hair looks better than the woman in the next cubicle over, spreading viscous rumors in hopes of destroying someone else's good fortune or hard work. Check them both out. Their blogs make my day a little better each time I tune in.

This Bed's Too Big Without You

2008-05-26T04:41:00.002-05:00

It's 5:30 a.m. on Memorial Day. Animal is actually sleeping and now I can't. My husband has the shitrific night shift, so he was gone all night. I miss him. I feel so guilty. He took another substandard job to accomodate MY life and career change, and now he's stuck doing shift work. In the city. That's what I want for him-driving into downtown Philly at midnight to start work. Work that involves cleaning grown men's shitty diapers. He's applying for grad school for the fall semester. Please say a prayer to whatever God/dieties you chat with that he gets in.

The apartment we put a deposit down on was given to a couple that looked at it the night before. However, landlady said she had another one they were working on with an extra bedroom and a larger yard that we could have for the same price. We said sold! and she said it'd be available by the end of May and she said she'd call us Mother's Day weekend. And then didn't. We chased her for three days before she called us back, at which point she said, oh, it's taking longer and more money than anticipated and won't be done until the end of June and by the way we have to charge $100 more than I told you because of all the extra costs. There is NO housing available for our price range with more than 1 bedroom except in the middle of the gun-ridden city I work in. But, if we wait that long, it means I bring our new baby home to my parents' house. Which I wasn't/am not thrilled with. We are still looking for another apartment, but with no luck so far. I need to get over it. We are saving money, it'll be easier for my folks to help out with us here rather than 25 minutes away, we are being freaking pampered to the hilt. There are people who bring their newborns "home" to shelters and cars and under bridges. There are people who bring their newborns home to a ghetto apartment they share with 15 other family members. This is a comfortable, big house with a yard my daughter is obsessed with. I should shut my pie hole and thank God. I also don't want to be any more of a financial/time burden on my already generous parents. They swear they don't mind, but it has to be getting old by now. My husband is psyched that we'll actually be living somewhere with windows that function and that has more than 1 three-pronged outlet and that there isn't a toilet leaking on our heads from the apartment above us, all scenrios we have had in our last two places. He's willing to wait for a place with "new" amenities, then so I am I.

The baby is due in three weeks. Now, bear in mind that all of our belongings are jammed into my parents' garage. And I packed only the stuff I thought we'd need through the end of April. No warm weather clothes, no larger clothes for the ever-growing Animal, no newborn stuff. My husband's been on me to pack my hospital bag, but I had NOTHING kept out with which to do that. My poor dad and I pulled out as much stuff as we could from the garage last weekend, but didn't find what I needed. So, on his one day off, my husband took EVERYTHING out of the garage. Everything. And managed to find everything I needed. AND fit it all back in with room to spare. All without a complaint or one iota of attitude. I must have done something right in a former life. He's so good to me. Scratch "good". Fantastic. I spent yesterday sorting out and washing newborn stuff. My GOD it's small. It's only been less than two years since Animal was born, but I forget how freaking tiny newborns actually are. The socks, my LORD! Tiny. The baby seems to be doing well. I ended up in the hospital with my asthma, which hasn't bothered me since the last spring I spent in the Lehigh Valley.

Animal is up. Have a good Memorial Day. Think of those gone and those that will lose their lives in this senseless war over the next year.

Good Day, Sunshine

2008-05-09T04:41:00.005-05:00

Has it really been two months since I have written? Dooce has 200 entries cued in my bloglines, so, yeah, that's about right. How the hell are you all? A few developments since my last entry...

Animal is a kid. That's right. No baby left. She's in a big girl bed, sleeping through the night for the most part. I get to actually sleep next to my husband, and not have the funnity of grasping onto the very edge of the bed while my protruding stomach hangs off and using one hand to fight off a baby that still gets comfort from groping her mother's breasts all night long. Most importantly, it's good for HER. She naps better, wakes up in a good frame of mind (for the most part) and loves her little bed. She's talking in full sentences, complete with articles and correct pronouns, counting to 10 on her own, singing the alphabet up to G correctly and then here and there for the rest of the song (V is her favorite, thank you Elmo.). She's sassy as ever, but so much fun that sometimes I think it might make my husband's head explode. He loves her like no other. So do I.

Baby Two is doing well, I think. He/she's being a trooper, putting up with all of mama's crap. She's squirming around as we speak. I'm enormous and still have almost 6 weeks to go. No, REALLY enormous. I found an OB practice I really like. We did a refresher childbirth class and hospital tour the other night with a few other couples, one of whom included Charlie Sheen's harder-looking twin. He and his wife were a riot. The other couples apparently had large sticks up their arses. NO sense of humor. They were all like "oh, we have a doula" and did NOT find the shrine in the nurse's station to George Clooney amusing at all, whereas I just about wet my pants laughing. Not that wetting my pants is an anomaly these days, but I'm sure that's too much information. Sorry. Anyway, the baby is doing well. I showed Animal some photos of babies in utero at 8 months and told her that was what was in mommy's belly. She stroked the pictures and gave me a kiss and a big hug. She's so stinking sweet. We'll see her ACTUAL reaction when the baby is competing for my attention.

We think we found an apartment we can sort of afford in a nice community. The commute is going to continue to suck for my husband, but he's willing to take one for the team so I can be closer to work, we can find daycare somewhere easy for me and my parents (our only back up) to get to in an emergency, and is in a decent neighborhood for what we can afford. My paycheck is even more minuscule than I had originally anticipated, so the quality of our housing had to be severely downgraded. What's new.

Work is going okay. It's a little like selling your soul to the preservation devil at some points of the day, but in the end I know it's important to have someone there to balance saving cultural resources with practical issues. I spent the last 4 days on field visits in a big, bumpity van with 10 sweaty guys driving to places I never thought I'd see in rural Pennsylvania, holding my bladder and trying not to get carsick. Apparently some poor bastard threw up last week in the van and that's been the talk of the department. I would like to think I'd garner a bit more sympathy as an 8-month old pregnant woman, but somehow I doubt it. They have been stellar about giving up their seats near the front and, with the exception of one particularly nasty project manager who apparently gets off on making people as miserable as he is, about making sure I'm not doing the peepee dance for too long if avoidable. The field visits are interesting. I work for a particularly hated, visible governmental agency, one of which is hated mostly for things I have absolutely no control over. Nonetheless, I am amazed at how many people, particularly in one district, will speed up and aim when faced with a group of workers squashing themselves against a guard rail on a bridge rather than slow down and move over. Nicely done, vehicular drivers of Pennsylvania. You know you are in rural areas when you get out of the van and are greeted by a guard duck. I shit you not. I think it was a goose, but my co-workers disagreed. Later in the day, after we parked in the driveway of a very cute but sadly maintained bungalow owned by, apparently, Ted Kosinski, covered in No Trespassing signs to check out a project, we had a dog turned loose on us. That was fun. WHY we chose that driveway to pull into, I am not quite sure. Not the smartest move we made all day, but we survived. So, I'm settling in. After 6 weeks of commuting a minimum of 4.5 hours a day for training, I am moving into my district office. I still have to go back to Harrisburg for training over the next few weeks, but more of my time will be at the district office between now and my due date, so that should lighten my load a bit.

Well, it's time for me to hit the shower and get to work. My poor mother is up and ready to take Animal when she awakens. At least it's a reasonable hour this morning. Have a good one, people. I miss you.

Back in Black

2008-03-12T14:20:00.003-05:00

My God, it's been too long. I hope you all (okay, all three of you) have been doing well.

I'm a day late and a dollar short on this, but it's been stuck in my craw, so I must vent. Who the hell does Hilary Clinton think she is? She wants Obama as HER running mate on HER ticket as HER vice president? I don't know nothing about this new hard math and all these complicated delegates and all, but last count, Obama was ahead. I find it arrogant and misguided and delusional and smarmy. I find her arrogant and misguided and delusional and smarmy, too, so I guess that fits.

Anywho.

I got through my PhD comps, finally. They were great questions and I feel like I am about 134% more prepared to write my dissertation now, and that's the point. On the other hand, I hope to God I passed because I never want to have to do it again. Never. Ever. There's nothing like trying to finish writing a 25 page paper in 24 hours when your husband is sitting next to you narrating the magic special on television. Neither of us are magic fans. Why choose that moment to start to care? Oh-that's right. I didn't. Otherwise, he was awesome, as usual. But, lemme tell you how nice it was to spend the WHOLE day with him and Animal on Sunday rather than running off to hide in my stinky, sauna-like office at school to shove my face in pages and pages of articles I should have read a month ago.

I survived the conference. Not my most stellar performance, but it's done. And my advisor is still talking to me. It's all good.

I start work in less than two weeks. Oh man. I'm excited about starting, I think. I'm miserable leaving New England. However, there are a few things I won't miss about here. The windows that don't open, don't stay open, or have glass panes ready to fall out of the sash if you walk by too hard. The exterior doors with the handles that don't work. The dry heat that runs at either zero or 130 degrees. The garbage that blows into our backyard from the white trash neighbors' apartment complex. The suicide turn you have to make into our odd one-way street. The shower that lets 80% of the water go through the bottom tub faucet, all of which is the hot water. The hot water heater that subjects the first shower of the morning (mine) to about 30 seconds of warm water and then trickles off into cold. Why bother shaving my legs at all? Neighbors that won't talk to us, likely because we live in the apartment house that separates the single-family owner-occupied homes from the low-income rental properties with driveways filled with gas-leaking cars and buildings covered in asbestos siding. The lead paint filled pantry and porch. The undergrad that argued he should be formally excused from a quiz Friday because he wanted to leave for spring break early. He told us ahead of time, so that counts as excused, right?

There about 100 things I will miss about being here and our lives here. But, I have cried enough in the last five weeks. I don't need to start again.

R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

2008-03-06T20:28:00.003-05:00

My PhD exams are OV-ER. O.V.E.R. over. O!V!E!R! Ding dong the witch is dead - o.v.e.r

I got the J.O.B. I start in less than three weeks. Y.I.K.E.S.

I have to present at a conference on Saturday in front of my major advisor, most of my academic peers and God himself. And I haven't finished writing the paper yet. C.R.A.P.

Butter Me Up

2008-02-22T20:30:00.003-05:00

So, I'm multi-tasking, talking on the phone to my BFF, letting Animal have some yogurt as her snack before bed, trying to clean up the table from dinner. I have to use the bathroom, as the baby has decided to plant himself directly on my bladder 24/7 now, so I run to use it while talking on the phone. Classy, I know. But it's Jessica. She doesn't care. (Do you?) I left Animal with my husband's back to her. I made blueberry pancakes for dinner-what better on a cold snowy night than a breakfast dinner, right? Well, I hadn't cleaned Animal's tray from dinner, so I pulled her up to the table for her snack. Risky on its own because she likes to push off with her feet and try to tip herself backwards. My kid, alright. But this was a whole other risk she took that I found upon returning to the dining room. She had pulled the butter dish up to her place at the table, with the now-soft butter stick in it, stuck both hands in it and now grinned at me looking all sorts of guilty with eight of her ten fingers in her mouth. The butter is now sculpted with deep finger holes in it and she proceeds to wipe the butter she hasn't consumed all over her face. Smiling. My kid, alright. Sorry, Jessica, for having to go so quickly. I feared the hair-smearing was next.

Come Downstairs and Say Hello

2008-02-21T11:24:00.003-05:00

That last post about Millie sleeping. Complete anomoly. She's been back to her old ways. Someday I will be strong enough to break her. Not tonight, I can tell you that.

Exam #3 down. The question was fantastic and thought-provoking, but couldn't be answered by the readings I chose. I had to dig through my dusty brain and revive stuff I haven't thought about in 15 years. Not a bad thing, but not the point. It was nonetheless a great exercise.

I heard about the job. Can't give details at the moment, but with all the rigamarole I am going through, you'd think I was being considered for National Security Advisor. And, trust me, I'm not. Especially not for the horrifying, insulting salary they are considering offering me. The stress of it all is killing me.

The spell check is not working on my blogger tool box. I apologize for the many mistakes that are inevitable in my posts. For someone who was reading at age 3, I mystify my mother with my complete lack of spelling ability. Between my woefully pathetic inadequacy and my painful shyness, I'd throw my first word during school spelling bees just so I could sit down and my stomach could stop hurting from the stress of it all. Sad.

Must go cram for my next exam. I had about 5 things I wanted to blog about and they are all gone from my head.

Night Moves (or lack thereof)

2008-02-16T17:41:00.003-05:00

Animal gave me the best give ever on her 17 month birthday last night. She slept for 8 1/2 hours without so much as a peep. That's a first, I'm sad to admit. It's the first time I have had 7 hours on virtually uninterrupted sleep in over 17 months. I feel like a new woman. Thank you, God. Thank you, Animal. Man, I needed that.

Animal loves her aquarium:

Another One Bites the Dust

2008-02-14T10:38:00.003-05:00

Exam #2 over. It was another good question, albeit complicated. Damned them for making me think! I fear the last two topics-method and theory based. What do you mean I have to APPLY my knowledge??? Come on!!! Next week's is written by an old prof of mine who made it his life's work to trigger panic and crying in his students. Once I graduated, he was like a different person to me. But, he's still a giant ball buster, so I'm a wee bit nervous about what he will come up with to torture me. Plus, he's retired and basking in the Puerto Rican sun with time on his way-too-smart hands to craft a killer question. I say: Bring IT. Right. Ask me again next Wednesday morning after I am in the fetal position in the corner of the living room clutching Animal's Elmo blanket.

I finished my exam last night at 1:00 despite American Idol. Our downstairs neighbors, who are living under some pretty cramped, stressed and unfortunate circumstances, apparently tape American Idol on Tuesday nights and spend the ENTIRE next day replaying it at a volume that would stiffle a steam train. Last week was bad enough. Yesterday (oh, and last night for hours), it was freaking Bryan Adams' Everything I Do OVER AND OVER AND OVER AGAIN. I love my Canadian boys, but he's the exception to that rule. And that song. It makes me want to slit a vein wide open just to have an excuse to get away. Oh, and then there's the lounge singer version of Light My Fire. Good God, are there no limits to decency? Apparently not. I almost put in the Elmo Start Moving DVD to drown it out. THAT'S desperation.

On the phenomenal side, Animal stayed in her crib with minimal outbursts until 4:45 this morning! Our alarm goes off at 5:00, so that's about the time she usually starts stirring anyway. Thank the good Lord. I pray it's a trend. I always say that and it never comes to fruition, but a girl can hope.

On another upside, Lost is on tonight. We are obsessed with it. It's a sickness, really. I MUST know who the other three Oceanic Six are. There's no rest until I know. And was it Sawyer in the coffin?

Well, I should go prep to teach today. Religion and Magic. Something that should be taught over the course of an entire semester, not in one 1-hour lecture. Enjoy the day.

Wordless Wednesday 2 13 08

2008-02-13T07:39:00.002-05:00

My grandpa (the tow headed one standing behind his parents and little sister Aili) would have been 90 years old tomorrow. For him, a picture on today's not-so-wordless Wednesday.

A Change is Coming

2008-02-13T07:36:00.002-05:00

It's a great day in American politics. Go Obama.

Exam #2 starts in an hour and a half. Must prepare. Or spaz. Or both.

Happy birthday to Jessica (http://jessica213.blogspot.com/) today. She's looking mighty fine for 24. Shout out to you, my friend. Here's to a great year.

Open All Night

2008-02-07T11:27:00.000-05:00

PhD exam #1 down. Four to go. Good God, I'm old. And a mom. And old. Did I mention old? I can't imagine how people do five in a row, like most do. One multi-part question, 24-hours to write a 15 to 20 page paper based on a million readings you choose. Email it in, get the next question, do it all over again. For five days. I can barely type at the moment. I couldn't do it all over again today and then again for three days after this. No freaking way. Once a week will do, thank you very much. I am stoked to get them done. Man, oh man, they have been hanging over my head for way too long.

I have to teach in a few hours. Ironically, for someone who can't form a sentence, today's lecture is on communication and language in anthropology. Ha. Those poor students.

I got a request from the interviewer for past salary information. Does that mean what I hope it might? Or do they just want a good laugh?

I had about 5 things I wanted to blog about and now they are gone from my head. Maybe if I shut my eyes, they'll come back to me. Or I'll sleep through my class.

Cuts Like a Knife

2008-02-03T12:12:00.000-05:00

Ah, bullet lists. I love them. Allow me to outline my life at the risk of boring my last few readers to a slow death.

Animal's surgery went smashingly. I'm not sure what kid I brought with me to the hospital. She was charming and pleasant beforehand, which is totally like her. I was warned by people with very docile children that coming out of anesthesia, sweet, quiet children can be angrier than a wet hornet. I was prepared for screaming, calling in of the special team with the multiple-strap jackets, spirit possession. She woke up with the recovery nurse, stuck her fingers in her own mouth and her hand down the angelic nurse's shirt, like she does with me. God bless this woman who moved her ID and jewelry out of the way and let Animal have at it. She came to me with no tears and within 10 minutes looked for her sippy cup. Within 45 minutes we were out the door. Shout out to Connecticut Children's Medical Center. The whole thing was seamless. Absolutely seamless. Sitting in the waiting room before we went in, looking around at very sick kids, kids that were obviously comfortable there because of frequent visits made me thank God that Animal is as healthy as she is. It broke my heart.

Okay, that huge paragraph was not bullet-worthy. It looks like my power point slides my students bitch about.

My husband and Animal both managed to avoid the puke flu I had. I, however, have continued to get sick for over a week now. I just ate lunch. We'll see how that goes.

I start my PhD exams this Wednesday. Think of me and my pregnancy brain. And child who doesn't sleep. And husband who has to deal with it all.

The man I interviewed with for the last open position I applied for is checking my references. He was on the phone with my advisor/boss for over 45 minutes. I have been hyperventilating ever since I found out.

My girl is getting so big. She was watching a cat out the window this morning with my husband and said "meow, come here." Brilliant, if I do say so myself. And, pretty to boot:

Back to work. So much to do, so little time. Please send me good organizational and compositional thoughts about 4:00 a.m. Wednesday night/Thursday morning as I'm scrambling to finish exam #1.

The Core

2008-01-26T20:39:00.001-05:00

The title has nothing to do with the post. I heard it yesterday. It's one of my favorite Eric Clapton tunes and it's been running through my brain.

Say a prayer to whatever God you believe in for me, please. I have been vomiting with the accompanying nastiness all day. Animal is scheduled for her ear tube surgery on Tuesday. Please pray this is either non-communicable food poisoning or neither she nor my husband catches it. Please, please, please. I tried to pass it off as morning sickness all day, afraid that if I spoke the words "stomach bug," someone else would immediately catch it. But, I don't think it is.

On a happier front, I got my second trimester ultrasound yesterday. #2 looks great. Everything present that should be, nothing that shouldn't be. The doctor said I have the same chances of having a child with chromosomal damage as a 20 year old. Glad something in my body still works like a 20 year old.

Can't Take My Eyes Off Of You

2008-01-24T06:58:00.001-05:00

This has been on my mind for two days. I was listening to the news while making dinner two nights ago and heard that Fred Thompson stepped down from the presidential race. Not a surprise or disappointment. Then, I heard that Heath Ledger was found dead in his apartment. The announcement that poor Amy Winehouse has finally self-destructed would not have been a surprise. Sad and tragic, but not a surprise. This took me by surprise. I don't know why it has hit me like it has, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. I was a fan, but not a superfan or anything. I'm embarrassed to admit, I loved him the most in his cheesiest roles. Who couldn't adore that coy smile singing to Julia Stiles in 10 Things I Hate About You? I normally can come up with about 100 things I detest about movies like that, but I loved that one from the start, largely because I found him charming and talented and ridiculously cute. I thought A Knight's Tale was fun and he and his merry band of boys were adorable. And, I'm a sucker for a movie with a pop soundtrack. He was of course brilliant in Monster's Ball and Brokeback Mountain and I am looking forward to seeing him play Bob Dylan. He struck me as genuine and smart in a sea of crappy actors and actresses in his age bracket.

I haven't been able to get him out of my head. He's the age of my youngest brother. He has a beautiful little daughter that will not have her dad around to eat ice cream with, or send her off to her first day of school. He has a family a million miles away who didn't get to see him before he died. The media are pathetic sharks, just hoping for a scrap of dirt to find this was anything but an accident.

I don't even know why I'm blogging about it. Think of his family as they mourn their loss. I guess that's all I wanted to say.

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2008-01-23T07:54:00.000-05:00

Alaska.

Shake Your Booty

2008-01-17T21:44:00.000-05:00

I'm a horrible mother. We need to find another daycare for Animal. ASAP. My husband picked her up today, brought her home, and the first thing I noticed when they came home was she was wearing her extra pants. Artwork casualty? Yogurt fun? Nope. Her pants were too small. Now, we started the morning in a pair of jeans that looked too tight to me. I asked my husband if he concurred and he replied something to the effect that they would be fine if she was disco dancing at Studio 54. Okay, so I changed them into a pair of jeans in the next size up. Which I never thought I'd see. I thought she would go to college wearing 12 month pants, my poor short baby. These still seemed a bit snug around the middle. Nobody likes that. But they were bigger-how could that be bad??? I'm mortified. I spent some time tonight putting ALL her 12 month pants away plus anything of any size that looks remotely small. I can't believe I let her go to school like that. This, from a woman who would be very happy living in yoga pants for the rest of her life. I HATE pants that are too tight. Someone should have called child services on me.

She's fresh, to boot. And that's my doing as well. She threw her cereal bowl on the floor this morning. I picked it up, put it in the sink and proceeded to explain to her (in her face) why this was wrong, why food didn't belong on the floor, how she should use her words when she's done, blah, blah, blah Ginger. She looked me dead in the face, cocked her little head and said "Meow." Cause she's cute AND manipulative like that. I managed not to laugh, and "sternly" (or at least that's how it was in my head) said this was not about cats. She replied with "Woof." We are in trouble. Lots and lots of trouble.

Crazy

2008-01-15T21:16:00.001-05:00

I can't believe I'm watching American Idol while attempting to work. I have never sat through an entire episode, yet can't wait to hear the run downs the next morning. The worst part is they were in Philly, and being an ex-Pennsylvania girl, I'm horrified by the myriad of freaks parading through their auditions. Way to represent, people.
C-R-A-Z-Y.

If I Had a Million Dollars

2008-01-15T21:03:00.001-05:00

This is totally random and totally irrelevant to life, but I had to share. I was home sick last week, and turned on the television while doing some work and eating lunch (multi-tasking, anyone?). Not much is on during the day, especially when you don't have cable. Who Wants to Be a Millionaire found its way onto my screen and I was half paying attention. I looked up from the work, thought, "Oh, he's a cutie" about the guy playing. Then I thought "He has a familiar look about him." Then Meredith called him by his first name and I thought, "I KNOW HIM!!!" He was one of my first students when I started teaching undergraduates. I was floored. I don't know why I was floored by it, but I was. He was one of my baseball players I tutored, so I'm a bit ashamed I didn't recognize him right away, but I wasn't expecting to know someone playing. He did well-$25,000. The question that took him down was obscure-something about what the Guinness Book of World Records judges fast talkers with-what document they recite. Who the hell knows that? I certainly don't. He did have to phone a friend on what Johnny Cakes are made of-shame on you, Matt!!! Granted, you grew up in Washington State, but you still spent four years in Connecticut. Come on!!!
Anywho, like I said, random and not relevant in the grand scheme of things. But now I have two degrees of separation to Meredith Viera, which means I have three to Matt Lauer. And that's a good thing.

Give Me Three Steps

2008-01-15T15:42:00.000-05:00

Okay, I have five minutes to write before I have to run. I yearn for a day I can sit down and ramble on for paragraphs about what's going on in my confused little brain. Soon, hopefully. I'm sure you can't wait. Ha.
The trip home was stellar. Animal was AWESOME in the car, a first for my little sweetie, who has a record of screaming to the point of vomiting in the past when subjected to the five minute car ride to the grocery store. No crying. No vomiting. Sweet. She was incredible with my folks, finally. She wanted her Grandpa to play with her and Nana to read to her and visit the fish in the little pond next door. She let them hold her, kiss her, and take her out of my sight, all without massive tears and screeching.
The interview was insightful. The process itself I think went rather well. The head of the CR department is great. I'd give my left arm to work for him. The other two interviewers were also very cool. It's a place I'd love to work, doing things I am trained to do, in a state I am familiar with. I think I answered the questions honestly and with information they wanted to hear. HOWEVER (there's always one of those, isn't there?), the CR head informed me twice that although I'm completely qualified for this position, I would be even more marketable if I finished my PhD. I agree, but sometime in the near future, I'd like to pay my bills, spend time with my husband and kids, lead a relatively normal existence. I'd love to chip away at my dissertation at the same time, but would have to see how the job and move go first. They are making the decision by the beginning of February, so I'll wait to hear. I won't be surprised if I don't get an offer. Nonetheless, it was the most enlightening interview I have ever been through.
It's flurrying here. We got the most beautiful snow yesterday-that heavy, stick to every last branch storm. I love New England.

Road to Nowhere

2008-01-09T11:11:00.000-05:00

I checked my calendar on the computer. Yup, it's January. It's also 65 degrees in Connecticut. Or, it was yesterday. This morning it was 56 degrees. Global warming, anyone?

I go to Pennsylvania tomorrow for my interview on Friday. I have been smacked with a raging sinus infection, so that should be a nice touch to my first impression. Animal is feeling better, though, so the drive home should be a little more pleasant than it would have been a week ago.

Clinton and McCain. Interesting. I love a good political race. I like McCain (for a Republican-sorry, Dad). He's the least offensive on the Republican ticket to me. I can't wait to barb my dad on the whole turn of events. We don't ever see eye to eye on politics, and the exchange is usually fun.

Have a good few days, people. I'll let you know how things go south. If you want to read about a happy camper in the meantime, check out my BFF's posts about her new outlook (http://jessica213.blogspot.com/) on life. Love it. It's great to see someone deserving be happy. It's been a long time coming and few deserve it more. You go girl.

Wordless Wednesday 1 9 08

2008-01-09T11:09:00.000-05:00

Cabin fever hits our household.

Another Day

2008-01-06T15:16:00.000-05:00

Okay. It's a definite now. I'm certifiably nuts. Not the kind that has voices in my head suggesting I run down the street naked or anything (GOD forbid), but plain old crazy. My in-laws got us one of those Garmin portable GPS units for our car. I had it in my car yesterday. I deviated from the directions and promptly felt disobedient for not listening to the authoritative voice coming from the box, guilty for making her "RECALCULATE", and annoyed that someone was, yet again, telling me what to do. The men with the lovely strapped white jackets will be waiting for me soon. And, that won't do-white before Memorial Day???

Animal is obsessed with Elmo DVDs. Obsessed might be a mild term. I refuse to let her be one of those kids that stands transfixed in front of the television, worshipping the little red guy. But, she just about jumps out of her skin with excitement when he comes on. We have Elmo books, coloring books, games, but sometimes the DVD is the only thing she begs for. Must put a stop to this. Somehow.

I go home to PA for yet another interview on Friday. Wish me luck.

Today is my birthday. My older brother got me the Sting Lyrics book and a zip drive full of his music. He rocks. My brother, that is. Sting does, too, for that matter. We are getting Mexican take out tonight. No preparation, no clean up. What could be better??? Plus, I have been craving everything spicy since I have been pregnant. When I'm not on the verge of a hurl, that is. I could eat salsa straight out of the jar with a spoon. Besides the Mexican, it's a pretty typical day=laundry, mounds of dishes (how do three people generate so freaking many dishes???), cleaning, dealing with a baby that's been sick for a week and three people who haven't slept in as many days. Ah, good times.

Gone, Gone, Gone

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

I noticed I lost a reader. I am so sorry I have been such a load about posting. No excuses.

I Got the Blues

2008-01-04T19:28:00.001-05:00

If I have to see Mike Huckabee play the guitar to some hackneyed quasi-blues song one more time, I may have to move to Canada. It worked for Clinton, but he wasn't a right-wing borderline-Fundamentalist. I appreciate the effort, Mike, but stop. Please.

Home for the Holidays

2007-12-30T15:29:00.000-05:00

Just a quick one. Is there anything else to my posts lately? I think not. Merry belated Christmas, by the way. I hope it was jolly for all. Tuesday is New Year's Day. I'd love to wax on prophetically about the past year and my hopes for the year to come, but that's another post. For sometime when I can stay awake past 7:15 and am not suffocated by the amount of schoolwork I have. Wah, wah, wah. Poor me.
The holiday was just dandy. I thought it was nice to see some of my family and things went well while they were here. My favorite aunt came down for a bit, and she's my husband's favorite, so that helped. My husband had some issues with the way things went, as always, so the holiday didn't end on a particularly happy note for anyone but Animal, who loved her new Elmo DVDs, which she is obsessed with, and trucks, which makes her my girl. If I were to share the whole ugly story, it would be baring unpleasant things about the people I love the most, so I'll spare everyone, especially them, the horror. Suffice to say, it won't go down in the top 10 Christmas list in my life. But, it could have been worse. I have a tremendous husband and family and fantastic friends, a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food in my family's mouths, a minimal but present paycheck for part of the year, four functioning limbs, a somewhat functioning brain, and, last but certainly not least, a healthy & smart daughter and another baby on the way. I have NO right complaining. But somehow I still do. Someone needs to slap me.

Harder to Breathe

2007-12-18T10:02:00.000-05:00

Could you do me a favor? Could you check to see if there is a large man sitting on my chest? 'Cause it feels like there is a large man sitting on my chest. Christmas is a week away. Not done shopping. Not done making gifts that have to be sent to Virginia and Georgia. Not done with my comps stuff due last week. No wrapping started. I think I need to go hyperventilate. Happy freaking holidays, people.

Oh Tannenbaum

2007-12-10T08:00:00.001-05:00

It's Monday morning, again. How did that happen? The weekend flew by, as usual. Here Animal and I are, with my pumpkin asking where her daddy is. It was a productive weekend, though. They usual are. Just not restful.

Saturday we went to a tree farm in southeastern Connecticut. My husband's sister and her family met us there for the third year in a row. The kids are over-the-moon excited to see their uncle, but are remarkably well-behaved. Animal was a little freaked out by the snow and cold initially, but warmed up, so to speak. We found a nice, small tree to fit into our nice, small apartment that will be filled to the brim with more family than my poor husband cares to think about. My poor husband and I grew up so differently. To me, the holidays aren't the holidays without family. And the stress that goes along with it. For him, he'd like to barricade the three of us in our apartment and come out when it's over. I don't blame him. My family is overwhelming and he's only getting the condensed version. Someday that poor bastard will get his way.

Sunday was packed with cleaning, schoolwork, errands, being nicely accosted by furniture salesman trying to sell us a giant living room set that really...didn't...fit....our....taste. Let alone our small apartment. Then, we spied the seconds room-SCORE! Poor guy. Didn't my yoga pants and ratty men's sweater, my husband's carrharts, and my daughter's snotty nose scream "THESE PEOPLE ARE NOT IN THE MARKET FOR A 6 PIECE LEATHER SOFA SET!!! MOVE ALONG TO A PROFITABLE CUSTOMER!!!!!" My husband bought me a wood filing cabinet to contain all my exams crap that had formerly occupied several beat-up cardboard boxes in the corner.

Today, Animal and I are attempting to clean, bake and cook in anticipation of my mother-in-law's arrival. She's staying with her granddaughter while I administer one of my class's finals. Finally. Millie just put a giant egg on her forehead, so we took a reading break to slow down and recoup. She's a trooper.

Have a good day, all.

Secret Agent Man

2007-12-08T08:19:00.000-05:00

My daughter is, as we speak, climbing into the sink of the Fisher Price kitchen set, which is a good 18" off the ground. There was a recall on the item, but I don't think this is the danger they had in mind. She's such an animal. My husband is egging her on, laughing. Not so funny when it tips over and she bleeds profusely from her head. It's one of the many, many times during the day I am thankful she is active and adventurous, but worry about teaching her limits. Where to draw the line?

Love Will Keep Us Together

2007-12-06T20:40:00.000-05:00

My oldest brother emailed me today to tell me about the upcoming event he has with his son, my oldest nephew. They are going to his first concert, a Trans Siberian Orchestra in D.C. In a corporate box suite. Sweet. They should have a blast.

It is destined to be a different first concert experience than my older brother and I had. If you ask me in mixed company what my first concert was, I'd be tempted, oh so tempted, to fib. I'd be tempted to tell you that my second concert was actually my first one. When I was thirteen, two of my friends and I were dropped off at the Allentown Fairgrounds to see the fabulous Tina Turner during her Private Dancer tour, with the amazing Glenn Frey opening for her. Lemme just tell you, there is nothing like sitting on concrete, backless benches on a hot August day, ingesting diesel fuel fumes from the monster truck rally in the next field over and the glorious waft of manure from the ag show a few doors down. My dad agreed to drop us off and pick us up, a major step for he who despises crowds and traffic. And, of course, rowdy pop music fans. He is not a big fan of them. So, our newly teenage spastic selves danced and sang and marvelled at this grand fresh world now available to us. Then, on our way out to meet my dad, Steph and I lost Amy in the crowd. Amy, who was all of 4'10. My Dad was PISSED, and looking back, probably worried. We thankfully were well-trained and had planned for a snafu like this. It took her a little while to wade through the tall crowd to the spot we chose to meet if separated. But, we eventually all got home to our beds, dreaming of The Smuggler's Blues.

That is the memory I choose to hold onto as my first concert.

The reality: my brother and I have the horror of acknowledging our first concert as The Captain and Tennille. It was at the same venue, but we were accompanied by our parents. I was five, I think, and my brother was nine. Horrifying. Muskrat Love started it all. Now you all know our dirty secret. One of many.

One More Time

2007-12-06T18:50:00.001-05:00

An addendum to the post below. Then again, my other student afflicted with the same problem had crazy swings between total delusions of grandeur and complete and utter self-doubt. One minute he was related to the Prince of Somewhere (I can't remember..Bali?) and was in line for the throne and the next minute he admittedly couldn't get out of his own way. So this poor bastard can't help himself, I'm sure. He likely has no idea what he said to me and blowing our meeting off was completely inappropriate.

I'm clearly obsessed with it. I feel bad for him and wish I could get through to him and help him.

Is it a sign of my own craziness that I found myself humming the song that Animal's toy vacuum plays? I think it might be.

Haven't Got Time for the Pain

2007-12-06T15:59:00.000-05:00

Yeah. So, I told my student I'd meet him a few minutes before class. I got there early. And waited. Again, thinking, You Have Got To Be Kidding Me. And, that thought crossed my mind again as he strolled into class 20 minutes late. And, again when he came up after class and told me he wasn't on time because he was working on a paper for another class. Way to make my class priority. I have to keep in mind, it's not entirely his fault. But, come on. Make an effort, dude.

Jingle Bells

2007-12-05T16:39:00.000-05:00

Today is my last lecture for a class I am teaching. I can't wait. They are stupendous students, but I'm ready to be done. To add to the end of the semester lunacy, I got a call from our department secretary today, asking me about a certain student. Was I aware of his issue? Lemme guess, I said, is it Ben (not his real name, of course)? Lemme guess. He has Asperger's and didn't tell me about it? This is my second student with Asperger's who hasn't approached me about their learning disability. I don't think the first one was ever diagnosed. I think people just thought he was a turd. Now, this poor kid in my class is one of those students that whenever he raises his hand, the rest of the class audibly groans. He's socially inappropriate, more than a tad rude, and the worst kind of rambler. Apparently, with good reasons, which he can't help. He hasn't handed in any assignments and the last time I saw him in class was when he corrected my spelling on the board in the middle of class, which I attempted to laugh off as a result of my complete inability to spell my own name on a good day, but resulted in people behind him saying things like "You have GOT to be kidding me" and "SHUT UP" loudly enough for him to hear. I felt awful. And at the same time, as much as I despise admitting it, I thought to myself in my own head "You have GOT to be kidding me." And then I felt awful again. I hate to flunk anyone who doesn't deserve it. I am, I think, a very fair grader and try to write very straight-forward exams. I am also a bit of a push-over. Shocking, I know. I want to help this kid out. I don't want to be just one more person to sweep him under the rug or ignore his problems and hope he'll go away. Looking back, I wish I would have approached him earlier. Yet, I also have to remember I'm my students' teacher, not their shrink or social worker, a line that tends to be a bit blurred with me. I'm meeting with him tomorrow. Wish me luck.

So, Christmas is, what, twenty days away? If you'll excuse me, I must go vomit. I am stupid enough to have committed to making many of my gifts. 'Cause I have all the time in the world, you know, and the stamina of Richard Simmons on speed. My dad's and aunt's are done, but I still have a buttload of work to do on everyone else's. My husband and I agreed to forgo gifts for each other this year, and my BFF and I set reasonable limits this year. The two people I actually LOVE to shop for. I did find myself at Kohl's at 7:15 this morning to take advantage of their 50% off sale and snagged three cool, chunky, plastic trucks for Animal, all for less than $4 each. Sweet.

Speaking of Christmas stress, my parents and youngest brother are coming for the holiday. This itself is a good thing. Two years ago, two short months after I got married, the same three people came to Connecticut for Christmas. I got the best holiday gift a person could ask for that year-a kidney stone-and wasn't up to travelling to Pennsylvania. Depending on the cycle of visitation of my brothers and their families, there are years that most of my siblings are not with my parents. That was one of those years, so they came this way. It was a total pissing power match between my husband in his new home and with his new family and my mother, who is a total control hog (much like myself) but nothing but WELL-MEANING. She comes to visit, armed with food and planned meals because she does not want to be a burden. She cooks and cleans and brings gifts and things she thinks would be of interest and use. Most normal people would love that. My husband really wanted it to be done his way (or at least OUR way), which I understand, in his own home. Since then, I hope they have come to an understanding. At least somewhat. Our apartment is small and filled with toys as it is. Add a Christmas tree and even more toys and gifts and three extra adults and I fear my husband will snap again. Or maybe it'll be me this time. Or maybe we'll be so full of freakin' Christmas cheer that all will be swell. That's my Christmas wish.

Wordless Wednesday 11 28 07

2007-11-28T15:11:00.000-05:00

Thanksgiving on the beach in Rhode Island with light jackets? And people scoff at global warming.

Where is Thumper?

2007-11-28T15:06:00.000-05:00

I am a horrible blogger. I haven't read my favorite blogs in weeks and those that I have managed to peek at, I haven't commented on. My posts are rambles and sporatic at best. Wordless Wednesday, my favorite posting day of the week, has been ignored. I promise as soon as I can stay up past 7:30 without drooling, sitting up, sound asleep like Grandpa Simpson, I will be back on track. Thanks for sticking with me.

Happy belated Thanksgiving.

Radio Nowhere

2007-11-21T13:15:00.000-05:00

The title has nothing to do with anything except I love the new Springsteen song and can't get it out of my head.

Sorry, again, it's been so long, again. A few things have sucked up the life and time out of me over the last several weeks. What's new....let's see.

I had to postpone my PhD comps until February and rework my summaries schedule, which was a major blow to my ego and likely my chances of department funding. My first set is due tonight at midnight, and shockingly, I am not nearly done.

My Animal has her fifth ear infection in five months, averaging over 2.5 weeks to get over each one. The poor thing is a crappy sleeper normally, but now? Forget about it. My husband caught the cold that started #5 and now has bronchitis that won't go away. He's miserable, but a trooper.

I sucked up my pride and cut 10" of my hair off to donate to Pantene's Beautiful Lengths Campaign. It's crazy short. It hasn't been this short since the unfortunate butch incident of '83.

Thanksgiving is tomorrow and we are headed to my in-laws. It is a holiday that absolutely rocks there. BOTH my mother-in-law AND father-in-law are fantabulous cooks and bring out all the big dining guns for the day. I get off scot-free by just bringing my cranberry bread. I went to the store at 7 a.m. yesterday morning to pick up oranges and flour to make it. Guess what I forgot? That's right. Cranberries. I opted to go to the small natural lifeways store to pick them up and walked out purchasing about 4 other things I didn't really need. I'm crafty like that.

I have two more weeks of classes after this week's break and then finals. Where did the semester go?

Oh, and I'm 9 1/2 weeks pregnant:

Wordless Wednesday 11 14 07

2007-11-14T07:51:00.000-05:00

Tough day.

Wordless Wednesday 10 31 07

2007-10-31T07:12:00.000-05:00

My sleeping Raggedy Ann on her first Halloween. Man, was she irate when she woke up.

Growing A Life: A baby's parting gift

2007-10-27T09:33:00.000-05:00

I don't have anything at all creative or otherwise of my own to say this morning. I had been totally wrapped up in wallowing in my own miserable stress until I read Damselfly's unbelievable post (Growing A Life: A baby's parting gift). Take a few minutes, especially you with children, to sneak a peek. It's worth the click.

You're My Best Friend

2007-10-25T12:45:00.000-05:00

I heart my BBF. She talks me down from stupid shit ALL. THE. TIME. She is the one person in life that understands my ridiculous fears. The one person that understands that puking is, in fact, the end of the world. The one person that knows I'm smart, but gets the fact that the shit that comes out of my mouth does not always reflect it. She reminds me continually that I need to have more confidence in myself. She listens to me bitch, moan, cry, whine, and wallow. And then gives me great advice and a dose of much-needed reality. She totally missed her calling as a therapist. She is one of the few people I can take my mouth filter off with and not regret it. I miss her on an hourly basis. Everyone should have a friend like her. I'm so lucky. She rocks. Give your best friend a squeeze today.

Question Mark

2007-10-25T07:11:00.000-05:00

This is a meme I found on Full Plate (http://fullplate321.blogspot.com/)'s blog. She's one of my favorite bloggers and she requested people play along. I'm a sucker for these, so here we go.

1. Name one person who made you laugh last night? Animal. She was trying to get back into the bathtub after her time was done, soaking wet and slippery with bubbles after she chose to lie face down on the soapy bathmat.
2. What were you doing at 0800? Emailing my students to let those lucky bastards know I was sick and class was cancelled.
3. What were you doing 30 minutes ago? Dry-heaving on the side of my driveway.
4. What happened to you in 2006? Let's see. I became a mom. I am pretty sure that was the highlight. All else is a blur.
5. What was the last thing you said out loud? "I'm so sorry!" as my husband drove off with my daughter, taking her to daycare and thus making him late for work.
6. How many beverages did you have today? A bit of water. But, it's early.
7. What color is your hairbrush? Black? I think?
8. What was the last thing you paid for? Coffee at Panera's yesterday morning.
9. Where were you last night? At home.
10. What color is your front door? A lovely and exciting off-white.
11. Where do you keep your change? In my daughter's piggy bank.
12. What’s the weather like today? Rainy and seasonably cool. Finally.
13. What’s the best ice-cream flavor? Chocolate chip cookie dough.
14. What excites you? What doesn't excite me?
15. Do you want to cut your hair? I'm holding off for 10" for Locks of Love.
16. Are you over the age of 25? Yep.
17. Do you talk a lot? When I'm comfortable with someone.
18. Do you watch the O.C.? I haven't ever seen it.
19. Do you know anyone named Steven? My doctor's first name is Steven. My BBF's fantasy husband's name is Steven.
20. Do you make up your own words? Sometimes without even meaning to. Just like Bush.
21. Are you a jealous person? I can be.
22. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘A’. Akeia
23. Name a friend whose name starts with the letter ‘K’. Kristen
24. Who’s the first person on your received call list? My mom.
25. What does the last text message you received say? "Did you find the duck pond?"
26. Do you chew on your straw? Not that I know of.
27. Do you have curly hair? Pin, pin, pin straight.
28. Where’s the next place you’re going to? Likely the bathroom.
29. Who’s the rudest person in your life? One of my sisters-in-law. Love her, but man, can she be rude.
30. What was the last thing you ate? Apple skins from my daughter's snack I was making for school at 5:30 a.m. And I wonder why the dry heaves came?
31. Will you get married in the future? I hope not. I like this one.
32. What’s the best movie you’ve seen in the past 2 weeks? I haven't seen any.
33. Is there anyone you like right now? Artists? Friends? Fantasies? Yes. Yes. And Yes.
34. When was the last time you did the dishes? Last night. And, shockingly, there's a sinkful waiting for me again as we speak. How does that happen with two adults and one 13-month old?
35. Are you currently depressed? Not at all. Stressed, but certainly not depressed.
36. Did you cry today? No, but it's early.
37. Why did you answer and post this? Because I like the person who posted the meme.
38. Tag 5 people who would do this survey. I won't put that on anyone, but I'd love to read others' responses.

Wordless Wednesday 10 24 07

2007-10-24T12:31:00.000-05:00

The dichotomy that is my existence. I am slightly creeped out that Raggedy Ann is in contact with Kid Rock. That can't be right.

Wordless Wednesday 10 17 07

2007-10-17T15:01:00.000-05:00

Flowers in the field.

Fall into You

2007-10-15T08:44:00.000-05:00

What a fantastic Saturday we had this weekend. We have been a bit on the desperate side, to say the least, to get out. We had our hearts set on going out to dinner on our anniversary last weekend. We actually lined up a babysitter, a woman who used to work at Animal's daycare center. They loved each other. She knew all of my daughter's wierd little quirks and Animal felt comfortable with her. We picked out a place down the road from us. I chose something to wear that didn't involve yoga pants. I worked a few extra hours to have a few extra dollars to spend. Then the fever and subsequent ear infection came for poor Animal and we called it off. The poor baby. So, we ordered take-out of a slightly higher quality than we usually splurge for and watched the first two episodes of Desperate Housewives and went to bed.

So, we were itching to get out, even if it wasn't for strictly adult time. Fall is our favorite time of the year, so what better to do for a celebration of it than go to a cider mill for fresh apple cider and freshly-made donuts? Okay, a few freshly-made donuts, a CRAZY apple crisp split between us and a bit of my husband's Johnny Cakes. It's a place called Clyde's Cider Mill. But before we hit the mill, my husband, being the incredible good sport he is, indulged me on a quick stop in Ledyard to this crazy old farmstead that I believe is part of a land trust so I could obsessively photograph the buildings. Because that's what I do. If you ever need photographs of agricultural outbuildings, I'm your gal.

Oh so useful. Anywho, it was a gorgeous day so we did a bit of the trail adjacent to it. Nice start to the day, I'd say. Then, on to Clyde's. I love apples in the fall.

My father-in-law used to take my husband and his sister there when they were kids, so it has fond memories for him. He and I have gone several times, I guess in off-peak moments, because it was nothing like the zoo it was on Saturday. Tons of people (mostly with NY license plates and shoes that didn't belong tromping around a cider mill, my husband noticed) milling around (get it? "milling" around? ha. ha.), cars parked up and down this normally slow rural road, a three-piece band playing Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings, kids running around all hopped up on donuts. Yet, it was still fantastic. Animal was enthralled both by the kids playing among the pumpkins and the resonation pumpkins make when you slap them with an open hand. I, along with every other yuppy mother there, felt compelled to catch it all on film. I sicken myself sometimes, yet can't stop myself from partaking.

After coming down from our own sugar high, we made a quick visit with my mother-in-law who had just had knee surgery in a neighboring town. She looked good. Fit and fiesty as ever, I was glad to see. We ran a few errands in my husband's hometown, visited his dad's boat, and headed home. Millie was a bit crankish on the ride home, but she was hungry and tired and had been super dooper trooper all day.

Sunday was a different story. Husband and Animal both woke up with colds (how she can have a cold AND be on Augmentin blows my mind.) and she was miserable. Clingy. Whiny. Temper-filled. I felt for the two of them. Animal is asleep at the moment; I can hear her snoring in the monitor, the poor thing. She was fantastic this morning, though, when mommy was chained to the bathroom getting sick for most of the pre-Sesame Street hours. She's fantastic when it counts. She's so damned cute, I could just bite her. Even with the abrasion to her cheek caused by her falling with her toothbrush in her mouth. Just like her mama.

Wordless Wednesday 10 10 07

2007-10-10T09:52:00.000-05:00

The union of two socially stunted people trying to figure out how the cake cutting goes. In front of 125 of our closest relatives and friends. After one of my aunts loudly insisted we go through the whole process. Two years ago this past Sunday. Oh the joy.

Short Skirt Long Jacket

2007-10-08T19:10:00.000-05:00

Sweet. The new theme song for Chuck is one of my favorite Cake songs. Maybe it won't tank after all?

Cry

2007-10-04T12:13:00.000-05:00

Okay, there is something wrong with me. The granddaughter of the woman living downstairs from me was just dropped off by her parents who apparently had to go somewhere. She's about 5 or 6 I would say. Cute as a button. As they got in the car, she started sobbing. SOBBING. S.O.B.B.I.N.G. That hitching, pathetic, full-bodied cry. And I am bothered by it. Really bothered by it. I can't stand to hear Millie cry (although I am getting better at not paying attention to the big fat faker cries)-it physically makes me ill to hear her cry if there's something truly wrong. The cry from the kid downstairs is giving me the same reaction. That's not right, is it?

On a happier note, did anyone catch "Pushing Daisies" last night on ABC? It was very quirky and visually stunning. Much like a Tim Burton flick. Bizzaro characters. Bright, contrasting colors. Unique camera angles. Fun. We'll see. Again, different concept and hopefully they'll be able to sustain the plot.

Backstreets

2007-10-03T15:00:00.000-05:00

M. Jodi Rell, the governor of our fair state, proclaimed yesterday to be Bruce Springsteen Day in Connecticut. How sweet is that? He kicked off his tour in Hartford last night. Where was I? Distracting Millie while my husband cleaned and cleaned and cleaned the kitchen floor after he accidentally turned the wrong stove burner on and the glass casserole dish on it exploded into little tiny shards of death all over the kitchen. He was so lucky he didn't get penetrated with any of it. Poor guy. Two sweeps, two vacuums and a mop later, there were still traces on the floor. Are my rock and roll days over?

Have you guys seen Chuck on NBC Monday nights? The guy is wicked wicked cute in a dork kind of way. The first episode was really fun, really funny and kind of smart, considering the genre. The one on this week was good, but not AS good. I have to wonder how they are going to keep the plot going. I hope they do. The characters are interesting and like people I think we all know. Minus the government secrets in their heads, of course.

Speaking of dorks...we went to the library on Saturday in search of the Chicago Style Guide. Why was I spending a gorgeous Saturday afternoon in the reference section of the local library? Long story, but I was asked to contribute an article on Internet sites pertinent to historical archaeology to a history journal and of course it was supposed to be formatted according to Chicago, which I didn't have. Anywho, I forget how much I absolutely love public libraries until I go. The books, the curiosity, the helpful people full of knowledge. FREE books. You have to give them back, but so what? My youngest brother and I used to attack our library's LP section for old recordings, too. Things have changed a bit since I was kid, but for the better. Our public library has a whole giant room full of DVDs for loan!! Holy crap, it's awesome. People were there with their laptops taking advantage of the wifi. No cumbersome card catalogs. Still a few constants, though. I remember being intrigued by the old men with haggard beards wearing well-worn overcoats in the summer reading the newspapers every time we went to the library when I was a kid. This library had its share of those patrons. The smell of books. I know that sounds insane, but they have a scent and I love it. I'm going to attempt a weekly trip to the library with Millie. It used to be the highlight of my week as a kid. She's obsessed with books. Why not foster it?

I went to a new dentist today. He argued with me about how humans got to North America. I like that in a dentist. He was thorough. I like that in a dentist, too. Maybe this one will stick.

Well, off to do some work. Hopefully.

Wordless Wednesday 10 3 07

2007-10-03T09:50:00.000-05:00

Where I'd like to be right now.

Badlands

2007-09-28T11:46:00.000-05:00

Does this make me a bad mom?

Promised Land

2007-09-28T07:28:00.001-05:00

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

2007-09-26T22:09:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-26T21:58:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-26T10:45:00.000-05:00

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

What Would You Say

2007-09-21T09:27:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-21T09:23:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-19T13:00:00.000-05:00

One year old. Sigh.

Long Time Coming

2007-09-13T15:42:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-12T09:36:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-11T20:33:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-09T09:40:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-08T14:15:00.000-05:00

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

Won't You Stay

2007-09-05T12:27:00.000-05:00

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

2007-09-05T12:15:00.000-05:00

That is one angry goose.

Velvet Underground

2007-08-29T07:56:00.001-05:00

Okay. There is a totally weird morning sub-culture that hangs out at Panera's. Who knew? I am such a recluse that I am not accustomed to sitting somewhere for a long period (is an hour a long period?) of time by myself, nursing an iced coffee and doing schoolwork in public. I keep waiting for someone to ask me to leave or keep eating. There should be rules posted somewhere. Or I shouldn't leave the house. Or be equipped with a sign saying "BEWARE-SOCIALLY AWKWARD" on my chest.

Wordless Wednesday 8 29 07

2007-08-29T07:03:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday to my older brother, who turned 41 this week. This picture sums up our childhood relationship. I worshipped him. He couldn't stand me. In the midst of it all, our mother dressed us like Bicentennial Day float characters. In her defense, it was 1976 or 77.

Spanish Sunrise

2007-08-29T06:44:00.000-05:00

First day of school for me yesterday. It was fraught with the usual UConn ridiculousness. Keys that weren't available, technology that didn't work, students that needed to overenroll and me too nice to tell them to bugger off. I am saddled with the two most annoying classrooms on campus. One is about 70 feet long and 20 feet wide at the most. For only 45 students. It's like I'm trying to project to the back row in church. Because that's where everyone sits, of course. I'm used to either a huge lecture hall or a smaller, more intimate group. The other classroom is shaped like an L and I'm at the top of the long rung of the L. There are 6 totally obstructed view seats. I think they should get a discount on their tuition. Like at a concert. It's hard to tell what the students will be like. They are generally pretty quiet the first day. I saw some smiles and head nods as I was talking, so that's comforting. I had one sleeper ALREADY, but in his defense it was about 400 degrees in both my classrooms. I myself just wanted to curl up on the desk in a pool of my own sweat and nod off. I think it'll be fine. I get the sense that there are a few students that will be enthusiastic talkers, and that will help. One of my sections includes the honors students (WHY they gave the honors cultural anthro students to an archaeologist, I'll never know), so they are usually pretty conscientious. Hopefully. My husband and one of my good friends who is visiting from Spain are guest lecturing on Thursday on fieldwork.

So, our friend is staying with us. I didn't realize the magnitude of how much I missed her until she showed up on our doorstep last night. She was the one friend I made at school that I could be totally myself with, call just to say hey, and sit with a cup of coffee with and talk about complete nonsense for hours on end. She is the reason my husband and I got together. We all met in grad school and my initial reaction to him was "What a gigantic jackass." He was one of two men in our department, one of which I erroneously thought was gay and the other was my husband-straight out of the military, very good-looking and a giant flirt. Traci got to know him before I did and convinced me he was a good guy. So, I gave him a chance. And here we are.

She's not a big kid fan, but was anxious to meet Animal, who was completely silly with her all morning. She brought her the coolest piggy bank from Seville, the kind that is ceramic with no bottom opening. Once it's full, you have to break it to get the money out. It was on the table this morning and Animal couldn't stop pointing and talking at it. She called it a dog. Close, I guess. I'm looking forward to the rest of our visit with her. Did I mention I missed her? She's a close second to my RI friends, who I miss on an hourly basis.

So, now I'm sitting in Panera's using WiFi, feeling like a big spacone, trying to give her some space to get going after a long trip last night. She just called and she's on her way out the door to run some errands. She couldn't lock the top lock on our inside door so she locked the bottom, which I don't have a key to. Hopefully I can break into the front door. Ha.

Sad, Sad Situation

2007-08-27T20:55:00.000-05:00

I got the email I was dreading. The position went to someone else. Nice news the day before I have to start teaching. My eyes should look like someone double punched me by tomorrow morning. I have to focus on the good points. It would have been a job full of abuse, all of which I could have handled. We would have had to move and put Millie in a new daycare. I get to be at home with her four days a week rather than two. I can hopefully concentrate on finishing my degree so my name tag at McDonald's will feature the letters "PhD". You know you'll be getting quality service, then. No average fries for you. There's a plan. God's got a plan. I just wish I knew what it was.

Poor Animal gets all squirrely when I cry. She actually tries to make me smile-she'll put her hand on my face and grin and touch my tears. Have I mentioned she's brilliant AND intuitive? Ha.

So, in the new vein of concentrating on the positive, we had a great day on Saturday. She started off by feeding herself yogurt with the spoon mostly by herself, with at least some success.

My aunt, who doubles as one of my best friends, came down. She's one of the only (okay, the ONLY) people Animal is not freaky with. My aunt has made an effort to visit very often and get to know her, THUS, Millie actually knows her. Unlike everyone else. The local children's museum was having a fundraiser that involved a local farm being open to the public. Millie was absolutely enthralled by the cows-

So enthralled, in fact, that she managed to keep her hat on. The general rule of thumb is I put it on her, she rips it off and attempts to throw it out the window/off the bridge/into a pile of manure/mud/garbage. We also took a rockin' hayride pulled by a 1949 tractor. She went nuts. It was all about pointing and "oooooooo"ing and jumping up and down.

Why does my husband looked pissed? I have no idea. Maybe because that was the 8,943rd picture I had taken that day. I have an addiction. So sue me.

After the free (Oh yes, I DID say free) ice cream and a feeble attempt not to ridicule the absurd and talentless, but I'm sure well-meaning old white man attempting to rap in an effort to entertain the crowd, we headed out. Animal fell asleep on the way home so we drove up to a duck pond in the next town, where she woke up and again, had more fun that one 11-month old should. A very nice woman offered us a piece of bread since we didn't have any with us. Millie didn't quite grasp that it wasn't for her to eat and got P-I-S-S-E-D when Iain took it away from her. My little one doesn't like it when she's told she can't put something in her mouth, especially a carbohydrate. She loved the ducks, nonetheless.

All in all, a very good day.

That's my aunt and I with Animal. Note the gigantic Scooby Doo head in the background. Those are the things my nightmares are made out of. Although, the clown face ones are worse. Straight out of It.

Waiting on the World

2007-08-24T20:04:00.000-05:00

Still no word on the job. That's not a good sign. I'm so stressed that nerves in my face are jumping. Help.

My Old School

2007-08-22T15:22:00.000-05:00

Still waiting to hear on the job. "They" had to post it internally for two weeks. The end of that two weeks is Friday. "They" are supposed to be announcing their decision then. I have resigned myself to the high probability that it won't be me. There are reasons why that's okay and I have to focus on them.

School starts on Monday. I have two sections of Social Anthropology to teach, one of them an honors section. Too bad I'm not a social anthropologist, eh? Jeez. I have taught it before and have been blessed with fantastic, enthusiastic students. I hope I'm lucky again. We'll see. I teach it from an anthropology of yourselves point of view since most of them aren't anthropology majors and couldn't give a rat's arse about it. I force, er, teach them to think about how anthropology is relevant to their own lives. We're using blogs and podcasts for some of their assignments, so hopefully they won't find it to be a total snoozefest. I make, I mean, encourage them to talk about gender identity, "race" and ethnicity, social stratification, religion, all things that they should have an opinion on. Let's hope they are talkative.

My pumpkin is asleep for the moment. She was benched at school for diarrhea yesterday, which she has had since Sunday. It took until yesterday to have three strikes at school, thus the parent call to come pick our poop-filled child up. Her diaper region is the color of fresh strawberries, the poor thing. I wish I knew what was up. My husband picked her up from school yesterday, so today was my turn to stay home with her. Minus $100 from my meager paycheck, thank you very much. Oh well. All part of parenting. The plus is we get to goof off all day, all in the name of recuperation. Nice.

Wordless Wednesday 8 22 07

2007-08-22T15:13:00.000-05:00

I know I'll be flogged by all those summer-lovers out there, but fall is coming. I can't wait. Foliage. Cool, crisp mornings. Pumpkins and gourds and squash, oh my. Sweaters. That smell of leaves falling. Apples that snap when you bite into them. Hot apple cider. Holy crap, I can't wait.

Walk On By

2007-08-05T21:11:00.000-05:00

She was on a mission.
A mission to walk. She took a few steps.
Stopped to vogue for her grandfather's camera.
Took a few more steps. Paused again for effect.
Took a few last steps and ended up in mama's arms.

Sweet.

Love of the Common People

2007-08-04T12:35:00.000-05:00

The title has nothing really to do with the post. I have the Springsteen cover of this Paul Young song going through my head. I thought perhaps if I typed it, it would GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD.

Nope. Still there.

Okay, so I uttered the words that would totally horrify my father this morning. My Animal was in bed with me this morning after my husband got up to take a shower. I had on a nightshirt that was loose and has tank top-like non-sleeves. I was lying on my stomach, hoping my nursing boobs wouldn't explode, and Animal pulled my shirt away from my back and pointed, exclaiming her pattened "oooooo". And then, I said it: "What's that, baby? Is that mama's tattoo?" Yep. Dad is so proud.

The interview went well. I think that if I am wrong and they don't have someone in mind for it, I am in the running. It's MUCH higher level than I thought and very high stress/high responsibility. It involves the public yelling at you a lot. I'm somewhat used to that and am fairly good at diffusing angry people. We'll see. However it turns out, it's good to know I can still talk preservation without sounding like a tool, and it was great to see everyone at the office.

I am such a L-O-S-E-R and in need of other's love and approval. I noticed I lost a subscriber in Bloglines. I hope I'm not too offensive/boring/lazy of a blogger. I know I have been slacking on posting lately. Thanks to the four of you who have stuck it out.

Working for a Living

2007-08-02T15:41:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is my interview. I am pretty confident they have already unofficially filled the position, but am holding onto a slight sliver of hope that they haven't and I have somewhat of a chance. Worst case scenario, I get to make a social visit to an office full of rockin' cool people in a state I adore. Best case scenario, I get an offer.

You KNOW I will get an offer now that Millie has adjusted to daycare and we'd have to move. She has been like a different kid there. Smiling. Playing. Eating. TAKING A BOTTLE. NOT screaming hysterically for 7 hours a day. Thank GOD. Of course, it may have something to do with the fact that she is finally feeling better. Whatever it is, I am eternally grateful.

Man, I feel like shite. That's the way I like to go into an interview. Screaming headache, that swimming feeling in my head, a sore throat that feels like I have inadvertently swallowed my razor, an ache in my back and neck. The parking is completely hellish in that area in the city. I am quite confident I will have to park down on South Main Street and haul my fat arse up the gi-normous hill in the 95 plus, humid weather. There's nothing like a sweaty handshake to make a fantasmic first impression on an interview. What to wear??? I have a suit jacket, but I fear: a) it will be wayyy to hot to wear it and not drown in my own sweaty filth; and b) it will create that look I detest: fat girl who is trying to look professional but hasn't made it out of 1987. I'll have to do a test run tonight. Too bad we don't own a full-length mirror. Or maybe it's just as well.

Well, I should jet. The 'rents should be landing at any moment. They kindly offered to come up in case Millie was sick for tomorrow. Husband doesn't have any more sick time left and I can't very well haul Animal along to my interview. I am so blessed to have them as parents. I could only hope to be half the mom my mom is.

Later.

Doctor, Doctor

2007-07-31T14:43:00.000-05:00

Great. I have strep throat. Good thing I finally went to the doctor's. FANtastic.

Wordless Wednesday 8 8 07

2007-07-30T22:12:00.000-05:00

My favorite basket.

J.O.B.

2007-07-30T21:40:00.000-05:00

Please excuse the random randomness of this post.

Millie is on week 10 of daycare. For 7 of those weeks, she has been sick. Two ear infections for her. Fevers of 104 and beyond. One ear infection lasting 6 weeks for my husband. One sore throat lasting 9 weeks for me. One stomach virus resulting in vomiting for her and the double whammy for me. However, she is FINALLY not crying for 8 of her 10 hours there. I hear she's actually smiling and playing and sharing food with her friends. It's a wondrous thing.

I have another interview on Friday for a professional position. It's in Rhode Island, where I got my undergraduate degree and have most of my preservation experience. I have a distinct feeling that they have someone in mind for the position already, but I feel like I have to apply. If I could write my own job description, it's pretty darned close to what I'd wish for. It's in a state I absolutely love, love, love. It's working with phenomenal people. It's a higher level position than I have ever held, but one I can do. Let's see if I can not blow this interview, too. I got a jacket for the interview at Kohl's for $13.50 marked down from $120.00!!!! SWEET!!!!! Too bad it's supposed to be in the 90s on Friday. In the city. Sweaty applicant, anyone?

Had a great day yesterday. I dropped off the husband at his parents' house to do some heavy lifting. Millie and I cruised to Mystic to meet my BFF (http://jessica213.blogspot.com/) and her unbelievably cool mother, who is like a second mom to me. I haven't seen them since November for a myriad of reasons, but I miss them like crazy every day. I have a ton of people who I regret my daughter not having daily exposure to, but they are two high on the list. They didn't get to see my little Animal in her natural habitat, and she was still under the weather and a bit mellow, but they both got a smile out of her. Animal actually SLEPT through lunch at a noisy restaurant while I got to eat. With both hands. And TALK like an adult. It was amazing. I got to be social. To be a friend. To be out among people. I splurged and bought a $13 shell cuff from a Tibetan jewelry shop and promptly felt horribly guilty. If I were closer, I'd bring it back. After lunch, Animal and I went back to my in-laws. She was a gem. Walked from her daddy to me, cruised like a speed demon around the furniture. Had her first steak while her mommy had a THREE pound lobster. Unreal. We miraculously hit no traffic or rain (unusual) on the way home. It was a late night on a work night (how old AM I?), but it was a strangely relaxing day. For once.

I should get to bed. It's late and I'm exhausted. Don't I end all my posts lately like that?

Wordless Wednesday 7 24 07

2007-07-25T22:18:00.000-05:00

The butterfly flew away just after I took this picture. Curse my slow camera.

Down By the Sea

2007-07-18T21:59:00.000-05:00

I am a total music whore. Junkie. Addict. I used to be up on new music. I am now old and busy, but I have my brothers to keep me current. However, my faithful music taste remains pretty mundane, I have to admit. One of my favorite movies is High Fidelity, and I, too, am obsessed with lists. Specifically, lists of music. As I sit listening to my iPod at work, gazing out upon the summer sun and missing being in the field, I think about my favorite summertime songs. I feel compelled to share. This is a short list, certainly not in order or exhaustive. Some of them are painfully obvious. Please add yours. My second obsession is grilling people on their own musical tastes.

1. Summertime by Janis Joplin. Man, what is better than hearing her gravelly, pained voice singing about coming alive? You can hear the humidity drip off her while she sings.

2. Under the Boardwalk by John Mellencamp (the live version)-First of all, I love anything live from John Mellencamp. I can smell the ocean and taffy. The back-up singers and harmonies are incredibly fun and it makes me want to go to the Jersey Shore. And that's quite a feat, let me just tell you.

3. America by Simon & Garfunkle (the Concert in Central Park version)-This might seem like a strange choice, but hear me out. When I was a kid, I used to go to Maine with my Nana and Pop for a few weeks in the summer. I literally lived for those three weeks all year long. I just about crawled out of my seat at the first sight of the ocean on the way there; I can tell you the exact moment you can get a glimpse of the sea on Route 1A. I cried most of the way home silently in the front seat every year. The summer the Concert album came out, I listened to the cassette on my walkman over and over and over again to the point of snapping the tape. If I close my eyes, I can feel the trailer we stayed in, hear the roar of the ocean I relished in while I was supposed to be sound asleep, smell the fragrance of my mom's parents. The song also tells the tale of travel, something everyone should do in the summertime.

4. Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles-Legend has it, George Harrison wrote this song while hanging out with Eric Clapton in his garden. Everyone should be required to listen to this song in early May or so, just as the weather is starting to turn and the summer is blossoming. It is a song of renewal and peace. It brings tears to my eyes. I listened to it the day my daughter came into this world. It will always be one of my favorites.

5. Tenth Avenue Freeze Out by Bruce Springsteen-I am an eastern Pennsylvania girl, from a town bordering Jersey. Springsteen is the only thing in the world that makes me want to be from the Garden State. Hearing this song confirms it. The heat, transistor radio blaring from the open window, being stifled. The song really isn't about summer per se, but it reminds me of being a kid in PA, sitting on the floor of my older brother's room, rifling through his record collection, being amazed with Springsteen, and this song standing out. It's also tremendous live. And I always equate live music with summertime.

I had ten songs jotted down, but the list is in the bedroom where my husband and daughter are currently sleeping. I am going to go join them. Maybe I'll bore you with the other five next time. Go listen to your favorite song and if you feel so inclined, let me know what sounds like summer to you.

Wordless Wednesday 7 18 07

2007-07-18T21:57:00.001-05:00

Our first product from the back porch garden. So tasty. And so pretty.

Summertime

2007-07-11T22:02:00.000-05:00

I apologize once again for the long hiatus. Millie has been sick for over two weeks, which transformed into an ear infection. I don't want to see a fever on my baby girl again for a long long time. She was absolutely pathetic and I felt absolutely useless. My poor little pumpkin. She's starting to feel better, thank God.

She came down with it right before we journeyed to Maryland for a family vacation we gave to my parents for Christmas. My poor husband did, too. We had one good day of vacation and then the two of them were miserable, but good sports. I sat up with her on the couch every night so she could breathe, thinking about family, summer, and how good my life is. More on that when I can form a more coherent thought. This is the clan.

Wordless Wednesday 7/12/2007

2007-07-11T21:55:00.000-05:00

This just in. Newly released photos of Nick Nolte as a child. Apparently the mug shot below was not his first run-in with a bad hair day.

Say My Name

2007-06-20T22:47:00.000-05:00

You may (or may not) have noticed-I changed the name of my blog. I was feeling a little censored knowing that if you searched my maiden name + my married name, it brought you to a post about the Christmas chaos we experienced at my parents' house this year. It wasn't particularly crass or snide, which I often am, but I'd feel bad if someone I love read it and took offense. Hopefully the name change will help. This blog turned from a wonderful idea my best friend had to help me have a place to post lovely things about and pictures of my daughter into a place for me to vent when I realized that no one in my family, including my own husband, had any interest in reading it. Which actually works well for me.

It's almost midnight and I have to be up in 5 hours and most likely will be up in 4 with a certain Millie sticking her finger up my nose to wake me up for playtime. Have a good night.

Wordless Wednesday 6/20/07

2007-06-19T13:50:00.001-05:00

A little light reading followed by some Springsteen, anyone?

Lost and Gone Forever?

2007-06-18T21:28:00.001-05:00

Where have I been? Good question. Not that I have been missed particularly.

By the time I drive the hour and a quarter home from work, feed and play with Millie, eat dinner, get the munchkin to bed, do the dishes, wash the bottles, get lunches and dinners and bottles ready for the next day and catch up with my husband, it's 9:30 or 10:00. And I'm whooped. And Millie starts crying for the 8th time that night. And I have school work to do. And 5:00 (on a good morning) comes awfully early.

I will be back soon. I have 368 feeds in my reader. I miss you all.

Wordless Wednesday 6/6/07

2007-06-05T13:31:00.000-05:00

My beachcomber.

Apple of My Eye

2007-06-05T13:15:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted a completely random picture of my girl lately. This is her with her daddy this past weekend prior to the pukefest. The thing on her head is the produce sticker. Thanks, Iain.

I Got the Fever

2007-06-05T12:35:00.000-05:00

Wow. A full week at daycare and we already got smacked by the kiddie flu. I knew it would happen, but this soon?

Saturday night came around and Millie was in bed. My husband and I were trying to be good doobies and I was doing work and he was job searching online. She started crying around 8:30, which is somewhat unusual for her. Iain went in to investigate, picked her up and brought her into the living room where she projectile vomited all over him and the carpet. The poor thing. I ran to her, of course, and grabbed her, because of course you need your mommy at times like this (and I wonder why she is having a tough time in daycare?). At which point she threw up all over me and herself. I'm such an amateur. We brought her into the bathtub and got us both cleaned up and in clean clothes, at which point she threw up again. And again. At one point, I wandered out to check on my husband, who was on his hands and knees cleaning the carpet. God bless him. Granted, he was using my best mixing bowl as a bucket to clean it. I should (and did) shut my big fat piehole and say thank you. There is a tradition with some North American Native peoples that dictates the burning and abandonment of a dwelling where something tragic has occurred. I was all for lighting the apartment ablaze and leaving rather than cleaning up the vomit. Seriously.

This is the point where I should explain what a big, gigantic freak I am when it comes to throwing up. I hate it. Now, I know, most people don't LIKE it, but I HATE it. I hate it and will do ANYTHING to avoid it. Anything. If I could strike a deal with God which allowed me to never throw up again, but in exchange, I had to spend two hours a day bench-pressing my husband, I'd do it. Or scheduling a weekly root canal. You name it, I'd do it. My mother was a freak about it, and so am I. I think it stems somewhat from the time I ate Comet Cleaner and was fed Syrup of Ipecac and the vomiting ensued. Don't ask me what possessed me to eat it to begin with. I was three and a half AND I could read AND I knew what that nasty Mr. Yuck symbol meant. Maybe it looked minty and tasty. Who the heck knows.

Anywho, one of my greatest fear with children is the vomit. What do you mean I have to take care of someone else while they are throwing up? Is this in writing somewhere? But, when she needed me, there was no where I would have rather been. My active girl who can never decide if she wants to be held or if she wants to be scaling the dining room chairs. My active girl who jumps up and down in her pack and play to the point it bounces across the floor. My active girl was greenish gray and lifeless. It broke my heart. She mended quickly and rehydrated. She was back to being active girl on Sunday.

Then it hit me on Monday. She was teething and pretty miserable Monday morning before the worst of it hit me, so I decided to keep her home with me. By 1:00 I called my husband and begged him to come home. There's nothing like throwing up with a baby, who you didn't have time to get in the pack and play, crawling up your leg, totally freaked out by the whole scene. I was also afraid I'd pass out and Millie would at last have her chance to take over the house. My husband would come home at 5:00 to her standing at the door, announcing her new-found (new-found? who the hell am I kidding?) dominance with her favorite wooden spoon in hand, naked except for her diaper. Like something out of Lord of the Flies.

I am trying to "rest" but the house looked like a bomb hit it by last night. I used to know how to relax. There is a crazy thunderstorm coming our way. Maybe I'll log off the computer, shut things down and listen to the rain. Or maybe I'll do the dishes.

If You Leave Me Now

2007-05-24T12:11:00.000-05:00

Daycare. The scourge I have dreaded for 8 months is finally a reality. I stayed with Millie her first two days. It was actually only two hours each day, THANK GOD. I don't think I could have hacked a full day of: a) being stuck in one room b) feeling like the worst mother on earth because my baby has no patience for waiting her turn c) watching the other charming but snotty-nose, diarrhea-laden kids trade swap spit via toys with my daughter d) lurking over the providers, feeling like I was totally invading their space and spying and e) resisting the urge to pick up all the other children who wanted attention.

Yesterday, I stayed for an hour and then it was time for me to leave her for two hours on her own. Okay, not on her own, but with two capable adults. Our strategy was planned: I would leave when she was ready to eat lunch-one of her favorite activities. Guaranteed to be a tears-free activity. Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Wait. Hahahahahahahaha. Okay. I'm done.

I said goodbye to her and tried like hell not to cry in front of her. The assistant director was at the front desk and took one look at me and I burst into a combination of laughter and tears. Okay, just tears, but laughter worked its way in in an effort to not look like a loooon. I stopped to talk to her for a moment and could hear Millie crying in her room. So, like the big girl I am, I scurried out the door, past the happy, playing kids and cried in my car. I haven't eaten lunch without either feeding or otherwise occupying a baby, talking on the phone, cleaning the house, or doing school work in 8 months, so I treated myself to lunch at a sandwich shop then took some schoolwork to the park behind the center. My husband called to see how things were and had the NERVE to ask me to tell him how I was feeling. DAMNED HIM!!!! I had composed myself and there I was, blubbering all over again. How DARE he want me to be in touch with my feelings. I'm Finnish-we don't do that. So, I get off the phone with him and think about what I need to do with our afternoon once I pick her up. Not two minutes later, the phone rings and it's my mother-in-law, asking if I wanted company later in the afternoon. We are working on getting Millie used to her (and vice versa), so I said SURE! My husband does that-he will send out the SOS signals to whoever he can-his parents, my parents, my aunt-whenever he knows I'm upset. Sometimes it helps and sometimes I'd just rather wallow in my loserdom.

Anywho, I drove back to the center to get my dearest daughter. Not a pretty morning, from what I gather, was had by anyone. The two caregivers in her room tried to calm her down. The assistant director tried. The director tried. She wasn't having any of it. She used to be a stinker for the babysitter when it came to taking a bottle, so I wasn't surprised she wouldn't take any milk, but it is unheard of for her not to eat. I think she'd eat fruit from Satan if he/she offered it to her. She finally ate just before I came. We went home and I nursed her, then proceeded to run around the house trying desperately to clean up before my mother-in-law showed up. Of course, the ONE time we actually have guests the night before and I decide to not do the dishes immediately has to coincide with Grannie coming for a visit. She's good about things like that-I think she agrees that there are more important things in life than having a spotless house, but STILL. She came and Millie was happy all afternoon for the most part. She didn't go to her Grannie, but didn't scream when she saw her, like she used to (that wasn't TOO uncomfortable). We had a tough evening, but she survived.

Today was day #2. Is this post as boring as I think it is? I feel like I have the verbal shits. Sorry. Feel free to wander off and check out the YouTube clips of Rosie O'Donnell scratching the eyes out of the Young Republican co-host on the view. I'm sure it's more entertaining. Millie did a wee bit better today, although I got the look from everyone as I came in. There's HER mother. She ate for them, but screamed her way through it. She was in the stroller when I got there by herself-not a great sign. What a big, giant faker she is. The minute she saw me she cried. The minute I picked her up, she was all cheezzzy grins. I missed her. I did, however, go shopping at Kohl's to find some cooler clothes to squeeze my increasing fat rear end into. I scored two pairs of pants for a total of $16 AND a pair of Sketchers sandals marked down from $44 to $19!!! SCORE!!!! I had to throw THE best pair of Sketchers sandals out last fall after Millie was born because with my pregnancy kankles, they were one of two pairs of shoes I could fit into. Tomorrow, she goes back for three more hours in the afternoon. Hopefully, it will get better with time. We'll see. Keep your fingers crossed for us.

Work House Blues

2007-05-21T07:25:00.000-05:00

I didn't get The Dream Job. Devastated doesn't even scratch the surface.

So, off I go this summer to The Museum. Not a bad option, but it leads to what I have to do today. We transition Millie into daycare this week. I get to stay with her today and tomorrow. Wednesday is the day I stay for an hour and then drop her off. To virtual strangers.

I have to go vomit. I'll let you know how it goes. The daycare, not the vomit.

Silent Night

2007-05-17T18:48:00.000-05:00

I feel so odd. The house is quiet. Millie is blissfully asleep. My husband is asleep in our bedroom and it's only 7:48. He's been asleep since a few minutes past 6:00. This is not typical, but last night, Millie woke up 30 seconds after Lost started (which is 10:01 for those not keeping track of Wednesday nights in terms of Lost time), then again at 11:30, then again at 12:15 (at which point he brought her into our room), then for good at 3:00 A.M. Did I mention the AM part? She stayed up until she crashed until 7:15.

Anywho, in the last hour, I finished cleaning up the kitchen, folded all the laundry, packaged up some Christmas gifts (yes, Christmas gifts. I know it's mid-May.) to send to Rhode Island because I have abandoned all hope of ever getting there again before 2010, answered some emails, looked up directions to a new dentist for my first teeth cleaning since before I was pregnant (yes, I'm gross AND a neglectful mother), and made a cup of tea which I actually got to drink all at once rather than reheating it in the microwave for the next 6 hours before I found the bottom of it. Incredible what I can accomplish given an hour of peace. Now, there are a million things I should do rather than write, but here I sit for a moment. I SO want to watch the season finale of Ugly Betty, but my husband's asleep and we watch it together. That doesn't make me any less tempted, though. Bad wife. We usually catch it online since it's on against Earl, which we also love, love, love. I'll wait for him, I guess. He'd wait for me.

I realized I never did write about my first Mother's Day. We baptized Millie in a church I started attending while we lived in Hartford. I love minister and the congregation. The service is a little too Catholic for my taste (not that there is anything wrong with Catholic services, but I'm used to a little lower Episcopalian services with all of the ritual and none of the guilt). I usually attend the 8:00 service, but we did it at the 10:30 service, complete with incense galore and chimes and chanting. So, some of my family and all of Iain's family (all four of them) were there. We did a little lunch reception afterwards in the parish hall. It was a repeat of my wedding all over again. I HEAR the food was good-I wouldn't know. I didn't get any. I guess I was doing what mothers do-making sure everyone else was set and settled and happy. Have we met? I'm a total martyr. The ceremony was nice, I'm glad it's done, and my first Mother's Day with a born baby was spent with people I love. I could be snarky and bitchy about the day, but you get that enough from me. I'll just count my blessings for once. I'll save the sarcasm for another day. Most of it, at least.

Wordless Wednesday 5/16/07

2007-05-16T19:41:00.000-05:00

Kung Fu Millie on her 8 month birthday.

I Don't Want to Miss a Thing

2007-05-11T13:12:00.000-05:00

We made a decision on a daycare for Millie. It is killing me that I have to leave her. In reality, I should shut my big fat pie hole. She'll be 8 months old when I have to leave her in the hands of strangers, about 7.5 months older than thousands of children when they enter daycare. It's a nice place (and for the price it should be...however, having worked daycare myself I know that quality comes with a price and the staff should be well compensated for the super important jobs they have). They encourage a week of transition time where I stay with her for three full days then drop her off for two half days before she starts full time on her own. That, to me, is a good sign. They encourage parents to linger and see what goes on first-hand. I can always grab Millie like a football and sprint from the building, leaving my giant deposit behind, if I get a bad vibe. But I don't think I'll need to. It was clean, the kids seemed happy, even at 5:15 in the evening (which is more than I can say for my own wee one most nights of the week), and the teachers were all adults without teardrop tattoos on their faces.

Let me qualify that statement. I don't have an issue with teenagers watching children, NOR do I have an issue with tattoos. I babysat from the time I was 11 and worked in daycares through high school. I have a tattoo. However, I visited one center where there was no adult to be found and the "staff" consisted of 4 or 5 young women dressed like Bratz dolls, talking on their cell phones, drinking coffee, talking trash about their baby daddies IN FRONT OF ME. And then there were the two teenage boys working there (if you want to call it that) who looked like they just got paroled, one of whom came screwing into the parking lot and proceeded to almost run us over. Almost all the kids were crying or whining and it was only 9:30 in the morning. Not a good sign. Not really the kind of people I want Millie to be exposed to 40 hours a week.

Still, even if I feel like she's in good hands, they aren't MY hands, or my husband's hands, or the hands of the lovely, Godsend of a babysitter Millie was blessed with over the last 5 months. What if she's scared or tired or sad and I'm not there? They won't know that she loves to be cheek-to-cheek when she's sleepy. What if she falls and no one brushes her off and assures her she's fine? They won't know it's not the huge bangs on the noggin that make her cry; it's the ones that happen when she was almost to her climbing destination that make her the most upset. What if she just wants to be loved and no one has a minute to give her a hug? No one will know that her lip smacks are currently serving as her kisses. What if she's her crazy, yelling, jumping, eye-poking self and the teachers refer to her as the "problem child" and her care is reflective of that? No one will know that we have diagnosed her with "active baby syndrome" or "ABS" with all the love and pride in the world. What if she cries all day long and misses her momma? No one will be able to convince her that I'll be there shortly and that I am 60 miles away missing her like crazy. What if no one sings Do Your Ears Hang Low or If You're Happy and You Know It to make her laugh? No one will know that she loves the "If you're happy and you know it blow a kiss" the best and that clapping too sharply freaks her out. What if they know her day schedule better than I do? What if I miss the first step or the first word or the first dry diaper? What if she loves them more than me?

Okay, let me take a moment to compose myself and stop blubbering.

Cognitively, I know everything will be fine. It will help her to stop being squirrely with people other than me. It will get her used to other kids and a bit of chaos so we don't have an all-out melt down every time we have visitors. It will build her socialization skills. I will drop her off in the morning, she will eat, sleep, play and learn, and my husband will get to be the hero in the afternoon and pick her up. Life will go on. But it is killing me.

Wordless Wednesday 5/9/07

2007-05-09T08:17:00.000-05:00

Kayak weather is coming! I can't wait.

School's Out for the Summer

2007-05-06T20:19:00.000-05:00

Ah, the SNL special is on. SNL in the 90s. When it was funny and relevant and smart. Now it's just an embarrassment.

School is over for the semester. It was harder than I ever imagined. I learn something new every semester. My lesson for this semester: I SUCK. Maybe if Millie was a better sleeper, things would have been different. Maybe if I could have had more than 45 minutes to think. To read an article. To correct exams. To, God forbid, think about my dissertation. But, for the last three months, she woke up more times than I can count between the time she goes to "bed" and the time we relented and my husband took her to bed with him so I could get some work done. Of course, by then, it's late and I'm exhausted. If I don't get the job I am still hoping hoping hoping for and I'm still in school full time in the fall, I am holding on to hope that she'll be better by then. At this rate, I should get my dissertation by the time I'm 50. Not that there is anything wrong with getting your dissertation at 50. It's just wrong when you started at 31.

Maybe now I'll have time to breathe. To blog. To call my friends. If they still love me. I wouldn't blame them if they say, "And I should know you from?"

Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters

2007-04-27T22:35:00.000-05:00

I'm such a loser. I have to post something just so that horrible picture where my head looks like it's way bigger than it should be with a brain my size isn't the first thing to pop up on the page. So, here is a random picture of my daughter for your viewing pleasure.

Thank you to all who took the time to comment on the make-up free picture, though.

Monster Mash

2007-04-27T07:36:00.000-05:00

Steph over at Adventures in Babywearing challenged people to post pictures of themselves without makeup. This from a woman who looks gorgeous without any make up at all. So, here it goes. I apologize if any of you have just eaten.

Wordless Wednesday

2007-04-24T22:34:00.000-05:00

I have to leave this face at daycare? With strangers? No way.

Shelter from the Storm

2007-04-19T10:04:00.000-05:00

I spent the last three days trying to understand what happened at Virginia Tech. I did what I did after September 11th. I obsessively watched the news. I read stories online. Checked out blogs. Thought about it from an anthropological perspective. All in a feeble attempt to understand it. To find someone capable of telling me WHY such a thing would happen.

I got to my college campus yesterday. It was a semi-typical April day - overcast, showers, raw. As I walked to class, instead of trudging through with my head down in thought as I usually do, I looked at the faces of the babies around me as I passed them by. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty years old. So full of potential. Not innocent, certainly, in the strictest definition of the word, but innocent nonetheless. My iPod brought up my favorite Bob Dylan song, one of my favorite songs ever sung, Shelter from the Storm. How ironic. The song usually gives me a strange combination of sadness and comfort. Yesterday it did that very thing, but it was oddly different. There were kids walking in groups, couples holding hands, drinking coffee, talking on their cell phones. Doing what college kids do. And should be doing. Not looking over their shoulders. Not walking through metal detectors to get to class. They are here and bursting with thoughts and ideas and potential.

My professor I teach for ended the class with an announcement that her TAs would be giving their students the opportunity to talk in discussion sections about what happened. She explained what happens in some chiefdom societies when someone commits a heinous act. The family sends the perpetrator away to live with other kin and then take the brunt of the disgrace and are left to pay restitution to the rest of the villagers. She asked if the students thought that a "loner" personality was possible in smaller scale societies. It got me to thinking about the role we play, or should play, as human beings in reaching out to loners our society creates. I met with the first of my discussion sections. Their normally sassy dispositions were muted when I asked what was on their minds. "Fucked up." That summed it up. I tried to ask questions to make them think. I ended up asking questions that made me think. Do you feel safe? What is the line between freedom and security? What is our responsibility to reach out to others in need? I heard rants about the Keystone Kop-reputation the campus police have, but I also heard that the students themselves needed to take part in their own security and not totally rely on others to make them safe. I heard concerns about stereotypes of ethnicities and people with emotional problems. I heard flippant comments masking fear. I heard apathy masking frustration. I heard sadness and wistfulness and hope all at one time.

Four hours of discussion sections later, I drove home in the dark wondering who would give me an answer. How could this have happened? How could that poor, disturbed kid have slipped through the system that time and time again tried to address his issues but ultimately threw him back into the world? How could 33 people, bursting with potential, be wiped off the planet in one grim morning? What can we do to stop this from ever happening again? I wish I had the answer.

Crazy Train

2007-04-17T21:40:00.000-05:00

Crazy train, indeed. Her expression says it all. Three weeks of school left in the semester and I haven't done an eighth of what I need to do to be done. Papers to be written. Collections to be inventoried. Exams to be written. Grades to be calculated.

I interviewed for a dream job and am waiting to hear. In the meantime, I was offered a part time job that I could do with my eyes closed and one I would enjoy. It, of course, does not have diddly squat to do with my career and doesn't pay enough/provide enough hours to even pay for day care, let alone pay my bills. Do I accept it and then recant if, by some act of God, I get offered the dream job? Do I say "no thank you" and pray for a miracle? I looked at applications for shit jobs online. Not that I'm above a shit job, mind you, but one of the chain grocery stores' applications includes questions like "How many times in the last three months have you taken money from your employer that you did not earn?" and "How many times in the last three months have you engaged in a loud argument with a boss, co-worker, or customer?" WHAT? Okay, first of all, do I want to work in a position that they would hire those who chose choice anything but choice A (zero)? Even if you were lying, who in their right mind would admit to it??? I really don't want to be a night produce clerk. I'd like to spend my hours of the wee morning fending off my daughter punching me in the eye as she sprawls out between me and my husband, or nod off nursing her in the rocker, hoping I don't let her roll off my lap. Not making small talk with Bubba about where she got her smashing tear drop tattoo. Call me a snob. I won't argue with you.

I'm frantically searching for day care somewhere that hasn't hired Nurse Ratchet. The thought of putting her in day care makes me want to sob out loud and chain myself to the couch with her in my lap. I also didn't realize that "part time" is three full days, not five half days or any combination of "sometimes." I have to pay for "full time" even though as it stands, I'd only be working "part time." That was dumb on my part. But now I don't know what to do. Can't pay my bills without working. Can't pay for daycare on a part time (or two part time) salaries and have any left over for my bills. I know I am not alone in this dilemma. God bless Canada. One full year of paid maternity leave, from what I understand. One more reason to be Canadian.

ANYWHO, yet again I find myself blogging when I should be working or sleeping. I don't have any other way to vent at the moment on any sort of regular basis. So, even if no one is reading it, I feel better. Cheaper than therapy, this blogging is. Thank you.