My mother has always drank coffee. When I was a child, coffee makers were expensive, so she drank instant coffee. Bitter 1980s Folgers crystals, mixed much too strong and then nuked in the microwave until burnt, and she drank it black. To this day she is never without her coffee cup, and although she now uses an actual coffee maker, she still drinks bad coffee. She makes her morning pot around 6:30 am and drinks half of it, then turns off the warmer and goes to work. At noon she comes home for lunch, pours herself a cup of old, cold, coffee and nukes it, and drinks a couple cups that way. At 4:00 she does the same thing to the dregs in the bottom of the pot before making herself a new pot. And half the time she forgets the cup in the microwave and has to reheat it all over again. It's oily, bitter, and leaves a film of dust in the mug. It's disgusting.
When I was 15 or so, I decided I was going to become a coffee drinker, to establish myself as an adult. After a couple swallows of my mother's coffee, even fresh brewed, I went back to Mountain Dew as my caffeine source of choice.
When I was 20, in 1997, the coffee shop, Seattle, Starbucks, Central Perk, giant cappuccino mug movement was in full swing and I took a second job, at a coffee shop. This particular coffee shop was a lunch-break haven for yuppies during the day and a beat-poet 20-somethings hangout at night. To this day I equate acoustic guitars and paperback copies of On The Road with mocha lattes made with Hershey syrup. I discovered that in a 2 to 1 ration of steamed milk, I could tolerate coffee. I even learned how to make Turkish coffee, although the grounds always bothered me. But then I got pregnant and, as a single mother, exotic coffee drinks were suddenly out of my price range. Back to the Mountain Dew.
Now I'm 33, and I have to wake up to get my 11 year old daughter off to school and care for my one year old son, and Mountain Dew costs $5.00 a 12 pack. And, the same daughter whose very existence made espresso drinks a thing of the past bought me an espresso machine for Christmas a couple years back. I still use Hershey syrup, and I now microwave the milk rather than steaming it (steaming it took so long the espresso got cold and the tiny tank on the machine ran out of water), but I now start my mornings with a giant insulated mug of coffee. Hell, today I had two. I can't drink it past noon or I'll be up all night; pregnancy plus a year of breast feeding hath robbed me of my Mountain Dew induced caffeine tolerance. And my husband detests the smell or taste of coffee on my breath. But I have finally, finally, achieved the adult coffee-drinker status I wanted in high school, now that I would love to be mistaken for a teenager once again. How ironic.
Friday, August 28, 2009
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Actually, it fits pretty well
I saw an article titled, "Gay Christian Network Is A Bit of A Miracle" and it made me think. Why is it such a miracle that gays could be Christian, or that some Christians might be okay with gays? So I thought about it and I realized that Christians today tend to be assholes, at least the loud ones do. I mean, Jesus, what little I know of him, was a pretty cool guy. he was progressive. He said, "Don't worry about all the little rules and all the stuff God said he hated, just be a good person and treat people well and suck it up when life craps on you and you'll be rewarded later for it." He said, "Don't morally judge people. Leave that to God. Don't pull rank you don't have." Of course, I'm paraphrasing, but that's the jist of it. We are the kids in this deal; God is the parent. And just the same way I don't let my daughter hand out punishment to my son, because she's his equal and not in authority, we should not be speaking for God.
God works in mysterious ways. There are more things in Heaven and Earth than you can conceive of. These are both ways of saying that we're not able to get it. We don't have the mental capacity to know what God wants or why he does stuff or what it all means. Just because we can come up with a reason for straight people and not one for gay people doesn't mean there isn't a reason, just that it might take a mind better than ours to grasp it. God made gay people, and cross-dressers, and fetishists, and transsexuals, and flamboyant musical theater costume designers who against all odds actually turn out to be straight. We don't have to know why He made them. We don't even have to know if He had a reason for making them. All we have to do is withhold judgment, try not to stare because that would be rude, and trust that He knows what He's doing and doesn't need us umping up to help all the time. Nobody likes a kissass, and I assume it's the same with the man upstairs. You worry about your work and let the others worry about theirs.
And as long as the gay couple down the street pay their taxes, mow their lawn, keep their stereo turned to a decent volume, and close the curtains before they shower or fight, it has nothing to do with their neighbors. You don't have to approve of everything they do; you're not that important. But if they live a good and honest life and try to bring good to the wold and not bad, then they're following that Jesus told us to do more than a lot of folks are.
"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" . . . Remember he was actually stopping a whore's criminal sentence from being carried out when he said that.
God works in mysterious ways. There are more things in Heaven and Earth than you can conceive of. These are both ways of saying that we're not able to get it. We don't have the mental capacity to know what God wants or why he does stuff or what it all means. Just because we can come up with a reason for straight people and not one for gay people doesn't mean there isn't a reason, just that it might take a mind better than ours to grasp it. God made gay people, and cross-dressers, and fetishists, and transsexuals, and flamboyant musical theater costume designers who against all odds actually turn out to be straight. We don't have to know why He made them. We don't even have to know if He had a reason for making them. All we have to do is withhold judgment, try not to stare because that would be rude, and trust that He knows what He's doing and doesn't need us umping up to help all the time. Nobody likes a kissass, and I assume it's the same with the man upstairs. You worry about your work and let the others worry about theirs.
And as long as the gay couple down the street pay their taxes, mow their lawn, keep their stereo turned to a decent volume, and close the curtains before they shower or fight, it has nothing to do with their neighbors. You don't have to approve of everything they do; you're not that important. But if they live a good and honest life and try to bring good to the wold and not bad, then they're following that Jesus told us to do more than a lot of folks are.
"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone" . . . Remember he was actually stopping a whore's criminal sentence from being carried out when he said that.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
My father was a slut. Not an indiscriminate slut, and not indiscreet enough that I heard about it at school or anything, but he got around. And, I later found out, he coincidentally broke up with a woman who had a baby 8 months later who (also coincidentally) grew up to look exactly frigging like him. And that guy hates me because, somehow, I am to blame for his dad not being his dad and his entire life being a lie handed to him by his mother. Or more likely I'm just a reminder of it all, but still it sucks to get the blame. And that guy married a girl I went to school with and she went to the high school reunion tonight and they sat at the table right next to mine, with the original long-haired pizza boy. And the first maybe-brother guy worked at the pizza place too, so Oh Boy, didn't Tom have fun teasing me about the pizza boy "restraining order table".
And the people I went there to see, the asshole jocks who never turned out to be anything, didn't show. Jackasses. But I did find out that I may get an address I have wanted for a long time. I am nervous and excited, and I will write more later.
And the people I went there to see, the asshole jocks who never turned out to be anything, didn't show. Jackasses. But I did find out that I may get an address I have wanted for a long time. I am nervous and excited, and I will write more later.
Friday, July 31, 2009
No More Dye For Me!
I've always wanted red hair. And I've dyed it for the last 13 years, not counting while pregnant twice. And, with my HS reunion coming up (I'm completely Romy & Michelle about it too) I had to dye it. SO last weekend I popped open a couple bottles and poured it on. Now, I have super-thick hair so two bottles is not as much as it might sound, and it turned out to not be quite enough. After I finished and rinsed it out and it dried, I had missed spots. Last night I realized that, I can't go to my reunion with spotty color so I took a third bottle and dumped it on just the top, to cover the roots and the brownish spots. I've done this before and been fine. But not this time.
I rinsed it and dried it and . . . I look like someone painted the top of my head Crayola red! So today I had to go uptown in a ball cap and confess my idiocy to my hairdresser. So she re-dyed me. Then she darkened the length of it. Then she lightened the roots. And now I have perfectly even haircolor. Approximately the same shade as a brand new penny. Under orange lighting. Ugh. But it's even, and the Ronald McDonald-ness is gone.
I am choosing to read this as a sign from God. I am going to embrace my gray roots and age gracefully. Hair color is not meant for me. It was a good run, until the end, but no more for me. Mousy brown and gray may just be my fate, and I will have to accept it.
I rinsed it and dried it and . . . I look like someone painted the top of my head Crayola red! So today I had to go uptown in a ball cap and confess my idiocy to my hairdresser. So she re-dyed me. Then she darkened the length of it. Then she lightened the roots. And now I have perfectly even haircolor. Approximately the same shade as a brand new penny. Under orange lighting. Ugh. But it's even, and the Ronald McDonald-ness is gone.
I am choosing to read this as a sign from God. I am going to embrace my gray roots and age gracefully. Hair color is not meant for me. It was a good run, until the end, but no more for me. Mousy brown and gray may just be my fate, and I will have to accept it.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It's about freaking time!
I smoked for almost 20 years and the absolute worst part of it, worse than the coughing or the expense or being told to go outside in sub-zero temperatures, was getting health lectures from tan people. I hate tans now, and for good reason. Tan people who scowl at smokers are all hypocrites.
The tanning industry, that means tanning beds and lotions and even the fake tan guys with their sprays and lotions, is just as bad as the tobacco industry ever was. They promote tanning to kids, they promote tanning as glamorous and beautiful, and they perpetuate the myth of the "healthy" tan. The fake bake guys still promote the idea that pale is ugly and tan is the way to be and if they can take candy cigarettes off the shelf then the bronzers have to go too. They need to be held accountable. And now, it seems, they might be.
A recent study has found tanning beds to be as deadly as arsenic. The radiation they put out is carcinogenic, no two ways about it. And if some clever lawyer can prove that the tanning bed companies knew about this and didn't tell anyone, then there's a class-action suit in the future. I can't wait.
I read somewhere that the movie ratings people were considering giving an automatic R rating to any movie where a person smokes. That means that the old 101 Dalmations cartoon movie, if made today, would be given an R rating because of Cruella's cigarette. I think that eventually the same should be said for tans. If a naturally pale person like Scarlet Johanson has a tan in a movie, there should be, at the least, public outrage. Skin cancers are ridiculously prevalent in our society, precisely because people (women especially) are embarrassed to be seen with a natural skin color. Even me. I'm pale and I don't wear shorts because of how pale my legs are. And I wear spf 85 when I go out!
Say what you will about men in black eyeliner and nail polish, or women with black hair and blond roots, the goth movement at least brought pale back. I too, like Martin Luther King Jr., have a dream where people are no longer judged by their skin color. Especially when the alternative seems to be irradiating teenagers for prom.
The tanning industry, that means tanning beds and lotions and even the fake tan guys with their sprays and lotions, is just as bad as the tobacco industry ever was. They promote tanning to kids, they promote tanning as glamorous and beautiful, and they perpetuate the myth of the "healthy" tan. The fake bake guys still promote the idea that pale is ugly and tan is the way to be and if they can take candy cigarettes off the shelf then the bronzers have to go too. They need to be held accountable. And now, it seems, they might be.
A recent study has found tanning beds to be as deadly as arsenic. The radiation they put out is carcinogenic, no two ways about it. And if some clever lawyer can prove that the tanning bed companies knew about this and didn't tell anyone, then there's a class-action suit in the future. I can't wait.
I read somewhere that the movie ratings people were considering giving an automatic R rating to any movie where a person smokes. That means that the old 101 Dalmations cartoon movie, if made today, would be given an R rating because of Cruella's cigarette. I think that eventually the same should be said for tans. If a naturally pale person like Scarlet Johanson has a tan in a movie, there should be, at the least, public outrage. Skin cancers are ridiculously prevalent in our society, precisely because people (women especially) are embarrassed to be seen with a natural skin color. Even me. I'm pale and I don't wear shorts because of how pale my legs are. And I wear spf 85 when I go out!
Say what you will about men in black eyeliner and nail polish, or women with black hair and blond roots, the goth movement at least brought pale back. I too, like Martin Luther King Jr., have a dream where people are no longer judged by their skin color. Especially when the alternative seems to be irradiating teenagers for prom.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I wish I were better at the housewife thing.
I wish I were better than I am. I know what I want to do, but I can't ever seem to remember to do any of it, or find the motivation to. I envy people who wake up with a full to-do list in their head and then just commence doing it. Me, I can't even remember the date, and I keep trying to check my watch for it when I haven't worn a watch that gave the date in almost 20 years. Here are just a few things I want to do, but never seem able to.
I want to plan meals out ahead of time, so that I'll actually have all of the required ingredients, or maybe just have the food thawed. I would love to go to the grocery store and buy all the things, and only the tings, I need to make specific meals for the week. But I just end up buying the things I wrote on the grocery list, which means the things we have run out of during the week. Unfortunately that means that I often don't have enough of an ingredient because I haven't yet run out to buy more. I need a cup of parmesan to make pesto sauce, so as long as I have half a cup left I forget to buy more and can't eat pesto sauce.
I want to vacuume twice a week. I even wrote out a schedule where vacuuming was listed twice. But then Tuesday came around and the floors looked fine, and the baby needed lunch and then Ryan came home and I had to get on her about her homework, and then it was time to figure out what I could make for dinner with nothing thawed out and only half a pantry of stuff, so it got put off. Vacuuming is just so easy to put off!
I want to be the sort of mom who remembers every week to go through the house and empty the various trash cans on garbage day, but I am not. I end up with a waste basket overflowing with multi-colored lint beside the washing machine and a can in the bathroom with empty cardboard tubes sprouting out the top, the day after the trash gets picked up.
And while I'm at it, my potholders are filthy. I want to somehow be able to remember on laundry day to go through the house and collect all the rag rugs and potholders and wash them too, but I never do. I barely ever remember to go get the week's bibs from the kitchen.
How do other people remember to do all these things? Is it that they had more organized mothers themselves? Is it a role model thing? Or is it just some ingrained character flaw that I don't think to dust any higher than I can see or to clean off the tops of my ceiling fan blades? What exactly is wrong with me that I don't know to do these things?
I want to plan meals out ahead of time, so that I'll actually have all of the required ingredients, or maybe just have the food thawed. I would love to go to the grocery store and buy all the things, and only the tings, I need to make specific meals for the week. But I just end up buying the things I wrote on the grocery list, which means the things we have run out of during the week. Unfortunately that means that I often don't have enough of an ingredient because I haven't yet run out to buy more. I need a cup of parmesan to make pesto sauce, so as long as I have half a cup left I forget to buy more and can't eat pesto sauce.
I want to vacuume twice a week. I even wrote out a schedule where vacuuming was listed twice. But then Tuesday came around and the floors looked fine, and the baby needed lunch and then Ryan came home and I had to get on her about her homework, and then it was time to figure out what I could make for dinner with nothing thawed out and only half a pantry of stuff, so it got put off. Vacuuming is just so easy to put off!
I want to be the sort of mom who remembers every week to go through the house and empty the various trash cans on garbage day, but I am not. I end up with a waste basket overflowing with multi-colored lint beside the washing machine and a can in the bathroom with empty cardboard tubes sprouting out the top, the day after the trash gets picked up.
And while I'm at it, my potholders are filthy. I want to somehow be able to remember on laundry day to go through the house and collect all the rag rugs and potholders and wash them too, but I never do. I barely ever remember to go get the week's bibs from the kitchen.
How do other people remember to do all these things? Is it that they had more organized mothers themselves? Is it a role model thing? Or is it just some ingrained character flaw that I don't think to dust any higher than I can see or to clean off the tops of my ceiling fan blades? What exactly is wrong with me that I don't know to do these things?
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Fertility gods
Years ago, when I was a young rebellious teen with more money that sense, and not much money, I decided that I wanted to have a baby. I specifically wanted to have a baby with the boy I was seeing at the time. I call him a boy because he was not then, nor is he now, nor will he likely ever be, a man in all but the physical sense. And so, to spiritually enhance my fertility, and to rebelliously marr my body, I had an ankh tattooed below my navel, over my womb. I had read that it was a fertility symbol, and i did like the tattoos, but let me tell you, after one pregnancy (let alone two), a tattoo right below the navel looks much like a deflated balloon. It's all dis-proportioned and really just wonky. Don't ever do it. One year later, though, I got pregnant with Ryan.
many less years ago, after a painful and expensive vasectomy reversal, I decided (duh) to get pregnant again. I went on Amazon.com and found, for less than ten dollars, a coral ring I liked, coral being a fertility symbol for the more New Age of us out there. I bought it and wore it and quickly became pregnant with Tommy.
Now, I want to become pregnant again. Logic would dictate that I just put the old coral ring back on, but sadly, I cannot. My finger is now too big for it, and a largely sentimental part of me thinks that someday Tommy and his wife may want to have a child and I can then give them the ring that gave me him. I want a new heirloom (yes, a ten dollar ring from Amazon.com can be an heirloom!) for this baby. I ignore the fact that I'd have to be skinned to give Ryan an heirloom. So, I need a new ring. Or pendant or earrings or whatever. But, despite wanting a specific fertility symbol, I'm picky enough not to want a giant penis statue to set on my nightstand and someday bequeath to my daughter-in-law. So I again look for coral. And guess what. The price
has gone up! A lot!. At least for rings I like, anyway. And the earrings are all dangly, too uncomfortable to wear 24/7 for 9+ months. And the necklaces are either heavy and chunky or elastic and made of tiny chips, and I can too easily imagine those breaking in my bed and filling it with shards of dead sea-life. No, I need something heirloom and daughter-in-law ready (I know my next will be another boy, so I'm probably already pregnant with a girl, knowing my luck), preferably cheap enough that Tom will let me buy it.
But also, what can I give Ryan, since her crazy voodoo symbol was tattoo? I know kids don't need any conception aid from their mothers, but if one kid gets it the rest should too.
many less years ago, after a painful and expensive vasectomy reversal, I decided (duh) to get pregnant again. I went on Amazon.com and found, for less than ten dollars, a coral ring I liked, coral being a fertility symbol for the more New Age of us out there. I bought it and wore it and quickly became pregnant with Tommy.
Now, I want to become pregnant again. Logic would dictate that I just put the old coral ring back on, but sadly, I cannot. My finger is now too big for it, and a largely sentimental part of me thinks that someday Tommy and his wife may want to have a child and I can then give them the ring that gave me him. I want a new heirloom (yes, a ten dollar ring from Amazon.com can be an heirloom!) for this baby. I ignore the fact that I'd have to be skinned to give Ryan an heirloom. So, I need a new ring. Or pendant or earrings or whatever. But, despite wanting a specific fertility symbol, I'm picky enough not to want a giant penis statue to set on my nightstand and someday bequeath to my daughter-in-law. So I again look for coral. And guess what. The price
has gone up! A lot!. At least for rings I like, anyway. And the earrings are all dangly, too uncomfortable to wear 24/7 for 9+ months. And the necklaces are either heavy and chunky or elastic and made of tiny chips, and I can too easily imagine those breaking in my bed and filling it with shards of dead sea-life. No, I need something heirloom and daughter-in-law ready (I know my next will be another boy, so I'm probably already pregnant with a girl, knowing my luck), preferably cheap enough that Tom will let me buy it.
But also, what can I give Ryan, since her crazy voodoo symbol was tattoo? I know kids don't need any conception aid from their mothers, but if one kid gets it the rest should too.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Random thoughts
I have never really liked Kate Gosselin. Ive envied her organization and her ambition to clean (on her knees scrubbing the floor daily?!) but she's always treated her husband like one of the kids, but worse. That's always kind of irritated me. Apparently it hasn't sat too well with him either, because they're getting divorced now. On this week's episode she was all splotchy-faced and tear-streaked saying she didn't want it, and he said how he was excited because it's a new chapter in his life and he's only 32. Funny how I now hate him.
I hate haircuts. For one thing, I have really fucked up hair. I have enough hair for 3 people, so if i cut it short it poofs out horribly and when it's long it's like wearing a sweater down my back. And also, it's wavy at the bottom but it's so heavy that it pulls itself straight at the top, so I look like I have a perm growing out but I don't. I don't think I've ever really gotten a good haircut, just varying degrees of bad, and now I have to go get another one tomorrow, to try to fix a terrible one I got last week. Get this: I told the lady (no names, to protect my ass) I wanted maybe 2 inches cut off and she said "Nope, not what I'm doing" and cut off about 5 inches, then told me she had compromised. And when it poofed, she blamed my shampoo; it seems I need more moisture to avoid a consequence I told her would come to pass. And the left side is longer than the right and it's shorter in the front than in the back and I want to cry because it's going to take at least a year to grow back out and . . . .
I have a high school reunion coming up. I should be completely past it since my high school career was just one embarrassment after another, but I'm all Romy and Michelle about it and now I'm carrying 30 pounds of baby weight AND I have a bad hair cut, but I'm wondering also what I will wear. I don't really have good clothes, certainly nothing to impress anyone in. I have one pair of jeans and a few tops, and ill-fitting nursing bras. But since I thrive on worry, this will do for the summer, at least after tomorrow's haircut.
Tommy turns one in August. I have to plan a birthday party. I don't want to; I want him to still be my little baby. He started walking last week. I need a new one. Hey, maybe I'm knocked up already! That'll help me explain the flab at the reunion. But then i won't be able to drink the pain away while jackasses reminisce about that time I walked the entire length of the freshman hallway with my skirt in the back of my underwear. Ahh, good times.
I hate haircuts. For one thing, I have really fucked up hair. I have enough hair for 3 people, so if i cut it short it poofs out horribly and when it's long it's like wearing a sweater down my back. And also, it's wavy at the bottom but it's so heavy that it pulls itself straight at the top, so I look like I have a perm growing out but I don't. I don't think I've ever really gotten a good haircut, just varying degrees of bad, and now I have to go get another one tomorrow, to try to fix a terrible one I got last week. Get this: I told the lady (no names, to protect my ass) I wanted maybe 2 inches cut off and she said "Nope, not what I'm doing" and cut off about 5 inches, then told me she had compromised. And when it poofed, she blamed my shampoo; it seems I need more moisture to avoid a consequence I told her would come to pass. And the left side is longer than the right and it's shorter in the front than in the back and I want to cry because it's going to take at least a year to grow back out and . . . .
I have a high school reunion coming up. I should be completely past it since my high school career was just one embarrassment after another, but I'm all Romy and Michelle about it and now I'm carrying 30 pounds of baby weight AND I have a bad hair cut, but I'm wondering also what I will wear. I don't really have good clothes, certainly nothing to impress anyone in. I have one pair of jeans and a few tops, and ill-fitting nursing bras. But since I thrive on worry, this will do for the summer, at least after tomorrow's haircut.
Tommy turns one in August. I have to plan a birthday party. I don't want to; I want him to still be my little baby. He started walking last week. I need a new one. Hey, maybe I'm knocked up already! That'll help me explain the flab at the reunion. But then i won't be able to drink the pain away while jackasses reminisce about that time I walked the entire length of the freshman hallway with my skirt in the back of my underwear. Ahh, good times.
Thursday, June 04, 2009
Goals for my house
- Dry-Lock the basement.
- Carpet the living room
- Paint the kitchen . . . but what color?
- Put in a back patio
- Put river rock in the front flower beds
- Get a lilac bush
- Put hooks in the porch and deck roofs for hanging flower basket
Wednesday, June 03, 2009
Wii would like to play
I'm opposed to video games. Not the games themselves, because I remember fondly the antiquated concept of the arcade, but the systems that bring them into homes. I'm opposed to video games for the same reason I'm opposed to legalizing pot; because too many people get hooked and become mindless zombies sitting in front of TVs, never going outside or doing much of anything.
That said, Ryan wants a Wii. Of course she does. Her friends have them and the technology is new and shiny and seductive, and the damn thing costs almost $300, not including balance boards and dance mats and extra controllers in nifty shapes. So when she told me last year, before her tenth birthday, that all she wanted in the whole world was a Wii, I told her. . .
"Buy it yourself and I'll let you have one, but I won't let anyone buy one for you because I'm against them." I am the meanest mom in the world, aren't I.
So I drew up a thermometer goal chart like charities have and notched it from zero to three hundred, and labeled a plastic recipe card box with the words "Wii fund" and told her to start saving. In the last thirteen months she has washed cars, saved birthday and Christmas card money, set up Kool-Aid stands, and taken donations from family friends impressed with her determination. And finally, she made it. Her Wii, complete with wii-mote, nun chuck, and Wii Sports game, is in transit from Amazon to here. And even though I dread the fights, me wanting her to go outside and her wanting to play just one more game, I admire her. At her age I couldn't save up for a new Poison tape without spending the money on candy bars first. But she stuck with it and saved $250 in change, bills, and one amazon gift card. I am so proud of her.
That said, Ryan wants a Wii. Of course she does. Her friends have them and the technology is new and shiny and seductive, and the damn thing costs almost $300, not including balance boards and dance mats and extra controllers in nifty shapes. So when she told me last year, before her tenth birthday, that all she wanted in the whole world was a Wii, I told her. . .
"Buy it yourself and I'll let you have one, but I won't let anyone buy one for you because I'm against them." I am the meanest mom in the world, aren't I.
So I drew up a thermometer goal chart like charities have and notched it from zero to three hundred, and labeled a plastic recipe card box with the words "Wii fund" and told her to start saving. In the last thirteen months she has washed cars, saved birthday and Christmas card money, set up Kool-Aid stands, and taken donations from family friends impressed with her determination. And finally, she made it. Her Wii, complete with wii-mote, nun chuck, and Wii Sports game, is in transit from Amazon to here. And even though I dread the fights, me wanting her to go outside and her wanting to play just one more game, I admire her. At her age I couldn't save up for a new Poison tape without spending the money on candy bars first. But she stuck with it and saved $250 in change, bills, and one amazon gift card. I am so proud of her.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Is it time yet?
It would almost certainly involve that godawful diabetes diet. And injections too, now that I walk among the ranks of the insured. I would be exhausted from hormones and late night pees, but still have to wake up with a baby. It would involve what they call "tandem nursing". I would get even fatter than I already am.
But part of me, a small but LOUD part, wants another baby. Wants to get pregnant this month if not sooner, as a matter of fact. When I was growing up, kids were 18-24 months apart. When you were in sixth grade your sibling was somewhere from forth to eighth. Now people wait until baby number one is three before having baby number two. Well, I did the waiting. My oldest is in sixth grade this fall, for gods' sakes. Now I want to do it the normal way, close together. And also, part of it is the pregnancy, regardless of the baby. (Not that I want anything to go wrong with the baby, just that pregnancy is a whole experience in itself.) I want new maternity clothes (my ass outgrew the old ones), and I want weekly email updates on what's forming today. I want to think about names, and try to guess sex based on heart rate. I want to feel kicks and cravings and to be able to not suck in my stomach when people can see me in profile.
I saw Ryan with a baby when she was little and I remember feeling sad that she would never be a big sister at that age. I want Tommy to get to be a big brother at the age when he's a "big boy" about it rather than seeing it for the spit-up and dirty diapers side of it. And I really don't want to be 40 and pregnant with my next one. I want to be pregnant NOW. I wonder if I can talk Tom into it.
But part of me, a small but LOUD part, wants another baby. Wants to get pregnant this month if not sooner, as a matter of fact. When I was growing up, kids were 18-24 months apart. When you were in sixth grade your sibling was somewhere from forth to eighth. Now people wait until baby number one is three before having baby number two. Well, I did the waiting. My oldest is in sixth grade this fall, for gods' sakes. Now I want to do it the normal way, close together. And also, part of it is the pregnancy, regardless of the baby. (Not that I want anything to go wrong with the baby, just that pregnancy is a whole experience in itself.) I want new maternity clothes (my ass outgrew the old ones), and I want weekly email updates on what's forming today. I want to think about names, and try to guess sex based on heart rate. I want to feel kicks and cravings and to be able to not suck in my stomach when people can see me in profile.
I saw Ryan with a baby when she was little and I remember feeling sad that she would never be a big sister at that age. I want Tommy to get to be a big brother at the age when he's a "big boy" about it rather than seeing it for the spit-up and dirty diapers side of it. And I really don't want to be 40 and pregnant with my next one. I want to be pregnant NOW. I wonder if I can talk Tom into it.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Romy & Michelle
My fifteen year class reunion is this summer. I didn't even know there was such a thing, but I guess when your class skips the ten year, you go for fifteen.
I think in this era of facebook, reunions might be redundant, but I still plan on going and I don't know why. Well, there is always the obvious; the desire to see the jocks all old and fat and poor. Perhaps this is why Tom hasn't ever been to a high school reunion. He was a jock, and I'll say no more. :)
I went to my five year reunion, and it was a bust. It was a keg party in some guy's Mom's front yard. (That guy is, for two more days, my daughter's school principle. LOL) The jerks from high school were still jerks, but this time they were drunk jerks. I got a half hour smoking lecture from a health nut so tan you could count the carcinomas. And there were no "What are you doing these days?" updates because everyone was either just starting out after college or, like me, working some schlub job with nothing interesting to say.
Why do I want to go to this thing? I'm fat now and I've aged poorly. For the past 6 months I've been letting the dye grow out of my hair, wearing my grays with pride. And the other night, when faced with tiny facebook profile pictures of classmates who still look 23, I dyed it again. This is going to be like my thirtieth birthday all over again: nerve-wracking and anticipatory but ultimately anticlimactic. Maybe I'd feel differently if I had any old high school friends. Or if I had even had any back when I actually attended high school.
I think in this era of facebook, reunions might be redundant, but I still plan on going and I don't know why. Well, there is always the obvious; the desire to see the jocks all old and fat and poor. Perhaps this is why Tom hasn't ever been to a high school reunion. He was a jock, and I'll say no more. :)
I went to my five year reunion, and it was a bust. It was a keg party in some guy's Mom's front yard. (That guy is, for two more days, my daughter's school principle. LOL) The jerks from high school were still jerks, but this time they were drunk jerks. I got a half hour smoking lecture from a health nut so tan you could count the carcinomas. And there were no "What are you doing these days?" updates because everyone was either just starting out after college or, like me, working some schlub job with nothing interesting to say.
Why do I want to go to this thing? I'm fat now and I've aged poorly. For the past 6 months I've been letting the dye grow out of my hair, wearing my grays with pride. And the other night, when faced with tiny facebook profile pictures of classmates who still look 23, I dyed it again. This is going to be like my thirtieth birthday all over again: nerve-wracking and anticipatory but ultimately anticlimactic. Maybe I'd feel differently if I had any old high school friends. Or if I had even had any back when I actually attended high school.
Friday, April 24, 2009
I need to be Claritin clear!
I have seasonal allergies. Every spring and fall since infancy, I have announced to whoever was nearby that I am, in fact, dying. I get the itchy watery eyes, the runny and stuffed up nose, the sore throat from post-nasal drip, and exhaustion made worse by Benadryl and Sudafed. But one thing that really makes the hay fever worse, is when people tell me it's not that bad.
"Oh you're not sick; it's just allergies."
I don't care if it's pollen or a virus, my body is waging the same war and it's wearing me out. Aside from the fact that allergic reactions can be fatal, proving that allergies in general do have the potential to do some real damage, that dismissive attitude is rude and inaccurate. I AM sick, and to say that it's "just" allergies so it doesn't count is like saying "Oh you're not really worn out from that 10 mile ride. It's just a stationary bike." You can get worn out on a "fake" bike and I can get truly sick from a "fake" threat to my immune system.
I think I'm going to go to the doctor about this for the first time ever. Even the innerwebs say allergies are worse this year and I think I need something more effective and less drowsy than Benadryl. I'm going to ask for Claritin. I just can't keep up with Tommy as it is now. I'm so exhausted that for dinner tonight he got one jar of beef and half a pudding cup. That's not a good dinner.
"Oh you're not sick; it's just allergies."
I don't care if it's pollen or a virus, my body is waging the same war and it's wearing me out. Aside from the fact that allergic reactions can be fatal, proving that allergies in general do have the potential to do some real damage, that dismissive attitude is rude and inaccurate. I AM sick, and to say that it's "just" allergies so it doesn't count is like saying "Oh you're not really worn out from that 10 mile ride. It's just a stationary bike." You can get worn out on a "fake" bike and I can get truly sick from a "fake" threat to my immune system.
I think I'm going to go to the doctor about this for the first time ever. Even the innerwebs say allergies are worse this year and I think I need something more effective and less drowsy than Benadryl. I'm going to ask for Claritin. I just can't keep up with Tommy as it is now. I'm so exhausted that for dinner tonight he got one jar of beef and half a pudding cup. That's not a good dinner.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Freecycle
Freecycle sounds so good when you first hear about it. Instead of just throwing stuff away or going through the hassle of a yard sale just for a few dollars, you give it away. People give and take and it's all very hippy commune like. But in reality it seem to be a bunch of illiterate mooches begging for stuff. I've always heard that beggars can't be choosers, but apparently on freecycle they can. So now, here are some of my favorite gems culled from my local freecycle. Enjoy.
- Looking for tan colored bricks chip are ok as long as they are in tacked can pick up. (I added the emphasis)
- rail road tiles for drive only need 4 tired of people drivin thur yard thanks in advance my son can pick up just e-mail me (Tiles? How about rail road ties instead?)
- Need a good working frost free refigerator asap. I live on fixes fixed income and cannot afford to buy one. Must be in good working order and not all marked up. Thank you in advance. (The important thing is that it not be marked up. People on fixed incomes who beg for free refrigerators from strangers on the internet need to have nice things.)
- my sister is looking for a 4-5 month old husky/shepard mix puppy there is a kennel that goes with it just email me if you are interested in it. (What the hell does this even mean? They're asking for a puppy or offering a kennel, but I can't tell which.)
if you get that info can you pass it along to us as well? we have a john deere gator, that the bat cost a small fortune. (I thought un reguards was funny. I can only translate it to me not guarding again. And what bat cost a small fortune, baseball or flying mammal?)- Still wanting an ALL WHITE MALE KITTEN, PREFER SHORT-HAIRED. (If you need something that apecific, you're going to have to pay for it. Free kittnes are a take what you get kind of deal. And this woman's been posting this same request for over a month now.)
- I am taking up a collection for my residance well there not mine but they are were i work lol (I don't know what he just said but he seems to think it was funny.)
- I AM LOOKING FOR A FREEZER, HAVE YET TO LEARN HOW TO SHELF STORE HAMBURGER MEAT. (Sarcasm doesn't help your case, lady.)
- i know this is a long shot but my hard drive broke on my lab top and i need a new hard drive for a tobash i know i speeled that wrong or iam looking for a old labtop that has wifi so i cant get online and do research things (Do you mean a Toshiba? And I think they're called laptops, since they sit on your lap and not on your lab. And if it helps, you can not get online just fine without the wifi.)
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
on Octomom
Yes she's a plastic surgery nightmare. Yes she has some mental health issues which require her to be the center of attention and to create her own audience. Yes she is on welfare; like it or not food stamps are welfare, even if disability payments are up for interpretation. Yes she needs help, with the babies and the underlying need for them which will have God-knows-what effect on her now that there are no more embryoes and no more babies to be bad. But I really wish all the zero population growth people would just shut up. People have more than one or two babies all the time and I'm sorry if I don't believe that the future of the planet really depends on the uterus of one psycho in California. Plus, how do you determine zero population growth anyway?
Tom had twins when I met him, and I had one child. Does mine replace the father or me? And let's just pretend Tom's twins were just one kid, does that kid replace him or the mother? The mother has 7 other kids so who do they replace? If Ryan replaced her father, who had another child already when she was born, then Tommy replaces either me or Tom. But my ex's ex has another kid now too, so that kid replaces either his mother is the first one is my ex's, or his father if the first is the mother's. And still there's an abbey of monks somewhere being replaced by the children of Tom's litter0bearing (yeah, I said it) ex.
See? The "two kids, one for you and one for your husband/wife" theory is gone in today's world of step-siblings and half-siblings and unknown by-blows. So the people who blame Nadya Suleman for a population bloom can stfu. Should she have had all those kids? Probably not. But should you have had your kids, or me mine, or Tom's ex whose birthday is the reason millions of people get drunk on Cinco de Mayo have birthed her own soccer team? Like with marriage equality 9see, I didn't say gay marriage), the form your family takes should be no one else's business.
that said, I worry about these kids of Octomom's. Not only are there so many she'll be legally required to live in a house the shape of a shoe, but she's proven herself in numerous interviews to be completely batshit insane. I can't wait for the TLC series, or at least the one hour specials. "Completely crazy, the Octomom story"
Ooh, sounds like a Lifetime movie.
Tom had twins when I met him, and I had one child. Does mine replace the father or me? And let's just pretend Tom's twins were just one kid, does that kid replace him or the mother? The mother has 7 other kids so who do they replace? If Ryan replaced her father, who had another child already when she was born, then Tommy replaces either me or Tom. But my ex's ex has another kid now too, so that kid replaces either his mother is the first one is my ex's, or his father if the first is the mother's. And still there's an abbey of monks somewhere being replaced by the children of Tom's litter0bearing (yeah, I said it) ex.
See? The "two kids, one for you and one for your husband/wife" theory is gone in today's world of step-siblings and half-siblings and unknown by-blows. So the people who blame Nadya Suleman for a population bloom can stfu. Should she have had all those kids? Probably not. But should you have had your kids, or me mine, or Tom's ex whose birthday is the reason millions of people get drunk on Cinco de Mayo have birthed her own soccer team? Like with marriage equality 9see, I didn't say gay marriage), the form your family takes should be no one else's business.
that said, I worry about these kids of Octomom's. Not only are there so many she'll be legally required to live in a house the shape of a shoe, but she's proven herself in numerous interviews to be completely batshit insane. I can't wait for the TLC series, or at least the one hour specials. "Completely crazy, the Octomom story"
Ooh, sounds like a Lifetime movie.
Jim Carrey's not a doctor! Or a parent!
I've been reading a lot lately about the vaccination debate, and I have some pretty strong opinions (shocking!) on the subject. If refusing to vaccinate your child only affected your child, I wouldn't care who did or didn't get any shots at all. But not all vaccines take, and by refusing to vaccinate your kids at all, you put others who were vaccinated at risk too.
Say you have an elementary school with 1000 kids, and 70 of them aren't immune to measles because their vaccines didn't work. If a fifth grader gets measles from a vacation to someplace with an epidemic, there's a chance that it won't spread far - the odds are that that one child won't come into contact with all 69 other vulnerable kids. But if there are 200 other kids who weren't immunized in the first place, the odds go up that all 70 kids will get measles, plus any babies they might come into contact with too young to have gotten their shots yet. It's called herd immunity. Smallpox was wiped out because of vaccines. Polio is on its way too. But if I were to ever lose a child to these or any other vaccine-available diseases just because some idiot chose to get their medical information from Ace Ventura and a Playboy model, I'd be arrested for murder 1.
If you don't want to immunize your kids, then fine. But they shouldn't be allowed in public schools. It's your parental privilege to make that choice, but for the common good that choice should have consequences.
For another thing, I wonder about all this autism in the first place. "Autism rates are skyrocketing!" Are we sure abotu that? Or is it just as likely (or more) that autism diagnoses are skyrocketing. It's a lot like the SIDS rate, but in reverse.* Jenny MCarthy's son (from what I understand from reading articles she herself has written) was diagnosed with autism because he flapped his arms when agitages and refused to make eye contact. He is now considered to be high functioning because he can speak, listen, and follow directions. Twenty years ago this would have been a kid with eccentricities and a nervous habit, but now he's autistic. My daughter was almost diagnosed with Asperger's once because she is painfully shy and over-sensitive to criticism. If you even raised your voice to her she would cringe. Now that she's getting a little of that adolescent attitude she's less likely to cringe than to roll her eyes though, so I guess estrogen is the new cure for Asperger's, huh. Asperger's had, until recently, very strict diagnostic criteria. A patient had to present a certain number of symptoms in order to be considered a candidate for an Asperger's diagnosis, just like any other illness or syndrome. But now it's just tossed around like ADHD was five or ten years ago. Brown is the new black.
I feel for the parent who takes their normal, smiling, talking child to the doctor for shots one day and wakes up the next with an unresponsive stranger who would rather rock in a corner than look at them and who doesn't talk or hug them anymore. But it's coincidental. Autism presents very suddenly around the first birthday, which is also one of the times kids get shots. To link the two is no more factual than to say that birthday cake causes autism. I'm sorry, but it's not.
*SIDS rates are falling, but suffocation rates are rising. The "Back To Sleep" campaign lowered SIDS rates by 40%, but only because now every baby who dies in the crib while on his belly gets an automatic suffocation diagnosis, same with co-sleeping. Infant mortality remains the same while "SIDS" kills less kids every year.
Say you have an elementary school with 1000 kids, and 70 of them aren't immune to measles because their vaccines didn't work. If a fifth grader gets measles from a vacation to someplace with an epidemic, there's a chance that it won't spread far - the odds are that that one child won't come into contact with all 69 other vulnerable kids. But if there are 200 other kids who weren't immunized in the first place, the odds go up that all 70 kids will get measles, plus any babies they might come into contact with too young to have gotten their shots yet. It's called herd immunity. Smallpox was wiped out because of vaccines. Polio is on its way too. But if I were to ever lose a child to these or any other vaccine-available diseases just because some idiot chose to get their medical information from Ace Ventura and a Playboy model, I'd be arrested for murder 1.
If you don't want to immunize your kids, then fine. But they shouldn't be allowed in public schools. It's your parental privilege to make that choice, but for the common good that choice should have consequences.
For another thing, I wonder about all this autism in the first place. "Autism rates are skyrocketing!" Are we sure abotu that? Or is it just as likely (or more) that autism diagnoses are skyrocketing. It's a lot like the SIDS rate, but in reverse.* Jenny MCarthy's son (from what I understand from reading articles she herself has written) was diagnosed with autism because he flapped his arms when agitages and refused to make eye contact. He is now considered to be high functioning because he can speak, listen, and follow directions. Twenty years ago this would have been a kid with eccentricities and a nervous habit, but now he's autistic. My daughter was almost diagnosed with Asperger's once because she is painfully shy and over-sensitive to criticism. If you even raised your voice to her she would cringe. Now that she's getting a little of that adolescent attitude she's less likely to cringe than to roll her eyes though, so I guess estrogen is the new cure for Asperger's, huh. Asperger's had, until recently, very strict diagnostic criteria. A patient had to present a certain number of symptoms in order to be considered a candidate for an Asperger's diagnosis, just like any other illness or syndrome. But now it's just tossed around like ADHD was five or ten years ago. Brown is the new black.
I feel for the parent who takes their normal, smiling, talking child to the doctor for shots one day and wakes up the next with an unresponsive stranger who would rather rock in a corner than look at them and who doesn't talk or hug them anymore. But it's coincidental. Autism presents very suddenly around the first birthday, which is also one of the times kids get shots. To link the two is no more factual than to say that birthday cake causes autism. I'm sorry, but it's not.
*SIDS rates are falling, but suffocation rates are rising. The "Back To Sleep" campaign lowered SIDS rates by 40%, but only because now every baby who dies in the crib while on his belly gets an automatic suffocation diagnosis, same with co-sleeping. Infant mortality remains the same while "SIDS" kills less kids every year.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
innerwebz hates me
Google results for "I love Tom": about 158,000
Google results for "I love Charlie": about 43,800
More people on the internet love my husband than me.
Google results for "I love Charlie": about 43,800
More people on the internet love my husband than me.
Post-Columbine
Well, another Columbine anniversary has come and gone. It's been a decade now since 2 bullied and disenfranchised teens were pushed too far and changed everything. Not that they were justified- nothing justifies violence and the randomness of it went beyond mere revenge - but a lot of bullied and formerly bullied people understood that day. I am so glad I went to school before Columbine, back when you could be quiet and wear all black and glare at jocks without people thinking you were about to blow up the cafeteria. Now all it takes to get a school closed down for an hour is a threatening note dropped in the bathroom. Kids who write violent stories (didn't we all have that notebook and hate the cheerleaders?) are arrested or expelled or both. At first I thought the post-Columbine world would be one which valued conformity a little less, one in which bullies got called out for their actions. But that was all talk and so, ten years later, the high school experience is (from what I've heard) basically the same.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Ugh! Neighbors.
I have 2 loud neighbors across the street. One has a drag racing car and he revs it for about 2 hours every Friday. I don't live next to a drag strip so I occasionally forget about the noise and open the windows on nice Fridays. This guy repays my stupidity by occasionally forgetting which day is Friday and revving the jet engine car on other surprise days. The other guy likes to hangout in his garage and play music. Loud music. Louder than the grandstand I live behind ever has. I should go ask him to turn it down but I fear confrontation and it seems to me that playing ten year old country songs on a PA system in your garage is confrontational in and of itself. I can't believe that he thinks the rest of the neighborhood appreciates this, or even that we don't mind. So I'm pretty sure that if I were to walk over there, bowed down into the wind from his speakers, that he'd have an attitude about it. And in my experience, people who sit in their garages drinking beer and being loud and playing ten year old country songs on Sunday afternoons are just begging for fights.
If I ever move, it will be to the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, with no neighbors to speak of. Ahhh, what a nice dream.
If I ever move, it will be to the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees, with no neighbors to speak of. Ahhh, what a nice dream.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
RIP Lawrence Kutner, etc.
I watched this week's episode of House and it was bad. Kutner killed himself and no one knew why. The guy who played Kutner got a job in the Obama administration so that's all good, but irrelevant to the show.
There's a thinly veiled parallel to reality here. When Kutner was found, everyone was shocked. No one had seen it coming, no one had known to try to help. He hadn't reached out to anyone. But what if he had? What if he'd called everyone he knew over and over threatening to kill himself, for years? What if he had been so filled with self-pity that nothing had helped? What if he had alienated everyone with his abject refusal to do anything more than drink, call people, and cry out, "Why me?" to anyone within ear shot, about common problems he had brought on himself? Kutner had no romantic interest written into the show. What if he'd driven away every romantic interest he'd had until no one would have him? What if everyone he'd known had, for their own sanity, been forced to let him go long before he killed himself? What if instead of, "We didn't know, we never saw it coming, he never told us," it had been that everyone saw it coming, everyone knew, and he told everyone, but nothing had changed? What if every person in Kutner's life had tried to help, had listened and given advice until they had no more to give? How would the writers invent a tomorrow for people who had just had to let him go?
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