11-18

Today I learned that clinics are even more heartless than I already knew them to be.

I learned that DQ Moolattes actually are caffeinated, and they're caffeinated enough to keep a 2 year old up and hyper much past his bedtime.

I learned that couch cushion covers are machine washable.

I learned that a 12 ounce root beer upended on the couch is enough to convince me to wrap the inside of the cushions in plastic inside of the covers, even when it turns my sofa into a crinkly cat toy every time I sit on it.

I learned that my daughter's new cell phone is also an mp3 player.

I learned that I got the wrong cell phone. Mine's not an mp3 player. :(

I learned that my infant son is much happier facing me and talking to me than sitting on my lap facing out.

no good deed goes ungarnished

I pay my bills. I'm in debt past my eyeballs, but I pay my bills. Little by little, month by month, they go down. I've never had a utility shut off. I've never been turned over to collection. I've never been sued. I pay my bills.

One year ago my clinic called me about my bill. It was high (following a pregnancy with no insurance, which I paid for in large part with $375 monthly cash copays) and they wanted to set up a payment plan. We made a deal where from that point on they could take a certain amount of money out of my checking account every month without asking first, and in one year, if the money was always there for them, they would wipe off the previous year's interest and fees. Today the lady called me again. Did she call me to wipe off the fees? Did she call me to congratulate me on never missing a payment or on sticking to our deal? No. She called to tell me that clinic policies have changed and if I don't pay $4389.98 within the next ten days my account will be turned over to an agency and I will be required to pay $100 every time I visit the doctor regardless of what the charge is for the visit or what sort of deal my insurance company has with the clinic. That is to say, if I come in for a $40 office visit, and my insurance has that negotiated down to $25, I will have to pay $100 cash to see the doctor. This is my reward for dilligently following through with our agreement, and she called to tell me this 40 days before Christmas.

11/17

Yesterday I learned that my son thinks I can control the people in the TV. He came and told me every time something broke, or somebody misbehaved, on TV. Apparently I have the power to put Swiper the fox in time out and to tell Ruby exactly where Max put her toy. Oh, and to make Spongebob stop crying, which I am convinced would be impossible anyway because that guy cries in very episode I've ever seen.

I learned that baby shampoo works better on cradle cap that baby wash.

I learned that sometimes, to get a toddler to eat, you have to stand in the middle of the kitchen with the spoon while he runs in circles around you.

I learned that my husband is going out early Black Friday morning again. I suspect he does it as much for the fun as for the savings. He's weird that way.

I learned that some people recommend doing nothing for post-circumcision penile adhesions. I want to know more about this. Is it possible that these can fix themselves and all the penis ripping over the past 2 years has been for naught, and I can stop doing it?

I learned that it is impossible to explain the difference between dragons and dinosaurs to anyone, let alone a 2 year old.

I learned that after not seeing Tom for 3 days, the sight of him walking in the door is like Xanax!

11-16

Today I learned that cradle cap can cause a baby to lose his hair. :(

Holly Hunter

I ask my husband, "Who's that actress that I always think is Jodie Foster but she's not Jodie Foster?" and he answers "Jodie Foster?" I think this exchange pretty much sums up our whole marriage.

11-15 stuffs I've learned

Today I learned that you can buy a movie ticket for Friday night on Monday afternoon.

I learned that I may be able to stop driving to Clinton for prescriptions every month.

I learned that Danny can roll onto his back now.

I learned that there's no way to keep the cat and Tommy both out of the fish tank and still maintain ease of mobility in the hallway.

I learned that I will probably never stop being amazed at how sleepy Benadryl makes me.

I learned that fish tank is not one word, not even hyphenated.

I learned that it is hard to remember everything you learned in a day while under the effects of Benadryl, which is not unlike having a chloroform soaked rag in your face.

11/14

Today I learned that a staple gun in the basement, when heard through the bedroom floor and then over the baby monitor into the living room, sounds like gunfire.

Today I learned that a circular saw powering up in the basement, followed by a loud sneezing husband yelling sound, brings to mind images of dismemberment.

I learned that my kitten can climb a potted tree, even with his claws clipped.

I learned that my kitten can climb up onto the fish tank, and then seems rather clueless as to what to do next.

I decided to interpret these last two examples of evil genius as the reason villains in cartoons always have cats on their laps.

I learned that the divorce enthusiasts of the 70s and 80s are still among us, and loonier than ever.

I learned that I really hate the girl scouts. Not the girls themselves, but the whole thing with troops and leaders and councils and all of it. I will buy their cookies (sweet delicious cookies) but other than that I hate the whole thing.

I learned that I am sometimes just not as good as Daddy. (Today I was told, "No! Not Daddy!" when I tried to help my son.)

I learned that Tommy can be very grown up when he wants to be.

I learned that it will take a while to come up with a way to keep the damned cat off the fish tank.

I learned that Tom gets a funny look on his face when I am proven right. It's as if he cannot reconcile this with his world view.

I learned not to give Tommy long rolls of paper, because he tries to catch the cat with them, and then turns circles until he trips himself.

I learned that the human intestine was not designed to accommodate 2 boxes of thin mints in one day.

I learned that in a fight between granola bars and thin mints, intestinally, thin mints win.

And I forgot something today too. Today is, I am fairly sure, somebody's birthday. I cannot remember who, but I know it is somebody that I know or once knew. Possibly, CJ, but his facebook page doesn't say. Whoever it is, Happy Birthday and I'm sorry I've forgotten you.

Things I don't want to forget

When Tommy was a baby he had a forked tongue. At least, that's what we called it, but it was actually just that the two muscles on either side of his tongue were distinctive, so when he stuck his tongue out it had two little bumps on the end rather than one point.

When Ryan was a baby she used to wake up in the morning and nurse, and then she'd just sort of play with it and smile until I caught on and we got up. She was always happy to see me and to start the day.

Tommy did an Army crawl on his belly for so long before he actually got up on all fours that we thought he'd never crawl on his knees.

When I was pregnant with Tommy, he always kicked me whenever I disagreed with Tom. It was like he was taking his daddy's side from inside the womb.

Ryan's first word was "num num" but I didn't want it to be so I ignored it until she said "Mom" and then wrote that in the baby book instead.

I didn't want that kind of deception in Tommy's baby book so I accepted "boo!" as his first word when he was actually just repeating what we said. I don't remember now what his actual first word was. :(

When Ryan was little, in an attempt to teach her something about her father, I used to sing Pearl Jam songs to her at bedtime.

Ryan used to call mosquitoes "itchy bugs" and would get huge quarter sized welts from them so she had to take chewable Benadryl pills before going fishing, and she called those "itchy bug pills".

Ryan used to ask me to tell her bedtime stories, and I suck at making things up on the spot, so I would tell her the plots of movies. The first time she saw The Princess Bride she thought someone had made a movie out of my made up story.

The first time Ryan saw The Emperor's New Groove, she had nightmares of witches turning her into a llama.

11-13

Today I learned that my husband doesn't find me attractive anymore. Also, that I still do.

10th and 11th

The last 2 days I've learned that some people are ignorant and have no desire to improve upon it.

I learned that a significant portion of the public believe that the word veteran means someone who served in the United States military. I don't know what they think former members of foreign militaries are called.

I learned that a lot of people are so short sighted that they believe their own values and preferences are concrete facts and that laws should be set around them. Things they don't like should all be illegal. Not just frowned upon but actually illegal, even if they break no laws and hurt no one. Books about crimes, in which crimes are committed, when the crimes produce a gut reaction of horror, should never be sold to anyone. Because they are bad and wrong and "Why I never!" It is easy to say this about a pedophile guide, but some people just never think to ask "Who gets to draw that line?" Should Dexter be banned as well? The Shining? Helter Skelter?

I learned that when my husband hides in the basement making loud power tool sounds, he is actually accomplishing more than just making tiny boards out of big boards.

I learned that veterans are actually so taken for granted that when you say "Happy Veteran's Day. Thank you," they all seem to ask, "For what?"

I learned that it really never does get old watching Tommy dance along to the Big Bang Theory theme song and then yell "Bang!" at the end, which he pronounces as "Bing!"

I learned that there is no difference between lycra and spandex. It's like Tylenol and acetaminophen.

I got a new phone, and I learned how to use it.

11-9 lessons learned

Today I learned that my son would rather I buy him an apple than a donut. Gotta love that kid!

Today I learned that when I have no patience with abject stupidity, I am bright enough to keep my yap shut about it.

Today I learned that Gods Cuckoo Clock up in the church still bugs me.

I learned that I actually do know what I want to be when I grow up, and it requires a food service license and a metric ton of coffee.

I learned that the giant windmill blades are carried on split flatbed trailers with one piece under the base and one under the tip. I hope to someday learn how the tail lights on those things work.

Today I learned that men's sports (or traditionally men's sports anyway) seem to have some pretty girly prizes. Belts and purses for boxing, stylish jackets for golf, and bracelets for tournament poker. I wonder where those things fall on the Kinsey scale.

I learned that a 2 mile walk on wobbly butt-shoes doesn't hurt my feel any more than in any other shoes. Less, in fact.

I learned that the new Harry Potter film is being premiered at the IMAX.

I learned that IMAX tickets are not available online. :(

The coffee shop in my head

The coffee shop in town went under. Again. This is the fourth time that particular coffee shop in that particular location has gone under. First it was a restaurant that was wildly successful but apparently the owners wanted to hire people to do all the work so they never made a profit, what with payroll eating up their money. Then it was a coffee shop, only open in the mornings, and that didn't go well. Half day operations rarely cover overhead. Then a lady bought it who refused to hire anyone and waste money on payroll, so every time her kid got sick or a sitter called off, the place never opened. Unpredictable hours of operation lose customers. Then the latest owner, a nice enough woman with some experience in the coffee business. Five dollar mostly-foam cappuccinos and Christian music. She got the elderly demographic and some middle class yuppies, but she still didn't last. *sigh*

I have a coffee shop in my head. It is open from 7:00 am to 11:00 pm. It serves coffee and tea and fountain soda, sandwiches and muffins, cakes and cookies. It has works from local artists on the wall (all available for sale) and is willing to throw a demo cd in the muzack queue if it's good enough. Once a month it has a wine and cheese book exchange night when people can pay $5 for two glasses of wine and 3 hours to drink, mingle, and trade their old books for someone else's. It has murals on the walls painted by the high school Art students, and chessboards painted on the tables. It encourages loitering and is the hangout for kids kicked out of the Hardees parking lot. It has free wi-fi, and public chalk boards on the walls, and accepts donation buckets and benefit flyers with no questions asked. And all kids under ten get a free Oreo.

Someday I hope to open my coffee shop. I probably won't, but I hope to.

11/7 things I learned

I learned that letting English muffin dough rise a little longer gives you bigger muffins, but they'll split on the griddle.

I learned that my husband is a big softy when it comes to spending time alone with his oldest son. He took him to McDonalds and let him bounce on the trampoline after dark.

I learned that I have way more wrinkles than I thought, and that it's kinda bugging me.

I learned that I don't like Sprite, even though I do like Sierra Mist.

Sorry. It was a slow news day.

11/6 things I've learned

I learned that my husband hides money from me.

I learned that I feel no guilt spending money I've recently learned that my husband hides from me.

I learned that, 6 weeks of bleeding aside, I kinda like the Mirena IUD.

I learned that even without the nooks and crannies, I prefer home made English muffins to store bought.

I learned that no amount of teeth brushing can make onion breath go away.

I learned that time is a human construct and possible cannot exist without someone to perceive it.

I learned that thinking about time as a human construct and what this might mean for Einstein's theory of relativity which relies on time as a constant, makes my head hurt.

I learned that the concept of time as a human construct dependent on change helps me understand death and eternity a little more, after I take a Motrin for the headache of course.

11/5 lessons

Today I learned how to make English muffins. Yum!

I learned that when you yell "Marco!" in Walmart, people will spontaneously yell "Polo!" in return, and then get very embarrassed about it. (I was looking for Tom and Tommy, and Tommy always yells Polo.)

I learned that Ryan wants a Moon Dough Puppies kit for Christmas.

I learned that Tommy knows how to place orders at drive through windows. (He yelled ice cream at the Wendy's menu fifteen times until we ordered him a frosty.)

I learned that cat toys amuse my infant son more than they do my infant cat.

I learned that Matt Damon will be filming a movie a quarter mile from my younger brother's house, and that my older brother will be in it (as an extra driving some sort of military vehicle).

Today I learned that my husband is more afraid of needles than I am.

Nothing I've learned. Just a rant.

I like helping people. It's not at all altruistic; I just like that they will be grateful to me and will think kindly of me. See? All about me. I like when there's a charity bake sale and I show up with 5 dozen cookies. I like when someone can't find something and I find it for them. I like it all. I have a greedy greedy ego.

That said, I don't like when I help someone and it costs me (not the problem) and they take the help and then walk off with barely a thanks. Nine years ago I let friends use my credit card to book a vacation that ended up costing me $5000. One of these friends was living with me free of charge because her parents changed the locks when they found out she was gay. I haven't heard from this friend in over 7 years, until yesterday when she called to ask me to vote for her friend. The whole thing made me sad. I'm still sad about it. And the thing is, whenever I've seen her in passing these past years, she's said stuff like "Oh yeah, I'm so busy, but we should get together," and then given me this look. You know the look; it's the one a guy gives when he says, "I'll call you," and has no plans to ever call. So then I'm the clingy friend who can't let go after she went to Disney World on my dime.

And I don't like it when I put myself out there and try to be a friend, try to relate to someone and make conversation, and get the other look. The one the guy at the bar gives when he smiles at you and you nod back, and then he curls his lip at you and motions to the not-that-much prettier girl behind you. I mean, really? Open resentment? For simply talking? After the initial checklist- my breath doesn't stink, there's nothing in my teeth, my pants aren't wedged up my ass, I never slept with your husband- it just becomes clear that I am somehow not good enough to talk to you as if we were (gasp!) equals, and that bothers me. Condescension I can handle. I'm a high school drop out with no career and questionable social skills. But open condescension, for merely saying "hi"? What. The. Fuck. People need to learn to roll their eyes after the conversation, not during it. The worst part is that I usually get this particular treatment from my family. And when they're really nice they just don't make eye contact. I get the same "Hi," a stranger would get at the bus stop. Looking everywhere but at me because if they looked at me, I might take it as encouragement to keep talking to them.

I used to read romance novels. Back when I was a single mom and had nothing to do after Ryan went to bed, I read pointless books. And there was one series by one author that I really got into, but she stopped writing them years ago, until now. I just checked out a new one at the library and now as I'm reading it, the first sappy romance novel I've read after getting married, it's much less impressive. The whole "they've been married for years but they still lust after each other and cuddle on the settee" (it's a historical romance; they had settees) thing that used to elicit a derisive snort now seems normal. I mean, that's how I feel about Tom. Isn't that how it is for everybody? If it isn't, I'm sad for them. Unless they went to Disney World on my credit card. Then I'm kinda okay with it.

November 3 learnings

Today I learned to never ever ever for the love of God talk politics on facebook. No matter how smart a person is in the whole rest of their life they will become a screaming demon asking "HOW COULD YOU VOTE FOR THAT GUY?! MY GUY WAS WAY BETTER!!"

Today I learned not to hide the obnoxious musical toy from Tommy in the play pen because the kitten will also hide in there and set the damn thing off constantly.

Today I learned that I need to buy moisturizer.

I learned that an aquarium light won't electrocute the fish if a 2 year old puts it in the fish tank.

I learned that 3 Colace only work for a day.

I learned that I am addicted to granola bars. Delicious, satisfying, constipating granola bars.

I learned that there really hasn't been any good end of the world music since the fall of Russia. What do you know, communism was good for something. (Good end of the world music here and here.)

November 1 learnings

I learned that I hate baby headbands. It's about as subtle as a onesie that says "Yes I am bald but there's a vagina in my diaper" (I feel the same way about earrings on a baby), and the disproportionately huge flower attached to baby headbands these days just makes the kid look off balance.

I learned that it's possible for a kid to bring home an honor roll report card for last quarter while simultaneously flunking 3 classes this quarter.

I learned that the above grade scenario confuses my brain and makes my tummy hurt.

I learned that if you're going to live off hastily gobbled granola bars for a few days, you might want to eat a Colace or two every now and then.

I learned that it's better to be called a hypocrite than to refuse to learn from your mistakes. Yes, I did that and yes, I am against it and no, I won't let my kids do it.

I learned that recipes are very rarely written out for single portions and that I have no idea what to do with the rest since no one seems eager to eat homemade English muffins but me.

I've been forgetting!

Yesterday (Halloween) I learned that if it means candy, a kid can talk to strangers all damn night.

I learned that my son prefers Skittles to just about anything else.

I learned that cocoa on the stove is 100X better than powder dust.

I learned that cocoa on the stove burns easily. :(

I learned no to go to the house that hands out unfrozen popsicles. (Vanburen house, just fyi.)

I learned that Monica Gibler looks surprisingly good in green grease paint.

I learned to wear gloves on Halloween, as your hands get pretty cold pushing a stroller.

What I learned, 10/27

The power went out last night, rendering the house unfathomably dark, the computer unusable, and Tommy thrilled to be allowed to take a flashlight to bed since his night light was out. So here's what I learned yesterday.

I learned that lesbians like Swiss Miss hot cocoa, which really is the most appropriate brand for them, if you think about it.

I learned that $60 for an hour long massage isn't overpriced at all. In fact, it's money I should start spending often.

I learned that nothing is more awesome for a 2 year old than candle light and his own flashlight.

I learned that not all 2 year olds are ready to be potty trained, and that hot wheel cars love to race through "water".

I learned that hot wheel cars are dishwasher safe.

I learned that it is possible for a dog pen to blow 30 feet and drag a beagle leashed to it behind it.

I learned that a beagle, when faced with her own survival, can break a metal choke chain.

I learned to always chain the dog to the fence, not the pen.

Pit bulls suck

Okay seriously, pit bulls suck. But it's not their fault that they suck. They have been deliberately and effectively bred to attack and not to stop. Now, you can raise a dog not to attack, but breeding often wins out. I can try to train my beagle not to chase rabbits, or a chihuahua not to yap, or a greyhound not to run, but they will always revert back to breeding at some point or another. Pitbulls, when faced with anything they take to be aggression, want to attack it. They may resist the urge 99% of the time, but that 1% that they do give in can really hurt. And it's not their fault.

Pit Bull lovers are the ones at fault. When a baby has his testicles eaten, it's not the dog's fault, or even the mother who set the baby down asleep in his carrier. When a 3 day old baby lying on a bed is mauled and killed by the family pit bull, it's not the dog's fault. It's the people who say every day that owners, not breed, determine a dog's temperament. The people who convinced the parents that the kid was safe around the dog, that it was possible to predict the dog's behavior based on how you raised the dog, that pit bulls will not attack a creature prone to sudden movements and loud outbursts as long as it wasn't taught specifically to attack. It's the age-old nature vs nurture argument, and it has in many instances been disproved People used to think gender was all in how you were raised, but now they know it's inborn. And just like this, some day people will realize that some breeds of dogs are just more aggressive than others. And the stupidest part of it is, they already do!

The same person who swears their pet pit bull would never hurt a fly because they raised him nice are always quick to also point out that they'd trust their pit bull with a baby before they would a chihuahua because "little dogs bite more". So which is it, that breed means nothing or that it does? If chihuahuas are more quick to bite as a breed, then you're arguing against yourself. But even so, chihuahuas bite and then let go. Pit bulls hang on until they're dead, and they don't always let go even then. But it's not their fault. It's not a schizophrenic's fault when he kills someone he thinks is following him with a bomb. But if there were a large segment of the population out there claiming that unmedicated schizophrenics are safe as long as their parents raised them right, it would be those folks' fault when the hot dog stand guy gets jumped for waving a ketchup bottle.

from last night

Oops, I forgot.

Today (yesterday) I learned that doctors will reschedule your appointments without ever consulting you, and then get upset when you don't show up 3 hours earlier than the time you had booked. Seriously, I don't care if you left a voicemail telling me you were changing the appointment time! Appointments are a mutually agreed upon thing, and if I don't agree to it it isn't scheduled. I think next time I need a pap I'm just going to call after hours and make myself an appointment without them. "Um, yeah, hi. This is Charlie Melton. I was wondering if I could just come in for a pap tomorrow at eleven. I'm gonna go ahead and write that down and if it doesn't work for you, feel free to call here before three o'clock this afternoon."

I also learned that no matter what appointment time Medical Associates thinks they have you down for, their robo-caller reminder computer will change it by up to a half an hour. A 3:30 appointment becomes 3:50, and a 12:45 appointment becomes 1:00.

Today (yesterday) I learned that if I make enough food to feed a small army, my 12 year old daughter won't be hungry, but if I make a normal amount of food, she'll go back for fifths. Fifths!
And that's about all. It was a slow day.

A la Doogie Howser

I've decided that every night before bed (for as long as I stick with it) I will post things I have learned that day, no matter how mundane. I hope that this will help me appreciate life more, to see that I learn something new every day. Either that or I'll realize that I learn nothing, and fall into a deep depression. Either way, here it goes.

Today I learned that a 14 year old boy can wander town for over an hour during a school day and no one will notice. If I had known this 20 years ago, I would have cut school a lot more. I assumed it would attract attention.

Today I learned that typhoons can strike the midwest.

Today I learned that coffee beans are actually cherry pits.

That's all.

I'm a thousand years old

Last night Tom and I went out for our anniversary dinner, and I wore make up. It's the only day of the year I'm guaranteed to wear make up, so I always take my time and do it right. And on the drive to the restaurant I glanced in the visor mirror and noticed that my make up had filled into tiny wrinkles under my eyes and made them stand out. I looked old. Combined with the fact that I'm letting my hair grow out natural, I looked really old. And you want to know a secret? I liked it.

I have known too many people who never got to be old. Derek died in high school; he never got to be old. Aaron died 3 months after graduation; he never got to be old. Smokey died in his thirties, as did Jeff and Chris, and none of them got to be old. I want to get to be old. I want gray hair and wrinkles, and grandchildren and knobby knuckles and brown spots on the back of my hands. I want the privilege of arthritis and the prize of menopause. I want it all.

Of course I worry that when I'm turning 50 Tom will still be looking at 18 year olds. And I certainly don't want to look 20 years older than I am. But life is a downhill slope and it's always more fun to roll down the hill fast than to desperately try to claw your way back up. "There's nothing tragic about being 50, not unless you try to be 25." I really believe that. Also the old saw about how life isn't about looking good in the casket but about how much fun you have getting there. I don't want my last thought to be worrying that I ate too much at lunch, or that I'm hungry because I only had a salad. I also don't want to live so long that my last thought is hoping the next aid to change my diaper is gentle with it. I want to live long enough that I've accomplished my list but not so long that living is a burden. And if I have wrinkles under my eyes already, I'm not going to waste any of my precious time now worrying about it. Life only has so many hours in it (often less than we'd like) and I'm not going to waste them covering my grays, or peering at my wrinkles (or injecting my head with botulism), or clinging to a childhood and youth I didn't much enjoy when I had it.

Somewhere along the line I learned, from media or society or whatever, that as long as I felt like shit it was okay. As long as I hate my thighs, it's okay. I may be fat, but at least I know it and am fully aware of how terrible it is. As long as I'm miserable about my complexion it's okay. I may have zits but at least I'm trying to get rid of them, as evidenced by my obsessing self-hatred over it. This is why you see all sorts of women all the time announcing "I'm so fat," or "I look like Hell," unsolicited: to alleviate guilt. But now I have decided that I'm tired of hating things about myself and feeling ugly for other people. My lips have tiny lines coming out from them. It's from years of puckering up around cigarettes, I know, and eventually I will be unable to wear lipstick without it running off into those lines. But I'm not going to hate it any more. I sag, and am larger than need be, and some parts of me wait to stop moving until the rest of me has been still for an awkwardly long time. But so what? When I die, am I going to regret not obsessing about it all, or am I going to regret the time I wasted freaking out about it just so maybe people wouldn't insult me if I beat them to it?

I want to be an old lady, in a rocking chair, fat enough to give my grandkids a soft lap to sit in. I want to stop hating myself because the inventors of photoshop made it possible for every billboard, commercial, or print ad to make actual mortal people somehow seem inadequate.

these are a few of my favorite things

The smell of burning dust you get when you turn the furnace on for the first time in autumn. It always makes me want to wrap up in a blanket and sit on the couch, as though fall and winter are officially here now that I've smelled the heater.

The little gold line on a Monarch butterfly cocoon. How do caterpillars make gold? I don't know, but it's a fitting part of the magic of turning a stripy green and black worm into a big orange butterfly.

The smell of Cornhuskers lotion. My father always kept a bottle by his kitchen sink and now whenever I start to miss him particularly bad, I grab my old bottle and take a whiff.

My morning coffee, when it's the perfect temperature that I can take long satisfying gulps without burning my throat.

Turning off all the lights except the Christmas lights and sitting in the warm glow of the tree sipping hot cider.

The silent moments when an infant tries to coo but doesn't know how to make the sound come out and just ends up making whispery "heh" sounds, and then the big smile on their face when they finally find their voice.

Finding the perfect figural teapot for my collection, where the handle and spout are so well worked into the design that they're almost hidden.

The way my husband sometimes rubs my hand while we lie in bed. It's nice that when he absentmindedly fidgets, that he does it at me.

Every winter Ryan decides to make a snowman, and every single time she decides to make it HUGE, and ends up with 3 giant snowballs on the ground because she can't lift any of them to form the snowman. I like that she never gives up and she always dreams big.

A nice hot cup of Sleepytime tea, when it's just a couple degrees hotter than that comfortable and I feel lit burn down into my stomach.

Why bother with it all?

I used to see the women who never leave the house without their make up and hair done and envy them. I envied their organization skills at least. It was all I could do just to get my hair and teeth brushed in the mornings; mascara and a flat iron were not part of my plans. But now I look at them and I wonder what it must be like to feel that you're not presentable unless altered. How must it feel to have to thicken eyelashes, color lips and cheeks, and line eyes just to be able to go to work, or even the grocery store. I have make up, and I wear it occasionally, for special occasions or predictable photo opportunities. But I don't dislike what I see in the mirror daily enough to have to artificially color or plump or conceal it before being seen. I do often look in the mirror, sigh, and declare that, "I look like shit." But most days I go on from there and don't look back. I've begun to think that fighting a physical reality is just a prescription for pain. Grays will always be there, wrinkles will form, under-eye circles will darken. Constantly battling to stay ahead, or just to keep pace with, the passage of time sounds exhausting. So I will leave the daily eyeliner and lipstick, the blow dryer and mousse, to those who feel they need them, for whatever reasons. I will be out in the world, naturally colored and textured, not even minding that they think I've let myself go.

Breast feeding tips and advice

La Leche League will tell you that as long as the baby is latched on right, breast feeding does not hurt. That's bullshit. For the first couple weeks, it hurts like a bitch. First it causes cramps (to prevent uterine hemorrhaging and also to return the uterus to its pre-pregnancy shape and location) and then there's just sore nipples. But after the first 2 weeks or so, it doesn't hurt at all unless the latch is wrong, and sometimes not even then. But if you're just starting and it hurts, and some idiot tells you that means your doing something wrong, ignore them.

Your breasts make colostrum before the baby's even born: yellowish sticky droplets that look nothing like real milk. This is all you'll make for the first 3-7 days of the baby's life and when other moms are shoving 2 ounces of formula into their babies you might feel like your baby can't be getting enough. Wrong. A newborn baby's stomach is literally the size of a marble, and it doesn't stretch. Most of those 2 ounces of formula generally gets spit up, while the colostrum that newborns need gets swallowed and digested and absorbed. Also I have heard mothers say that they had to supplement even before they left the hospital. Who lets them think that's right?

Breast fed babies eat every 1 1/2 to 2 hours. Formula fed babies can go 3 hours between feedings, but not because formula is any better than breast milk. In fact, it's just the opposite. Formula is chemicals, synthetic vitamins and minerals created in labs, and it's hard to digest. For this reason it sits in the stomach longer, making the baby feel full for longer, and causing the baby to skip meals. Breast milk is absolutely ideal and perfect for babies and is digested quickly and efficiently, giving the baby space in her stomach for the next meal to go. Nothing is worse than hearing a mother say that she supplemented because the baby ate too often, except to hear that she "scheduled" feedings every 3 hours or more.

Breast feeding is easy. Formula moms will tell you they used bottles because of the ease, but they're misguided. Formula has to be purchased, measured, mixed, warmed, and the bottles and nipples have to be sterilized. Boobs get washed in the shower (but don't use soap; it can dry the nipples and dry nipples can get sore from nursing) and that's it. No supplies to carry around in the diaper bag (except maybe a blanket if you're shy) and milk is always warm enough, never goes bad, never needs to be mixed or measured, and in the middle of the night you can nurse while you lay down and doze. In the very beginning, and usually only with the first child, it's all about how long on which side, foremilk and hindmilk, proper latch, and remembering which side you nursed on last, but after a month or so it becomes second nature and is the easiest thing in the world.

Breast fed babies have less colic, fewer ear infections, and carry their mothers' immunities longer than formula fed babies. They also test higher in school later on, probably because of the species-specific fats and proteins in breast milk. Also, formula fed babies are more likely to suffer stomach problems in infancy due to the cow-specific fats and proteins in formula. Obesity is more frequent in formula fed babies, too. To put it bluntly, nature intended human babies to drink human milk; cow's milk is for baby cows who are supposed to put on hundreds of pounds right away. We are the only species that, as a common practice, feed our young the milk of another species.

Breast feeding does not cause sagging. Pregnancy does. Breasts grow during pregnancy, and engorgement happens whether you nurse or not, both of which cause stretch marks and sagging. Nursing slows the shrinking back of breast tissue, often giving the supporting muscles and tendons time to adjust. If you just let your milk dry up right away the tendons and muscles can have a hard time keeping up. Also, women who nurse are more likely to wear a bra (often even to bed) in the beginning, helping to prevent sagging.

Nursing burns around 500 calories a day, helping women to lose pregnancy weight faster.

Formula, while generally safe, is always vulnerable to manufacturing errors, product recalls, and bad water. If your city is under a boil order and you don't find out until morning, all those bottles you fed your baby during the night become dangerous. If there's a problem at the formula factory and they recall a billion cans, how much of that formula was already eaten? Breast milk is safer from outside contamination. As for inside contamination, the myth that nursing mothers have to eat the perfect diet and abstain from all alcohol or medication is just wrong. Just like during pregnancy, a nursing mother should take a multi-vitamin and whatever nutrition she doesn't take in will be given to her milk rather than to her; the species is designed to propagate itself even at the expense of the mother. As for alcohol, one drink is metabolized per hour, from the blood and the milk. If you finish your beer at 6:00, you are free to nurse guilt-free at 7:00. And many medicines are considered safe while nursing, including many pain medications, cold and flu remedies, sleep aids, and antibiotics. Even a lot of birth controls are fine to take, depending on how the hormones might affect milk production.

Last church post, I hope

After my last rant against churches, having offended someone I seriously do not want to offend, I have given more thought to the church issue. I have figured out what bothers me and hope I am better able to articulate it now.

I read an article once that said the problem with churches today is that they water down the message to just "Be a good person", and there's more to Christianity than that. I disagree. I think there is nothing more than that. At it's core, I believe Christ's message was to be a good person. Don't judge, help the poor, go out in the world and give of yourself and be a good person. The problem is that too many churches, and too many individuals for that matter, have watered it down to just "Accept Jesus as your savior". People believe (not all of them but a lot of them) that as long as you believe that he existed and was the son of God and has the power to save you, then you're doing what you're supposed to. He said "follow me and you'll get to the kingdom" not "worship me and you'll get there". Follow, as in follow his example. Churches could be gathering places to incite revolution, to make people excited about doing things, not just talking about things. If every Sunday were a food drive, or collecting clothes for the homeless, or anything more than sitting around talking amongst themselves about how great Jesus was and how great it is to be Christian and how to always pray and give thanks. It seems to be very much about how to be a Christian even when just sitting rather than to be about not just sitting.

It's great to give a tithing every week and listen to sermons and make every third post on your facebook status about God, but how many of those people volunteer for charities?

*sigh* I'm old

Is it sad to embrace age? I started this blog when I was turning 30 (and having a hard time of it) and envying an "exciting" friend I don't talk to any more, and while I'm not saying I won't have an equally bad time (or worse) turning 40, my main problem with aging now is worrying about where the line is between being comfortable with my age and "letting myself go" in Tom's eyes.

I have gray hairs. Now, let me preface this by saying that Tom is just plain gray. Not even salt and pepper anymore, but gray. A beautiful shiny silver that I love. Like Richard Gere (growl and waggle eyebrows). But I have gray hairs that society tells me I must dye over. I could go on a rant here about chemicals and the stink of hair dye, but the fact is that I dyed my hair for over a decade. But, I like gray. I'd love white, but I'll be happy when the gray grows out and I can actually see how much there is (scraggly bar-hag grays or actual streaks?). The way I see it, little kids know that some day they'll grow old and be gray and wrinkly; it's only the delusional an denial-ridden who grow to think they can avoid that fact.

I'm always cold. I used to puff out my chest and think that it was because I was so thin, but the fact is I just get cold. So I wear a sweater. It's a shapeless old cardigan grandpa sweater, but I love it. It does, however, make me feel like my grandmother when I wear it. I have even been known to shove tissues up the sleeves on occasion. Hopeless, I know.

I'm stuck in my ways. This is another example of me not knowing where the line is. Where does "routine" end and "rut" begin? When I was pregnant and had diabetes, I ate oatmeal every morning. Real, old-fashioned, unsweetened oats that had to soak overnight on the stove. After Danny was born, I was glad to be done with all the dietary rules, but soon realized that a fear of weight gain and Type 2 diabetes scared me away from a lot of foods. So now, every morning, I eat real, old-fashioned, unsweetened oatmeal. Only now, I splurge and put milk in it. It's not my only routine, but who wants to read (or publish) a list of ridiculous habits?

I try to "act my age". You know that lady at the store (or bar or PTA meeting or whatever) who wears shorts so short you can see her episiotomy scar? The one with her stretch marks hanging out of her crop top who pulls into the parking lot with Lady Gaga blaring out of her 2 door car with booster seats in back? Yeah, I don't want to be her. I wear long pants most of the time, I stopped going braless years ago (when there developed a noticeable lag between when I turned around and "they" did) and I shun all sparkly, sequined, glittery, or foil-printed clothing. I am an adult and I will dress like it, even if it makes me look like I'm 60. I'm a firm believer that, "There's nothing tragic about being 50, unless you try to be 25." I'm not 50 yet, but I think it's true for most ages that it just looks pathetic to try to be younger than you are.

a problem with churches today

I don't trust fat preachers. There's just something about representing yourself as a role model in Christianity while also being a walking billboard for gluttony that screams "Hypocrisy". I also don't trust extravagant or fancy churches. No matter how many paintings we have of Jesus in white robes with whispy blond hair, the fact remains that he was a wanderer in the desert who bathed in rivers when he came across them and gave all he had (including his life) to those in need. I cannot reconcile this with mega-churches or churches with indoor basketball courts and state of the art technology. Not only does it reek of pride, but it also diverts funds from charitable Jesus-like purposes to rather selfish ones. The Vatican is of course, the worst, but there are plenty of evangelical churches here in the US almost as bad.

There's a church here in town I just hate. hate with a passion! Electronic church bells that blare musak Christian rock, a gymnasium, a fat preacher, all of it. How many mosquito nets could that money have bought for malaria-ridden countries? How many AIDS medications could have been purchased and sent to Africa? How many hungry people could have been fed with that money? Jesus made bread and fishes for the masses; he didn't just feed his own little group fancier food.

I hate most churches, but I do hold a soft spot for the little one-room churches with old basement kitchens and no air conditioning. They somehow seem more sincere, a little less arrogant, more humble. They seem closer to God than the ones with plush carpet and padded pews and wide screen plasma TVs.

Sometimes a Cigar is just a Cigar

My junior year in high school I wrote a story very much like Stephen King's Rage. It was basically a first person account of a Columbine-style massacre, told from the killer's viewpoint. Of course, this was pre-Columbine so the true horror of such a thing wasn't really all that clear. It was just the violent fantasy of a bullied kid. But I had a teacher who was fresh out of an entirely religious education process and she found the thing and went all ballistic about it. I ended up getting referred to a shrink about it. Actually, the school brought the damned shrink to me. So once a week for about a month I skipped gym class to go chat with this lady so she could, I assume, tell me not to blow away the varsity football team. I came to call her Louise The Incompetent.

I once read an article about a shrink in the 70s who, to discover if gender identity and sexual orientation were learned or born traits, performed sex changes on infants and then quizzed them yearly about their sexual fantasies and showed them porno movies. I think that guy mentored Louise The Incompetent in college. She just had a whole lot of really 70s ideas about things. Very sexualized and Freudian. She told me (after a month, mind you) that I had been molested as a child and repressed the memories and that I had some sort of Oedipal complex toward my father. Yeah, I don't think so. I ended up declining her invitation to pursue my therapy sessions, promised never to shoot anyone (a promise I have kept, by the way) and moved to a new school with a less offensive varsity football team.

Last time I saw Louise The Incompetent, she said hi and waved like we were old friends. I tried to be cordial, but it's so hard when you hate someone. I mean, who tells a messed up 16 year old kid that they want to fuck their dad? I also got a facebook friend request from her that put me in a pissy mood for a good week. I once asked a competent therapist about Louise's whole repressed memory molestation theory and found out that it was very freshman-year psych 101. My views of sex were at the time indicative of me being exposed to sex at an age where I was too young to understand it. About half the time, that results from being abused. But in the other half, it comes from finding porn. And I had a neighbor girl when I was little who loved to show off her mom's Penthouse collection. Yeah, so no molestation here, just good old fashioned porno. And Loise, well she's in real estate now. I guess she finally realized that she sucked at shrinking heads.

And Rage by Stephen King is still an awesome book.

I have it all

How on Earth did I get here? What did I ever do to deserve all of this? I have an amazing husband who I literally thank the universe for every day. I have 3 great kids who make me smile all the time. And I have my dream home, my dream life, my dream everything. I mean, I could use a new van, but still basically, a dream everything. I must have been Gandhi in a past life.

Things I'm learning (before I forget)

1. Don't forget swaddling! At first I swaddled the baby all the time, but after a while I tapered off. Last night I broke out the Woombie again and Danny slept alone until 11:30.
2. Woombies are awesome. They're expensive (I got mine at Mamabargains) but they're worth it. If you can't find one for a decent price, go with SwaddleMe blankets, but the Woombie is more inescapable.
3. Don't sit down to nurse a baby without a spit rag. I seem to gravitate towards whichever couch the thing is NOT on, and then I get urped on and have nothing to clean up with.
4. Take 5 minutes. Repeatedly. Take the time to brush your teeth and hair before rushing to the crying baby. Take the time to make your coffee (decaf- blech!) while the baby fusses in the swing. Chew your food even if the baby doesn't want you to. Don't take hours, but take 5 minutes sometimes.
5. Do laundry. A lot. If I've done the laundry I feel like I'm not letting the house go, like I'm accomplishing something in the day, and it's one of the quickest chores I have. It takes 5 minutes to throw soap and clothes in the washer, and then another 5 minutes later to toss them in the dryer, and I can wait to fold them until Tom or Ryan gets home. Plus, I seem to get urped on a lot so I always have shirts that need to be washed.
   
6. Gilligan & O'Malley nursing tanks are great. I only have one right now but I hope to get more and to wear them even through the winter, under flannel shirts and cardigans. It's so nice to be able to nurse without wrenching the collar of my button down shirt over to the side, or lifting up my t-shirt and flaunting my belly. Plus it's a really good tank top. Supportive bra in it, fitted but not skin-tight, long enough to not show midriff or muffin top. I may wear the thing even after I'm done nursing.
7. If you're going to nurse laying down in bed, or co-sleep, put something under the baby. Danny's peed my sheets twice and crapped them once, too.
   

Autumnal dreams

Well, I had my baby, school has started for Ryan, and I'm ready for summer to be over. Or at least, for some cooler temperatures. I'd like to be able to take the boys for a walk, but not in 85` heat with 90% humidity. I'd like to wear Danny around in my new Moby wrap, but not when he just sweats and turns red where we meet. I like summer, but I love autumn, and I can't wait for red and gold leaves, pumpkins, apple cider, fires on the back patio, and Halloween. I got a sewing machine for my birthday this year so I'm definitely making at least one costume, hopefully two. I have no idea what I'll dress Danny as, but Tommy will probably want to be Diego.

Danny Boy

Danny was born almost 4 hours after my water broke (and 20 minutes after the doctor broke my water, because I make indestructible water that has to break twice) after ten whole minutes of pushing. And yeah, I got the epidural for that. heheheh
In the past 5 days, Danny has taught me much. I have learned that, contrary to manufacturer's instructions, you should NOT order your nursing bras by your third trimester measurements. The cup size is fine but the band is too big, resulting in supported but disturbingly wide set bosoms. I have learned that you can have 3 opposites. All of my kids look exactly opposite from one another. Bald and pink with blond peach fuzz. Darker complected with long brown hair. And finally pink and blond with long thick hair.

I want another one

I would like to wear winter maternity clothes. I think it would be nice to have big baggy sweaters and hoodies that don't meet in the middle, and to not have to worry about whether or not the straps on my tank top will cover my bra. It would be nice to have the thick, shiny, pregnancy hair and be able to wear it down my back instead of up in a ponytail in a vain attempt to not sweat to death through the back of my neck.

Sure, GD during fudge and cookie season would suck, but not gaining five pounds in December would be kind of cool. As would being able to pick out a coming-home-from-the-hospital outfit for a baby that consists of more than just a onesie.

I still really want this baby out of me, but I still also wish I could get another one in there sometime too. Making people is cool (until the last week or so) and it sucks that my pancreas is my people-making enemy. Like kryptonite for Superman, if kryptonite only really affected his ability to eat candy bars unrestricted.

It's not about YOU!

I have gotten used to being the only woman left on the planet to wait until birth to learn the sex of the baby, but am I really the only one who lets the baby decide when to come out?! Does everyone opt for elective induction? All I keep hearing is that it's all about the mother, and it's her day, and the most important thing is to make her comfortable. Gee, you'd almost forget there was a baby involved. I kind of thought it was all about him! Or her.

miserable

This baby had better come out soon. Ten days until Tommy's birthday, and I think it would be cool for them to share a birthday. But, can I make it another ten days?

36 weeks pregnant

Last time I was this far along I went to the doctor on July 14 and then drove into a wall at 60 mph. Today's appointment was much less exciting, thank gods. I'm dilated to 2 cm (more than I've ever gotten to without pitocin) and am 50% effaced, plus the baby's head is so far down that my pelvis is spreading. I wonder what all that pressure on the skull will do to the baby's head? I've known babies who were so low they were born misshapen. Oh well, hats are cute.

Ryan and Mom go to Yellowstone Friday, for a week and a half so either this baby has to come in the next day and a half or it has to wait a couple weeks. I'm still hoping to have it on the fourth but we'll see just how much say I have in it. Wish me luck; I'll keep you all (one?) updated.

Baby Products I absolutely recommend

1. swaddling blankets. I've used the kiddopotamus ones before and loved them, but this time I splurged and bought the woombie and I hope they work as well as I've heard. Either way, the principle is the same: blankets that fasten shut so the baby can't wiggle out as easily.
2. toy links. These help bring hanging toys into baby's reach, hang Mom's purse on the stroller handle, attach handles cups to the stroller so they don't hit the ground, and basically whatever else you can think of. If I had a time machine I'd go back and invent them because they are so simple they make me feel stupid for not thinking of it first.
3. musical crib toy. There are all sorts of these things, and some people just use a white noise machine, but we chose to start with a heartbeat teddy bear and then go to a musical seahorse, which Tommy still uses. When we put him in bed we tuck him in, hand him his stuffed kitty, and then turn on the music. Sometimes we hear him wake up in the middle of the night and turn on the music himself. He's like Pavlov's dog now and starts yawning once he hears it. It's on my list of things to buy before the baby is born, so they can both have their own.
4. blackout curtains. Or at least a heavy blanket over the windows. Frilly, sheer curtains look good in the daytime, but unless you want your baby to wake up at dawn or have trouble napping, you'll want to find a way to keep the room dark. I made curtains for Tommy's room, and just lined them with a thicker black fabric and so far they seem to work well.
5. Baby sunglasses. I've never used the goggles kind with the elastic strap, but any kind would be good as long as they didn't dig into the baby's head. The reason I like these so much is that I see babies all the time squinting against the sun. Either the shade in the car window stopped working after taking that last turn, or the stroller canopy leaves a crack exposed, or it's just a bright day out and they're in a sunny spot. Either way, the odds are about 50/50 that the baby will leave them on if you start young enough (like within 2 days of birth) and it's definitely worth the $5 a pair of sunglasses cost to play those odds. My daughter loved hers and my son hated his. I still don't regret buying them either time.
   

Pointless baby "necessities" that are a waste of money

1. baby mittens. Most newborn outfits come with the little fold-over pocket on the sleeves to keep baby from scratching herself, and if they don't you can use socks, which are cheaper and stay on better than little thumbless mittens anyway.
2. bassinet. I'm not talking about the pack-n-play with a higher level for a newborn to sleep in, but the piece of designer wicker furniture that stands in the corner, all top-heavy, just waiting for the baby to learn to move the slightest bit and topple it over. Cute, but pointless.
3. wipe warmer. If your house is too cold for baby wipes, why is the baby sleeping in it? Otherwise, room temperature wipes are fine and don't bother most babies. Maybe if the alternative were bracingly cold wipes a warmer would make sense, but in that case either the butt in question would already be bracingly cold, or you'd be an idiot for storing your wipes in the fridge.
4. gender specific gear. For one thing, ultrasounds are NOT always right, and buying your high chair, car seat, stroller, and swing in sexist colors could prove to be a mistake. For another thing, what if you have another baby someday and that kid is the opposite sex? Hand me downs are great, but when everything is pink and frilly, and the next baby comes out with a penis, it might be awkward (and expensive) to say the least.
5. Jogging strollers. Unless you actively jog, in straight lines on a roadway rather than a segmented sidewalk, these strollers are kind of pointless. For one thing, they cost WAY more than the regular travel-system stroller, which will work from birth through the toddler years, but they also don't all turn. A lot of the jogging strollers have immobile front wheels, which makes turning corners and maneuvering through doorways incredibly difficult.
6. crib sets. Of course when you're pregnant and setting up the baby's room, you want everything to be as cute as possible. But the $200 crib set is ridiculous. It is possible to buy a sheet (or two) and bumper pads for less than a hundred bucks. For less than fifty, probably. And the comforter and dust ruffle may look nice, but you don't use a blanket in the beginning anyway, and a dust ruffle is pretty pointless as it is. Also, these sets come with one sheep, which is fine until you put an actual baby on it and it gets spit up on, or pooped on, or it just becomes time to do a load of laundry, and then you have to have a second sheet anyway.
7. shoes. Shoes for children and adults are to protect their feet in case they step on something, or to keep them clean. Babies need no such protection. They look good in pictures, but you have no way of knowing how comfortable they are and wearing shoes can actually hamper learning to walk. If you must put shoes on a baby (barring formal occasions like weddings) use the soft ones without soles. And for God's sake, don't spend $50 on Nikes for a kid who will outgrow them within a month and never appreciate it anyway.
8. walkers. They don't teach babies how to walk; they teach them how to propel themselves backward into table legs and cabinets, and occasionally down stairs. If you want something comparable, get an exersaucer. It comes with more toys and less mobility.
   

A Mother's Wisdom

I'm definitely nesting now. I'm doing laundry every day, even if I don't have enough to make a whole load, and packing up my hospital bag and feeling a restless energy that should be put to use cleaning my house but often isn't (nesting does not negate the pointless feeling that comes when you realize your toddler will just grind more cheerios into the floor when you're done cleaning anyway). So now that I've told myself for the third time in fifteen minutes that I am not going to climb in the tub with a bottle of Soft Scrub and a brush, since I just showered and would like to stay clean for a while, I am going to make a list of things I've learned about childbirth, in case anyone actually reads this thing and maybe they've never been through this before and would appreciate my wisdom.

The lists that tell you to bring make up to the hospital for pictures are stupid. Sweaty hair, burst blood vessels, and a tear-streaked face are not going to magically transform into your everyday visage with the addition of lipstick and mascara. And they shouldn't. Your immediately-after-giving-birth photos should look like you just gave birth, not like you just showed up to meet the baby you're adopting.

The books and articles and websites about childbirth that tell you to steal the "handy" mesh panties from the hospital are stupid too. They all say to take the panties so that you can wear them for the first few days after delivery, so that if your pad leaks you won't stain your own underwear. Well, first of all, any underwear you wear within a week of giving birth will be stretched out beyond recognition anyway, stained or not, and you'll have to throw it away. But, second of all, think about it! If your pad leaks and you're wearing mesh fishnet panties (which are so stretchy they don't hold the pad against you anyway) you will ruin whatever is next in line for the blood to get to. This could be your clothes, or your bedding, or even your car if said clothes are thin enough. This is why I NEVER wear the mesh panties. Nope, not even the first day. I do, however, wear disposable underwear, in the form of adult diapers. No, not the diaper looking kind they sell on fetish websites (so I hear), but the padded paper underwear kind (like Pull-Ups but without the Minnie Mouse graphics). That way I can sleep well knowing that there's no way I'm going to ruin my sheets, and I can go out knowing I'm not going to be the last to realize a large red blotch blossoming on the back of my pants, and I can go more than an hour without running to the bathroom with an airline-pillow sized maxi pad in my fist. Now I know what you're thinking. You're thinking there's no way you could possibly wear an adult diaper, because you have dignity. Well. . .

You have no dignity. Once you've had strangers who may be part of the nursing staff but who really knows because you're in no position to be checking IDs checking you for dilation, and peed into an upside down plastic toddler cowboy hat every hour all night just to have your kidney output measured, pushed out a baby with none of the fears of public pooping that you'd previously had, and then asked just about anyone capable of pronouncing "La Leche" about nipple pain and the football hold (or alternately about engorgement and cold cabbage leaves), your dignity is gone. Before this happens, you can't imagine such a thing, but it's true. Kind of the way you swear you'll never let your husband see you less than presentable but then you get the flu and he not only sees you sick but knows what color you vomit after chicken soup. Like that.

Breast feeding hurts. Not as much as childbirth, or even as much as stubbing your toe, should you stub your toe for ten minutes on each side every two hours, but what the experts refer to as "sore nipples" is more like tearful pain. Don't get me wrong; I've done it for a year with each of my kids so far and fully intend to do it for a year with the third. But when they tell you that breast feeding doesn't hurt unless you're doing it wrong, they're bullshitting you. For the first month or two it will hurt. Nipples chap and sometimes crack (like if you suddenly were to start washing your hands a hundred times every day), and babies have stronger suction than squids (I assume; I have no proof), and it hurts. But it gets better, and it gets easier (if it hurts too much, buy a nipple shield; you can get them online or at drug stores), and by the baby's two month check-up most nursing mothers wouldn't trade it for the world. Just, don't listen to experts who will tell you that it shouldn't hurt, or that nipple shields are only for people with inverted nipples. Those people are wrong. Period. End of story. And it only hurts for the first few weeks. After that your nipples toughen up (in pain tolerance, not in texture- don't worry) and you could slam the damn things in a car door without getting hurt.

Men who say they wish they could share your pain are lying. Grab them by the nuts during just one contraction and see for yourself. They will, however, attempt to share your hospital issue pudding cups. Bastards.

Steal from the hospital. Everything except the fishnet underwear. Take the Vaseline and the diapers and the wipes and pads and bottle of hand sanitizer and stupid little leaky bum pads (they call them chucks, can you believe it?!). Take it all, because they will bill you for it anyway and they actually expect it. Leave the onesies and the sheets, but take all the "disposable" stuff. In fact, I never buy diapers before having the baby. I figure if I buy size 1 they'll be too big and if I buy size Newborn I'll pop out a ten pound baby, so I just steal from the hospital and then send my husband to Walmart before I run out.

Hospitals are loud. And bright. And babies have no sense of time. You'll likely either give birth in the middle of the night, or during the day after a long night of labor. An airline sleep mask and a pair of earplugs are wonderful things to pack. You'll still hear it when the baby next to you starts crying but if you're lucky you won't hear it when the baby down the hall starts crying, and then sets off all the others in chorus.

Contractions hurt like a bitch. Some women can breathe their way through them and use focal points and whatnot, but they still hurt. There's no reason to go to the hospital for a tightening feeling, or cramping, or pressure. When you feel like screaming and gutting yourself with a fishing knife, that's when you should go to the hospital. Very very few women don't realize they need to go to the hospital. Even those women on "I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant" usually think their appendix is bursting or something. It's different for every woman, and for every birth, but it does hurt, and those of us who get epidurals don't do it because of a tightening, or cramping, or pressure. And once you've been through it just once, even if you had a relatively painless experience (emphasis on the word relatively), you too will laugh at the women who go to the hospital with indigestion.

Weepy mother post

It has occurred to me that the baby could very well be born this month, and that seems to be what it takes to kick me into gear. Today we bought the baby its first toy (a floppy stuffed Eeyore) and the picture/coming home outfits (one for each sex, since we don't know), and when we got home I vacuumed the bedroom and put together the pack n play. Well, I started putting it together but you need a waist to do that so Tom helped me. Then I ripped the covers off the swing and bouncer and carseat and am now doing a load of delicates to wash all that up. I need to pack my hospital bag (Ryan has the bag somewhere in her room and I try not to go in there because I suspect there are VC tripwires in the clutter) and wipe down the plastic parts of all the baby gear (Damn! I forgot to buy Clorox wipes) and then worry and panic and all the other stuff I've been successfully putting off by telling myself I had the whole rest of the summer left to go.

Tommy held the Eeyore in the cart while we shopped today and he was being so gentle with it. He kissed it and hugged it and rubbed it softly. He is going to be so good with this baby and it makes me tear up to think about. He's already such a big boy and he's not even two yet! He's decided recently that he loves taking showers with us. He took his shower with me last night and stayed in there through all my shampooing and conditioning and everything, and then he didn't want to get out when I did. I let him hang out in there under the water for a while and he looked so grown up. Not afraid of getting water in his eyes or anything, just holding onto the bar of soap and rubbing it on his belly until Tom made him get out. It seems so hard to believe that two years ago I was feeling all the same kicks I feel now, and it was him!

Ryan went to he movies with a friend last night. Her first movie without a parent. She saw Twilight Eclipse and I guess she liked it, although the whole Twilight saga makes me roll my eyes. Too much emotional drama and eternal love pledging by teenagers. But apparently mopey pouty kids are what people want to see these days. I'll wait till November and go see Harry Potter 7 with her, thank you very much. If she hasn't completely outgrown being seen with Mom, by then. I miss my little girl. Just a few years ago she was dressed up as Luna Lovegood at the midnight release of the last Harry Potter book, struggling to stay awake long enough to get it, hyped up on chocolate frogs and smoothies from the Border's coffee shop. Now she only wears black and everything has to have skulls on it and when she stands next to me she's almost as tall as me. Taller, if she's wearing her black platform boots and hipster fedora. I remember when she was the one with the stuffed Eeyore.

Ugh. Hormones! I'm getting all weepy now. I have to go switch the laundry out now, and avoid any more maudlin internet prose. Hopefully my next post won't be that the baby's here. I'm not ready for that just yet.

Sometimes it sucks to be a mom

Brian Jensen was a punk. He worked at the pizza place a lot of my friends worked at and he thought he was the baddest, best looking, most envied guy around. No one liked him, but he couldn't see that. He attended the local community college (and flunked every class) and drove a five year old Grand Am with a $5000 paint job and lived in his parents' basement. When he would return from a delivery an hour late, or twenty dollars short, or when he'd hang up after taking an order with no address or phone number, he'd shrug and say "I have ADD." It was his answer to everything, because it had always worked. He'd been medicated since first grade and had never learned to do so much as tie both of his shoes in a row. He played video games and read comic books and admitted that they were the only things that could hold his attention because the explosions and fights "changed things up every couple of seconds".
When my daughter was 8 and the doctor suggested ADD as a possible cause of her falling grades, Brian Jensen was the face that popped into my mind. I agreed to have her tested, and gave the questionnaires to her teachers, and filled out the parent portion myself, but the whole time I was thinking, "She can read a Harry Potter book in one day! How can she have trouble focusing?" It wasn't until the doctor told me that it was ADD that it was explained to me. Everyone can focus on stuff they like; kids with ADD just can't focus on anything they don't. It's not by choice, just an inability to buckle down. But still, did I want my kid to be Brian Jensen or worse, whatever Brian Jensen would become if unable to get his pills? If Ryan did have ADD, I told myself, it was a mild case and she could learn to focus despite the obstacle. And then if she found herself without insurance, or in a new town with a new doctor unwilling to write the prescription, she wouldn't find herself incapable of keeping or finding a job.
That was 4 years ago. There's a boarding school Ryan wants to go to, an actual goal she has, that depends in large part of grades. And in the past year I've gotten phone calls about forgotten homework assignments (including ones she was looking forward to), papers left on her desk at home over and over again, and even once when she hit a kid without even realizing she was doing it. Classic ADD behavior. So I finally broke down and asked for a prescription, and it costs $150.00.
It sucks to finally come to terms with the fact that your kid needs a crutch, only to find out you can't even give it to them. And Tom tells me that a kid who can read a whole book in one day can't have ADD anyway, and that she needs to just buckle down when she doesn't like something. It feels like there's no one to talk to about this, no one who will understand how hard it is to try to walk the line between denying your kid help she needs and not letting her stand on her own two feet. And every day that I spend wobbling on that tightrope is another day she doesn't have the help.
I can't help but wonder; if the pills were free, would Tom have such an objection to them?

Stupid name trends

1. Sticking y's in names for no reason, just to seem edgy. Robyn, Suzyn, Eryn, Kymberly, Jaymie. It's stupid and unnecessary and dooms your kid to a lifetime of misspellings. It's almost as bad as
2. Sticking i's in names for no reason, just to seem edgy. Kimmi, Candi, Jacki, Jenni. Names are assumed to carry with them some sort of dignity and replacing the Y with an I, or just eliminating half of the IE erases that dignity, and it also makes the name sort of porny.
3. Stripper names. Certain names don't have Ks in them. Crystal, Candy, Carla, all normal with a C. But Krystal, Kandy, and Karla are all stripper names. Stick a Lynn at the end and they go straight from the pole to the screen. (What jobs are there for a Krystal Lynn other than porn actress or Dairy Queen clerk?)
4. Giving kid names to babies who will hopefully survive into adulthood. Don't name your son Billy or Timmy or Danny. Name him William or Timothy or Daniel. Or at least go with Bill, Tim, or Dan. No adult man wants to hear "Do you, Timmy, take Suzyn to be your wife?"
5. Horribly dated names. Don't name your kid Hermione, or Renesmee, or Miley, or Chandler, or any other name that no one ever thought of before the movie/TV show/album came out. How stupid would it be for some 50 year old guy to be walking around named Howdy Doody? About as dumb as the 35 year old soccer moms named Madonna seem. And as much as you love the idea of naming your princess after a half vampire baby who killed her own mother, it's tacky.
6. Adjectives as names. Nothing sounds good after Harry, or Dusty, or Rusty. There are plenty of very good names you can choose for your kid wihtout it sounding like a bad description.
   

more to come....

Americans eat stupid.

I don't understand how most Americans eat. I mean it. We have to have MSG in everything. Or sugar, or salt, or high fructose corn syrup, because we've over-stimulated our taste buds to the point where anything natural is bland and subtle flavors are undetectable. I grew up on pasteurized processed cheese food and the first time I tasted Meunster cheese, it tasted like air to me. It took 3 cubes of cheese before I could detect any flavor at all! And yet, despite that, we seek out the bland in everything! White bread, white rice, pre-steamed rolled oatmeal (which we then add sugar to. Go figure.). A study was published this week detailing the correlation between brown rice consumption and lower diabetes rates. The thing is, all the articles I read were very clear in stating that no one knows why this correlation exists but that there is a very good chance that people who pick brown rice over its bleached counterpart are more likely to lead healthier lives in general. In other words, yoga instructors and vegans eat brown rice, not couch potatoes and the morbidly obese. (A gross generalization but not one without merits.) I try to eat healthy, and simply, but I fail sometimes just like everyone else. But I think my days of white rice are over, in part because of my predisposition to diabetes. Two bouts of genstational diabetes have scared me enough to eat chewier rice.

Totally cool stuff about my son

1. When he spills things he MAKES me get him either a towel or the vacuum hose, and will not abide waiting.
2. He compulsively counts his toys, yet only can remember one number. I hear "two two two!" when he plays with his cars.
3. He sits in his crib and plays by himself for half an hour or more in the morning, giving me time to brush my teeth.
4. He can't function in the morning without his "coffee", an instant breakfast shake. He follows me around chanting "Cah" until he has it.
5. He points at the computer, shaking his sock monkey, until I play the song from the Kia sock monkey commercial for him.

.....to be continued

Totally cool stuff about my daughter

1. She's a geek and would get way more excited about meeting a Mythbuster than a Jonas Brother.
2. She has actually used the phrase "tubas are awesome" in casual conversation.
3. She hates Justin Bieber both in theory and in practice.
4. She still sometimes holds my hand while we shop.
5. Of all the women on TV, Kardashians and Britneys and Gagas, she wants to be Kari Byron.
6. She understands when I call the weeds Hemingway's Cat.

...to be continued

The real facts behind the McDonald's coffee case

While at my obstetric appointment, being told I needed an ultrasound for no reason other than that I'm pregnant, the infamous McDonald's Coffee Case came up. The point was that people will sue for anything and scanning all fetuses regardless of need or cause or even the mother's wishes is just what doctors have to do in this litigious society.
A couple weeks later I had a friend tell me that tort reform is more important to keeping medical costs down than insurance reform because, after all, people sue when their coffee is too hot.
Today a friend of mine posted on facebook a link to an article about a woman who googled directions for a walk, wandered down the middle of a road, got hit by a car, and is now suing google. My friends comment: And coffee is hot, too.

All this crap pisses me off. It's very easy to hear some radio DJ mock a lady for suing McDonald's because her coffee burned her, but do they realize that McDonald's knowingly set their holding temp for coffee to 185`, hot enough to cause third degree burns to the lips, mouth, and throat at the very first sip? Do they know that the woman who sued tried to settle in the beginning but McDonald's told her they had more lawyers and could afford to wait her out? Or that the coffee didn't just burn her lap but actually melted her genital and anal regions, requiring 8 days of skin grafting? Nah, all they know is that some lady spilled her coffee, got burned, and sued McDonald's. After all, what point does fact have in a hyperbolic example anyway?

Clean your plate, or not. No big deal either way.

I was always a picky eater, and I never cleaned my plate. Because of this, I've never made my kid clean her plate. If she dishes the food onto it and she decides how much to get, then I do try to get her to finish it, but if she doesn't then she doesn't. Same with Tommy, although he's too young still for this to really apply to him. But I have seen parents force-feed the last of the baby food jar, or the last couple ounces of a bottle, to a kid so I guess it could.
People say they're opposed to "wasting" food, so they make their kids eat it. I've never understood that concept. Whether you feed it to the dog, the garbage disposal, the trash can, or a crying child, it's still wasted. The money has already been spent on it (it's not like you get a refund or rebate if it all gets eaten) and a certain amount of food has already been prepared. Throwing some down a trash chute or the throat of a kid who isn't hungry makes no difference, either way it cost the same and that money is gone. You can learn from it and not serve your kid as much in the future, or not, but the theory that food uneaten is wasted but food swallowed against someone's will isn't baffles me. I've heard parents use the "some kids don't have food" line to justify this. Do they really think those kids are somehow happier if excess food gets shoveled into someone who is already full than if it got thrown away? Does it make the starving kid less hungry if my kid gets made sick by it? And none of this even touches on the part where teaching kids NOT to stop eating when they get full contributes to obesity later, how linking uneaten food and guilt in a person's mind can lead to food issues later on. I'm just talking about the part where somehow it's wasteful to put food in the trash but not to put food in an unwilling child.

Small town life

Sometimes I wish I lived in a city. I like small towns, and have never in my life lived more than 15 miles from my hometown, but sometimes I wish I lived in a city.

I read about a thing in Seattle where people go and pay maybe $10 and bring books they've read and no longer need, and get to mingle, make friends, drink 2 glasses of "free" wine, and everyone goes home with someone else's old book instead of their own. Imagine such a thing! Meeting people who like to read, drinking wine, and the absolute worst that can happen is that you walk out with no new friends and only a new book to read.

There are places out there with museums, and art galleries, and coffee shops that don't play all Christian music all the time. Places with cooking classes and pottery studios and independent subculture newspapers. Places where adults ride bicycles without DUIs.

I like small town life. I like that my kid can ride her bike to the park and I don't have to worry, that I can send her to the store with my bank card and they know it's okay because they remember that I told them it was. But sometimes I wish she were going to attend a high school with more elective class choices than Spanish and home ec. Sometimes I wish that her probable English teacher next year didn't remember her mom as the one who crushed on the pizza boy in high school. Sometimes I wish she were growing up in a town with museums and art galleries and independent subculture newspapers.

Confessions of a hormonal bitch

1. When I read freecycle, I immediately dismiss out of hand posts written without punctuation, with horrible spelling, or with some trashy sob story. "In need of anythin u mite have for a house. I have 4 dotters and one has a babby boy so we need firniter and kitchin things. Nun of us drive so needs to be dilivired. Also, I have lots of babby rats to give away if enyone needs snake food or pets."
2. I respond to stupidity in the comments sections of online articles. It seems like every Jon or Kate Gosselin article has about 3 dozen "Who even cares about these guys?" or "Why are these people still news? When will they go away?" comments. I don't respond to all of them (I'm only one person) but I do sometimes feel compelled to answer "Some of us do care, including you, who took the time to click on the headline, read the article, and then type out a comment here. People who really don't care don't even click on the article in the first place. You're not fooling anyone; you want to feel superior but nobody's buying it."
3. I have no patience for drama, and it bothers me to no end when my facebook page is full of it. Want your ex to stop calling you? Threaten to call the cops if he keeps it up, and then call them! Wish you could tell your friend what you really think of her new man? Tell her! If you won't tell her, then you obviously don't really want to, so in that case stop filling my facebook page with it.
4. I normally really like reading Dan Savage's advice column but lately it just seems like he's over-the-top in favor of just about every kink or fetish on the planet except heterosexual monogamy. Wanna have a threesome? Do it, and if your partner has a problem with it they're holding you back and being selfish. Want an open marriage? Do it, and if your partner has a problem with it they're holding you back and being selfish. What about the person who wants a normal old-fashioned marriage with ups and downs, but without a constant search for immature instant-gratification from outside sources? Oh yeah, DTMFA.
5. I absolutely hate Nazi comparisons. I detest when Glenn Beck makes everything out to be the work of nazis, or the same as nazis, or equal to nazis. But I can't help but think that after WWI Germany was in such a terrible economic mess that it was fairly easy for someone to show up and say all they needed to do was go back to their roots, to what Germany used to be like, with real Germans and not all these Jewish immigrants. And now that we're in a terrible recession with banks failing and unemployment soaring we have tea-baggers to say that we need to get back to our roots, to what the founding fathers wanted, which was (apparently?) Christianity and a lack of Mexicans.
6. I don't want a baby shower this time, since I already have most of the stuff I'll need and would just end up inviting the same people over for basically the same party anyway, but I do get all misty when I see baby shower decorations.
   

I'm old

A friend asked the other day, via facebook status, "If you didn't know how old you were, how old would you be?" It was obviously intended to remind us all that as long as we stay young at heart we never have to feel old, and to get us thinking about how short life really is and how much of the daily bullshit could be brushed aside if only we'd make the choice to be Toys R Us kids forever. Without hesitation, I answered, "53". In reality, I turn 34 in 2 months.

I don't feel 21, and considering what an immature ass I was at 21 I'm kind of glad for that. But I don't feel young at heart and I resent the implication that I should. The idea of a gray-haired old grandmother out rollerblading through the park because she's young at heart (and most likely being filmed for a Depends commercial) is endearing, but the reality is that the people who think they can stay 21 forever don't become gray-haired old grannies rollerblading int he park. They become Botoxed denial queens who hang out in the bars wearing too much make up and too few clothes, smoking Menthol cigarettes and trying to pick up young guys, all while wearing a cropped off tee shirt with the words "Young at heart" printed on it.

I make a conscious effort not to dress too young. I don't want to be one of those moms who shows up to the parent teacher conference braless in short shorts. When I get chilly, I put on a sweater rather than walk around looking like 2 tanks are preparing to fire through my blouse. I don't giggle if someone asks me if I'm my daughter's sister; I roll my eyes and wonder just who they think they're kidding. I don't wear bikinis or low-rise jeans and I get excited about new flavors of oatmeal (they make a latte one now, can you believe it!). My hobbies, rather than roller blading or jogging, include crocheting and gardening and sewing.

Now that I think of it, maybe I underestimated when I said 53. Maybe 72 is more like it.

No Child Allowed Behind

I try to teach my kid that not doing things has consequences and that you don't always get a second chance. In a nation of no-fault divorces and abortions and probation and expunged records, it's hard to teach that. But if I give her until bedtime to get something done or else, then or else kicks in at bedtime, not the next day.

Ryan didn't do an English assignment. The teacher wants to giver her a detention every day until she turns it in. Now, the thing was supposed to be done today and to my mind, one due date means one detention. But the school says "You WANT your kid to get a zero?!" and says she can turn it in any time before the end of the term. It's not that I want my kid to get a zero,but I want her to get what she earned. In this case, she earned a zero and I think it's counter-productive to keep giving second and third chances just so she doesn't have to actually accept the consequence of not getting the work done on time, all while continuously punishing her with detention every night for 3 weeks.

How many kids go off to college to learn that they can't hack it because "mean" teachers won't grant them extensions on papers or let them take make-up tests? Kids who got good grades in high school because instead of a safety net their parents and teachers provided them with safety harnesses. And what happens when people who have never known any rigidity in rules miss deadlines at work?

Look, I accept that my kid screwed up. I left her to do her homework on her own, sink or swim, and she sunk. Give her a detention for not doing it if you must, and reflect it in her grade as a zero. But don't simultaneously coddle her with endless chances and punish her with endless detentions. And when I explained to the principal that I considered work ethic and responsibility to fall under character development, which is my jurisdiction rather than the school's, he told me that my chance was back when the assignment was handed out and now it was their turn.

Any tutors out there want to homeschool my kid?

Nature? What nature?

If you're going to know the weight, length, sex, birthday, and name of the baby before ever giving birth, what do you have to look forward to except pierced eardrums, sore nipples, and the smell of dirty diapers? How about forgoing the ultrasounds and elective inductions and just wait to have the babies when they're ready to show up?

Ranting & Venting

Pregnancy makes a temper worse; it shortens your fuse. And I have a short enough fuse anyway, so I spend a lot of my time either biting my tongue or apologizing lately. So I think this may be the post where I vent about stupid little things I'm bright enough to leave alone in real life. So here goes:

1. Don't look at my transluscent, glowing legs and shake your head, or tell me I "need" to get some sun. Don't say, imply, or suggest that the color of my skin is inferior or undesirable. I refuse to dye my skin brown or submit myself to cancer-causing tanning beds, or even just waste time lying around in the cancer-causing sun, because people think I was born the wrong color. I am not pasty, or deathly pale, or corpse-like. If I were a paint color, I would be Northern European White, and I think that's just fine.
   
2. Don't tell me that my 2 previous healthy pregnancies, one with gestational diabetes, are irrelevant to this one because "every pregnancy is different" and then tell me every woman needs a third trimester ultrasound. If every pregnancy is different then tests should be administered based on a particular pregnancy, not as a blanket policy.
3. If you have diabetes, and it is not gestational diabetes and didn't start out as gestational diabetes, don't pretend you know anything about gestational diabetes. A diabetic woman who becomes pregnant is at MUCH higher risk than a pregnant woman who develops diabetes. Quite simply, having high blood sugar while a baby is forming can cause horrible birth defects that developing gestational diabetes after the baby is (for the most part) formed does not cause. Running around telling women with GD that the sky will fall and their babies may die if they accidentally mis-measure one meal helps NO ONE.
4. If you bitch about getting dirty looks because you smoke while pregnant, you forfeit the right to blab on about the dangers of vaccinations. You just do. You can't bring back polio because you're such a health freak if you're sucking down Marlboros with your Prenate vitamins. And don't even start about the organic food. Yes, my children eat brussels sprouts that might have been touched by chemical fertilizer, but they eat them in a smoke-free home.
5. Don't tell me how horrible epidurals are. I have had 2 and they are fine. There is a relatively low risk with them, but everything has a risk to it (including birthing children in the first place), and no one I have ever met has had any problems with an epidural. They have never slowed my labor down; on the contrary they have sped it up both times. I like a bit of relief with my pain and who are you to judge me for it?
6. Don't judge me for what my ancestors did. I have one adopted parent and one descended from Amish stock. Now until my mother dies and I (maybe) find out who birthed her, I have no hope on that side, so I would like to be able to go back more than 3 generations on my dad's side. But since someone left the faith a hundred years ago, we're all shunned and no one will tell us anything! I love when people tell me to just go to ancestor.com. Like the Amish upload stuff!