31 July 2006

Ow

It's been 7 hour since I was shot full of novicane, and My bottom left lip is still numb. Nothing like going to the dentist, tra-la-la, expecting to come out with clean shiny teeth and finding out that pregnancy wrecked havoc on your gums and you have to have them scraped and 3 teeny caveties filled. Oh, and then come back next week to have the SAME EXACT TORTURE wraught upon you on the other side. At least it was an excuse to partake in my current favorite stress relieving past-time: Ice cream. Turkey Hill light recipe moose tracks. I try to finish the container without breaking down and fishing out the fudge stripes and little baby peanut butter cups first. Because then you just have a tup of stirred up vanilla and that's no fun at all.

Tomorrow: Jim has a LUNCH DATE. With the 3 members of the HR staff at the place that wants to hire him. They called not more than 2 hours after he got off his 2nd phone interview. They way we figure, you don't waste good lunch money on people you aren't interested in. Fingers are crossed that there is an offer letter in our future...Especially as we need the money now to pay off my dental work.

Getting old

Busia, my mom's mom, lived with us for 11 years. She moved in shortly after her 2nd heart attack and quadruple bypass surgery because you just can't live alone in Detroit after all that. Staying with your grandparents for a week in the summer is very different than having one in your house, and Busia was no easy person to live with. She favored my brother, intruded on too many family issues, even told me once that I was going to have "...one God-damned hell of a life." I was in 7th grade. We did not swear in our house (still have to watch my mouth and not say 'crap' or 'fart' too much around mom). But despite all this, Busia, with her heart disease and diabetes and everything, was the very model for growing old. She walked even when it hurt her and she would do laps around her living room instead of the neighborhood because of bad weather. Her diet was meticulous, she was barely medicated for her diabetes as she avoided sugar like the plague, and her heart was so bad, she wasn't supposed to live for more than 2-3 years after moving in with us. Well, she stayed for 11. She finally passed with yet another heart attack, just a little one because there was so much of her heart that had already gone bad. It was Thanksgiving morning, my freshman year of college. But she was at home, in her bed, it was short, sweet, and conclusive.

In contrast, my father's parents are barely living. Oh, they're alive and reasonably well considering, but they aren't living. They are shells of the vibrant people I remember growing up, the ones who cruised the world and rarely had time for us. Even though they lived 45 minutes away (which seems like a forever drive when you're 6), we saw them only 4-5 times a year. Now they are still 45 minutes away, but in a retirement community. They are both diabetic but have no clue, combined with no desire to give up what they like, how to control their diets. They both fell ill this spring, and it's so sad to see them. Their house is filthy, my parents can only do so much, and my grandparents refuse to let them hire someone to come in 2-3 days a week to help out. Grandpa is at least trying to get a little better, and can walk fairly well with his walker and wants to graduate to a cane soon. He might make it. Grandma won't listen to the nurses, and is therefore not healing. It's sad and gross when you sneak out to use the public restroom in the lobby because there's...stuff...in their bathroom you just don't want to have to clean first before going. They no longer can go to church or get out, we sure as hell are never letting grandpa drive again (the car stays so my uncle has something to drive when he comes up from Florida), and most of their few friends have stopped visiting because all they do is complain.

If it's up to me, I'd rather be like Busia. A weird reflection, since for much of my life I couldn't stand her and I know she's part of the reason for things that go on in my head that we're working out in therapy. But as an adult, these things come into new light. I'm thankful this deal with my grandparents has spurred my parents to go out and get long term care insurance. I appreciate them not wanting to be a burden on Tim and I (and Jim and Natalie). I worry about Jim's mom, as I don't think she has the same mindset. I cringe at the thought of her ever living with us, not because she's some awful person, but I saw what Busia did to our family dynamics during some very important years of my and my brother's growing up.

All this is so serious and thought provoking and sad in so many ways. But I love my family, if anything for their warped sense of humor the most. We've all been referring to my grandparents behind their backs as "The Geezers" for the last few years, and I caught my uncle calling them that in their presence this past weekend. They didn't even flinch. The rest of us thought we'd pee our pants trying to hold in the laughter.

30 July 2006

Good to be home

My current favorite sound is the shrieks of laughter my daughter produces when we are laying on my bed and I'm making fart noises in the backs of her fat little knees. Evidently this is hilarious to the 6 month old set.

Long weekend, long drive, so nice to be back.

Tomorrow, I will be "sick" and get to stay home and go to the dentist, while Jim has a 2nd phone interview at 10am...he'll also be getting a hearty breakfast with lots of protein and Diet Dr. Pepper to get that brain working up to speed.

28 July 2006

Pre-weekend wrap-up

Things seen on the metro this week (other than hoards of sweaty tourists):

  • A man who had bolted a seat onto a Segway and was using it in lieu of a wheelchair.
  • A woman with no arms and no legs (which I thought only existed in bad jokes overheard at the boys lunch table in junior high).
  • A middle-aged woman going on and on to her friend about this babydoll she has that she buys clothes for every season and dresses up and puts in a car seat in order to take her out with her. This creeped me out more than the bairy bug in the shower the other day.

Most enjoyable moment at the soul-sucking job:

  • Getting to meet my coworker's newly adopted little girl who came all the way from China.

Most enjoyable moments at home:

  • Trying Natalie out on the park swings for the first time
  • Watching her get used to the taste of this rice cereal stuff - can't wait to start peas next week!
  • Finding my belt! YEEHAW! Sometimes it really is the little things.
  • Seeing my sweet baby sit up all by herself for longer than 2 seconds.
  • Having a very happy husband after his interview, which went splendidly, and made him really want this job for so many reasons. The benefits are great, and hearing the worlds "We'll make the salary work" come out of his mouth were a God-send. Literally. Because I had a pretty good idea of how we could make it work, but I was worried he'd be a little more difficult to convince. Should be getting a call today to set up a 2nd interview. Fingers crossed...

Weekend plans:

  • Heading up to PA/NJ to visit the parents and the grandparents and the uncle who will be in town.
  • Meeting my best friend's 3 week old little girl for the first time. We've already arranged the marriage of her 2 year old son to Natalie in approximately 22 years. Not really, but wouldn't that be great fun?
  • Going "shopping" in my mom's friend's basement. Their daughter is 14 now and doesn't need all her kid stuff, which is all top quality and in excellent condition, and we get first dibs - the rest is going on ebay.

And that's it. Didn't seem like too eventful of a week, but I guess it was in some ways. Weekend should be hectic but enjoyable, praying now that my car holds out and we don't get stuck in any thunderstorms on the way up tonight. I'm also working on my post for Shape of a Mother, which is doing all kinds of good for me and my confidence levels. Next week holds a trip to my shrink, the dermotologist (Mole Gone Wild), and hopefully the dentist, because I chipped a tooth last night. Nothing noticeable, but I can feel the sharp edge and I swear it's going to drive me nuts.

27 July 2006

You know you are a mom when:

(1) You pick a big booger out of your kids nose, in public, and don't even think twice about it.

(2) You catch yourself popping your sore, cracked nipple out of your shirt to see how it's doing, then remember that you are in your cubicle. At work. With boys nearby.

(3) You get poop on your finger and just wipe it off and continue with the diaper change, yet you still get freaked out when there is a long legged bug in the shower.

(4) You discover you need to do laundry because there is nothing to wear to work that doesn't have drool/spit up/rice cereal on it.

(5) All of the above happen in a 24 hour period, and you wouldn't trade it for anything (Except maybe some more sleep. And a body that looks like Jennifer Aniston's but only runs on chocolate).

26 July 2006

My brother the arse

Tim became a 2nd Lt. this past memorial day weekend when he graduated from the top engineering school in the nation and ROTC and was commissioned. He's a cool kid, but is going through a bit of an asshole stage (the stories I could tell). He's wicked smart (an aerospace engineer) and after this summer's stint in Alabama for Boot Camp Part II, he's being stationed in California for 2 years where he'll work in an Air Force jet design lab, and if that goes well, they'll send him off to get his masters degree on my taxpayers dime. People ask me if I'm worried he'll be sent to Iraq. Nope, not worried one bit. The Air Force spent too much money educating him (he was on a 96% scholarship) to waste his brain power on anything but working with their top engineers. We didn't have money for a graduation gift, but since he bought a house out in California, we told him once he moves in there we'll get him a kick-ass house warming gift (a.k.a. a home depot gift card) instead. He has noooooooooooo idea what home ownership entails. He thought he could get away with using a dorm fridge since the house doesn't come with a fridge. Um, no. In the meantime, I promised him cookies while in Alabama.

Being that Earth has changed places with Mars this summer, I finally got around to making those cookies this past weekend. It was rainy and I wasn't at risk for heating the whole house up even more by turning on the oven. After the cookies are spooned out onto the cookie sheets, my mom calls, I tell her what I'm doing, and she informs me that Boot Camp Part II ends this week and Tim is driving to California by way of Indiana, to see his girlfriend* so now I'm left with 3 dozen cookies to tempt me. So I did what any good girl would do when chocolate chip cookies are calling her name from their ziploc-ed lair in the freezer: I brought them to work. Sure, I may eat a few myself during the day, but if they were still at home this afternoon, when Jim is going on his interview, I swear to you they'd be gone by the time he got back. I tend to eat my bodyweight in chocolate when I'm stressed and I know that this will be one of those afternoons. I'm already sweating thinking about this interview and this job, hoping and praying that it works out. Oh my gosh, you have no idea how much I'm hoping this all comes together. I'm salivating at the thought of getting to stay home with my baby. I think I may have a little orgasm the second I find out he's employed. Seriously, I think the anticipation of knowing that a job might be right around the corner is even greater than the anticipation of sex for the first time. I'm tempted to get some champagne in case we need to celebrate tonight, but I don't want to jinx it. Maybe I'll just get one of those tiny bottles, just in case...


*We all blame her for much of his behavior of late as she's totally one of those controlling, manipulative girls I hated when I was in college who has to have a boyfriend at all times to feed her grapes and fan her with palm fronds. I'm also the only one who knows he'd been living with her since January, which would pretty much kill my mom if she found out.

25 July 2006

I'm on my knees begging now...

So tomorrow is now a real interview with this company. I'm trying not to pee my pants with anticipation. We're praying they like him and he's offered the position. We'll be poor, but we'll have health insurance and a roof over our heads and really, do we need much more than that? Not to mention my mental health will take a turn for the better once I'm out of the soul-sucking job and at home with my baby. I'd take my college diploma and use it to clean toilets before I would put my daughter in daycare to sit in a cube for 40 hours a week and have my life sucked away by The Man anymore than I've already put up with. So God, I know you're listening, please send a little love our way. Not that you haven't been, but now, The Job, would really be appreciated.

And a certain little pumpkin has started sitting by herself. She's still a bit of a weeble on her well padded diaper bum, but she stretches her arms out to keep her balance, which works fine until she either gets so excited she arches her back in joy and tips over that way, or she decides her toes look mighty tasty and she folds in half. Either way, it provides hours of amusement for Jim and I.

24 July 2006

Pretty please with a cherry on top

Jim had a FANTASTIC phone interview today. Company is stable, established, he'd be doing what he wants to be doing, and from the friend who works there, the people are pretty great, too. Not to mention the uber-short commute and full paid-for health insurance. But it would be a 6K pay cut from the last job. We were hoping for 2K more than the last job. It's OK, I think. I must crunch numbers and talk to our accountant, but I *think* we can swing it. I'm praying with all my might that if this is The Job, we'll know it, and the extra money will come in somehow to tide us over.

I've already got one part time gig - ghost writing for my dad for a nerdy "accounts receivable" newsletter (He's a credit consultant - that's one step above accountants on the bore-o-meter). But it's a nice little chunk of change for me.

Manic Monday

I own one belt. Only one. Mostly because I never tuck in my shirts (I believe only stick figures can tuck in and not look like a muffin tops), but I do acknowledge that sometimes, certain outfits look finished off if you have a belt on. So I have one. It is black. Very all purpose, goes with all my black shoes, also essential to keeping certain pairs of pants from puckering out weird in front as these are lean times (financially, not physically) and I just can't trash a pair of pants because one of the two clasps fell off. Obviously someone in a parallel universe thinks this belt is pretty fantastic too, as it appears to have been sucked through a black hole that developed in my bedroom this weekend. I know this because neither my dresser, my hamper, or the monster under the bed has shown signs of consuming said belt. [Is "neither" to be used only when followed by two options? This is now bothering me, but I can't think of an alternative word. Yes, I am a bizarre person.] Jim and the pumpkin princess have orders to keep an eye out for it today while I'm at work, and in the meantime, if you see a girl constantly tugging at her shirt to make sure it covers her pants and their half broken fasteners as much as possible, that's me. Say hello. Tell me you understand. I swear I'm normal.

21 July 2006

Not so yummy mummy

I want to be Carrie Bradshaw - to be cute, petite, with an outrageous, bottomless closet full of designer goodies that make me drool just thinking about them. And the shoes! Oh, to have a shoe budget of hundreds upon hundreds a month!! Instead, I'm too much like Bridget Jones, and sometimes I wonder if I married Daniel Cleaver instead of Mark Darcy, not that either one was all that bad (Colin Firth! RAWR!). I'm simply trapped in a body covered in post-partum wobbly bits. Lets face it, it needed work before the baby, it's just that "I had a baby!" sounds a lot better than "I'm hypothyroid and hypoglycemic and insulin resistant, with an inability to lose weight and unable to tame my depression with anything other than chocolate ice cream and cocktails, but only the latter to prove to people I'm not pregnant so they'll shut up and stop gossiping about if I am!"

*sigh*

To add insult to injury, I have boring hair (so much for my teen years and all those summers at the pool where it would bleach out white-blond and look beyond gorgeous with my lifeguard tan for the first day of school), post-baby acne, and a drab wardrobe. Even if I did have cuter clothes that fit, they'd just get spit up upon. Somehow, she never spits up on me when I'm in grubbies. Murphy's law I suppose. I must do something about this, but part of me doesn't care. Who am I dressing up for? I work with mostly middle aged men, so it's not like I'm dressing to fit in with the other cute girls at the office. My husband doesn't seem to mind all that much what I wear, since he gets me when I'm nekkid and that's all he really wants anyway. I guess I want to look better for me, but I can't seem to summon the strength and energy to do anything about it. It's been too hot to take our daily walks in the evening so exercise has been non-existant of late. Perhaps I just need to suck it up and go. The extra sweating will be good for me, right? Like taking one of those crazy yoga classes where they jack up the thermostat. Ugh. Those people who said breastfeeding helps you lose the weight are full of it.

Will be going to the groccery tomorrow. Will be v. good about getting nutritious things to eat, in an effort to start fresh in my quest to become a MILF.

Link of MY day

Best. Website. Ever.

At least for me, right now, at this time in my life:

Shape of a Mother

19 July 2006

Please, oh please

Jim has a very interested employer who wants to check him out, first over the phone and if that goes well, they'll bring him in. If I could cross my toes for good luck I would. But I'm not that talented so I guess I should settle for lots and lots of prayer.

17 July 2006

Hottest day OF THE YEAR!

Congratulations, God, on creating one freakin' hot day of summer fun today. Not only is it blistering hot out, but you'd think DC had been transplanted to the rainforest it's that humid. I'm tempted to see if you really CAN fry an egg on the sidewalk, but I'm too wimpy to suffer outside in the name of science.

On the flip side, bravo to the creators of the air conditioning system in my office!! You could have hung sides of cow in my cubicle and they would have stayed fresh. Hoards of tourists wandered around the mall like groups of flesh eating zombies that would tear your arm off just to get the ice cream cone in your hand, trying to be excited that they were On Vacation but really just wanted dad to quit it with the educational crap and can't we go back to the hotel pool? Meanwhile, I sat inside bundled up in a sweater and sipped a big cup of decaf in an attempt to keep warm.

How about it, God, why don't you get together with those air conditioner engineers and together you two come up with some nice middle ground? I've heard San Diego is like this...Can't you share the wealth with the rest of the U.S.? Please??

15 July 2006

Deep thoughts

As I rock my daughter to sleep, we listen to the hauntingly wonderful music of the Amelie soundtrack, while the washing machine tub-thumps in the laundry room below us. I can hear my husband emptying the dishwasher, and the birds outside are chirping away in the hot summer sun.

I have so much to be thankful for.

14 July 2006

This one's for you, Will

You know that French guy? I wonder if he's a practitioner of the Scottish marshall art Fuck You, which is mostly a lot of headbutting and kicking people when they're on the ground...

13 July 2006

Ghetto fabulous

We have quite a cast of characters in our neighborhood...Besides being a rather multi-ethnic neighborhood (Latinos/Hispanics, Asians, African-Americans, Indians, WASPs), there is the crazy lady who stole our planters, the other crazy lady with all the birdfeeders and lawn ornaments, "Pat" who walks his/her westie every night, the very nice neighborhood lesbians, the middle aged unicycle rider, not to mention the wildlife. There are hoards and hoards of bunnies that have overrun the place this spring (we counted 9 over the course of a 20 minute walk earlier this week), as well as the usual cast of woodland creatures that call the 'burbs home.

Even our house has two previous owners who used to be characters themselves. There is the little old Japanese lady we bought it from who loved to garden and pruned half the bushes into bonsai. Before her, our house was owned in the 1970s by an Italian stone mason which explains the piles of brick, slate, and tile laying around the property, and the medieval stone fireplace in the basement. Also explains the laundry room which is 200 square feet of tile from floor to ceiling, and the rumor that there is a wine cellar in the floor of the shed (which happens to contain 50 years of crap that we are going to rent a dumpster in order to dispose of).

So despite all the wackiness that surrounds our little bit of the 'burbs, I saw the best character of all today: A youngish black kid, wearing a fair amount of bling, riding a fancy recumbant bicycle, with a boom box strapped to the back blaring hard core rap. And he was singing along. Out of tune. It was awesome.

Venting is healthy

I know I meant this blog to be a place to post good things in hopes of helping me have a more positive outlook on life, but sometimes, you just gotta rant. Here's a brief rundown of my rollercoaster life in the past 5 months:

Had a baby
Had a c-section
Husband lost his job
Grandparents health took a turn for the worse
Got termites
Owed taxes

Can't breastfeed due to defective boobs
Don't fit any clothes
Went back to work when baby was 2 months old
Wasn't planning on going back to work in an office EVER

Got thrush...twice
My paycheck and his unemployment check barely cover the bills each month, but...
Bills are getting paid
Unemployment checks end in November
Amnesty on student loans ends in November
Lost baby weight
Haven't lost chocolate ice cream weight
No vacation in sight
Grandparents got better
Eye infection
Fun neighbors moved out of state
Car didn't pass inspection
Called for jury duty
Jury duty can be deferred for breastfeeding
Still no clothes that fit
Yard is a wreck
Basement is dry despite Biblical rains
Gutters need to be replaced
Sanity needs to be found

11 July 2006

Rabbits and Eggplants

What is a nimble rabbit? Not what, but where. Le Lapin Agile, actually. If you ever find yourself in Paris, exploring the neighborhood that surrounds painters square behind Sacre Coeur, you, too, might come across this little brasserie. "Le Lapin Agile?" I wonder, quickly doing a high school French translation in my head. "The Nimble Rabbit." Huh. I chuckle to myself at the absudity and go about my little Parisienne promenade, enjoying being "on holiday" as those Europeans call it, tra-la-la, not a care in the world. We stop at Les Deux Moulins for une chocolate chaude and wonder, in this part of the city, a few blocks from the more famous Moulin Rouge and the more infamous Pigalle neighborhood, where were there two windmills of enough note for which to name a cafe after?

[I also stop to take a picture because I am That American Tourist who really only sought out this specific cafe because it is where the movie Amelie was filmed. Luckily, there are some British folks there doing the same exact thing. We all feel cheesy together.]

The next day, we stop at a place called Les Deux Magots. I do not order the chocolate chaude, because it's like 6 friggin euros and know it will be the size of a thimble, so I get une cafe avec creme et une quiche lorraine while contemplating why this cafe is named after maggots. Then my wise traveling companion, who sips her espresso sans sucre like a pro, who also happens to be living in the 16th, tells me that it's named after two magi, not maggots, and that Hemingway used to hang out here. I think, "We'll that's good," even though I don't really like Hemingway much (Shut up, all your English majors. Just because he's rumored to be one of the greatest writers of the 20th century doesn't mean that some of us just find him really droll and depressing). Our waiter does nothing but sneer at us from the tip of his nose. He is the only French person on my trip that lived up to the stereotypes. Probably just assumed we were sterotypical Americans. Oh well. Later, I find out that the chocolate chaude is 6 euros because that's what this cafe is famous for, and I kick myself for not sucking up the cost and ordering it. I am on holiday after all.

So while I walk about, exploring streets and neighborhoods, eating croissants for breakfast on my daily constitutional, popping into trendy shops I can't afford, peering into the windows of hip eateries that I'm not hip enough to eat in, and wondering how fabulous it must be to be Parisian, I also think about what I would name my cafe, if someone gifted me a little nook of a shop on a pedestrian street near the Seine, preferably dans la rive gauche. Something quaint and cheery, I decide; something that sounds lovely in French but truly ridiculous in English. And that, my friend, is how "L'Aubergine Joyeuse" is born.

09 July 2006

Anniversary of sorts

One year ago today, the panda was born at the National Zoo. One year ago today, I had peed on three sticks, had seen three faint little lines, and had a complete breakdown in church. Yes, I was "that girl" who was sitting there hiding my eyes and crying like someone had just stabbed me. Getting pregnant unexpectedly is scary, even when you weren't trying and for 14 years doctors had told you you probably wouldn't be getting pregnant without some sort of medical intervention. So while I should have been thrilled to pieces that we were expecting without even trying, I was a wreck. I don't do well with change, and finding out you are pregnant is a big ass fucking change in one's life. I felt horrible that I wasn't swept off my feet at the idea of becoming a mother since it's one of the few things I've ever known I've wanted to do in life. It was such a scary time, but then I talked to my doctor, had the blood test and an ultrasound (being irregular 98% of the time and not knowing if I even ovulate means having no clue when this might have happened), found an OB, prayed a lot, and things started to get a little better. It was also nice to know why I wasn't able to look at food without barfing.

One year ago today, you were a grain of rice with a thumpity-thumpity little heartbeat. Five months ago today you entered this crazy mixed up world of ours, 7lbs and 1oz of newborn baby. Now you are almost 15lbs of pure love and drool. Your face lights up when I come into the room, and that giggle of yours is infectious. You are very serious when you play, being able to pick things up with both hands and jam just about anything that comes within your reach into your mouth. It still breaks my heart to leave you every morning to go to work, but I know your daddy loves you as much as I do and you two have fun together. A weird positive side effect of him taking care of you while he looks for a job is that you two have bonded much more than you would have otherwise, much more than a lot of kids whose dads leave for work every day. We still go for walks every evening, and despite having a pitiful milk supply and wishing I was able to "properly" breastfeed you, we still nurse 2-3 times a day, but for comfort and fun. You like to smile up at me from your perch on my nipple, happy as a fat little clam. You talk to yourself and to your toys, I can't imagine all that goes on in that little head of yours. I can't wait to see where we are next year at this time. You are the greatest, my little love.

07 July 2006

Deep thoughts

My mom loves to send email forwards. 99% of the time, they are some cheesy treacle about nothing, or some (seemingly) pathetic attempt to pull at the heart strings and get you to really think. You know what I'm talking about, because in talking with friends, it seems many of our mothers (aunts, grandmothers, etc.) are all sending around the same forwards. Despite knowing this, I still open all of them up, skim, and then delete. For the first time ever, one caught my eye and actually made me read through it and think. The moral of the story really hit home (even though the story is a little lame), as times are tough in the aubergine household these days, and I find myself wondering when they will end. Anyway, it was such a momentous occasion to read a forward from my mom that didn't make me groan, I thought I should post it. Here 'tis:

The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him, and every day he scanned the horizon for help. He built a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions. One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. The worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. "God, how could you do this to me ?" he cried. Early the next day he was awakened by the sound of a ship that was approaching the island. It had come to rescue him. "How did you know I was here ?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied. It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of pain, and suffering. Remember the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.

06 July 2006

Disclaimer

I know nothing (gnow knothing?) about the web other than how to surf it. I'm thinking I might have to invest in HTML for dummies or something if I ever want to try and post links or pictures or whatever else my little head decides would be cool to have. I made a flickr badge to put up, but can't figure out for the life of me where to insert to code. And links? Yikes. There are so many great blogs I (and gazillions of others) read on a regular basis and would love to give props to. Because I'm so cool, right? Me and my little blog that has been found by 2.5 people. Anyway, I should also point out that I'm far from being a great speller, or even a so-so one, so if spell check misses it, chances are I'll miss it, too. I am, however, a fairly good editor, as I do some of that at work, but I edit things written by technical writers and engineers and the grammar errors tend to jump out at you. It's like they think they can create some sort of ambush and get away with passive voice or mismatched tenses, but my red pen manages to find them almost every single time. That does not mean I'll catch all grammar errors here, as I work better the old fashioned way with pen and paper. A quill actually, with a little bottle of ink and a blotter pad here in my cubicle, right next to my stack of blank parchment. Kidding. Sometimes, I think I'm the only person on the planet who knows what "STET" means and hates with the passion of a thousand suns the "track changes" feature in Microsoft word.

05 July 2006

...Falling on my head

It's a rainy day here in DC, my favorite kind of day. After all the hot and humid weather, it is nice to feel the cooler air, even if it is still a little muggy, the crisp raindrops make up for it. Makes me look forward to late summer, when you can start pulling the sweaters back out for mellow evenings on the patio with friends, cold beer, and fireflies.

But for now, it's just wet. I'm wearing a white shirt today. Two actually. A cami under a white button down. I'd have to get soaked to the core before my layers of white became see through enough to show anything. And I brought my umbrella so no chance of that happening. Yet I still wonder, as I dodge raindrops on my dash to the metro, past all the bus shelters teeming over with people seeking shelter from the clouds, if some guy is checking me out, hoping that I get drenched and he gets to judge his own personal wet t-shirt contest. I know boys in 7th grade hoped for this, and made all us 7th grade girls self conscious about wearing white in the rain. Sometimes boys just exist as perpetual 7th graders in my mind. Doesn't help the cause of manhood that some of them still act like it, too.

Secretly, I love the thought of ANY boy checking out my post-partum jiggly body. I just hope he's cute.

03 July 2006

I suppose I should get this out there...

I suffer from depression.

Hard to say it loud and clear like that, but sometimes that's the only way for me to grasp what I'm feeling, to kind of explain away the thoughts in my head by putting a big label on them, preferably tattooed across their collective forhead. I have a tendancy to beat myself up about a lot of little things, to not understand why some people can grasp situations and function a certain way when I seemingly can't do the same. I have a screwy sense of "normal" and a hard time accepting things in my life that don't fit into that definition. I got burned a lot growing up, nothing truly awful, but enough little things that snowballed and are coming back to bite me in the ass now as an adult. Throw in a new baby (and the messed up hormones that go with that) and a currently unemployed husband and a job I'm dying to quit so I can stay home with my girl and things can be very blue. Or as Holly Golightly would say, I have a case of the "mean reds."

Some days are just bad. Nothing seems to go right, and I get angry at the smallest thing, mostly because I've got too much inside that is on the brink of boiling over and one stupid comment or action by somebody can flip me out. Not that I come off as someone with anger management issues, but I frequently take it out on my husband (usually the one with the stupid comment who catches me at the end of a long day), which I know is wrong and he and I are working on it together. I also seem to have aquired a permenant back ache (some of it could be from lugging around 15 pounds of chunky baby love) and frequent headaches. I decided partly to start keeping this blog as a way to try and find the good in every day, the little things that make me laugh or smile, that cause me to sit back and reflect on the thought that the world isn't all bad.

Today: My daughter looks me in the eye and I realized that no matter what is going on in my life, I'm the coolest person in the world to her. Seriously, the love an infant has for her mother has got to be the closest thing on earth to what God's unconditional love for us flawed and sinful humans is like. We don't deserve it, but it's there, and it's humbling.

01 July 2006

Time flies

My daughter has gotten rather vocal of late. She's only 5 months old, so it's not like she's quoting Proust or anything. She just babbles. On and on and on and on. Currently she's talking to me from her bouncy seat and is yammering away having quite the conversation with the bubbles and whoozits and trinkets that dangle from it.

It's the best sound in the world.

So good, it's made me abandon my cleaning and organizing and bill paying. Now I'm going to sit down and have a good chat with her, maybe practice my "I'm sorry honey, I know it hurts, but maybe another boy will ask you to the junior prom" speech. The shackles of adult hood can wait.