i put in a full day (my paying job, although i didn’t get paid) on Saturday. el Jefe’ went in on Sunday for about five hours, and worked from home for a couple hours on Monday. maybe he got some overtime; maybe not. who cares? this is how we relaxed and enjoyed our long weekend. ha. what’s wrong with this picture?
i had this huge sense of accomplishment by the time i left at 7 pm on Saturday. i finished three major tasks; collecting and uploading files, some of which were five years old, to hand off a design task to another office (something about us getting fired? moreso, the client does not want to work with us because we are tired of giving them everything for free); a major scope of work rewrite (couldn’t leave on “track changes” it was so bloody); and a complete fee proposal revision and restructuring (base + options, base, bask task 1, base task 2, base task 3, option 1, option 2, option 3, option 3A, option 3B). one diet dew, three diet cokes. it needed to be done, but really, does anyone care that i blew a day of a long weekend? would today or tomorrow or this week have been soon enough?
peanut had her third swimming lesson on Saturday.
we all went to the Best of the West Rib Cook-off on Sunday.
peanut and punkin got some new shoes on Monday.
i think the shoes were the highlight of my (not-so) long weekend.
P.S. and today i just noticed my ads are no longer about real estate or child care in the South. drugs. drugs. drugs.
Tuesday, September 02, 2008
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
quality of life (or lack thereof), part one
thankfully, the olympics are over. now i can get some sleep.
Punkin is on his eighth day of treatment for removal of his planet blister. Peanut is getting her eleventh tooth (molar, lower left side). el Jefe' went into work Sunday morning, much to my dismay. i am making my second day trip in six days down South tomorrow, again, much to my dismay.
when el Jefe' accepted his promotion to the North nearly a year and a half ago, he was told his travel between North and South would be limited to three trips a month. that was a myth. he makes one trip at least once a week, typically two, and sometimes three days a week. he stays overnight at least once a month. i am not happy about his travel demands, especially because it is so much more than we bargained for. he gets on the State plane maybe once a week, so the frequent flyer trips are really adding up. he qualified for a companion pass last year, and there is no doubt in my mind he will qualify again for one again this year. we've used it once, and are accumulating "free" roundtrip tickets at a rate such that we both have ones that will expire and go unused. we don't have any vacation plans on the near horizon and we're too tired for a "weekend getaway" and with all this travel during the week, he has succumbed to putting in extra time on the weekends in an attempt to keep up with his normal workload, so we couldn't go anywhere anyway if we wanted to.
as i am making my second day trip in six days down South tomorrow, i understand why. even if you put in an eight-hour day and add the flying time as "over time" (completely unpaid in my case) and you throw in the airport waiting time out of the goodness of you heart, you end up behind. you kill more than a day. i don't care if you are on your cell phone the entire time, or you're on your laptop the entire time (within the acceptable limits allowed by FAA regulations, of course), you enter into this time warp that sucks the productivity out of your very soul.
speaking of sucking, that is how i feel about having a midwestern work ethic. if it is not apparent, el Jefe' has it, too. it takes away from our time together, the time with our kids, the time for play, and the time for relaxation (whatever that is).
it's not worth it.
Punkin is on his eighth day of treatment for removal of his planet blister. Peanut is getting her eleventh tooth (molar, lower left side). el Jefe' went into work Sunday morning, much to my dismay. i am making my second day trip in six days down South tomorrow, again, much to my dismay.
when el Jefe' accepted his promotion to the North nearly a year and a half ago, he was told his travel between North and South would be limited to three trips a month. that was a myth. he makes one trip at least once a week, typically two, and sometimes three days a week. he stays overnight at least once a month. i am not happy about his travel demands, especially because it is so much more than we bargained for. he gets on the State plane maybe once a week, so the frequent flyer trips are really adding up. he qualified for a companion pass last year, and there is no doubt in my mind he will qualify again for one again this year. we've used it once, and are accumulating "free" roundtrip tickets at a rate such that we both have ones that will expire and go unused. we don't have any vacation plans on the near horizon and we're too tired for a "weekend getaway" and with all this travel during the week, he has succumbed to putting in extra time on the weekends in an attempt to keep up with his normal workload, so we couldn't go anywhere anyway if we wanted to.
as i am making my second day trip in six days down South tomorrow, i understand why. even if you put in an eight-hour day and add the flying time as "over time" (completely unpaid in my case) and you throw in the airport waiting time out of the goodness of you heart, you end up behind. you kill more than a day. i don't care if you are on your cell phone the entire time, or you're on your laptop the entire time (within the acceptable limits allowed by FAA regulations, of course), you enter into this time warp that sucks the productivity out of your very soul.
speaking of sucking, that is how i feel about having a midwestern work ethic. if it is not apparent, el Jefe' has it, too. it takes away from our time together, the time with our kids, the time for play, and the time for relaxation (whatever that is).
it's not worth it.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
my brave Punkin
Punkin had a Planters wart removed today, or "planet blister" as he called it. we noticed it several weeks ago, before his weekly class theme was about planets and space, so i don't know where that connection in terminology came from. i convinced el Jefe' we should at least call the pediatrician before trying over-the-counter caustic chemicals on our three-year-old's foot, and i delegated this responsibility to el Jefe' because appointment scheduling can be such a pain in the ass. after Punkin reminded el Jefe' several times (nagging is much more acceptable from a three-year-old), the appointment was made.
this was only the second time Punkin has been to our Northern pediatrician. the first was for his three-year well-check, which normally does not require shots, but they just happened to have flu vaccines available. i asked Punkin if he wanted a flu shot, and much to my surprise he responded "sure." he got the shot in his leg without a single wimper or tear. he liked the stickers, but wasn't over-enthusiastic about them. he did equate going to the doctor with "getting a shot in your knee" but this was said matter-of-factly, completely without fear. when Peanut has had to go to the pediatrician for thrush or a viral rash, Punkin assumed that she would get a shot in her knee. that's just what they do.
so phase one of the planet blister removal entailed the dreaded freezing/burning process which is far less than pleasant to an adult, much less a three-year-old. el Jefe' was very proud to report that again, Punkin didn't wimper or cry. he said it hurt, and accepted the bounty of stickers the amazed staff bestowed upon him. he wanted to share his stickers with his friends at school. el Jefe' let him pick out a treat afterwards, and surprisingly he picked Starbursts, and only ate two on his way back to school.
i am so proud.
this was only the second time Punkin has been to our Northern pediatrician. the first was for his three-year well-check, which normally does not require shots, but they just happened to have flu vaccines available. i asked Punkin if he wanted a flu shot, and much to my surprise he responded "sure." he got the shot in his leg without a single wimper or tear. he liked the stickers, but wasn't over-enthusiastic about them. he did equate going to the doctor with "getting a shot in your knee" but this was said matter-of-factly, completely without fear. when Peanut has had to go to the pediatrician for thrush or a viral rash, Punkin assumed that she would get a shot in her knee. that's just what they do.
so phase one of the planet blister removal entailed the dreaded freezing/burning process which is far less than pleasant to an adult, much less a three-year-old. el Jefe' was very proud to report that again, Punkin didn't wimper or cry. he said it hurt, and accepted the bounty of stickers the amazed staff bestowed upon him. he wanted to share his stickers with his friends at school. el Jefe' let him pick out a treat afterwards, and surprisingly he picked Starbursts, and only ate two on his way back to school.
i am so proud.
Monday, August 18, 2008
pondering passion, not potential
it occurred to me this past weekend that all these Olympians have parents, and somewhere down the line (sometimes as young as the age of three) someone identified a talent. huge sacrifices were made by these parents (or parent), whether for lessons, or coaches, or uniforms, or camps, or travel to competitions, or just being able to raise your kid.
i pay six bucks for a half-hour swimming lesson. it’s not that i want or expect my kids to become the next Michael Phelps or Natalie Coughlin; i merely want them to know how to swim for their own safety. i enjoy the feel of water against my skin (i’m a Pisces, ya know), of silently floating, and the rare times i feel as though i am gliding through the pool. i hope my kids enjoy that same simple pleasure. at the very least, i don’t want them to fear the water.
for Punkin, i cough up a little over eight bucks for 30 minutes on the Tumblebus. this was my gift to him for his third birthday. he wanted to do it mainly because his friends were doing it; they’re like a little cult, donning their special t-shirts on Wednesdays. sometimes it is the only motivation to get him to school (Punkin as well as me to get there on time). Punkin’s enthusiasm for the Tumblebus has diminished over the summer, perhaps because it is summer and enrollment is constantly changing. i’m not expecting a Paul or Morgan Hamm to emerge from the 80’s era school bus.
but how do you know?
not that they are good enough. not that they have Olympic potential. not that the time and money invested is worth it.
how do you know they love it?
i pay six bucks for a half-hour swimming lesson. it’s not that i want or expect my kids to become the next Michael Phelps or Natalie Coughlin; i merely want them to know how to swim for their own safety. i enjoy the feel of water against my skin (i’m a Pisces, ya know), of silently floating, and the rare times i feel as though i am gliding through the pool. i hope my kids enjoy that same simple pleasure. at the very least, i don’t want them to fear the water.
for Punkin, i cough up a little over eight bucks for 30 minutes on the Tumblebus. this was my gift to him for his third birthday. he wanted to do it mainly because his friends were doing it; they’re like a little cult, donning their special t-shirts on Wednesdays. sometimes it is the only motivation to get him to school (Punkin as well as me to get there on time). Punkin’s enthusiasm for the Tumblebus has diminished over the summer, perhaps because it is summer and enrollment is constantly changing. i’m not expecting a Paul or Morgan Hamm to emerge from the 80’s era school bus.
but how do you know?
not that they are good enough. not that they have Olympic potential. not that the time and money invested is worth it.
how do you know they love it?
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
obsession
i am obsessed with the olympics. my obsession is focused: primarily swimming, but i'll watch women's beach volleyball (not impressed with Dallhauser ...) and gymnastics, and track and field is yet to come. i stay up and watch live events on network television. i have seen countless commercials since Sunday ... thank God i have had a Coke in the past 80 years, and i primarily use my Visa Card, and the Home Depot athletes are inspiring, and all McDonalds serves is all white meat chicken, and John McCain advertises way more than Barack Obama.
i am grateful it is only every four years.
no, not two; the winter games are not nearly as consuming.
i am grateful it is only every four years.
no, not two; the winter games are not nearly as consuming.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
it's baaaack
so much for a good thing.
i didn't ride today. i debated this morning, and came up with excuses (Punkin's field trip and a grocery store run and need to go to the bank), and went back to bed. i'd love to say a got an additional blissful 30 minutes of sleep, but really i just laid there and procrastinated starting my day.
i made it through the deep depressing PMS days, so much so that it came as a surprise. maybe it was early. maybe it was affected by my new meds. i don't keep track anymore. i can't handle another child. i'm having a hard enough time with two.
i feel like i hit the wall yesterday. perhaps it was due to lack of sleep because i am obsessed with watching the Olympics. perhaps it was due to frustration with my father. perhaps it was due to stress from el Jefe' being out of town over night.
it is lingering. i feel like i need more meds.
i didn't ride today. i debated this morning, and came up with excuses (Punkin's field trip and a grocery store run and need to go to the bank), and went back to bed. i'd love to say a got an additional blissful 30 minutes of sleep, but really i just laid there and procrastinated starting my day.
i made it through the deep depressing PMS days, so much so that it came as a surprise. maybe it was early. maybe it was affected by my new meds. i don't keep track anymore. i can't handle another child. i'm having a hard enough time with two.
i feel like i hit the wall yesterday. perhaps it was due to lack of sleep because i am obsessed with watching the Olympics. perhaps it was due to frustration with my father. perhaps it was due to stress from el Jefe' being out of town over night.
it is lingering. i feel like i need more meds.
Monday, August 11, 2008
make my toast dry
i’m having issues with my father, specifically with regard to his interaction with Punkin. i was going to say “conversations”, but really what kind of conversation can an 83-year-old man have with a 3-and-a-half-year-old boy when the 83-year-old-man is irrational?
i first became aware of the issue when my parents were visiting to celebrate Peanut’s first birthday. Peanut is their only granddaughter; Punkin is their fourth grandson. Punkin and Paw Paw were outside and Punkin wouldn’t listen to some command or instruction. Paw Paw labeled my son “bad” and spent several hours pouting and ignoring my son. eventually i told my father, Paw Paw, that his job was to give my son unconditional love. it was a strained, difficult weekend, so i wrote it off as a symptom.
the last weekend of July and the first weekend in August, my parents spent both weekends visiting us; we’ve become a wayside for their timeshare adventures (because my father insists on driving everywhere). the first weekend was my mother’s birthday, so most of the attention was focused on her (and they stayed with us merely Friday and Saturday nights). the second weekend they arrived on Friday night and did not leave until Monday morning. my mother was sick, hacking, eventually diagnosed very close to having pneumonia. my father arrived with a belly ache which lasted a day or two. neither weekend was a rip-roaring time, but then again they never are, but i do not recall any specific incident between Punkin and Paw Paw.
as my parents were preparing to leave, they were doting on Peanut. Paw Paw was ignoring Punkin. Punkin pee’d in the corner of the living room. i didn’t make a big deal and got him cleaned up without a bunch of fuss, which is nothing short of a miracle for me … thank God for meds. as we were saying our goodbyes, Punkin wouldn’t give Paw Paw a hug and a kiss goodbye. i wasn’t about to force him to do it. Punkin did insist on waving goodbye as they left. and my father’s parting words to Punkin: “eventually you will realize what side your bread is buttered on.” needless to say this meant nothing to Punkin.
i wrote it off to another strained, difficult set of weekends.
one week later, i’m on the phone with my parents for the weekly obligatory phone call. my father’s opening words to me: “you tell your son he needs to learn what side his bread is buttered on.” my response: “he’s three and a half, and i will not have this conversation with you. we all love you. goodbye.”
my father’s messages have fucked me up for a lifetime and left me with low self esteem. fine. whatever. although he is ignorant of the pain he has caused me, i love him. atleast i know where the negative voices in my head come from. but i will not let him hurt my son. Punkin loves his Paw Paw, and asks when he will see him next. i don’t know what to say. i don’t want to expose my son to that for one second. i don’t care about gifts or an inheritance. my son deserves nothing less than the unconditional love i didn’t get, as it was obviously conditional.
i first became aware of the issue when my parents were visiting to celebrate Peanut’s first birthday. Peanut is their only granddaughter; Punkin is their fourth grandson. Punkin and Paw Paw were outside and Punkin wouldn’t listen to some command or instruction. Paw Paw labeled my son “bad” and spent several hours pouting and ignoring my son. eventually i told my father, Paw Paw, that his job was to give my son unconditional love. it was a strained, difficult weekend, so i wrote it off as a symptom.
the last weekend of July and the first weekend in August, my parents spent both weekends visiting us; we’ve become a wayside for their timeshare adventures (because my father insists on driving everywhere). the first weekend was my mother’s birthday, so most of the attention was focused on her (and they stayed with us merely Friday and Saturday nights). the second weekend they arrived on Friday night and did not leave until Monday morning. my mother was sick, hacking, eventually diagnosed very close to having pneumonia. my father arrived with a belly ache which lasted a day or two. neither weekend was a rip-roaring time, but then again they never are, but i do not recall any specific incident between Punkin and Paw Paw.
as my parents were preparing to leave, they were doting on Peanut. Paw Paw was ignoring Punkin. Punkin pee’d in the corner of the living room. i didn’t make a big deal and got him cleaned up without a bunch of fuss, which is nothing short of a miracle for me … thank God for meds. as we were saying our goodbyes, Punkin wouldn’t give Paw Paw a hug and a kiss goodbye. i wasn’t about to force him to do it. Punkin did insist on waving goodbye as they left. and my father’s parting words to Punkin: “eventually you will realize what side your bread is buttered on.” needless to say this meant nothing to Punkin.
i wrote it off to another strained, difficult set of weekends.
one week later, i’m on the phone with my parents for the weekly obligatory phone call. my father’s opening words to me: “you tell your son he needs to learn what side his bread is buttered on.” my response: “he’s three and a half, and i will not have this conversation with you. we all love you. goodbye.”
my father’s messages have fucked me up for a lifetime and left me with low self esteem. fine. whatever. although he is ignorant of the pain he has caused me, i love him. atleast i know where the negative voices in my head come from. but i will not let him hurt my son. Punkin loves his Paw Paw, and asks when he will see him next. i don’t know what to say. i don’t want to expose my son to that for one second. i don’t care about gifts or an inheritance. my son deserves nothing less than the unconditional love i didn’t get, as it was obviously conditional.
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