Friday, September 29, 2006

BCBS Anthem sucks

i’m ready to cry.

and i’m pissed.

ok, i know i should be very grateful and thankful that i have health insurance (health insurance that i pay for). i pay for a family plan with Blue Cross Blue Shield. my local plan is Blue Cross Blue Shield Anthem. thousands of doctors where i live have opted not to accept Blue Cross Blue Shield insurance because in many cases they pay half of what Medicare pays. HALF. i can totally understand the doctors’ point of view. Medicare is like WalMart, and you certainly can’t pay the bills with HALF of those rolled back prices.

my ob-gyn let me know in June that he would no longer accept BCBS starting August 9th (unless i was pregnant. in that case he would continue to see me as a patient until delivery). well, i wasn’t pregnant on August 9th, so if i choose to remain a patient with my doctor i have to pay full cost, as though i have no insurance at all. i’m all ready paying for the insurance. maybe i’m just being cheap? effectively, i lost my doctor. i tried to call today for a referral. the bitch receptionist basically told me to find a doctor in the phone book.

i failed to mention that thousands of doctors have left this state, giving up their practices, because the malpractice insurance rates are so high. i believe something like the third highest in the nation? so now out of that dwindling pool of doctors, i am supposed to find one that will take my crappy insurance. heaven forbid i even think of finding a doctor with a decent reputation.

i have very few female friends, even fewer with children, and none that i care to share my news with at this time. i think i’m going to ask for a referral from the women’s clinic where i rented a hospital-grade breast pump. they know my mother there, and i really don’t want to have any sort of conversation with her about this for several months. jesus. yippee skippy.

is it any wonder why i don’t feel like celebrating?

Thursday, September 28, 2006

in praise of el Jefe'

i complain about el Jefe’. he does so much, and yet i get bitchy because i’d like him to do more. he works long hours. he pays his share of our household expenses, while still donating 17% of his income to child support (bonus daughter). he helps out around the house, and handles some of his own designated chores. he has cooked the majority of our meals since Punkin was born. When i had to go solo last week, i had the nerve to ask him what we would do about dinner. i ended up making scrambled eggs, augmented with leftovers (a stellar performance in the kitchen, huh.) i don’t know how he can do more, much like i don’t know how i can do more.

i started giving Punkin eye drops last weekend to ward off the next inevitable round of pinkeye. i only gave him the eye drops twice a day, instead of three, partly because i didn’t want to take the drops to daycare and admit he had pinkeye. i think it’s a mandatory day at home that somehow i couldn’t fit into my busy schedule. i’m not that busy, and i obviously don’t care for my job/projects/coworkers, but i did not call the pediatrician.

El Jefe’ called this morning. the eyedrops have run out and Punkin still has eye boogers. he’s taking Punkin to the pediatrician this morning. he is taking the time from his busy schedule at work for the welfare of our son. he’s a better parent than i am, and i am lucky to have him in my life.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

am i up to the challenge?

i'm on the road. i'm on travel. i've got the company laptop and went through a brief tutorial on wi-fi internet access at Starbucks this morning. i ordered a decaf white mocha, feeling guilty about testing the wi-fi connection without buying anything. i think the coffee gave me the shits and we never got a connection. so eventually when i got to the hotel five hours later i tried again. i tried the hotel's ethernet, but bailed when i got to the log-in screen because it costs $9.95 for 24 hours. i tried the free wi-fi line that i found, but did not seem to stay connected. i tried the iPass portal of the Starbucks across the street, but the computer wouldn't recognize the T-Mobile connection. i obviously have very limited computer skills, so i am paying $9.95. fuck it.

i had great plans for this trip. i brought clothes that i have to iron. i can't find the motivation to iron on the weekends anymore. Punkin is down to one nap a day, and i don't want to do chores during those precious minutes of peace and quiet. i wanted to go to Target and find birthday gifts for my soon-to-be 7-year old nephews, and something for myself. a new pair of jeans. i'd like some denim capris. i hate shopping for myself. i can spend an hour searching for a couple items of clothing, trying on about four items that meet my preliminary selection criteria (on sale. cheap. classic, because i'll be wearing it for the next 10 years), get frustrated nearly to tears, and put the items back and come home empty-handed. my few women friends know when they comment on a new item of clothing, it was undoubtedly bought by el Jefe'.

i'm downtown. i scoped out where the office is located. i found the parking garage where i will move my car tomorrow morning after incurring the $23.00 valet fee so tomorrow's parking can be validated. i happened upon a RiteAid and bought some snacks. since i bought snacks and Target is not downtown, i did not dare venture into Nordstrom's or Banana Republic. i spoke to el Jefe' and the Punkin, who can very clearly say "i miss you." it was time for their dinner, it's bath night, and i forgot to bring my cell phone charger. i'm sure the hotel could charge it for a fee! i'm not into dining alone, so i ordered room service. and then i went to the hotel's business center to print out my boarding pass. i was greeted with serveral notices referring to my credit card. i eventually found a "free" terminal where i could print a "complimentary" boarding pass. my printer options were B&W - $0.50 and Color -$1.00. i hit B&W, snagged the boarding pass as soon as it came out of the printer, and ran from the scene. they'll probably charge it to my room.

i bought something else at RiteAid, a 2-fer pregnancy test. i don't know when i'll tell el Jefe'. it won't be long (i made it a mere 24 hours with the Punkin), but i want a little time to let this sink in. i have to find another doctor because my gyn-ob no longer accepts my crappy insurance. and i'm sure the new doctor will want to do an amnio because i'm so fucking old. we didn't tell anyone about my pregancy with Punkin until we had results from the amnio. i need to look up when you start counting the weeks.

this is either the beginning or the end of my story today.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

coffee and cigarettes, without the cigarettes

i guess i technically fall into Generation X. as one who doesn't like to belong to any one group or stereotype, i am not proud to fall into this category.

i read an article in the newspaper (hardcopy, delivered to the driveway, recycled when complete) yesterday about benefits for Gen X'ers. they don't want to work long hours to get ahead. they want to find a balance (no shit). i looked for the link today, and i cannot find it. so not only am i a very late entry to the blog scene, i am obviously technologically challenged if i can't find a link. idiot has-been hag.

i work for a national engineering company based in the midwest. although i used to live in the midwest for the majority of my life, i moved away from there 10 years ago and i would not choose to go back. i have benefits that i pay for (supposedly at a reduced rate since they are group plans) like health and dental insurance (vision consists of a Lenscrafters coupon - yippee!). my maternity leave consisted of two weeks of sick leave (that i had saved over six years of employment with the firm), four weeks of short-term disability at 66% of my salary (i would have gotten two additional weeks if i'd had a C-section), and roughly another six weeks where i kept some resemblance of a paycheck coming in by using any remaining vacation i had saved over the past six years of employment. those were my 12 weeks in accordance with FMLA.

today, my Gen X and Gen Y coworkers have asked for Starbucks instead of Folgers. The Folgers is free in my office; Starbucks is about a block away. i suggested we just move the whole damn office to be closer to Starbucks. i guess free coffee is a benefit. free Folgers, (free decaf Folgers in my case) is like the crappy health insurance plan offered by my employer. it's hot and brown, rather like the description of a turd, but lacks much in nutritional value.

Monday, September 25, 2006

destined to be a poster child

Punkin is of that age where he has very little fear, and eventually his body shows the results of his fearlessness. a week ago he came home from daycare with a very red nose. He likes to race trucks while he is bent over at a 90 degree angle (an impossible position for me to imitate because i am old and have had two back surgeries). apparently he did this at daycare and tripped/took a tumble/did a header; he ended up with three small rug burns on his nose. day two the rug burns scabbed over. we have been very gentle, but he is a twenty-month-old toddler in daycare, which equates to a perpetual runny nose. we are still using the snot sucker, and probably will still be using it the night he goes to the prom.

friday was the pink eye notice, so of course saturday morning i saw phantom goop in his eyes and started the course of eye drops, which by the way, is much more heart breaking on a toddler who squirms and cries and says "Owwie."

saturday afternoon we went to Punkin's godmother's house for a barbecue. she lives across from a park with her own personal gazebo. we all had a great time; it was Punkin's first experience with a kite. he played with his truck in the rocks (desert landscaping). and eventually he tripped and fell which resulted in a bloody nose and lip and a goose egg on his forehead.

school pictures are this week. having a stellar photo of the Punkin is futile.

Friday, September 22, 2006

brains!

there are two things i do not like about Punkin’s day care (not bad, only two.)

number 1: ratios. each class level has it’s own specific teacher to child ratio. currently, the class he is in is supposed to be 8:1. can you possibly imagine being the sole caregiver to eight kids under the age of two? the amazing thing is the majority of the time, when I drop him off, this ration has been exceeded. i do not complain to the teachers. i know fully well they are underpaid. Punkin loves his teachers. we go through things like “mama two eyes”, “Daddy two eyes”, “Nonna two eyes”, “Woobie two eyes”, basically through the people, animals and things that are important in his life. this week, he included his teacher, Jo Jo, in the list, so i will not criticize her in any way. but i’ve seen Jo Jo single-handedly be in charge of thirteen kids! (thirteen!) i have complained to the director. i am keeping a calendar (remember, i have OCD). and i will keep complaining.

number 2: pink eye. the only time Punkin has been to the pediatrician for anything other than well-checks is for pinkeye. he first contracted it his second week at day care. (i cried.) i believe he’s had it twice since then. there has been a notice up at daycare warning of exposure to pink eye this week. hurray. perhaps i should keep a calendar for the pink eye infestations.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

flyin' solo tonight

el Jefe’ has to work tonight, probably all night. he worked all day today. nights are infrequent in his job, and while some of his crew are dedicated to the night shift, he works days and then doubles back. normally he goes in for a couple hours to check on the night shift. and on occasion, he’ll stay all night.

we try to plan around these events. we schedule vacations around these events. my travel as an auditor is scheduled about two months in advance, so we have plenty of warning, unlike my project-related travel, when usually i get less than a week’s notice. i found out yesterday i’m going to Portland next week. the week after, i’m in Phoenix for an audit, and Omaha for a meeting. miraculously, the stars have been aligned thusfar so that one of us can be home with the Punkin.

my parents live 10 miles away. they’ve offered to help out, but their offers are rather like an empty threat. over twenty months, and they have yet to change a diaper. i am not exaggerating in that my father has never ever changed a diaper. i hear the voice from nearly seven years ago when my three nephews were born: “I can’t help it they waited so long to have children. Now I’m too old to help.” (that’s my mother’s voice). and now she's a whole seven years older.

i’m lucky to have them as parents, and Punkin is lucky to have them as grandparents. we do just fine without their assistance. but i wish it was more, and i wish it was different.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

birthdays and birkenstocks

tomorrow is my oldest (eldest?) sister's birthday. i believe she'll be 47. i should know these things, but we are very distant. physically by thousands of miles. emotionally, probably by decades.

i mentioned both my sisters in this post. i really stopped trying to be like the Eldest when she continued to refer to me as her baby sister. i was married. i had a job. and she was still in graduate school. who's the baby in this family?

both my sisters were in sororities. both my sisters have master's degrees. both my sisters were stay-at-home moms.

i really don't think it's jealousy that keeps us apart. i just don't think they understand what a day in my shoes is like.

i sent her a card. the Middle started a trend years ago when her twins were born that the family should focus on the kids when it comes to birthdays and holidays. i ignored this trend for the most-part because the stork had not brought the Punkin. my gifts were infrequent, and certainly not extravagant, but i continued to send gifts because even though i have issues with my own birthday, i think everyone should enjoy his or her day. and now, i have less time, less energy, and less enthusiasm for gift giving.

i intend to give both Middle and Eldest the book "In Her Shoes" by Jennifer Weiner for Christmas. the book truly made me feel like a failure as a sister, yet it is witty fiction of a beautiful sibling relationship that i'd like to share with them. it's too late to share the relationship. hopefully the story will suffice.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

hillbilly diaper solutions

el Jefe' normally gets up before i do, six days a week. i have morning shift with the Punkin, so either he goes into work early or he goes to the gym before work. (yes, he often works saturday mornings, too, in addition to monday through friday). in no way does this imply i am a late sleeper. i rarely get back to sleep after the alarm goes off, nor do i require an alarm to get up in the morning. it comes in handy when it comes to maintaining a schedule, but i would not wish my internal alarm clock on my worst enemies. i'm sure this is the aftermath of growing up in a household where sleeping in was the work of the devil.

once awake, i stew, and worry, and obsess. for the past twenty months or so, i have tried (unsuccessfully) to occupy my mind with something else, anything else, in order to relax and perhaps go back to sleep. i can repeat Dr. Seuss's ABC book entirely from memory, but that doesn't purge the anxiety from my mind in order to go back to sleep. occasionally the lyrics of a song go through my head (these days, it's something from the Music Together program, which beats old Bee Gees tunes anyday). i try, and it doesn't work. i really want to go back to sleep. i really want to sleep in past 6:00 am. lately, i turn on the light and read. it's an enjoyable alternative.

i heard Punkin this morning after my shower and before i was ready to get him out of bed. i still needed to get dressed, make his oatmeal, pour his milk, and load his diaper bag, my swim bag, and my important bag of shit (briefcase) into the car. i felt very guilty, listening to him sing the ABC song, knowing in my heart i have passed on the debilitating internal alarm clock gene to my son. when i entered his room, he was standing in his crib, holding his jammy shorts in one hand and his diaper in the other. a "ten pounds of pee" diaper, fortunately without poop.

my research says he's not ready for Pull Ups (you can't go back!). i guess we'll resort to duct tape.

Monday, September 18, 2006

you'd expect more of a pisces

if you view my complete profile, you may note that one of my interests includes swimming. i really don't know why i put that there. maybe it's because i am a pisces and i am drawn to water. honestly, swimming is one of the very few forms of exercise i will partake in voluntarily.

i remember taking swimming lessons as a very small child (maybe four or five years old). the main thing i remember is a girl in the class only had half an arm. Her mom had measles when she was pregnant, and that was the explanation given for her difference. i never thought much of it after the question was answered honestly. this little girl ended up being quite beautiful and popular; she was even a cheerleader in high school. it was a snobby high school, with over 700 kids per class. we learned to blow bubbles together, and that was about all we had in common.

i swam in pools and in the ocean every chance i got growing up, but i was never an athletic, competitive swimmer. i was a "swim from point A to point B swimmer." i graduated from dog paddle to breast stroke. i had to do the crawl at summer camp in order to check out a canoe or sail boat, so i imitated it enough to get by and pass the test. as much as i liked the water, no one could say i was a good swimmer.

i was a competitive runner in junior high and high school. because i was on the varsity track and cross country teams, i had a special gym period called PEA (physical education for athletes, i think). this meant you started your sport's practice the last period of the day, if you were in season. this meant you practiced 50 minutes longer than the other shmucks on the team who signed up for regular gym and got to play dodgeball or badminton during the day. (and you wonder why they call them "dumb jocks".) between track and cross country, it seemed as though i was always "in season", but somehow i ended up with a session of swimming with the varsity swim team. being competitive and a perfectionist, i figured out how to do the crawl, and i didn't completely embarrass myself.

i quit running in college. i've tried on occasion to pick it back up again, but i hate it, and i hate what it does to me physically and mentally. i had back surgery at age 25; the neurosurgeon said i had the discs of an 80-year-old woman. i was stir crazy after the surgery, so i took up swimming so i could participate in some form of exercise. that lasted for a couple years, and then like many exercise programs, i fell into something else, or fell off the exercise bandwagon.

i didn't start swimming again until i was pregnant with the Punkin. i actually walked two miles a day in the morning, and swam a mile after work throughout the entire pregnancy. i used to walk around my neighborhood at 4 o'clock in the morning, three laps to a mile, figuring i was never more than 10 minutes away from a bathroom. now i have morning duty with the Punkin, and i have no desire to get out of bed at 4 in the morning. so the best i can do is swim.

i don't think i really enjoy it, but i guess that means it's exercise. there is a fundamental difference between swimming and walking: i cannot stew, worry, or obsess excessively when i am swimming. i count my laps. four crawl, one breast stroke. four crawl, one breast stroke. i look forward to the breast stroke laps. after the second crawl lap, i think to myself "i'm half-way there." i count to five; i count to ten; i'm nearly a third done. i count to fifteen; i count to twenty; i'm more than half-way there. i still can't do a flip turn, but i have rationalized that i am getting more exercise by not doing a flip turn.

time to count to five.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

does Harley make a leather diaper cover?

weekends are for validating that i have no idea what i am doing as a mom. i negotiate the seas of motherhood relatively successfully Monday through Friday, mainly because those precious moments i spend with the Punkin are so brief. i've got a schedule; i've got a routine (i've got OCD), so it seems as though i can't completely fail in a couple hours. i am responsible for the morning shift. the time between 6:00 and 8:00 am is spent on breakfast, an occasional book, changing a diaper and out of his jammies and into his school clothes, and singing in the car on the way to school (day care). el Jefe' normally picks up Punkin in the afternoon; they have guy time, we eat dinner as a family, and el Jefe' and i share most of the evening duties. duties, ugh. we have some play time, and read some books, but then there's the teeth brushing and bathing, and filling the humidifier, and getting lunch ready for school the next day ... to me, they seem like chores. again, the responsibility shift is about two hours. i certainly can't fuck up that badly in two hours.

today, i think i fucked up twice, and it was less than a two-hour shift.

Punkin removed his shorts three times this afternoon. i'm doing dishes at the sink (something i do four times a day on the weekends, hurray!), and i hear some scuffling at the patio doors. Punkin is down to his diaper and waving at el Jefe' in the back yard. As he starts working on removing his diaper, i ask if he wants to go potty. he nods, and toddles to the bathroom where his (unused) potty is located. we bought the potty a couple weeks ago, when the pulling down of the pants first started. everything i've read says he's not ready, but el Jefe' is a little anxious, and i figured "what the hell?" i know consistency is a big issue, but who would argue if their kid is potty-trained (oops, potty-learned) at 20 months? Punkin sits on his potty, still in his diaper, with a smile of his face. i take off the diaper, he sits for a nanosecond, and gets up to vacate the bathroom. (oh, i should call it a "powder room", but what the fuck is that?) i realize we have no wipes in relative proximity. failure! failure! at least i convince him to wash his hands. (we bought a step stool and the potty on the same trip to Target.) his diaper was dry.

this happened again, maybe an hour later. i join him in the powder room, and remove his diaper, and he sits on the potty. nothing. el Jefe' sits near the door. i drop my shorts and use the real potty. nothing. Punkin gets up and tries to close the door; of course el Jefe' is in the way. i tell him to move (maybe the kid wants some privacy? only both his parents are in the same room.) nothing. i say "good job", we try to reinstall the diaper, and we commence hand-washing. i really don't think he's ready, but i feel compelled to go with this stage as i've been doing. i'm afraid if we put the potty in a closet until he's two, i'll have missed some magic window of opportunity and the Punkin will go from Pull-Ups to Depends.

then i pull out the tricycle from the garage. it's a hand-me-down from my middle sister with twins (someday i'll come up with a catchy nickname for her, but not today!) ... the other tricycle surely went to another cousin. Punkin loves to point out bicyclists ("by-cla-ca") and especially loves motorcycles ("mo-cla-ca"). the tricycle has been in our garage probably a year? i wanted to get him a helmet first, to get him accustomed to wearing a helmet, but i figured since i was parenting so successfully this weekend, i might as well take the chance. (i won't even go into the story about pulling a Britney Spears, with Punkin on my lap and not in his car seat). he tries to get on the tricycle; his legs get a little crossed, so el Jefe' sits him on the seat. we show him the pedals; we show him the handle bars. said tricycle has a long handle in the back for parents (a Kelty, perhaps?), but Punkin wants to steer and use his feet like a Flinstone-mobile. we made it into the kitchen, when it became very apparent Punkin is still too small. he was trying very hard, but his butt wasn't even on the seat. so, i picked up the tricycle, and took it back to it's parking spot in the garage. oh, the tears! the horror! "my by-cla-ca!"

i didn't even think he liked it. but what do i know?

Saturday, September 16, 2006

my own little Popeye

when punkin started eating solid foods, beyond the prerequisite cereal, el Jefe' and i made the conscious but uneducated (we had no idea what we were doing) decision to make his own food. i'd read the What To Expect series, and "Baby Wise" (Volumes 1 and 2!), and they hinted at making your own baby food. how hard can it be? we bought a baby food processor that looks rather like the Bullet (don't let the term "processor" fool you, it was like 16 bucks, and supposedly came with recipes which was a lie) and some carrots, oh, and a steamer (clam shell? the cheap kind that opens like a flower) and a cheap pan because we were afraid the feet on the cheap steamer would scratch our JC Penney-version of a calphalon sauce pan. we had owned the set less than two years, and for the first time we weren't cooking with divorce-ware (a bunch of mis-matched pots and pans we had inherited from previous marriages - certainly a topic for another post).

we steamed the carrots and ground them to mush, and nearly held our collective breaths for fear punkin would choke on every morsel we put up to his mouth. i mentioned this to my middle sister (who has twins) and she suggested "Super Baby Food" by Ruth Yaron as the ultimate guide to baby food preparation. there is no doubt it is the ultimate guide. Ruth provides recipes (even for boiling water, i kid you not), handy household hints, and a month-by-month listing of foods appropriate for you child's digestive developmental stages. by the way, carrots are NOT the best first food. i skipped a lot of information, which is sort of my parenting style, but neither middle sister nor i attempted Super Porridge. i also did not opt for organic fruits and vegetables. punkin has not grown a third arm, so i think i've come through that decision unscathed (so far). (lest you think i'm a bad mother, he does drink organic milk now, which is twice the price of gas.)

making your punkin's own food is very easy ... you steam it or nuke it, you grind the shit out of it, and then you freeze it in manageable portions (she recommends ice cube trays, another step we skipped, instead using take n' toss Gladware-like products that we have been reusing for the past year and a half. but, it is incredibly time consuming. i scoured three grocery stores for peas in a pod, bought some at $4.99 a pound, steamed and shelled them, and ended up with a burned-out looking container of pea mush the size of one serving. the whole process took me about an hour, so they were the most expensive baby food on the planet. (i opted for frozen after that little incident, and rinsed the peas in an OCD-like fashion, hoping to remove all the sodium from their existence). and one time el Jefe' bought asparagus on sale, yummy asparagus about the size of pencils. i guess you're supposed to peel asparagus (with a carrot peeler) to remove something bad. i peeled asparagus for over an hour, and have learned you buy asparagus the size of tree trunks to make the process more efficient. maybe it doesn't taste as good, but a) it's asparagus and b) your punkin doesn't know the difference.

i ended up responsible for all of punkin's meals. hell, i breastfed him for nine months, and kept pumping until the full year, so i might as well jump in with both feet and become the sole provider. bonus: el Jefe' has had to cook the adult meals for the last twenty months. i spend a couple hours every weekend filling up little containers to go into the freezer. (now the foods are not mushed, but i still do it because i can't let go.) i worry if the empty containers are stacking up. time to buy a melon! that'll occupy a bunch of containers and all i have to do is cut it!

punkin is in daycare, so this has led to some interesting comments and questions.

do you make all his food the night before? No, i would go insane.

how does he like his green vegetables? uh, he loves avocado, which is technically a fruit, i know, but ...

what is the difference between yams and sweet potatoes? it is easier to write yams on the container.

why won't he eat mixed foods? would you eat mushed yams with green beans mixed in?

what do we do about the school menu, with you being vegetarian and all? we are not vegetarian. it just took me 9 months to realize Ruth Yaron is a vegetarian, and her book includes about two pages on cooking meats. eventually the punkin got them. i'm just a little slow.

punkin eats the school menu now, and has for several months, mainly because he wants to eat what everyone else is eating. (this was a big step because now we can eat dinner as a family before 9 pm). i still bring him organic milk, and a serving each of a fruit and a vegetable. he's supposed to get food from home with his snack so he has a "healthy and nutritious" choice between cookies and fruit.

check out this art project they did at day care this week:

i'm so proud.

Friday, September 15, 2006

like a democrat, but can't vote in the primaries

i am amused by the choice of ads that appear on my blog (really, anyone's blog for that matter). instead of getting knee deep in anyone's post, i should just scan the ads. i was really disappointed when the first couple ads on my blog were about stay-at-home moms making up to $50 an hour. that's damn good money! i made the vow to AdSense that i wouldn't senselessly click away on the ads like i was on crack, but geez! at 50 bucks an hour, i was really tempted. i've had an ad for a free bowling ball (if you read this post, you may remember reference to the antique Peggy ball, therefore said ad did NOT tempt me) and this one sported a natural remedy for obsessive compulsive disorder. like i said, i made the vow that i wouldn't click, so i'll never found out what that remedy is and i'll have to suffer the rest of my life. over and over. thank goodness i'm adapting so well.

Heather gets the best ads, mainly because the she and Leta shared the unfortunate gene that causes constipation, Jon suffered from some bizarre West Nile Virus-like syndrome, and now Heather's epidermis is slowly being extricated from her body due to a horrible cancer that is being removed bit by bit (chunk by chunk, actually).

i signed up for/made the vow to AdSense partly out of curiosity.

what kind of ads will my ramblings generate? now i know.

how will i spend the fortune without el Jefe' discovering i have a blog? i haven't generated a dime.

how many new enemies will make me fear for the punkin's life and safety? no one has commented (yet) so maybe i'll be able to sleep tonight (but not in the future, but let's just take this thing one day at a time). did you ever wonder why the mom (Bonnie something) was a red-head (strawberry blonde?) and her daughters, Mackenzie Phillips and Valerie Bertinelli were brunettes? does anyone use the word brunette anymore? anyway, i haven't been doing this very long (ok, days. gimme a break. i'm the last one to jump on the bandwagon).

truth be told, i wouldn't mind a check. i also wouldn't mind a reader. but i'm doing this (yes, behind el Jefe's back) as a hobby, an outlet, a release, whatever (i should just go have a smoke). i've enjoyed reading other blogs (hell, i delurked to LOD that his and Heather's blogs and archives kept me sane and entertained while i pumped at my paying job for nine freaking months). maybe someone will enjoy reading mine. or not, but at least i regurgitated these thoughts onto paper, into this post, whatever. (stop being so literal and judgemental.) but i just can't believe anyone is doing this for the money. i'm cynical, and maybe idealistic, but wouldn't the money-grubbing greed come through in their prose so that no reader would be tempted to return? your click is not good enough for them.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

yet another story of waste

i have a confession to make. forgive me Father, for i have sinned. i just boxed up the submittal of five copies of unrewarding parking lot documents: two reports, two cost estimates, two sets of drawings, a data sheet, and a 17-page comment resolution matrix. i have mastered killing trees in the electronic age. pathetic! i busted my butt today to get it done. i had to cut a few corners to get it into overnight UPS this afternoon; mainly, i saved the file copies for tomorrow (a perfect mindless activity for a friday). and the confession: i celebrated with a cigarette. yes, that's right. i am a smoker.

i experimented a little in high school. a bicycle trip in Maine (nothing says healthy outdoor activity like a Marlboro red!) when i opted to hang with Nancy, who was a smoker, instead of the other fraternity/sorority wannabes on the trip. the summer after my senior year in high school, my mom was in the hospital for awhile; eventually she had back surgery. my older sisters were doing their thing (not home), so i'd sneak a cigarette after play practice. so rebellious! i officially became a smoker during the summer after my freshman year of college. i was working morning food service at YMCA of the Rockies. in the evening, several of us would go to a near-beer bar. they only served 3.2 beer, so the legal age in the establishment was 18. i had a crush on one of the "bad boys", who was a smoker, or maybe he only smoked when he drank. anyway, i started smoking when i drank, and i ended up dating the bad boy for a couple years. it was a bad relationship, and all i have to show for it is a bad habit that has lasted over 20 years.

i have quit a couple times. the last time i recall, i used to take long walks to try to keep my mind off the nagging nicotine. i would see trash in the gutter (specifically, long cigarette butts) and i was tempted to pick them up, light them up, and finish them off. it disgusted me to the point that i went out and bought a pack of cigarettes. i can cut down, and have cut down dramatically. i've been down to four cigarettes a day. now i'm around six or seven a day. i know how unhealthy it is. i know it has stained my teeth and skin. i know i look older because of the damage it has done to my skin. i'm sure any evidence of the internal damage i have caused to myself would sicken me. i know the smell stays on my clothes. i don't smoke infront of the punkin, but whenever he sucks his thumb (often) i am convinced he has inherited my oral fixation.

i know i should quit.

i think i don't because of my low self esteem. it is self-destructive behavior. and this form of abuse is not viewed as suicide. this is so wrong.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

this, too, shall come to pass (please!)

i almost cried at my paying job today, while my boss sat across my desk (not accounting the piles, the distance was about four feet as the crow flies). the tears that welled up (in both eyes!) were instigated by yet another unrewarding project (this one is a road) with a client who just doesn't care 95% of the time. this happened to be the 5% of the time this client cares, and he asked me for an estimate to downsize the unrewarding road project to one-third. i submitted the final documents for the unrewarding road project over two months ago (and we have been out of budget since April). make it stop!

maybe i was so quick to tear up because punkin just hasn't been his normal self the past couple days. on monday, el Jefe' fell down a couple stairs while he was carrying the punkin. they bonked heads during the tumble, and punkin cried. several minutes later, when i was putting on punkin's sandals before our nightly stroll to the mailbox, he complained about his knee. ("Knee!") i gave his knee a little kiss, and we went for our stroll. he stumbled twice, and maybe he was limping, but it seemed as though he was favoring the other leg (not the one i kissed). there was no obvious swelling or discoloration, and although he wouldn't run more than a couple steps, he would sit with both legs extending perpendicularly outward from his knees. (oh, the flexibility of toddlers!) he didn't complain again about his knee, although he seemed to favor crawling up the stairs instead of walking, and his teacher, Jo Jo, thought he was limping tuesday morning.

tuesday evening he was off, but it didn't seem to be attributed to his knee. we had "Parent n' me" swimming lessons (i was the parent, while el Jefe' sat on the sidelines). when it came time for "Humpty Dumpty" (which we practice at home: "Hutty Dutty!"), punkin did not want to jump into my arms, and kept turning around, perhaps hoping he would be rescued by Daddy (or Danny, dating back to a time of sleep deprivation when he was signing a valentine for the 6-week-old punkin). after swimming and a late dinner, punkin was obviously tired, and approaching meltdown, so we decided to forego tooth brushing. el Jefe' mentioned the new upper and lower canine teeth that have been coming in for the past two weeks, that i noticed two weeks ago and mentioned to el Jefe' two weeks ago. (yes, duh, i know they're coming in, and they take forever, and each one looks like two teeth because it is so huge!)

punkin was tucked in and snuggly in his crib by 8:30 pm. he was quiet for about two hours, and then proceeded to wake up crying every fifteen minutes for the next three hours. the first couple times he was sitting up, so a laid him down, recovered whatever sleep crutch he seemed to need (woobie, wa wa, turtle, Pooh of the Winnie variety), and tucked him in. that worked a time or two. the next time i tried singing the old favorite "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star". the next time i changed his diaper, whether it needed it or not. the next time i gave him the teething tablet dregs (one tablet plus dust) i could find in the medicine cabinet. the next time i checked four different locations for the missing teething tablets, finding success in the kitchen (i'm thinking they've been there for over a year?), so i gave him two teething tablets. the next time (by now, he wasn't sitting up anymore), i asked el Jefe' to go get the Tylenol while i stroked the punkin's cheek. el Jefe' went to the bathroom twice, each in a different location in the house, and by the time he produced the Tylenol punkin was quiet and presumably asleep. the last time, i dosed the punkin with Tylenol and el Jefe' rocked him in the rocking chair.

punkin didn't eat a good breakfast this morning, just some grapes and a couple cheerios.

so yeah, we're all tired at casa de psoup, but i know eventually we all will get some sleep. the real questions remains: will the unrewarding road project ever be complete and constructed?

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

they weren't exaggerating about those toilet seats

what is it about my paying job that makes me so miserable? today's complaints are as follows: it's the repetition. it's the tedium. it's the lack of intellectual challenge demonstrated by my current projects.

i have a deadline Friday to submit several documents and drawings for a project in its second preliminary phase. it's a parking lot. a $2.8 million parking lot, partly because we have to add so many contingency factors in this preliminary design phase that the factors eventually double the cost of the project. (still, a $1.4 million parking lot wouldn't be cheap, but it is very big and the location has a lot to do with the cost). for this parking lot in the preliminary design phase, i am responsible for revising two separate reports; one is a 42-page document and the other tops out at 50 pages; two sets of drawings, each with four sheets; two separate estimates that are multiple-page documents; and responses to a 17-page comment matrix. don't fall off your chair: it's a government job. the only sense of accomplishment in this is completion of the task. i am determined to submit it on time because i just want it over with. i certainly won't be bragging that i authored the best 50-page report about a parking lot. and i don't want to be involved in any of the later phases of this project (because it's a parking lot and it bores me to tears) but i'm stuck because i've managed these two preliminary phases and met the schedule and budget.

as a mom, there's repetition and tedium without a pay check, but the emotional reward and intellectual challenges are priceless. as quickly as the punkin is learning new words and phrases and concepts and skills, i am learning things about people in general and my son in specific. he is truly amazing and i question myself everyday how i could have done something so right?

Monday, September 11, 2006

Peter Piper picked a principle for parents and punkins

so a bunch of big wigs were in town having a meeting about why our local office sucks. the meeting wasn't really about the office sucking, but scheduled under the disguise of "Lessons Learned" on a couple unsuccessful projects. unsuccessful in that they lost money. it was noted (and has been noted) that people who worked on these loser projects left the company. good riddance! yet most of them left on their own accord. one of the big wigs hinted at the obvious (why weren't these people fired?) and there was no response. there were at least seven people in this room who all make well over $100,000 a year (and have benefits!) and there was no response.

frankly, incompetence is not grounds for firing in a lot of businesses.

think about it. those of you getting paid: doesn't the incompetent asshole get promoted? but what about those of you who aren't getting paid? i'm sure you see crappy parents every day, and they yet they remain crappy parents day after day. i'm talking about the ones who drop their child off at daycare in pajamas and a poopy diaper (do you mind? i've got a meeting ...). or park in the handicap stall when they have their full mobility capabilities.

but instead of being a judgmental asshole, i've looked at myself and said "so what?" i certainly don't want to get fired for making a mistake. part of me wouldn't mind getting canned from my paying job ( i'm miserable, and i complain, and el Jefe' has better benefits) but just for making a mistake? what if i got fired from being a parent to the punkin? for letting him dig in my drawer with emery boards, dental floss, and all those extra buttons that come with new clothing? or for removing my hand from his tummy when he's on the changing table so i can grab his woobie from his crib so he'll stop crying? or for letting him still sleep in a crib when he's over the height limit and can climb? oh, the possibilities are endless.

the Peter Principle states that we each rise to our highest level of incompetence. as a mom, i'm there!

Sunday, September 10, 2006

the Clampett family salon

punkin got his first haircut two days before his first birthday. since it was such a momentous occasion, we left it up to the professionals at Great Clips. really, they are professionals. i just don't buy into salons, or day spas, or places that specialize in kid's cuts by plopping them down in front of a video. punkin doesn't watch television, and probably won't until he turns three, so why pay more?

ok, i'll admit i stopped coloring my hair more than fifteen years ago. the grey wouldn't hold color and ended up looking like albino angel hair pasta on my head. i haven't had a hair cut in eleven months. it shows, too, but i kind of pride myself in being low maintenance. and unattractive. whatever.

at fifteen months, he got his second cut at Great Clips, and at eighteen months he got his third. i paid pretty close attention, but it was really hard to see him get upset even for a brief moment. we had been warned that the hair cut stops when the customer starts crying. i had these visions of the stylist being half-done and sending us on our merry way (get out!), knowing we don't even own a pair of sharp scissors. the horror! the humiliation! so shortly after that last professional haircut, i bought a Wahl clipper (color-coded, to make it fun! and exciting!)

el Jefe' is a former Marine, and has sported the "doo" for a couple years now. the clipper traversed his head on its maiden voyage about three weeks ago. it took two sittings (we had to do it when the punkin was napping), and probably four beers, but he wasn't embarrassed to inform his coworkers that i cut his hair, so it must've turned out ok. i freaked when he told me i had to blend it in, because the blend attachment doesn't go that short, and he just grabbed the clipper and held it up to his head and made a dent in my nearly perfect line between a 3 and a 1/16th, or maybe it was between purple and red. it wasn't the beer. this was JackAss with 40-year-olds in the suburbs.

punkin just turned twenty months, but it was very apparent we couldn't wait another month for a haircut. i started with an 8 (loden green?) and did his whole head. he doesn't really have bangs anymore ... but he didn't cry too much. we did this outside because of the hair (we have just the perfect amount of hair in the house with two shedding dogs, why add more?), and the neighbors didn't call protective services, so his cries were not that alarming. i will admit it was well before noon and i did have a beer. it's stressful! and why else would you buy your own clipper if you aren't trying to personalize and enjoy the haircut experience? i used the left and right ear attachments (both black), and a 4 to shorten up the back. and i used the scissors that came with the kit to even out his lack of bangs.

two hair cuts. five beers. the clipper has paid for itself. (we would have drank the beers anyway).

Saturday, September 09, 2006

punkin even made a spare

i get really bogged down with depression, such that i can't enjoy things even when they are fun. i haven't been on medication for ten years, but there are times i am functioning just like i was still on medication. no lows, but no highs, either. so that times that i enjoy, the times that i can really say i had fun, are few and far between.

my company had an outing this afternoon. we went bowling.

i fell in love with bowling when i was in college. i went to Iowa State (who coincidentally beat the crappy UNLV Rebels today!) which is in the state of Iowa (can't you tell i got a B.S. degree?), where they had a can law. (Law? whatever, there was a 5 cent deposit on cans and bottles). most students would save up their empties, hitch a ride to the grocery store for redemption, and pocket a little cash. At a nickel a time, it was literally a little cash. but it didn't take long to save up enough to go bowling at the MU (Memorial Union). i'm sure a game was less than a dollar. (remember, this was over twenty years ago. yikes, i'm getting old.) anyway, i remember counting coins, just to play another game, in effort to break 100. once i did, there was no looking back.

i bowled in leagues a couple times. for someone with such low self esteem to say i'm pretty good says a lot. i've had some great games. but i moved, and didn't know anyone to get into a league, or didn't want to commit to the time, or insert excuse here. so i end up bowling once or twice a year.

oh, i've got my own ball. it was my mother's. it has her name on it (the Peggy ball!) i also inherited her bowling shoes and bag. i am nearly positive they are older than me, circa early 60's. antiques, and they're kind of cool.

i got to share my love for bowling with the punkin! at 20 months, he was too small for rental shoes, and i had to get him the smallest ball from behind the counter. (i guess people steal 6-pound bowling balls?) he couldn't really hold the ball, and he fouled a couple times, but he got excited to run up the lane and push the ball (between the bumpers, of course). sometimes he'd watch the ball go down the alley, and sometimes he'd just run back to his seat for another bite of pizza, but he was doing it with enthusiasm. he smiled, and laughed, and clapped.

that's what i want for my kid. i don't care if he's an athlete, an artist, or an astronaut. i just want him to enjoy whatever he chooses to do, and find that enjoyment much more frequently than i do.

Friday, September 08, 2006

same as it ever was

so if i've been miserable as an engineer for twenty years, why do i do it? perhaps i'm still trying to please my parents?

when i was very little (and coincidentally quite young), i wanted to be just like my two older sisters. i learned to read before kindergarten (mind you, this was more than 35 years ago, when kids finger-painted and ate paste in kindergarten) because my sisters could read and went to school, and preschool just wasn't cutting it for me. so my parents tooks me to a psychologist to see if i was ready (little did they know i would see the same psychologist when i was in high school for depression and an eating disorder, but who has that kind of foresight?). all i remember from the "readiness" testing were some "what happens next?" pictures and trying to figure out what the ink blots looked like. anyway, i must've nailed the tests because i started kindergarten at age four.

at some point, i stopped wanting to be like my sisters. i stopped wanting to be "better" than my sisters, and i just wanted to be different than my sisters. both my sisters went to college. i was an over-achiever (trying to be "better"!), so it was just assumed i would go to college. i was able to squeeze in an art elective every now and then in high school, so i considered applying to the program at the Art Institute of Chicago. whereas band and orchestra were mandatory in my parents' eyes, art was a hobby and verboten as a career. while my high school aptitude tests suggested and my guidance counselor recommended i pursue engineering, i tried to convince my parents that maybe i should try a trade school and become an auto mechanic. i remember considering these as viable options, but i just somehow fell in line and went to college as an engineering major from day one.

my sisters believe i chose the engineering career path for the money. ha ha ha.

as i approach the 20th anniversary of full-time employment as an engineer, i can't believe i spent this much time, this much of my life, striving for something i don't want. am i trying to get dooced?

Thursday, September 07, 2006

letting go

one thing i learned from becoming a mom: i can't do it all (and even better, i don't want to). i am in this constant state of dichotomy: mom versus the old me. the old me used to work (outside the home) 12-14 hour days and often worked (outside the home) six days a week, sometimes seven. i was driven. i thought hard work was rewarded (silly me). i didn't like it or enjoy it, but i fell into the pattern. i definitely have some OCD tendencies, and my work habits were both obsessive and compulsive.

things have drastically changes over the past 20 months. i've become an 8 to 5'er (outside the home). i haven't quite mastered the art of saying "no" at work, but i fully believe people expect a lot less out of me. and deep down inside i know i am taking advantage of that. i'm not the best mom, and i'm not the best engineer. at best, i'm mediocre at both, and frankly, just about everything in my life. it is quite the reversal from bordering on "perfectionist" as i did for 39 years or so.

one of my many coworkers who is the proverbial "thorn in my side" was just appointed to a technical committee within my company representing the southwest region. he is not qualified for this position. fact. he is a thorn because he acts defensive whenever we work together, because he is not dependable, and because he is arrogant. we are coworkers, but we are not equals in any way. he has half the amount of experience i do in terms of time, and less than half in terms of on-the-job skills because he changes employers on a regular (and frequent) basis. (as a matter of fact, he's due for a change.) rumor has it his work hours drastically changed when i was on leave (i can't call it maternity leave because that is not one of my company's benefits): he came in an hour or two early, and stayed an hour or two late. not that he accomplished any more work (allegedly, there was enough time spent on the internet seas to give him the nickname Magellan) but damn it, he was there! in my opinion his success can be attributed to being an engineer in a man's world, and the "good ol' boy" system is alive and well.

and then it occurred to me. in addition to my regular project and project management duties, i serve on three separate committees serving in both local and regional functions. each of these assignments requires travel away from my home twice a year. each of these assignments, while rewarding, requires extra time, whether for travel, or longer working hours, or donating time performing assignments that aren't billable. so let him have it. i spend enough time away from el Jefe' and the punkin. and being mediocre isn't so bad.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

wherein i should be grateful of my favorite past time

i went to the library over my lunch hour today. i love to read. i didn't "recreational read" on any regular basis until after college. i can't say i've been a completely voracious reader since then because who can do any hobby voraciously for 20 years without turning it into a career? but, i dive in on occasion and frequent the local library on a regular basis. and i'm not one of those people who can work on two books (or more) at the same time. but i'll read all the quotes, and prologues, and appendices ad nauseum (literally, cover to cover).

i can think of only one book i've given up on (wow, that has got to be poor grammar): "Founding Mothers" by Cooke Roberts. nothing happens. it was given to me by my mother-in-law. good intentions, but what does it say that it is the only book i can't bring myself to finish?

i just dropped off John Grisham's "The King of Torts." i used to refuse to read John Grisham because he was so prolific (i know that makes no sense but i'd rather be in the minority, not mainstream, whatever). that didn't stop me from reading Stephen King or James Michener, so i guess i finally gave in, but years after everyone else did. "A Painted House" was wonderful. "Skipping Christmas" was enjoyable. "The King of Torts" had a stupid, flat ending. it was a fun read, and i was able to escape into the world of lawyers, insurance companies, and tort reform. it kept me going to the end, where it just kind of stopped. like when you get to the end of a moving walkway ... you're just at the end of a moving walkway. there might be another moving walkway ahead, or maybe not, but there is no climax or closure at the end of a moving walkway.

i failed to mention i dropped off three books, and picked up another two. i can't wait to crack one open before bed tonight. perhaps it is the anticipation of the escape? it truly is a selfish pleasure that is not frowned upon or judged. it's a good feeling.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

my apology to all moms

so it occurred to me last night that i probably alienated the majority of my "audience".

first, i have to admit to reading a limited number of blogs on a regular basis because, in addition to being a mother, i have another job outside my home. another excuse: i am old and tired. the blogs i frequent are fairly evenly divided between male and female authors, and, well, most of the female bloggers are stay-at-home moms.

i totally admire what you do, both bloggers and sah moms, but i feel like i'm on the outside looking in.

so a big pat on the back to me (insert knife and twist) ... my first post, on Labor Day no less, and i make reference to "working mothers". (if my mother had commented, she would correct me and say "damn working mothers", but she is very computer illiterate so she won't have the chance to comment, now will she?!?) yes, EVERY mother is a working mother, and no, i won't go into the labor pun. i'm pretty sure there isn't a mom on this earth that got a day off from her mothering duties just because it was Labor Day. you'll find plenty of things in the future in this blog to hold against me, so please forgive me this first indiscretion.

off to a great start, eh?

Monday, September 04, 2006

first time jitters

i'm under pressure to get something posted ... obviously i'm off to a helluva start.
dinner's ready. it's bath night. i'm a 41-year-old working mother of an almost 20-month-old punkin. and i don't know what i want to be when i grow up.