why i'm a crazy hip blog mama

crazy. no problem. certifiable. a long torrid history of therapy, medication, and even a couple weeks in the hut (nut hut, that is. i can say that. i’ve been there.). i’ve been off medication going on ten years, and i think my last counselor is dead. (she’d be 82. i hope at least she finally retired!) pregnancy and motherhood are terrific excuses for off behavior, don’t you think?

hip. this one’s a stretch. i was born without the shopping gene. my favorite store is Target. i rarely buy anything for myself that is not on sale or without a coupon. the last time i bought something full price was in 2001 (a suit for a project interview). my husband, el Jefe’, buys the majority of my clothes (he has good taste if that means anything). i admit to being thrifty and frugal (ok, cheap), but if anything i strive for my style to be classic. and my maternity clothes are the trendiest items in my wardrobe!

blog. here it is. although it was born only Labor Day this year, it has become a part of my life. and i pride myself in posting more frequently than the so-called professionals who blog for income. a new custom blog design from the wonderful and talented ladies at Ciao My Bella would be my equivalent to a day at the spa. (ok, i’ve never been. ever. but i think the appropriate analogy is that maybe no one else will notice, but it sure would make me feel good!)

mama. Punkin turns two next month, and Peanut is at 18 weeks gestation. i’m 41, and i never thought i’d be a mom until two positive pee tests, a fetal heartbeat, an ultrasound, and hearing positive amnio results over two years ago. Punkin wasn’t planned, but honestly we didn’t think he was possible. i don’t need to tell you he changed my life.

and they were kind enough to include me on their blogroll.

gee thanks, gen y

the last two hours of my paying job work day were busy. why is that? i ended up working through my lunch hour, convincing myself that i would leave early so i would have time to go to Target before i go swim, before i go home. a good portion of my day was filled with stupid questions, and i made it my responsibility to provide answers to those stupid questions. i used to say “there’s no such thing as a stupid question” until i’ve come across a generation of individuals who ask stupid questions because they are too lazy to research the question before they ask. it’s a sure-fire way to push my hot button and apparently it’s easier to be spoon-fed the information.

Punkin isn’t even two years old, and he would rather do it himself.

just like his mom.

my post. where's yours?

i’m really disappointed in the blogging community. most of the sites i regularly (and it’s not many) have been very lax in posting during the holidays. i’m disappointed because some of these folks are professionals, and they maintain a blog as a full-time job (or for income). here i am feeling guilty for missing posts, and my site has not generated one thin dime. sure, i’m jealous. especially when my mother-in-law, a voracious reader, says i should consider a career in writing. this is in addition to my father-in-law’s constant accolades regarding my letters. not only does he run a local newspaper, but his views are unbiased by my mother-in-law as they have been divorced for well over 25 years.

here’s the story of Punkin and Santa Claus i promised. and apparently, it’s free:

nearly every day last week, Punkin asked about Nonna, Paw Paw, and Gabbie (my parents and their dog). i told him he would get to see them this weekend, and Santa Claus, too. to which he replied, “No Santa Claus, No.” since he kept wanting to see his grandparents and their dog, i kept throwing in Santa, too, in hopes the association would be positive. we also read “The Night Before Christmas” every night. by the end of the week, Santa didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

we pushed to get out of the house Saturday morning at a reasonable hour. i suggested we check out the line for pictures with Santa Claus at the mall first; el Jefe’ still had shopping to do, and at least one of us could wait in line and tag team. we arrived before 9:30 am and entered a relatively long queue. i excused myself to go find a bathroom, walked the entire length of the mall, and even snuck in to check out a selection of Christmas CD’s. when i returned, Punkin and el Jefe’ had moved very little, and el Jefe’ informed me the approximate wait would be an hour and a half. we had Holiday Hell stuff to do, so we bailed.

we planned Christmas Eve morning around this whole picture with Santa Claus thing. We put Punkin to bed promptly at 8:00 pm the night before so he would get enough sleep in time to rise at 6:30 am. we decided to forego pancakes over cereal so we could get out of the house sooner. the mall opened at 7:00 am, and Santa was to arrive at 8:00 am. we arrived within minutes of 8:00 am and got in line. for nearly an hour. as we approached the front of the line, Punkin wanted el Jefe’ to pick him up. he wanted his woobie. and he held on with a death grip. odd, because he normally is too friendly with strangers. once he was placed on Santa’s lap, he bawled. loudly. the photographer gave it a couple seconds and opted for the “Peek-a-Boo” photo. this is where Santa hides behind his chair, while the photographer distracts the hysterical child. then the former hysterical child sits on Mommy’s or Daddy’s lap and Santa peeks out from behind the chair. El Jefe’ sat with the Punkin, in his clashing plaid shirt and holey jeans (neither of us were prepared to be photographed by any means, but at least he wasn’t wearing brown stripes!) and the result is the most wonderful picture of Santa behind the two guys i love the most.

he’s still talking (positively) about Santa Claus. Punkin, that is.

my version of winning the lottery

Punkin survived his picture with Santa Claus Christmas Eve. (worthy of a post and photo, when i have more time).

my dad spilled the beans to my mom about the Peanut. the third degree was relatively harmless. yes, they would like a granddaughter, but they also are happy the Punkin won’t be an only child.

i had an awesome Christmas. Punkin tolerated roughly two hours of opening gifts and seemed to enjoy each and every one (even the clothes)! El Jefe’ was surprised and impressed with my electronics selection.

i cooked all day yesterday, except during gift opening and an hour off my feet. Whereas we had Christmas Eve dinner at my parents’ home, they came over to ours for Christmas Day (rather, Night) dinner. i will never be able to have a turkey ready before 5:00 pm … i started cooking at 5:00 am, and we didn’t sit down to eat before 6:00 pm, and my feet are definitely telling there was no rest for the weary! while i won't get an A for presentation, everything was tasty.

i got a very good phone call this afternoon. all the results of the amnio are good.

i’m not used to things going my way, or at least seeming to.

Happy Holidays

i complain a lot about Holiday Hell. i've all ready admitted my issues are self-induced and self-inflicted (who in their right mind would go to Wal-Mart the Friday afternoon before Christmas for the sole purpose of getting diapers [necessity] and stocking stuffers [junk]?!?)

i continue to go out and shop, not for the diapers, but for the trinkets ... i keep coming up with that must-have, illusive, one-more-thing that subjects me to crowds, and lines, and melting kids, and stressed-out adults. today it is a pair of footie pajamas for the Punkin and thank-you note cards. maybe i'm addicted. maybe i've got my priorities straight. but this photo, to me, is what the Holidays are all about. i'm thankful i have el Jefe' and Punkin after all these years to show me that Holiday Hell is worth it.

it could be worse

el Jefe’ has one of those sweet government jobs when the end of the year means “use it or lose it”. actually, his job is not sweet nor cushy, and he works most of the extra holidays that government employees get (like Martin Luther King, Jr. Day, and Veteran’s Day). and he works overtime (members of his crew work both shifts). and he routinely works on the weekend. if you understand the system, he has holiday time, overtime, comp time, and vacation time … and with his Midwestern work ethic, he cannot take off that much time away from work.

last night, el Jefe’ told me he had one more day to burn this year. whereas he’s been taking some Mondays in the past two months, he chose today so he could do some Holiday Hell shopping. did you read between the lines? MY HUSBAND STARTED CHRISTMAS SHOPPING TODAY. December 22nd. oh, and he needed to do a couple things at work, so he went into work until noon today. he didn’t start until the AFTERNOON of December 22nd.

i’m done. mentally, physically, financially … i’ve had it. it’s just good enough. i keep coming up with last minute trinket ideas, but i’ve all ready approached the wrapping phase. it took me twenty minutes to wrap two shirt boxes this morning and that depressed me. and i have to go to Wal-Mart to get the Punkin overnight diapers … and maybe something for the stockings, and something for the incontinent dog … and I have to exchange something for el Jefe’ because i bought the wrong size … and it all is mildly frustrating and depressing and overwhelming.

at least i didn’t start my Holiday Hell shopping today.

winter whinings

i’m a little depressed, but i shouldn’t be.
i’m accomplishing things at work (a completely relative term this time of year).
i’m crossing things off my Holiday Hell to do list (slowly, and perhaps belatedly, but they are getting done).
i picked out a receiver for el Jefe’ (just need visual verification before purchase).
the Peanut is the right size per schedule and very active.
my blood pressure is good at 107 over 70.

but i gained six pounds in the last month (154, woo hoo). and i’m showing. and i’m wearing a new pair of maternity pants that are too big and too long, even though i also bought a pair of boots (with heels!). i’m just feeling unattractive (and sorry for myself).

continuing holiday hell

i’ve mentioned i was born without the shopping gene. and i’ve admitted to being technologically challenged. so why would i even attempt to buy el Jefe’ electronics for Christmas? because i am insane and obviously a glutton for punishment.

most things in our household are hand-me-downs or divorce-wear. we’d like our home to look like a pottery barn catalogue, and lately el Jefe’ has been pining for a flat screen tv just because he sees them wherever he goes. we have a very nice tv that i purchased for his 40th birthday. i made him accompany me so i would buy what he wanted. we ended up with a 36” Sony, and that was five years ago. i have replaced a VCR and purchased a DVD player (with a little coaching). i even replaced a pair of speakers all by my lonesome. i replaced the speakers in an attempt to improve the sound quality and it turns out the speakers weren’t the problem.

so now i need to replace the amp and pre-amp that el Jefe’ purchased in Okinawa in the 80’s. i’m talking to my coach, but i know i’m so in over my head.

the hell continues … and yes, i know it is self-induced.

blissfully writing checks

my dad asked if i was pregnant on Sunday. i could not lie. i told him i did not want anyone to know. apparently, he is astute and happy about the situation. i also told the Middle when we were in the garage depositing hand-me-downs. again, a positive response.

i had an amnio yesterday. Peanut kept grabbing at the needle (or so it appeared on the ultrasound). El Jefe’ and i like my prenatal doctor (a woman! a first for me!)

the worst of it all … the Center collected my deductible for 2006. i have another appointment in two weeks, which means they will collect my deductible for 2007. it’s just money, and it’s worth it, but why do they all want the money up front?

self-induced

it has been a rough week.

the majority of the time expended, and stress endure, has been work related.

Holiday Hell continues. the Middle may visit this weekend with my twin nephews. of course we are not ready.

and we may have the discussion of a celebration for my parents' upcoming 50th wedding anniversary in September 2007. yes, it is many months off, but so is my due date of June 2007 (and i haven't told a soul about the conception of the Peanut, not family, not friends, nor even coworkers). i'm waiting for results of the amnio; the test happens to be this Monday. (just add a pinch more of stress and stir ...)

a real beer (and then some) would be the perfect cap of this week. maybe i'll settle for a smoothie instead.

the most wonderful time of the year?

i have too much to do at work (my paying job outside the home).
i am behind on my weekly, regularly scheduled chores at home (vacation, and a weekend out of town have left me perpetually behind schedule).
i still have Holiday Hell shopping to accomplish, even the “time-sensitive” got to mail those gifts out of town variety.
i have yet to draft the second annual Holiday letter.
i am cranky.

where's Elmo?

a couple weeks ago, el Jefe’ and i discussed what we were getting the Punkin for Christmas. we agree that all ready, in the less than two years Punkin has graced this planet, he has too many toys. it’s not that we run out and buy the latest and greatest advertised toy, or Punkin begs and pleads and says he has to have it. by far, the majority of his toys were gifts from others, or hand-me-downs from my twin nephews.

we don’t allow Punkin to watch tv, and may not for another year.

i was born without the shopping gene.

my internet skills are limited.

so, using your deductive powers of reasoning, you can see this is a challenge for me.

early this fall, i had Punkin in the stroller with me at JC Penney. i had a coupon(!), there was a sale(!), and he needed some clothes in the next size. OK. that’s a lie. i bought him both 24-month and 2T clothes because i honestly couldn’t figure out the difference (except the 2T’s were a smidge bigger and a dollar more expensive). as we passed the pajamas, i heard Punkin exclaim, “Eh-mo!”. (Elmo). i couldn’t figure out what he was talking about until i looked from his perspective (basically on my knees in the store). there were the licensed character pajamas, and there was Elmo. i thought it was a fluke, until we went past the licensed character sweatshirts, and there he was again, and Punkin exclaimed “Eh-mo!” my kid knows who Elmo is without ever watching Sesame Street, or tv whatsoever, and certainly no commercials.

a couple months later, we went to a family-friendly restaurant for dinner, and they featured a woman who created balloon animals. Punkin ended up with an Elmo balloon animal, which he caressed literally for weeks. (i think the eyes and nose still exist.)

so he’s getting an Elmo for Christmas. el Jefe’ and i agreed upon a plush, boring, non-electronic Elmo. no TMX Elmo. no Sing n’ Hum Elmo. no Elmo Loves You plush doll. just an Elmo without batteries. come to find out, this Elmo is special. this Elmo does not exist at Target. this Elmo does not exist at Toys R’ Us. this Elmo was available at Macy’s on-line, so i went to Macy’s over lunch even though i didn’t think they had a toy department. and they really don’t. so i called another local Macy’s and verified that no, they don’t have a toy department, either. so i tried Macy’s on-line. good news: plush Elmo was on sale! Bad news: plush Elmo was guaranteed to ship by January 18th, 2007. ha! not only after Christmas, but also after Punkin’s 2nd birthday!

Amazon.com came through. i found an unused plush Elmo, on sale, with $2.95 shipping, that basically was guaranteed to arrive before Christmas. worse came to worse, before Punkin’s January birthday. i ordered it last week, it shipped the next day, and it arrived this weekend.

and 12” plush Elmo arrived in a 6” box. i was frustrated. and i was pissed. until i opened the box and discovered Elmo was bound and folded at the waist (bondage Elmo?). el Jefe’ is certain he’ll love it. i just hope i get better at this.

one small step

Punkin pooped in his potty last night!

we're gonna go through this together

El Jefe’ and i had a rare, civilized, adult conversation last night. it’s not that we argue and are constantly down eachother’s throats. it seems as though we are very busy trying to maintain our careers, our Midwestern work ethics, a functioning household (nothing even remotely related to a well-oiled machine), prepare for the season of Holiday Hell with our extended families, and raise an ever-growing, ever-changing, ever-developing toddler. our needs as husband and wife, and our marriage, most often take a back seat. way back seat. back of the trailer, just millimeters in front of the license plate back seat.

Punkin has had a baby sitter something like three times in his life (last year’s company Holiday party, our anniversary, and a wedding in May. i think that’s it.). each time, his Godmother came over for the evening. we don’t know any teenagers in the neighborhood, and frankly i don’t trust my parents, and besides, he spends five days a week around nine hours a day in daycare. so there’s some guilt, some laziness, and some lack of trust. don’t get me wrong … we both enjoyed a meal where we didn’t have to cut everything up, make sure the temperature bordered on cold, didn’t inhale our food to have a free hand to catch tossed utensils and launched green beans, and have an adult conversation. we’d like to go to the movies one evening so we can actually watch a movie from end to end. but somehow it is not a priority, and it is ok with both of us.

we talked about his potential for promotion. we talked about moving. we talked about my job. we talked about what we would miss about where we have spent the past ten years. i told him i wanted to deliver the Peanut here, and he was adamant that i should not have to change doctors again.

it is no wonder i love this man. we’re on the same page.

torn like an old sweater

i’ve spent the day spinning my wheels, or so it seems. i’ve accomplished several tasks, but it’s one of those days where i have very little to show for it. scheduling, meetings, conference calls, and reviews filled my work day, yet there is no tangible product. kind of like parenting, i guess … you change diapers, feed your kid, dress your kid, entertain your kid, educate your kid, lather, rinse, repeat … and often there is very little to show for it. there is no clean (or dirty) quotient, most of us don’t weigh our kids on a daily basis, i’m not aware of points for style, and you can’t measure the leap in IQ daily. (maybe you can, but jeez, talk about obsessive!) but one smile makes it all worthwhile (parenting, that is).

sorry, but one job beats the other hands down in terms of reward.

i just can't imagine my life as a stay-at-home mom.

welcome back

i haven’t posted in eleven days, yet i feel as though i have so little to say. our vacation was very good, and worthy of several posts, but i just don’t have it in me right now, or can’t get it out of me right now. we returned early Friday morning and were shocked by a 40 degree dip in temperatures. we spent the weekend doing laundry, running errands, commencing the Holiday Shopping Hell, and preparing and sharing a belated Thanksgiving dinner with my parents.

really, all is well, yet the enthusiasm just isn’t there. historically, i always have trouble with the Holidays in the emotional department. i used to attribute it to Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) until i moved to an area that experiences something like 360 days of sunshine and i still fall into a funk. i’m losing sleep over the second annual Holiday letter. Punkin fell in love with Christmas lights on vacation (“coo-coo-lights”!) yet it looks like it’ll be another week or two before we get ours put up due to family commitments. Punkin turns two in January, and el Jefe’ constantly attributes his minor tantrums and tears to his age. Punkin lost it after an hour and a half in Target (who wouldn’t?!?) and after an inordinate amount of time in front of non-entertaining bookshelves at Borders. i agree that one can always find a meaningful gift at either establishment IF one has a remote clue as to what category the gift falls into. something just a bit more specific than “something from Target” or “a book” … animal, vegetable, or mineral? housewares? educational toy?

so am i complaining about el Jefe’? or family obligations? or is it just that time of year?

mellowed by good news

sometimes those windows of opportunity are so small. i was faced with one today that was so narrow i couldn’t squeeze my ever-expanding 148 lb frame through it.

i saw my ob-gyn today for my 12-week appointment. i was happy that i only gained one pound in nearly three weeks, so my rate of expansion is not too outrageous. and my blood pressure was good at 115/71. and the fact that i’ve made it to 12 weeks was a relief in itself.

we discussed genetic testing. having been through it before, and experiencing amniocentesis during my pregnancy with the Punkin, i thought i knew what to expect. (and i’ve read most of the series …) my doctor suggested a first trimester test with nearly identical accuracy, without the invasiveness and risks of an amniocentesis. any sign me up! unfortunately, we leave for vacation tonight and don’t return for eight days. they tried to schedule me for aforementioned first trimester test, but i was told i’ll be “too far along” by the time we return. oh well.

the amnio is scheduled. my 16-week appointment is scheduled. i paid my initial installment of my ob care and delivery payment plan. and el Jefe’ and i got to see the Peanut kick and wave. and i'm almost on vacation.

Happy Thanksgiving. see you in December!

could this be spam?

i received this in an e-mail today:

Your flight #17 on November 23, departing Las Vegas at 2:45 am and arriving in Honolulu at 6:45 am has been changed.You are now confirmed on flight #17 on November 23, now departing Las Vegas at 1:00 am and arriving in Honolulu at 5:00 am.

the departure time (and coincidentally the arrival time) of the flight we are taking Thanksgiving morning has changed by 1:45. nearly two hours. earlier. damn good thing i was around to get my e-mail. el Jefe’ and i arrived at the airport once prior to the arrival (not departure) time of a flight … ooops, we both misread the itinerary. we didn’t care. we were on vacation, whether we were on an airplane, or sitting in the airport bar, or relaxing in a condo didn’t matter. we ended up getting a later flight, and then the rental car counter was closed, so we took a shuttle to the nearest hotel, rented a hot tub suite, and started our vacation as planned, just a day late. somehow, traveling with the Punkin, i just can’t fathom the same reaction.

i’ll be anal and call and confirm the time change with a real live person. wish me luck.

erin go bleccchh

What food(s) do you love that other people think you are crazy for eating?



this is such a difficult topic. first off, i’m twelve-weeks pregnant. in between periodic gagging and perpetual nausea, my cravings change every couple of days. nothing exotic; nothing like the proverbial pickles and ice cream. the latest craving was cottage cheese, which el Jefe’ thinks i’m crazy for eating, but i don’t think that counts. it’s so mainstream …

then, although i’m new to the whole blogging thing, several pros (who actually make money off their blogs?!?) have plugged Maggie’s book “No One Cares What You Had for Lunch: 100 Ideas for Your Blog”. i broke the rule in this post, but maybe it didn’t count because i described dinner from the hotel gift shop, not lunch. anyway, i am struggling to ignore the voices in my head: “it’s an assignment – stretch your wings!” and “you're doing it wrong!”

my early gastronomic experiences were of course shaped by my parents. my mom grew up on a farm in southern Indiana. her cooking tends toward the bland side, a side effect from an Irish background. i can say that thanks to my mom, i can stuff a mean turkey and can stomach the giblets. i like the gizzard and the heart, but it is tolerance and preference (gizzard beats liver) and nothing close to LOVE. my dad is a “meat and potatoes” kind of guy and my mom catered to his wishes. i think he ate a Quarter-pounder with cheese, fries, and an orange drink five days a week, nearly fifty weeks a year, for over a decade. could this be a clue where my OCD tendencies come from?

when you combine the aforementioned genetic traits with a third fact, it equates to my least favorite meal. i was born on St. Patrick’s Day. while most kids dream of picking their birthday meal, (pizza! hamburgers! spaghetti!) allowing that cookies and ice cream are not acceptable main courses, my wishes were ignored for sake of heritage and tradition. until my first year of college, i was subjected to corned beef and cabbage at nearly every birthday dinner. stringy, fatty beef; stinky, slimy cabbage; and fortunately, salty boiled potatoes. year after year after year. in the decades since, i have to admit i’ve probably eaten the dreaded corned beef and cabbage on an occasion or two, but it is forbidden in my own kitchen and i have never, ever selected it off a menu. it was probably at my in-laws, or my parents’ home, i was possessed by guilt, and it was most definitely not on my birthday.

on March 17th, my favorites could be oysters or spinach or snails, as long as it’s not corned beef and cabbage. and my folks still shake their heads, wondering if i’m crazy, wondering where they went wrong.

have you a Zans for cans?

“at our house we open cans. we have to open many cans. and that is why we have a Zans.”

my office held a non-perishable food drive as our traditional Thanksgiving charitable event. i often remind folks to go beyond cans. they weigh so much, and i wonder how folks at the food bank deal with a lack of can openers. sure, now several manufacturers have gone to the pull-tab style, but that is mainly for name brands that can be over-priced. i always donate canned fruits and vegetables, but i augment the selection with crackers, pasta, rice, and powdered milk. this year i included several jars of baby food. although i made Punkin’s baby food, we always had a couple jars on hand for traveling.

we’re getting ready to travel next week, i’m wondering what to bring on the plane. Punkin is way beyond baby food, but he still eats primarily unprocessed food at home. he eats what we eat at dinnertime, but i’m still stuck in the rut of a fruit and vegetable from the frozen stash or freshly prepared. i know Gerber makes jarred finger foods (like green beans), and i know we can probably throw a few of our Gladware containers in the diaper bag. i know it’s an overnight flight and he’ll most likely be sleeping, but we’re going to Hawaii. i have this fear that when we get there everything will be closed for the Thanksgiving Holiday. maybe i should pack a can opener in the diaper bag, too.

i’m sure this is my OCD kicking in. i’m sure el Jefe’ has not given this a thought, or more importantly, a worry. but these are the things that rattle around in my head. my mom had surgery, and she’s doing okay, so i obviously have to find something else to worry about.

thanks, Dr. Seuss.

“have you a Zans for cans? you should.”

the worry and the wait

my mom is in the hospital. she went in via the emergency room last night. i was unaware she was having problems, which is typical of my parents. instead of “no news is good news” they often abide by the philosophy “if they don’t know, they won’t worry.” when i finally spoke to my dad last night, the indications were she has an obstructed bowel and has been suffering since Tuesday.

today there were several phone calls back and forth. my mom didn’t have a room, but i was able to speak to her. my dad had their cell phone, and somehow lost his car keys at the hospital. my mom is 71; my dad just turned 82. they are in relatively good shape, but when normal tasks become difficult i am the first to blame their ages.

the latest diagnosis is an incarcerated hernia. as of 1:00 pm, she was scheduled for “emergency” surgery at 5:00 pm. hmph on the “emergency” adjective. my disappointment and sarcasm should be obvious. i’m not debilitated with worry because i’ve kept busy and occupied, but my grandfather, my mom’s father, died of a hernia when he was in his 60’s.

Hap Jack, my grandpa, developed his hernia after falling out of a tree. his doctor in rural Indiana diagnosed his pain as indigestion and recommended a laxative. Hap Jack’s hernia ruptured, and he died. i was five or six years old at the time.

i tell myself my mom has infinitely better care. but i’m creeped out by the fact i took pictures of the Punkin with my parents at dinner on Sunday. although i regularly toss the camera in his diaper bag, i made a specific effort to take pictures of them together. i just hope i can take more (and better ones) of them together at a later date.

lowering the bar

once i became a mom, i learned very quickly (during those 17 hours in labor and delivery) to lower my expectations. it should be the mantra of the “What to Expect” series, but maybe they wouldn’t sell many books with the slogan “Expect Less”. it’s sort of a survival skill that i’ve applied universally throughout my life, perhaps out of convenience, but maybe more out of necessity to maintain sanity.

lowering your expectations increases your opportunity for success. no kidding.

i felt like shit the entire day today. my pillow was damp from my tearing left eye when i got up this morning. my nose is raw from tissues. my lips are chapped from mouth breathing. yet i made it through the workday as a productive individual. that was a success.

i participated in an hour-long conference call, and stayed alert enough to hit the mute button every time i blew my nose. i contributed. that was a success.

i reviewed a report (partially), but i am making progress. that was a success.

i scheduled and participated in a project review. although this is one of my responsibilities, it requires buy-in and participation from project managers. something about the proverbial “greased pig”? or maybe, i’ve just become accustomed to being ignored. anyway, a relatively inexperienced project manager, a new project, a new business group leader, and we held a successful review in the allocated hour. that was a success.

i beta-tested a new software application. the only instructions provided were installation instructions. i navigated around it slowly (uh, fits and starts as they say?) but i did not completely crash the system, and i had some valuable input in terms of bugs. That was a success.

i can’t say it was a perfect day by any means, but looking back, it appears as though i’ve accomplished something. and something’s better than nothing. a lot better.

phlegm family

Punkin has pink eye ... again.

that was the start of our day, and i was livid mad. breakfast wasn't a success, either. and then there were the eye drops.

he had a 10:20 am appointment for a flu shot. i left work, picked him up from day care, and was informed he shouldn't come back with pink eye until tomorrow. "well, i wonder where he got it from?" loudly, and full of sarcasm. still, we made it to the doctor's office with five minutes to spare. not that it mattered; we waited 45 minutes for a two second shot (prepaid $25, i might add). i had to go back to work to retrieve work to do from home. by the time we got home, it was an hour and a half past his normal lunch time.

he survived.

we survived.

i have succumbed to the cold el Jefe' has been harboring for days.

the Clampett family salon redux

i had several motivations to cut my hair. the first of which, it had been over 13 months since my previous hair cut. i had a coupon for a $6.99 hair cut. (good God, i’m cheap.) Friday also marked the last day of outdoor (sand) volleyball season; it was a make-up game from a rain-out, after which a pony tail wouldn’t seem such a necessity. and i had just enough hair to donate a 10-inch pony tail to Locks of Love.

Locks of Love is a non-profit organization that creates hair prostheses (wigs) for financially disadvantaged kids under the age of 18 who suffer from long term medical hair loss.

the coupon expired on Friday. we are in a round robin volleyball tournament next Friday to battle it out with two other teams tied for first place. but on Saturday, i said, “when.” (refer to one of my favorite movies, “Regarding Henry”.)

el Jefe’ was in charge of the scissors and measuring the pony tail to ensure i was donating the minimum 10 inches. he measured it twice, and cut it off in several strokes. then i went to Great Clips to finish off the “styling” process. the stylist was rather confused by my instructions of “i don’t want bangs, you can layer it, i just want some sort of style and shape. i don’t own a hair dryer or curling iron, so it will need to air dry.” i explained that my husband cut off my pony tail. eventually, the light bulb lit; she understood i was donating the pony tail, and her task was to “fix” my hair. she commented more than once what a great job el Jefe’ did, he cut a “cute little shelf” in the back, and she would use the length as a guide to the rest of my hairstyle. although el Jefe’s time was minimal, i am proud to say he is truly a stylist at the Klampett Family Salon. (see profile. i'm having trouble with multiple images, and frankly one photo of me is more than enough.)

my favorite Mercury

these nice folks were kind enough to include me on their blog roll, so i’ve decided to pay back the favor and participate in Carnival No. 7. hell, someone might even read my blog. what a novel concept.

as i get into the subject, i need to reveal a little about my past. i have an ex-husband. i made reference to the fact in this post, but i don’t typically spend time, or words, or energy on that marriage that began nearly 20 years ago (argh!) and lasted for six and a half years. in those six and a half years, i personally had loans for SIX different cars.

it started with a 5.0 liter Ford Mustang. the Mustang was replaced by a Toyota Celica GT because a 5.0 liter V-8 rear-wheel drive vehicle doesn’t handle well in Midwestern snow and ice (he was concerned about my safety, huh.). the Celica was replaced by a Mercury Merkur which i have to admit was our “dream car”. by this time, the ex was getting ready to graduate from college, and was convinced he would need something four-wheel drive for commuting 35 miles from our college town to the big city, so i went out and got a loan for a new Suzuki SideKick. if you do the math, i had one job, two car loans, and a husband yet to employed. he eventually got a job, in our college town, with my employer … we even commuted together for two years. thank God we had two new vehicles! eventually we moved away from the college town; i got a job in the big city, and the SideKick came in handy for the ex to commute (before he was an ex). the Merkur was within less than a hand-full of months of being paid-off, when the ex decided we really had to become completely suburban, and trade it in for a Ford Taurus SHO. i was embarrassed. it was a very fast car with a manual transmission, but for crying out loud it was a four-door sedan and we were in our late twenties!

maybe the constant influx of new cars was representative of a marriage constantly in flux. we were always lured by the bigger, better, stronger, faster, and the title was always out-of-reach. we agreed to a divorce, and a division of assets (no, property. we didn’t have any assets.) he said i should have the Taurus because i made more money (and the SideKick was closer to being paid-off. how convenient for him). i didn’t want the damn car, so i traded it for a used Mercury Capri. easily half the car. another metaphor, while i’m at it. yes, i got half in the divorce settlement. i got half of the debt. in addition to $10,000 in credit card bills and very little to show for them, i ended up with an additional $10,000 loan for the car but i didn’t care. it was used, it was a convertible, and yes, it was a perfect little divorcee’ car. that car got me through 18 inches of snow, two blizzards, and a major flood. it took me half-way across the country several times, and was with me when i relocated from the Midwest, worked six months on a Task Force assignment in Utah, and eventually when i moved to the desert Southwest. i paid off that car, and gladly stood in line at the DMV twice so i could have the title changed to my maiden name.

so the favorite car i’ve ever had was that Mercury Capri. it represented the first of many changes in my life of which i am proud. i became independent. i became practical. i became financially secure. i eventually became a wife again, and after six and a half years of a successful marriage, i became a mother (of a child, not an ex-husband).

P.S. when the Capri died, i donated it to charity. i now drive Volkswagen Jetta (manual transmission, but a four-door sedan for the relative ease of a car seat). i paid for it out-right.

Punkin with pumpkins

i'm having a bad work outside the home day. i have been pissed off by the projects i am working on, the project managers i am working with, the clients i am working for, and the responsibilities and assignments that i have.

this is my screensaver. and it makes me smile.

at least they aren't known for efficiency

i heard el Jefe’ rustling around upstairs last night, specifically in the metal filing cabinet in the closet (drawers labeled “shit”, “more shit”, “legal shit” and “misc. shit”). my hearing is annoyingly good, which explains why i am a light sleeper, but not why i can’t get back to sleep. i digress. when asked what he was doing (when el Jefe’ was in the same room so we weren’t shouting across the house and so we wouldn’t wake the Punkin), he responded quite honestly that he was gathering old application information in order to apply for a promotion. no surprise. he works for the State. folks retire when they’re in the prime of their lives (bastards!) and then go have second careers and double-dip because they have pensions (bastards!). the retirement domino effect started in April this year and by about August it appeared the dominos could tumble in el Jefe’s path.

this promotion could require relocation. i gave el Jefe’ the go ahead months ago (but before i found a Peanut, so to speak). my company has an office within commuting distance. i could transfer. at the time, it sounded like a new and exciting change. but today, it sounds like a new and scary change.

i worry about Punkin’s daycare. i worry about leaving my very few friends, including Punkin’s godmother, the only baby sitter he has ever had (three times, i think). i worry about selling our house. i worry about my parents who currently live 10 miles from me, even though they don’t help me one iota, i guess i need to be close in case they need my help. i worry about living near a small airport, where it will cost a minimum of $400 to fly anywhere because it is a small airport. i worry that this will happen quickly and i’ll have to find new doctors and a new hospital. and i worry that i cannot voice these worries to el Jefe’ for fear that he will sacrifice a chance at advancement because i worry too much.

in the words and spirit of my good-natured, happy, laid-back husband: “We’ll see.”

foiled by a common printer

print this screen as a record of your order.

so i follow directions. and i’m a little paranoid about ordering things on-line. like the time i ordered underwear (panties) from Victoria’s Secret. i took advantage of a 5 for $25 sale with free shipping and ordered 10 pairs. i received a split shipment that totaled 9 pairs. bummer. one pair was back-ordered, and an actual human scribbled illegibly on the shipment ticket, so i feel as though i don’t have legitimate proof that i got shafted out of a pair of underwear. i’ve given up hope.

i ordered a couple items from JC Penney yesterday (on sale again, with free shipping). maternity items. a pair of petite jeans, a dirt cheap pair of capris, and a couple shirts. each and every item was clearly labeled as a maternity item. and a very nice, male, newbie engineer in my department beat me to the printer. not hard to do; it’s approximately six cubes away. he saw it. he read it.

uh-oh.

A is for aardvark

Punkin is truly a toddler. in the past month, one of his favorite requests has become “Again.” i had read about this desire for repetition, but it honestly snuck up on me. during a diaper change the day he turned 21-months-old, i sang “Happy Birthday” to him. (it really was “Happy Year and Nine Months Birthday” and “Happy One and ¾ Birthday”) i sang both versions several times because as soon as i finished, he asked, “Again?”

this weekend, el Jefe’ read/sang the “I’m a Little Teapot” book no less than three times in one day. i was blessed with “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish” twice in one sitting. whereas i can recite the Dr. Seuss “ABC Book” in my sleep, i don’t quite have “One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish” completely committed to memory (ingrained in my skull). and twice, el Jefe’ took the Punkin through his “A is for Apple” slide book.

Punkin has quite the vocabulary, although he occasionally mispronounces words. he used to ask for his woobie as “Ah-yee” but now he calls it his woobie. he used to know the word for spoon, but lately he has reverted to something closer to a form of balloon. he has words for octopus (“Oct-ee-pah”) and bicycle (“By-clah”). he really does very well at the beginning and end of the “A is for Apple” book. according to the book, “F” is for fox. twice, very clearly, Punkin said “F” is for fuck (pronounced “Fock” in Punkin language). i laughed until tears streamed down my face.

in honor of the letter “F”, these are just a couple of my selections from the Politically Incorrect Alphabet. you’ll have to check out what Mark Jones has chosen for the letter “F”.
"A" is for Arab, "B" is for Beer , "C" is for Cigarettes

vertically challenged

i’m 5’-5”. i used to say 5’-5 and ¾” because i was oh-so-close to being 5’-6”, but my posture isn’t stellar, and i’ve had two back surgeries, and achieving 5’-6” just isn’t in the realm of possibility anymore. i own two pairs of shoes with heals; they’re dress shoes, and as such they are worn only once or twice a year.

according to my inexact survey of women’s fashions (remember, i was born without the shopping gene) i am a midget.

last Sunday, i was determined to purchase a new pair of jeans. i had wandered through Target previously on more than one occasion in the past couple weeks, and it was apparent that my favorite store could not fulfill my dream. maternity, or just a size or two bigger than normal, every pair was just too long. by several inches. so i ventured to a local department store with reasonable prices and a petites section, armed with a 15% off coupon and lured by a “lowest prices of the season” advertisement. i selected four different pairs of jeans from the petites section, and two from maternity. size choices in the petites section were minimal, and in my current overweight state, nothing was even remotely acceptable, and i couldn’t go up a size because it wasn’t available. i normally wear a 6, or in a 30x30 in men’s. 8’s didn’t work, and 14’s were my next available option. maternity mediums were roomy in the waist (fortunately) but extremely too long. 3” stilettos would still require inches of hemming, and then i still would risk falling on my face regularly. i wandered to the women’s section, where they featured two store-brand styles that come in three different lengths: tall, average, and short.

i purchased a size 10 short. with the sale and discount coupon, they ended up being less than $15 (before tax). even in my growing state, i’ll get a couple weeks of wear out of them. all that said, they are still too long. ok, i’m wearing tennis shoes, but they’re dragging. i’ll only get a couple weeks of wear out of them because the backs will be trashed. short equals a 30” inseam. i measured them this morning (i am such an engineer.)

how can a woman who is 5’-5” be shorter than short?

found a Peanut

i met my new ob-gyn today. (and saw the Peanut via transvaginal ultrasound!) i totally did not expect the ultrasound … my previous doctor farmed that out. i told el Jefe’ not to bother accompanying me to the appointment; all i was expecting was a lot of paperwork and an exam. i filled out releases and medical histories for 35 minutes, and waited another 20. stepped on the scale (ugh! 147!), stuck out my arm for the blood pressure cuff (100/70), and peed in a cup. and then i met my new doctor, in his office, with my clothes on.

granted, i haven’t had a new ob-gyn in several years, but this surprised me. it was kind of nice to be treated professionally, without my big(ger) ass hanging out in the cold from the confines of a paper gown. at the end of the consultation, he asked if i came to the appointment alone … prelude to the first photo opportunity.

i’ve got so many risks it’s mind boggling. but i’ve got a Peanut, and only one Peanut, and it has a heart beat.

yet another club that won't have me as a member

it’s National Blog Posting Month!

as much as i’d love to participate, and i so appreciate the challenge, i cannot commit. the idea is great, the participants are numerous, and the prizes are enticing. i would even try to find a way to post on weekends. El Jefe’ is still unaware on this baby blog in its infancy, but i would risk his discovery. i’d get up early or stay up late, and if that didn’t work, i’d make up an excuse or (heaven forbid!) fess up. i haven’t shared this with him partly because he just doesn’t get the blog concept. i love him, anyway.

so i cannot blame el Jefe’ for my failure to registering to NaBloPoMo. i cannot blame the plethora of social obligations clogging my calendar (alas, they are few and far between). i cannot blame my regimented schedule of weekend chores. no, my excuse is a good thing: we are going on vacation!

it has been planned for a couple months. we have reservations. we purchased tickets (including full-price airfare for the Punkin … ouch!) we are spending a week on the lovely island of Kauai starting Thanksgiving Day. we are staying in a timeshare, although we own a home there. the house is an investment; a long-term rental. it was part of the five-year-plan to chuck it all here and relocate … but that was nearly four years ago, two years pre-Punkin. the five-year-plan has been extended or postponed indefinitely, but that just means the goal still exists, we are just unsure of the timing. so the house is a tax write-off, and has not quite reached money pit status (yet).

arriving in paradise on Thanksgiving Day is a bit of an unknown. there certainly is potential for adventure! there is some guilt associated with disappointing my parents, not sharing a turkey and way too many side dishes, but it isn’t the first time we played hooky on Thanksgiving. and we’re staying in a timeshare, which means we’ll be inundated with requests for a tour of the property, and we’d rather have root canals than sit through a presentation. and i was just notified that i could’ve saved $120 per ticket on airfare if i had just waited. and i don’t care. we are going on vacation! it has been a long 16 months.

so i can’t participate because i don’t have a laptop, and i don’t want to be a regular in the business center. not when i’m on vacation!

what does an elephant say?

last Thursday, a group of my coworkers participated in an annual charity event celebrating Halloween. prior to the event, we are asked to donate bags of Halloween candy (no gum, and new this year, no hard candies). we take about an hour in the afternoon and stuff little bags with Halloween candy. this year, we stuffed over 150 bags to be donated to Child Haven, part of the Clark County Department of Family Services that provides temporary housing, care and treatment for abused, neglected or abandoned children between 3 days and 18 years of age.

the majority of the candy bag stuffers were women, and moms. however, we were graced by the presence of a 40-year-old single, childless high maintenance bitch. said bitch first noted that we should be providing doggie treats … hold on, it wasn’t that bad. she was referring to a women’s shelter that allows pets. great concept, wrong charity. blah, blah, blah, we candy bag stuffers for the most part ignored her comment. then the conversation turned toward what our children were going to be for Halloween. i noted Punkin was going to be an elephant, as the Middle (with twins) provided two perfectly good hand-me-down costumes (the other one is a dragon or maybe a dinosaur) sized 12 to 24 months. my coworker with twins was featuring a baby Yoda and a baby Darth Vader as her husband is a Star Wars freak. (i offered the elephant and dragon costumes for her use next year.) another coworker with a toddler was dressing her son as Super Man (or boy, or toddler … suffice to say big “S” and muscles.) the 40-year-old, single, childless high maintenance bitch responded with (direct quote), “If you were a good mother, you would make your kid’s Halloween costumes.” my response was, “If you were a mother, you would know how mean that comment is.” ok, i went for the childless factor. not nice. but her comment was like a twisting knife in my stomach. she proceeded to describe how she makes Halloween costumes for her dogs. my response, “That’s because you have time.”

Punkin was very excited to put on his elephant costume this morning, until we put it on. “Off, Mommy.” real tears. that’s what makes me feel like a bad mother.

the grass is always greener

the weekend turned out worse than anticipated. in addition to the usual chores, we also cleaned the pool filters. normally, the filters are a quarterly ordeal. Sunday, they were cleaned out of necessity because it appeared the system was clogged. El Jefe’ stated if we called in a repairman, the first question asked would be if the filters were clean. we cleaned the filters, and el Jefe’ only had to make one trip for pool supplies, and now the system has pressure. the only trade-off was our time, and we weren’t able to carve jack-o-lanterns.

i awoke Sunday morning very early, stewing about our back yard, and wasn’t able to get back to sleep. we live in the desert. when we first “landscaped” our back yard in early 1998, less than half of the minimal square footage (not acreage by any means) was dedicated to grass. as the years passed, we made modifications to the landscaping, each time reducing the amount of lawn. by the time we built the pool in the fall of 2000, approximately 350 square feet of lawn remained. and since that time, we have struggled to keep those piddly 350 square feet alive. we have resodded at least once, maybe twice. ok, admittedly the lawn has not been fertilized in a couple years, and we religiously follow watering restrictions, which means occasionally we can be watering three times a week when daily temps are consistently in triple digits. i think approximately 20 square feet of lawn remains. the rest is dirt. and Punkin wanders across the dirt to get to that remaining patch of grass.

i broached this subject with el Jefe’ during breakfast Sunday morning. we have resodded before, but obviously it was unsuccessful. that was pre-Punkin, when we had more than two hours a day to labor together. i am convinced the ground needs to be tilled, regraded, and additional top soil added. i offered to pay to hire someone to do it. El Jefe’ doesn’t want to spend the money, even if it is my money. and he doesn’t lose sleep over it, either. he has offered his weekend time to accomplish the lawn replacement. so now, instead of spending Saturdays working overtime at his paying job, he’ll work Saturdays at home in the backyard.

ok. i’m a cynic. i predict we’ll have 40 square feet of lawn this time next year.

happy (kind of) friday

for most people, Friday signifies the beginning of the weekend. two days that you don’t have to go to the office. two days that you don’t have to “dress for success”, whatever that means. to me, it signifies the beginning of two days of chores. i relish the fact that i don’t have to shower and wear clothes that are professionally acceptable. i do not miss speaking to clients for two days. but there are things i dread. the tedium. i water my plants at work on Fridays. by the time Friday rolls around, i’ve all ready done a couple loads of laundry. i try to get another one completed on Friday, so i have more time to do several on Saturday. and there’s usually a straggler load that must be completed on Sunday. if we have fresh fruits and vegetables, i prepare and freeze food for the Punkin Saturday morning. i do this in between diaper changes, books, and toys that frustrate him. i do dishes after every meal and snack, or four times each weekend day. we go to the grocery store, typically as a family; if el Jefe’ goes into work Saturday morning, we go to the store Saturday afternoon or Sunday morning. if i need to shop for Punkin, or a present, we either squeeze it in before the grocery run, or save it for the other day. after the grocery store, i prepare and freeze food for the Punkin. we try to take the Punkin on an outing each weekend. sometimes we make it to the park twice, sometimes only once. when the weather was warm (hot) we swam in the pool. last weekend i was nauseated 24/7, so the best i could manage was a trip to the mailbox, and a walk around the block with Punkin on his tricycle. when Punkin is napping, we pick up dog shit, clean the pool, iron, and sometimes i get a glorious nap. i water the plants at home on Sundays. and there are occasional phone calls and visits.

although that was a long rambling paragraph, and not necessarily all inclusive, it doesn’t seem like much. but it completely consumes the weekend. frankly, other than the time dedicated to Punkin, it’s not a lot of fun.

who in their right mind dreads the weekend?

bringing tears to my eyes again

it seems a lot of folks who spill their guts in their blogs are depressed. or have been depressed. or are suffering from depression. or are medicated. or are in remission. it is something i share (in terms of the disease) yet something i don’t really talk about (in terms of sharing my experiences). been there, done that, better, but just hanging on. i have reasons to live, now, which makes things a little easier, but i have the disease. if i don’t think about it, i don’t consider medication an option in my current state. if i don’t think about it, i don’t worry that Punkin will suffer with this disease. if i don’t think about it, i don’t consider the prospect of el Jefe’ being a single parent.

Heather featured this article from the Times-Picayune today. it hit me as hard as Scott Adam’s Good News Day.

bringing tears to my eyes

i think this is a day or two old. i found it through Jason Kottke, where i am never disappointed by what i find. art, science, politics … an incredible eclectic mix. the story itself is heartwarming and interesting in its own right, and then you add Scott Adams, creator of Dilbert, an ICON in the engineering community.

i lost it several times during the comments. there are plenty of opportunities to lose it (i believe there are over 900 comments.) i just normally don’t put sarcasm and wit in the same package as heart-rending, tear-jerking affirmations of love, happiness, and hope.

i think i need to read this everyday. or maybe its just raging hormones.

speaking softly without the big stick

thank you Crazy Hip Blog Mamas for including me on your blogroll. i seriously began to doubt my limited tech-savvy skills, figuring i couldn’t even copy and paste correctly. then i figured, oh well, i’ll keep this up. i may be talking to myself, but it is an outlet and infinitely more socially acceptable.

i had a diary as a kid. it was covered in pink faux leather and had a little gold lock and key. i think i left the key attached to the latch, for fear of losing it. i was trusting back then. (that was before i confirmed my mother steamed open my mail, incoming and outgoing, to and from the Middle and my junior high friends from summer camp. i knew enough and threatened her with the Federal offense she was committing. Loving relationship, eh?) i recall the diary was a fad, that i diligently made daily entries for maybe a week or two, and then eventually i lost interest. even when journaling was recommended by a professional for my psyche, in the days i was so eager to please adults and authority figures that i was a freaking anorexic, i still lost interest. there is very little documented evidence of my thoughts, my dreams, my stories. that’s ok. as much as i would like to make a difference in this life, i’ve come to realize when i make my mark, it will be rather silently and touch a select few.

i’ve got a good husband and a great kid. if that’s the best i can do, it’s still pretty damn good.

just do it

i haven’t cut my hair in over a year. just slightly over a year. October 8, 2005 to be exact. the occasion was that my entire family was in the same state, in the same town, at the same time in something like seven years. there had been a marriage, and four children born in those seven years. we gathered together, the twelve of us, to commemorate the event with an informal family portrait. i left work early that Friday to get a hair cut. Great Clips. just cut it so i can still put it in a ponytail. i lost several inches, i was still able to pull my hair back into a ponytail, and probably most importantly, i did not end up with an embarrassing “do” in the family photo, but it was nothing to write home about.

over a year later, and i am still wearing my hair in a pony tail. i could braid it, if i had an extra fifteen minutes and the patience to do so. i think i can count on one hand the number of times i have worn my hair down in the past year. but i still want to be able to get it out of my face. and i still remember the days a hundred years ago when my age was in single digits, and the hairstyle my parents approved of invoked “Sonny, this is the Ladies Room” when i entered a public restroom. cruel, and obviously it made an impression on me.

i really want to cut it. i want to have an easy, carefree hairstyle. i don’t want to spend any more time on chick maintenance. i gave up the hair dryer when i was in high school. i gave up coloring the grey when i was in my 20’s. i want smart, sassy mom hair that does not scream “OVER 40!” and i don’t want my face to look fat.

El Jefe’ has offered to be a guest stylist at the Klampett Family Salon, but the attachments just don’t go that high for my taste, and knowing my luck i have big dents in my unknowingly misshapen head.

ugh. vanity.

social occasion anxiety

Punkin was invited to his first birthday party yesterday, other than family and his own. it’s a Curious George-themed second birthday party for a girl in his class. (an older woman!) she has been at Punkin’s day care since he started, and that i’ve discovered is rather rare. the kids seem to come and go and the weird thing is, some come back after being away a month or two. it makes me wonder about the parents’ circumstances, but it really is none of my business. and the teacher turn-over crisis was limited to his eight-month adventure in the DragonFly room.

i rsvp’d around lunchtime today. i secretly hoped no one would be home and i could just leave a message. antisocial chickenshit. i believe her mom answered. she acted happy that we would be attending. i asked if we could bring anything special. she said she had everything handled; she’d pick up the cake in the morning, and we were having cheese and meat snacks and grapes. she asked if that was ok. of course! Punkin will eat just about anything … perhaps the rumor of being vegetarian precedes me.

i went to Target over lunch and i had no clue where to begin. i mistakenly started by looking for a pair of jeans for myself and fortunately gave up after perusing a sale rack or two. no, not maternity jeans (not yet!), but suffice to say with my lack of the shopping gene, i’ll try to squeeze into the ones i have for the next week or two. i ventured into toys, thinking something would strike me that was not too girly and age appropriate. yeah, right. i didn’t want said gift to be too educational, as i didn’t want to seem too preachy as a parent (and a first-time parent at that). i didn’t want said gift to be too noisy (i know better. noisy gifts are given by childless aunts and uncles and grandparents.) and not too expensive, but again, i hadn’t a clue what is the appropriate amount to spend. i opted for a Curious George book, and small stuffed Curious George, which is rated for 3+ but hey! it goes with the theme, right? and a gift receipt.

i’m certain neither Punkin nor the birthday girl have this much anxiety and self doubt brought on by the occasion. and i hope they never do.

i'm a Toys R' Us kid

as i was washing dishes, i happened to notice our stainless steel kitchen sink is stained. coffee stains. kind of a henna patina. the sink is only a year and a half old, and stainless steel, and therefore should not be stained. we had to replace it when Punkin was only a couple weeks old. it started with a leaky faucet, dripping faucet, soaking the cabinets faucet. trust me, you really need a working kitchen sink when you have an infant. when el Jefe’ started the project, i knew we were in for numerous trips to Home Depot, because no home improvement project is complete in a single trip. it’s a fact of nature. and home improvement projects require many beers … don’t start unless you’ve got a 12-pack in the fridge. we opted to replace the extremely worn white porcelain sink in addition to the faucet. in order to get the sink to fit, we bought a special diamond blade to cut the granite counter tops (second trip). fortunately, we were able to borrow the accompanying tool for the special blade. the third trip was for a colored compound to patch the granite, which wasn’t available at Home Depot, but Lowe’s had something, although both establishments recommended we call in a granite expert. what patron who shops at Home Depot or Lowe's actually has access to a granite expert? in the end, all was right in the universe because the home improvement project took three trips and looks less than perfect.

so the stainless steel sink is stained. rather unremarkable. but at that moment, i realized it is my sink, and not the sink in my parents’ home. (of course not. my mother would never allow her sink, stainless or not, to be stained. obviously she spends more time cleaning up after her cleaning lady than i do.) i am a homeowner. technically, i don’t own my home but i’ve been paying mortgages since the early 90’s. the feeling was not one of satisfaction, or accomplishment, or security. it was more of the realization that i’m supposed to be a grown-up.

not recognizing myself: part 2

so i’m approaching week 9, or something like that. i know when you’re supposed to start counting, but it defies logic, especially because you start counting before conception. and i’m really not counting, because it still seems unreal, and i haven’t been to the doctor yet. i had a miscarriage in 2000. Thanksgiving weekend in the year 2000, to be exact. at the time i’d all ready had my first appointment, but i think the miscarriage occurred a week or so later, in my 10th week. when i was pregnant with the Punkin, i remember my first appointment was around week 11 and i commented that i had never made it that far before. so as i wait for my first appointment, i think about the days and weeks and wonder if i’ll make it to that first appointment. and then i know at that first appointment i’ll be scheduling an amnio and ultrasound, and then it will be real. real scarey, because there is more waiting for test results.

i let myself go the past couple months. maybe i can blame the Clomid? sounds like a good excuse. but the fact of the matter is most of my pants don’t fit. all ready. i saved nearly all my maternity clothes, so i’ve got a dated wardrobe in boxes, but i’m afraid to break into them just yet. once i do, my more astute coworkers will know my secret, and i’ll have to wear the same clothes for the next 7 months. most of the shirts and sweaters are pretty universal, but shirts are not the problem. the pants are not universal. i’ve got a couple potato sack-shaped jumpers to get me through a couple days a week, but i’m having a hard time finding the motivation to shave my legs and the weather is turning cooler. i guess i can resort to tights.

these are not the whinings of a self-proclaimed low-maintenance woman.

paying the price

milkin' it. a day for me.

el Jefe' said i was still running a fever this morning. i couldn't get my act together quick enough to take a shower. i wore a shirt from yesterday. i noticed my pants had a stain on them, though i thought they were clean. so i dropped off Punkin at school, and got a decaf white mocha and a donut on the way home. i finished a book, which i'm pretty sure i had read before. couldn't have been that bad; i couldn't remember the ending. i watched a movie or two on cable, made myself an egg salad sandwich, and made two batches of food for Punkin (apple sauce and yams).

however, it was not without cost. earlier this year, el Jefe' and i attended a wedding for some friends of ours. a real wedding, where the bride's parents fork out a bunch of dough! a real wedding, where the bride and groom registered for gifts! we opted for steak knives (two sets) as a gift. i recalled some old tradition about knives and pennies and weddings (but not much else), and as we are friends with both the bride and the groom, the patently female gifts didn't seem right, and i wasn't about to get them a set of sheets. this wedding gift inspired el Jefe' to replace our divorce-wear knives. most of the divorce-wear knives still matched, but through wear and tear we ended up with a very extensive set of butter knives. none were weapons. no danger of cutting an appendage, much less the meat or vegetable in need of slicing.

the divorce-wear knives were replaced with "the best knives ever made" according to the saleswoman at Dillard's. el Jefe' has cut himself a time or two, but so far i've used them without incident. until today. i was cleaning a knife from yam production, which doesn't need to be sharp to cut through cooked yam, but there is not a designated yam knife in the set. i sliced my thumb. i looked at it, voiced an obscenity, and proceeded to slice through my index finger. the cuts were inconveniently located, so that pressing my thumb and index finger together made one digit bleed more. i eventually got the bleeding slowed down such that holding my hand above my head did the trick.

other than that, it was a good day.

slow motion without additional insight

i'm so tired.

i don't feel well. scratchy throat. fever and chills. i don't want the Punkin to get this. with all my procrastination, dissatisfaction at work, and lack of achievement, how can i continue to function with less?

is it depression? is it the pregnancy? so many questions (and question marks) and no answers. no enthusiasm. i recall folks saying i was very mellow when i was pregnant with the Punkin. even-keel. el Jefe' was amazed/impressed at how i handled stress during those months. i don't remember being this tired, this exhausted. certainly my career and emotions were in a different place. a different time. it all seems so long ago.

i did get through the bitch receptionist at my gyn-ob's office. i actually left two messages, one with the bitch and one with another glorious soul, saying that i needed to speak to my doctor about my prescription for Clomid. (it was generic Clomid, and my crappy insurance didn't cover one red cent of the $5 pill.) he prescribed it because my hormones were out of sync and i was having excessive bleeding. i guess it worked. anyway, he suggested a handful of doctors including one he was in practice with for a couple years. i have an appointment in a little over two weeks, and i was told he'll accept my crappy insurance.

i'm slightly relieved.

a recluse without the cats

i went to a conference for the past day and a half. it was a technical conference, and for the most-part, i was bored to tears. the topics were as dry as they get in the engineering realm. the speakers were painful to listen to between monotone delivery and English as a second language. i did not socialize at the social hour, nor during the breaks, nor in the hallway when roughly half of the other participants were out there socializing because they were bored to tears as well. i spoke to less than a handful of people. and i spoke to very few of my coworkers.

why am i so distant? ok, i wasn’t about to get all liquored up at the social hour, but that only explains two of the twelve hours of opportunity. yes, i’ve got a secret that i don’t care to share right now, but it has to be so much more than that. am i afraid my job dissatisfaction will show, will blurt out inappropriately like an obscenity from someone possessed with tourettes? and do i care if it shows? how can i not be miserable? is it only my paying job outside the home, or is it more?

is it me?

tv or not tv

i miss the second nap.

lately, it seems, Punkin misses it too. after el Jefe' picked him up from school (daycare), Punkin would get an hour or so nap before dinner. i'd come home, enter our home quietly, and hear the tv (news). the front door would be unlocked because Punkin was in his crib and it was safe to have the front door unlocked (no escaping!). i could deal with my many bags, my purse, my gym bag and wet bathing suit, and my important bag of shit (brief case). i could change my clothes alone. it's not like i could sit and read, decompress, but i didn't have to be instantly on my mom game.

Punkin doesn't get to watch tv, and probably won't for another year. the tv (or two) is constantly on at my parents' house, but we work to distract him from rotting his brain. the two times it has been on in our home while he was awake were for a little Super Bowl party with my parents, and for a recent Monday Night Football game when i was out of town on travel. i've read it's potentially linked to ADD, or ADHD, and really, Punkin is amused without it. he plays with toys, or we read books, or we go outside and watch for airplanes or motorcycles.

i'm not big on network tv. i get the deer in the headlight stare and nod when my coworkers and colleagues talk about 24, or the Amazing Race, or American Idol, or whatever. i don't think i'm missing out on anything particularly entertaining. but i rarely get to see a movie on cable from beginning to end. it usually takes three viewings to see an entire film. we've been to a movie theater once since he was born. we got advanced tickets to a matinee of Pirates of the Caribbean 2, but i had to leave before the end of the movie fearing they'd be holding Punkin for ransom at daycare because i was late.

so i miss the mind-numbing effects of tv on myself, and the escape that a film can bring.

and the last half-hour before Punkin's bedtime is occasionally dangerously close to melt-down. and i physically have to wake him up in the morning. i'm not sure it's because it gets light later, or he's not getting enough sleep.

i want more sleep even though my body is pretty much incapable of 8 hours a day. i want my mind to be empty. i just want to relax.

no title

i have yet to post a photo in my profile. i have to admit i am not very photogenic, and having low self esteem does not help, either. i take great pride in that i am low maintenance, no hair dryer, no make-up, haven’t colored the grey in fifteen years … i wish i looked better, but i obviously have not invested the time, effort, or money into the products. at least el Jefe’ doesn’t seem to mind (he thinks i’m cute, and it is part of my character) and at this point Punkin doesn’t know enough to judge. eventually i’ll find something to post.

the lack of a photo in my profile is part of the anonymity. i haven’t told a soul i’ve started this blog, including el Jefe’. i’m not sure how i would explain my comments to friends or family. i currently control the tidbits of my life i share with them, and those that i share in this blog, and the sets are mutually exclusive. i also have lost touch with the majority of my past, probably consciously. i haven’t been to a single high school reunion, and doubt i ever will. i’m about as happy as i’ve ever been in my life, which isn’t saying much, except i was miserable growing up and have no desire to turn back time and relive my childhood, my teen age years, or high school, or college, or my first marriage. i’m not ashamed of who i was back then, nor am i ashamed of who i am now even though i still don’t know what i want to be when i grow up. mostly, i’m not interested in them.

no face. no name. no audience.

tick tock

time is so precious. every second that ticks by is gone. forever. irretrievable. yet i can waste it, consume it, regularly, especially and nearly exclusively during the work day (my paying job outside the home). this was never a problem before Punkin, before i became a mom. now i can piddle away a day, five days, with very little to show for it. i don’t have an excessive amount of guilt because i have given (gift, donation) over the past twenty years of my career. i also see those who have given far less over the span of far fewer years, who seem happy (happy!) and seem to be able to look themselves in the mirror every morning. i rationalize that being a slacker is acceptable. i do not blame Punkin; he represents more of a milestone in my lack of career motivation that the instigator.

clocks used to tick. i used to have a “digital” alarm clock in my bedroom that clicked as the minutes changed. now the minutes disappear silently. i’ve never been able to control the passage of time. maybe that used to be a desire, a secret wish of mine, but like the majority of the aspects of my life, i’ve given up.

realistic? laid-back? or slacker?

don't let the price fool you

i just finished reading “Plays Well with Others” by Allan Gurganus. he writes about a writer who is given blue thank-you notes as his departing gift from North Carolina/welcoming gift upon entering New York. he discusses what it is to be a writer, and as a side-bar, what a thank-you note should contain.

that is about the extent of my writing: thank-you notes. i contributed to a continuing short story with some fellow campers before i was a teenager, and wrote some depressed poetry when i was in high school, but the only writing i do on a regular basis are some very thoughtful thank-you notes. (this bog doesn’t count because it is still in its infancy, and again, i cannot put myself in the category of writer due to lack of self esteem, audience, and the fact i have been an engineer too damn long). my mother drilled it into my head that the least you can do is send a thank-you note. i do it out of obligation, but i do take some pride in my thank-you notes. my father-in-law (who happens to be in the newspaper business) compliments them at least yearly so i must be doing something right.

Punkin’s shower and subsequent birth announcement resulted in the most thank-you notes in my history. (maybe there were more gifts after my first wedding? my second marriage was legalized at a drive-thru, which tends to result in very few guests and gifts, but this one (the second, to el Jefe’) has lasted longer and is way more fun.) anyway, i sent out birth announcements for the shock value, and ended up getting gifts in return. my minutes out of the house with a newborn consisted of a stroll to the mail box. every package brought a new sense of terror. quit sending gifts to me (my kid)! i’m trying to breast feed and stay sane while sleep-deprived, and now you’ve made me guilt-ridden by sending me (my kid) a gift and i have to write a thank-you note somewhere in between the three-hour wake, eat, play, sleep increments of the next twenty-four hours or so. looking back, it was slightly irrational, but very demonstrative of my OCD tendencies.

the psoup un-trademarked thank-you note template:

Dear Xxxx,
Thank you for the adjective yyyy. It is such an adjective gift. I’ve needed/wanted one for quite awhile now. Your kindness and generosity are greatly appreciated.
Insert paragraph about tedious mundane details in your life like weather/job/chores, etc. if space allows.
Again, thank you for the adjective yyyy. It was so thoughtful of you to remember/commemorate the occasion.
Love to you – Zzzz.

i don’t know if that meets Allan Guganus’ criteria, but it’s the least you can do.

just psoup is just ok

i'm home.

Punkin is sound asleep. el Jefe' went back into work tonight. he needs to work this weekend. he feels guilty. i guess i can understand it from the male ego perspective, and he not only cares about his job outside the home, he enjoys it. (novel concept!) seems like we live our lives in shifts. certainly a schedule, but not one of our own. he'll work, i'll do laundry, we'll get groceries, and it's time once again to open the Klampett family salon (for el Jefe')!

i've tried to be a little introspective, but i didn't discover any answers. i'm not the happiest person, never was. i share lack of happiness, low self esteem and depression with the best of them. is this the commonality shared by tortured writers? and how dare i even consider myself among a category of women, moms, writers? i have a uterus, a kid, and a baby blog, but i work full time outside the home, haven't taken meds in 10 years or been counseled in 5, and haven't had the nerve to post a photo in my profile or register my blog. i don't even have a flickr account. loser!

but i post pretty regularly, despite six planes, two hotels and three time zones this week. that's gotta count for something.

seven hours from now ...

at 5:55 am (pacific time) this morning, a glob of toothpaste plumetted to the lapel of my black silk shirt. i have this great AquaFresh toothpaste (Extreme Clean) that i take on travel. it came as a sample with the newspaper one day. i'm so happy it is under 3 oz. and i have a quart-size clear plastic bag. it's very pepperminty (extremely, you could say). i don't do spearmint. yuck.

i tried approximately 4 times to soak the toothpaste glob out of my black silk shirt. i finally gave up.

we worked from 6:30 am straight through our lunchtime presentation. i dribbled alfredo sauce on my pants, just in case the toothpaste was lonely, then off to the airport. i got on the standby lists because the thought of arriving in the midwest at midnight local time was less than pleasant. i succesfully negotiated both lists, but flights were running late (a half-hour here, and hour there) ... so now it is midnight in the midwest. i didn't have time for airport food and i was actually looking forward to the snack box. i even had a five in my pocket. no such luck, but my consolation was that the flight was only an hour long. Fritos, cashews, peanut M&M's, and the banana that i pocketed at breakfast comprised my dinner. i realize no one cares to read about my meals, but it appears no one cares to read about my life, either.

this is the glamor of a mom who works outside the home.

the oh so nice man who is my boss on these audit trips asked if i was interested in his position as he is retiring in two and one-quarter years. i thought it was funny that he referred to the time that way, but then i still refer to Punkin's age in months. maybe that will change when he (Punkin) turns two, and maybe that will change when the oh so nice man is only two years away from retirement ... maybe he'll start counting the months. i was flattered and maybe a little tempted. but i can't think about my life two and one-quarter years from now. i can't think of my life eight months from now, or thirty-three weeks from now. i can barely plan ahead for my next meal (obviously).

no wait. it will be a five dollar "complimentary" breakfast at the hotel. aren't you impressed?

the downside of access

i felt relieved at the end of today's 11-hour work day. turns out we are meeting at 6:00 am tomorrow to get ready for the day's festivities, concluding with a lunchtime presentation. then it's to the airport for my two-legged flight to the Midwest. approximate ETA midnight. at least i'm supposed to have free high-speed internet at the next hotel on my tour. yippee skippy.

i handled some home office project work this morning, the unrewarding roadway project that never ends. my own little purgatory. final plans over and over and over. stupid questions; stupid requests. my favorite was from my boss, copied on the e-mail chain: can you (me) schedule a meeting about this next week? i'm the one that's out of town, clocking long days, with no access to files, and limited access to telephone and e-mail during normal business hours. sure, you bet, i'll schedule a meeting. it took the client project manager, Doofus, FOUR tries to send out the correct Outlook calendar appointment. is it any wonder why this project cannot go to construction? and Doofus's boss, Kenny Loggins, is asking me to evaluate something as complicated as parting the Red Sea. 1) i have no idea how it is done. 2) i have no idea why you would want to do it. and you want to know how much it will cost to part the Sea, and when the Sea can by parted by next week. jesus. maybe he can help.

i think the highlight of my day was the cookies. yes, multiple cookies. a chocolate chip, an oatmeal raisin, and two snickerdoodles with sprinkles. i'm not drinkin', and the folks i'm with don't order dessert, and i haven't found a vending machine, so i have resorted to this.

four cookies and still no miracle.

an antidepressant analogy

it just wasn't any fun today.

i have a hard time sleeping in hotels. the temperature is either too warm and stuffy or too cold. the ventilation system is too loud. the tv is too bright. i cannot coordinate my use of pillows (too many, and i suffer from a stiff neck from the tower; just one is a pancake). so i didn't get a good night's sleep and i was wide awake at 5 am.

the work day went from 7 to 7. finding files, reviewing files, interviewing project managers, logging results, and establishing ratings per the checklists and guidelines. it is not difficult, but it was nearly 12 hours of information overload. i had a hard time acting positive and enthusiastic. i have homework. and i just want to go to bed.

usually i am rejuvenated in a career-sense by these trips. new enthusiastic faces, different projects, and a sense of satisfaction. so far, i'm not feeling it. i'm dreading the next leg of my journey; two flights through two time zones for an all day meeting regarding the awards program on Friday. and you'd think i'd be all energized by the hotel's free high-speed internet that i connected to on the first try!

the up-side is lost, rather like a trazadone/pamelor/zoloft-induced haze. this is functioning without the fun.

not recognizing myself: part 1

how did i go from being a workaholic, driven overachiever to the slacker that i’ve become? i used to be consumed with my paying job, my projects, my assignments. i used to do it on salary, and when projects allowed, i used to do it on overtime. overdrive. ten hours a day. six and sometimes seven days a week. i could focus, and would focus on perfection. and i found some reward, some satisfaction in my projects, my work products, and my paycheck. i honest to God felt euphoric after a submittal, and got goose-bumps driving by one of my projects under construction.

when i first came back to work (paying job) after 12 weeks of leave after Punkin was born, i came back full time. i was in the office four days a week (i used to stay at home with the Punkin on Wednesdays). i’d work longer days (longer than the standard 8 to 5), try to get in an hour or two on Wednesdays, and an hour or two on the weekends. then i found it hard to get any work done at home. i continued to bring work home, and at first i felt guilty, and then i stopped caring. i used to describe myself as being an ok mom and an ok engineer. and somewhere down the line, i stopped caring when i was in the office. i don’t care about the projects and the work products, as long as they get done (and just done. no perfection here). i honestly feel as though i’m just doing time.

i don’t see any light at the end of the tunnel in terms of hope at getting that spark back. i don’t know if i even want it back. in light of a potential sibling for Punkin, my only motivation is just to ride it out. i know i am incapable of being a stay-at-home mom (as i feel just barely capable of being a mom). but how am i going to continue this zombie-shuffle through my life?

P.S. el Jefe’ couldn’t help but notice my abstinence from alcohol this weekend (other than Mom Beer, aka Old Milwaukee NA). he is psyched and happy and looking forward to Punkin being a big brother.