You are currently browsing the monthly archive for October 2007.
Our (relatively speaking) new laptop battery holds a charge for less than 30 minutes.
This, my friends, is not enough time to get myself into gear for quality blogging.
I can–and do, often–surf while standing in the kitchen, when I should be tending to the dishes or the children’s food or some such.
But for writing, I like to park myself on the couch, proverbially crack my knuckles, and think and write and all that jazz.
So the less than 30 minutes, it’s Teh Sucky.
Until we find out if our Ebay seller is worth his salt and is willing to exchange, hope you all are having a decent Monday.
But:
- Taxman is coming home today from his client conference. Which is excellent. But I have to say, this year’s absence was a lot easier than last year’s.
- All things considered, I slept quite well. Better, I daresay, than when I go to bed and am just drifting off when Taxman comes in and I stupidly begin to talk to him. That always sets me back by a good half hour.
- AM has been in his own bed, with very little resettling required, until 2:30. A whole week of this and we might be able to stretch him until 4:00 or later. This would be a Whole New Era!
- I took AM to our pediatrician yesterday. I love her. I even stopped at Dunkin’ Donuts on the way so I could get breakfast (not the healthiest, but whatever), knowing that she was likely to quiz me on my most recent meal and night’s sleep. I mean that in the best of ways. She thinks I should get a medal for my sleep woes. I just want my memory back, because I find myself grasping for words a lot.
- I went in worrying about his (nonexistent) speech, his 18 month vaccinations, and poop. Of course, there’s always poop.
- I came out reassured that he is not autistic, given the signing and attachment and all, but nonetheless tabled his booster vaccinations until he’s speaking.
- But now I have a whole new thing to worry about–almost flat weight gain over the past three months. In combo with his poop particulars. So we’re going to have him worked up for celiac.
- I am not not not thinking about a non-verbal toddler and an endoscopy. Not.
- My mom is coming tomorrow night.
- The house is a wreck. Of course.
- Unfortunately when she arrives the kids will be sleeping so they will not be able to serve as distractions to said wreck.
- Maybe I will ply her with cake and hope she doesn’t notice.
- I have Vegan Chocolate Gingerbread in the oven right now.
- I love Moosewood.
- If I could eat anything I’d so go there over a place like Peter Luger. Hands down. Even though I am not a vegetarian.
- Where was I? I lost my train of thought. Good thing it’s bullets! Ha!
- Miss M announced the other day that she was a princess.
- She picked that up at school.
- Sigh.
- And now I must really fold laundry.
Yesterday I became a woman. Again.
For the first time in more than four years (four years!), I got my period. I had the PMS over a week ago–serious bloating, cramps, general ick, breakouts, nursing tenderness, yada yada–so I was wondering what the hell was going on.
So it’s good and it’s bad.
Good: Our current method of birth control is working. When I had the PMS and nothing to show for it, I was a little freaky because my pregnancy with AM kind of felt the same way for a while.
Also good: Said birth control makes things rather short and sweet, as it were.
Also good: Now when various and sundry medical professionals ask for my LMP, I don’t have to explain that yes, I mean August of 2003, and yes, I’ve had two children since then.
Bad: This, I cannot explain right now. Maybe when I know you better. In like 10 or 15 years. Oh, ok. Maybe five.
Twice in the past few days I’ve had a couple of odd moments, one relatively shallow and one very deep.
Last night I was at an open house for a potential school choice for Miss M next year. It was really an introduction to the entire school (which goes through 8th grade), its philosophies and quirks. They did not, of course, mention the tuition, which is astronomical.
But I sat in on the “intro to general studies” (as opposed to the pep talk on their Judaic studies, which I attended in another session) with a second grade teacher. I loved, loved, loved my second grade teacher. I actually had her twice–for second grade and also for reading when I was in first grade because I was pulled out for part of the day and put in her class. (This was my educator-mom’s deal with the principal that kept me in public school. Apparently overwhelmed, novice first grade teachers and smart, uppity, well-read six-year-olds don’t mesh all that well.)
Anyway, the second grade teacher who spoke last night was completely bubbly with enthusiasm. I am sure she was handpicked among the dozen teachers who could have given the presentation for just that reason. But beyond that, I was fixated on the “daily schedule” posted on the board. Wedged somewhere between Recess and Writing Workshop was a yellow card with red letters, spelling “D.E.A.R. Time.” After the session was over, I approached the teacher (who can’t be more than two years older than I am) and said, “D.E.A.R ?”
“Drop Everything And Read,” she replied.
“I think I love you,” I said. To a stranger. But one who was channeling Ramona Quimby. So how could I not????
I wonder if Miss M could do second grade at age four. Hmm. Probably not. Could I do it over at 33?
The second person who I want to just hug and thank from the very bottom of my heart is Martha Beck. I am generally pretty “eh” on the topic of life coaching and things of that nature. I don’t read O Magazine. I had never heard of her before. But I ordered her memoir Expecting Adam from PaperbackSwap. And read it in about three days, which is pretty much a miracle in itself.
It’s funny and sad and perspective-changing if you read it all the way through. There are a lot of interesting thoughts about parenting and just personhood in general. But she had me pegged at page 58:
One of the great myths of our society is that when women are left with small children, they are not alone. The truth is that a mother left with babies is far more alone than she would be without them; every bit of energy, attention, protectiveness, and care she might use to meet her own needs must first be directed toward the needs of her children.
There, in black and white, from the mind of someone else, is a rational explanation of how I can think that cheese crackers and cold tea are acceptable sustenance for myself.
At the same time, though, it saddens me to think that there are so many of “us” like that–I mean here, where I am, living in my neighborhood, wheeling strollers to the park–and I can’t seem to really connect to any of them. What am I doing wrong and how can I stop it?
At the dinner table, over baked ziti, I said to AM, “You’re in a bit of a pickle!”
Miss M looked up and said, “I’m a pickle!”
Uh. Ok.
Ironically, she doesn’t even like pickles.
Seriously.
Breakfast took an hour as she dawdled over yogurt with Cheerios. She likes them separately but put them together. Again. Even though she knows she doesn’t like it. So I made her finish if she wanted a snack before lunch. (The amount of waste around here drives me wild.)
It took her so long to clean up her toys before our lunch company came she didn’t get to go out to the playground.
As we were all gathering at the table, she remained in the kitchen, reached up to the counter (a big no-no in our house), and knocked a pitcher of strawberry soup to the floor. Ok, it was a plastic pitcher and only half-full. But still. (Aside to 3d and Shanna: No.Cut.Paper.Towels!) Even before I got there she was hysterical, socks bloodied with soup.
She was cranky and clingy. She was mean to AM. She was so whiny I actually checked to make sure her fever from Wednesday had returned. (She wasn’t sick, though.)
She barreled into AM accidentally-on-purpose at the park, knocking him to the ground and causing our swift exit.
I shipped her to shul with Taxman at 5:30 because I was feeling mean myself.
It was a relief for everyone, I think, as it grew dark and bedtime arrived.
I hope everyone gets up on the right side of the bed tomorrow! Maybe in Australia…
Just tired.
You’d think with all the hours I am awake in a day/week/month I’d have more to show for it.
I didn’t like either of the books I had to read for October (Accidents by Yael Hedaya and White Noise by Don DeLillo). I read Three Junes by Julia Glass in between, just for kicks (liked it but felt as if I might have been emotionally manipulated), but have no one with whom to discuss it.
I read four pages of a November book last night (Spectacular Happiness by Peter Kramer) and found myself restless and impatient already. This does not bode well. But maybe I shouldn’t have started it at 11pm.
Meanwhile I keep collecting books from Paperback Swap that get shunted to the side. It’s kind of sad that two novels a month is totally kicking my ass and eating up all my reading time.
On the other hand, a lot of moms have no idea how I am managing two books clubs in the first place.
Hey, a girl’s gotta have goals.
Parenting in the age of Moxie is a whole new ballgame.
It’s 95% blessing, 5% curse. So you know what’s coming, but oh, crap, now it’s here and it’ll be over soon, but for right now it’s here.
Today AM is 18 months. And boy, is he ever. Everything’s gone to hell: Sleeping, which wasn’t great to begin with. Pooping–don’t ask, but ewww, gross. Eating, which has recently consisted of a lot of throwing things on the floor with great glee and very little actual food consumption. There are the temper tantrums, styled completely after Miss M’s. A lot of twisting during diaper changes, thrashing during teeth brushing, and oh, the demands!
But the demands are so cute it is hard to say no. Throwing books into your lap and nodding animatedly. Pointing at the stereo in hopes of hearing the siren song of his beloved, Laurie Berkner. Opening the fridge and attempting to vault to the shelf where we keep the grapes.
Actually, I could do without the fridge climbing.
The other night, after a long day of corralling and swing pushing and reading and nursing and squawk interpreting, I related my tribulations to Taxman.
“All he wants to eat are grapes,” I whined. “He won’t eat anything else. I thought maybe he just didn’t want to sit in the highchair, so I let him wander around with a cup of rotini. He ate two, dumped it on the floor, and started playing with it.”
“Won’t he eat when he’s hungry?”
“Yes, but only grapes.” I started to giggle at this point and he joined me. “Seriously, I think that’s pretty much the only thing he ate today. Oh…he also ate a cheese stick.”
We laughed even harder.
But the tipping point was when I, mentally scrolling through the day, recalled the other thing my baby consumed. “Wait! He also ate raisins!”
Three minutes later Taxman scraped himself off the couch to bring me a glass of water.
We’ll get through with our humor intact, at the very least.
I had a couple of real posts in the hopper.
But my night ended at 4 am.
I got up to go to the bathroom–ah, the lasting legacy of pregnancy!–and then Taxman got called out by the Rescuers. Before I got back to sleep, AM was up to nurse. (Actually, it was kind of a relief; he’s been skipping his late afternoon nursings and my body isn’t quite up to speed.) He wiggled his way back to sleep, finally, and then Miss M roused me with a shriek–for no apparent reason–at 5:15. Clearly we had been lulled into complacency with her sleeping straight through until at least 6. The adrenaline charge from that lasted until Taxman returned at nearly 6:00. Miss M hadn’t gone back to sleep, but at least she was mellow, so AM was peaceful.
“It was a long call,” he explained; 90 minutes is average, but sometimes in the dead of night they go faster.
“You should have gotten breakfast,” I told him. “At least coffee.”
“I know. I am seriously considering going to Dunkin’ Donuts on my way to work.”
“But what about me?” I groused. “I’ve been up since you left, if that makes you feel any better.”
“It doesn’t, actually.”
“I can go while you’re getting ready for work.”
“Ok. You can take Miss M.”
“No, I can’t. I have to take your car [which lives in a spot in the garage, no carseats]; mine is on the right side for today.”*
Around this point AM snuffled awake. When it was clear that he was still satisfied from the 4:00 extra-full serving, I pulled some clothes out of the hamper, took Taxman’s keys, and piqued Miss M’s curiousity with the promise of an “extra-special breakfast.” I was full of determination: Taxman needed a Very Large cup of coffee; I wanted to continue my quest to experience the seasonal pumpkin line (this time with a donut).
But before I left, I accosted Taxman. “If I put your sweatshirt over what I’m wearing, do I have to put on a bra?” (As if I could find a clean one the one I was wearing yesterday one.)
“No,” he said.
“Ok.”
“Was that the right answer?”
Of course, honey! Your training is very advanced!
* See, life in NYC is determined by alternate-side parking.
Ha! If I had listened to something other than Laurie Berkner this week, like, say, the news, I would have known that alternate was suspended today for Idul-Fitr. Not that I don’t love Laurie, though.
