I am officially a full-time employee.
After a month of building my confidence, contracting at a warm and fuzzy family-like mortgage company, I am now staking my claim to a cubby on the third floor of a very cool office building in King of Prussia. The company leasing this building develops and maintains ecommerce sites for a variety of different retail entities. I'm doing some graphic design for these sites. I suppose you could say it's the icing on the career cake I've been baking for the last five years or so. I'm pretty psyched.
For one thing, I can wear flip flops and listen to music while I work. Sweet. If I am starting to sound like Eric Cartman it's because so far, things are pretty ideal. I know it won't be all roses and rainbows, but this is kind of a dream come true. Here's why:
My customer service skills are to die for, and I can be patient long after others have given up. Perhaps it's the masochist in me, I don't know, but I rock the client relations. And I don't like it one bit. I hate calling people and taking calls. I've mellowed enough in the last decade so that I don't die when I have to do it. There was a time when I swore up and down that I would not work jobs where I had to call people or answer phones and I even vaguely recall my inability to keep it to myself in interviews despite how ignorant I might have sounded.
And now I'm in the position where I don't have to answer phones or help customers directly.
Am I pinching myself? Absolutely. My own cubby for the first time in years, funky cool people with tattoos and decent taste in entertainment, great food and perks...I'm the king of the world!
No I'm not. I am amazing though...
I was thinking tonight, that my body is looking better and better. Then I realized what my body did over a year ago. Along with an eyedropper or so full of my husband's DNA, my body created another human being. A little boy who now says "Elmo", "All done", "Out", "Knock knock"(a variation really(ock ock), but it counts. A little boy who; is learning how to put on shoes, can hold a spoon pretty darn well, runs, draws, tries to read books, rides on the tractor with his dad, pretends to drive our cars, puts on my sunglasses and may actually be forming a real relationship with Mack. He'll be in school in no time and I'll be wondering where the years went.
Halloween is in 16 days, my birthday's in 13 and U2 is in 2.
Tick tick tick tick...
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Saturday, October 01, 2005
Back to School Smell
It's finally fall. It's cold enough at night that we can close the windows, and this morning, we actually had the heat on for the first time since we moved here. Earlier in the day, I had this overwhelming wish that I could go back in time to high school...
Canine Interruptus: JESUS, mary and joseph! Mack just came clicking in here (bedroom with hardwood floors and no area rug) and flumphed (yes I made it up) down on the floor. If that didn't wake Spencer, nothing should.
Anyhoo, as I was saying before Paws: The Return, I wish I was back in school. High school.
I wish I had books and homework and projects and reports. I can't walk into a single drug store without being attacked from all sides by notebooks of every size, shape and color, and it makes me nuts.
Ok this is lame, I am suddenly falling asleep. Blogger, why do you make me so sleepy? Stop snuggling me!
Ok, now I forget what I was going to write. I actually just tried to write with one eye open. I can no longer think or write.
Long and short of it all: I want school supplies.
Canine Interruptus: JESUS, mary and joseph! Mack just came clicking in here (bedroom with hardwood floors and no area rug) and flumphed (yes I made it up) down on the floor. If that didn't wake Spencer, nothing should.
Anyhoo, as I was saying before Paws: The Return, I wish I was back in school. High school.
I wish I had books and homework and projects and reports. I can't walk into a single drug store without being attacked from all sides by notebooks of every size, shape and color, and it makes me nuts.
Ok this is lame, I am suddenly falling asleep. Blogger, why do you make me so sleepy? Stop snuggling me!
Ok, now I forget what I was going to write. I actually just tried to write with one eye open. I can no longer think or write.
Long and short of it all: I want school supplies.
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
GRAVITY SUCKS: A Lecture
I saw it coming but didn't pay attention to my own instinct - trying not to be such a worryer.
I was in Spencer's room, changing the sheets and he was all cute in just his diapers, toddling between his room and the guest room. I checked to see what he was up to and stepped out into the hallway to see him standing at the top of the stairs looking down. I said to him, "You sit down if you're going down. You know how." He seems to always listen when I say that, or turn around and just start getting into position to go down the stairs. This time he turned around all smiley face and went back into the guest room...
I turned to the crib and just got started pulling up the bedskirt when I heard the worst noise I have ever heard in my life: The thundering thuds of my son falling down the stairs. I was out the door and down the stairs as he began to stand up at the bottom, screaming. My brains scrambled in panic as I watched my little boy go through pain, shock and fear all at once.
Immediately I began to check him out and screamed to Guy to come. He came in and picked Spencer up and held him gently. He'd bitten his tongue or lip so there was a little blood on his tongue and was moving his right arm gingerly, but other than that, he seemed ok.
My next instinct was to run to the kitchen to get ice. Why is that? What good is that going to do for a little guy who would just as soon throw it at the dog? Guy took him out to the tractor and sat with him on it. Then he took him inside after some calm settled, and sat with him in front of a picture and part of the alphabet painting I did. I got water and ice cream and we coaxed him back to normal, with some residual sniffles and whines over his sore mouth. He was pretty much back to normal after a little while and went to bed like a little angel.
All fun and jokes aside:
PLEASE put the safety gates up if you haven't already. Even if they're getting really good at the stairs, it doesn't matter. You NEVER EVER EVER want to hear what I heard or see your child freaked out like that. It is the worst. I couldn't even look at the stairs right for an hour. I hated them and myself for not being on top of him to keep him safe.
And that's the deal, folks. You can't always keep them safe, but you can do as much as you can and make sure they know you love them too.
Damn, I love that little boy.
I was in Spencer's room, changing the sheets and he was all cute in just his diapers, toddling between his room and the guest room. I checked to see what he was up to and stepped out into the hallway to see him standing at the top of the stairs looking down. I said to him, "You sit down if you're going down. You know how." He seems to always listen when I say that, or turn around and just start getting into position to go down the stairs. This time he turned around all smiley face and went back into the guest room...
I turned to the crib and just got started pulling up the bedskirt when I heard the worst noise I have ever heard in my life: The thundering thuds of my son falling down the stairs. I was out the door and down the stairs as he began to stand up at the bottom, screaming. My brains scrambled in panic as I watched my little boy go through pain, shock and fear all at once.
Immediately I began to check him out and screamed to Guy to come. He came in and picked Spencer up and held him gently. He'd bitten his tongue or lip so there was a little blood on his tongue and was moving his right arm gingerly, but other than that, he seemed ok.
My next instinct was to run to the kitchen to get ice. Why is that? What good is that going to do for a little guy who would just as soon throw it at the dog? Guy took him out to the tractor and sat with him on it. Then he took him inside after some calm settled, and sat with him in front of a picture and part of the alphabet painting I did. I got water and ice cream and we coaxed him back to normal, with some residual sniffles and whines over his sore mouth. He was pretty much back to normal after a little while and went to bed like a little angel.
All fun and jokes aside:
PLEASE put the safety gates up if you haven't already. Even if they're getting really good at the stairs, it doesn't matter. You NEVER EVER EVER want to hear what I heard or see your child freaked out like that. It is the worst. I couldn't even look at the stairs right for an hour. I hated them and myself for not being on top of him to keep him safe.
And that's the deal, folks. You can't always keep them safe, but you can do as much as you can and make sure they know you love them too.
Damn, I love that little boy.
Saturday, September 17, 2005
New Kids on the Block Party
Well, we're suburbanites for real now. We experienced our first block party.
There were blockades, but why?
Not ONE car came speeding down adjacent streets looking for a way thru to another road.
We had our grills in the street for chrissakes.
Guy whipped up some ribs, tout suite, and I bought freezer pops and made Bay Breezes. The new kids on the block were a big hit. And of course, Spencer had the run of the land. He was this way and that. I think I got about 15 minutes total for sitting and eating. He likes to go down slides face first, likes to climb under tables and play peekaboo, and is learning how to fake me out when I stand in front of him to block him. If he doesn't become some kind of amazing athlete, I'll be SHOCKED.
I think we're being watched too. One of our neighbors was buddy buddy with the previous owner and she's reporting our activities. Kind of weird meeting a new neighbor who casually tells you she's got her eye on you. It's a little freakish. Like we're under surveillance.
Everyone here is involved in education on some level too. There's like at least 3 teachers, one retired bus driver and a counselor. I have half a charter school in my backyard!
So I imagine there will be much recipe swapping and front lawn chatter in the coming months. At the VERY least, there will be many a neighbor coming by to marvel at Guy's landscaping creations - they're already envying his skill. God help us if the less technically inclined fellas get wind of the craftsman's garage we have going. He'll never get the sawdust out of his ears.
I, on the other hand, am perfectly content looking cute, chasing the boy around and making drinks like a good wife should. If they need a Web site worked on or can't figure out why their computers won't work, they know where to find me ;)
There were blockades, but why?
Not ONE car came speeding down adjacent streets looking for a way thru to another road.
We had our grills in the street for chrissakes.
Guy whipped up some ribs, tout suite, and I bought freezer pops and made Bay Breezes. The new kids on the block were a big hit. And of course, Spencer had the run of the land. He was this way and that. I think I got about 15 minutes total for sitting and eating. He likes to go down slides face first, likes to climb under tables and play peekaboo, and is learning how to fake me out when I stand in front of him to block him. If he doesn't become some kind of amazing athlete, I'll be SHOCKED.
I think we're being watched too. One of our neighbors was buddy buddy with the previous owner and she's reporting our activities. Kind of weird meeting a new neighbor who casually tells you she's got her eye on you. It's a little freakish. Like we're under surveillance.
Everyone here is involved in education on some level too. There's like at least 3 teachers, one retired bus driver and a counselor. I have half a charter school in my backyard!
So I imagine there will be much recipe swapping and front lawn chatter in the coming months. At the VERY least, there will be many a neighbor coming by to marvel at Guy's landscaping creations - they're already envying his skill. God help us if the less technically inclined fellas get wind of the craftsman's garage we have going. He'll never get the sawdust out of his ears.
I, on the other hand, am perfectly content looking cute, chasing the boy around and making drinks like a good wife should. If they need a Web site worked on or can't figure out why their computers won't work, they know where to find me ;)
Wednesday, September 14, 2005
UGH, I caved.
Oy, I'm already making puns...
Ok let me explain:
See, I bought The Happiest Toddler on the Block, by Harvey Karp, M.D.
The gist of this tome is that you need to talk to your toddler like he/she is a Neanderthal.
Basically you go grunting and sort-of mirroring their panic, anger, frustration and pained expressions in order to communicate your understanding of their needs and to help calm them enough to be receptive to whatever input comes next.
Apparently it can look really silly to behave and speak to your child like a child but the good doctor swears your little one will show improvement once he/she feels you are paying attention and know what he/she wants.
So apparently my son is a savage little creature and I'm like the "monster whisperer". It's a job only a mother could love. HA!
He was put to bed an hour early tonight due to technical malfunction - internal systems meltdown, or the dreaded "temper tantrum". He had one yesterday too, so I'm not all that surprised that another one reared it's head today. I wonder if his brain is beta tesing emotional response. He's been acting like me when I'm PMSing. Weird.
Ok here we go again. It's late and I can't even keep my eyes open anymore. This bites it. What happened to all my energy? hmmmm
Ok let me explain:
See, I bought The Happiest Toddler on the Block, by Harvey Karp, M.D.
The gist of this tome is that you need to talk to your toddler like he/she is a Neanderthal.
Basically you go grunting and sort-of mirroring their panic, anger, frustration and pained expressions in order to communicate your understanding of their needs and to help calm them enough to be receptive to whatever input comes next.
Apparently it can look really silly to behave and speak to your child like a child but the good doctor swears your little one will show improvement once he/she feels you are paying attention and know what he/she wants.
So apparently my son is a savage little creature and I'm like the "monster whisperer". It's a job only a mother could love. HA!
He was put to bed an hour early tonight due to technical malfunction - internal systems meltdown, or the dreaded "temper tantrum". He had one yesterday too, so I'm not all that surprised that another one reared it's head today. I wonder if his brain is beta tesing emotional response. He's been acting like me when I'm PMSing. Weird.
Ok here we go again. It's late and I can't even keep my eyes open anymore. This bites it. What happened to all my energy? hmmmm
Tuesday, September 13, 2005
Feelings...Whoa Whoa Whoa
Whoopdedoo.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Babyhugs, Birds, Showers and Idiot Box Rants
Saturday, September 10, 2005, was the first day I received a true hug from my son.
It was around 730-8pm and I'd just come home from refilling our "Growlers" - beer jugs we got at John Harvard's Brewery (try the Pale Ale and get yourself a Stoudt Mud Pie - to die for).
The house was fairly quiet and I figured my boys were upstairs in Spencer's room, getting him ready for bed. I found them in his room, Guy changing Spencer's diaper on our old full size futon mattress, now taking up the dormer area perfectly - a fun cushioned play space. A little goofy smile crept on to Spencer's face as he saw me enter the room. Once the diapering was done, he stood up and snorted and pointed at something.
Guy immediately showed me a new Spencer trick.
"I think he learned this in school, watch this," he boasted while Spencer stood next to him reaching for his glasses.
"Ok Spencer, lie down now."
Spencer giggled and sat, and put his head down on the mattress.
We made the silent movie laugh face (laughing without making noise and grinning like idiots) at eachother and got him to do it a few more times. Amazing how little things entertain a person.
I then asked for a hug and Spencer shook his head no.
"He's gotten really good at saying 'No' , " said Guy as we watched Spence shake his head repeatedly until he almost fell down. I pretended to cry and be sad to see if it'd make him pity me. Instead he smirked and giggled at me. The kid has no sympathy, I tell you.
Guy tickled him, I teased him and helped him finish more milk before bed.
When he was done, he got up from the futon mattress and shuffled over to Guy to give him a hug, which he's done numerous times now to the point of me being jealous. Then suddenly, he wheeled around out of Guy's arms and was shuffling again, but this time towards me.
As I sat cross-legged on the floor with my back leaning on the futon mattress, he shuffled over to me, opened up his arms and threw them around me. My SON HUGGED ME.
I could have held him all night and into next week. I've been waiting for him to learn how to give a hug just for this reason and he finally did it. My son hugged me. He cooed and babbled and rested his adorable head on my shoulder, then chest. He smiled and giggled, pulled back and cupped his hands to clap lightly at my hair and over my ears (he likes to play with the curls), then he collected himself and scooted across the floor to his dad with arms stretched out: Daddy also doubles as taxi, elevator and human transport system.
Spencer hugged his daddy and turned around and then came back over to me again for another go round. I was ecstatic. "My son loves me!" was the only thing I could think of. It was undeniable proof that my son had a connection to me - that he indeed loved me.
Strange how a woman can carry a child in her body for 9-10 months, fall in love with a face she hasn't seen yet, give birth to her child with and fall in love with the being she's created, and have this unexplainable connection, but she isn't always confident that this child will even recognize her upon entry into the world. Or maybe that's just my own insecurity.
Regardless, unconditional love is the best. It's bliss and it's supreme. If there is a God, he's inside your little one when he or she hugs you. That's what a god's love should feel like.
For the record, it has taken me three days to get this out - I CANNOT write late night anymore. I fall asleep mid sentence. Makes a hell of a read the next morning, I'll tell you that. As I write now, the Eagles are getting a whooping by the Falcons. No thanks to some pre-game fisticuffs between Trotter and some shmuck from the Falcons. And by the way, Trotter DID NOT punch the dude. Facemask? Yes, absolutely. Roundhouse? Uh-uh.
Hey I bought like 5 tops and a jacket at Macy's over the weekend: $40.
I LOVE sales. Now if only I could find a cool bag to haul around all my stuff. I'm afraid to buy a big slouchy bag because I lose my keys in those things in like two seconds. Oh whoa is me.
Social Event Hint: Don't take your 1-1/2 year-old to a baby shower. You won't get to talk to anyone, sit down or eat. You will get lots of exercise, so maybe it's ok if you're trying to get in shape again or something. I don't know.
Media Warning: Ok, does anyone give a pig's fart if a soap star and b-rated voiceover actor have a live "dance-off"? Apparently they do 'cause ABC is giving them a show. I wonder how much the winner will donate to help Hurricane Survivors. Heh.
Political Rambling: Yo, America, your government is playing you. Hows about paying attention instead of drowning your sorrows in 'reality' tv? I speak from experience: The "Real World" won't make the real world go away.
Oh and one more thing: My Super Sickeningly Sweet Sixteen on MTV has GOT to be stopped. What could be worse programming for America's youth than 30-60 minutes of spoiled teenagers whining about their lack of boundaries, sky's-the-limit budgets and semi-present parental units, all the while touting their popularity, closet size and duty to throw the world's greatest parties that noone can attend but their own sycophant. I can't believe my eyes anymore and it's not just because my prescription glasses are old.
Monday Night Football calls. GO EAGLES!
It was around 730-8pm and I'd just come home from refilling our "Growlers" - beer jugs we got at John Harvard's Brewery (try the Pale Ale and get yourself a Stoudt Mud Pie - to die for).
The house was fairly quiet and I figured my boys were upstairs in Spencer's room, getting him ready for bed. I found them in his room, Guy changing Spencer's diaper on our old full size futon mattress, now taking up the dormer area perfectly - a fun cushioned play space. A little goofy smile crept on to Spencer's face as he saw me enter the room. Once the diapering was done, he stood up and snorted and pointed at something.
Guy immediately showed me a new Spencer trick.
"I think he learned this in school, watch this," he boasted while Spencer stood next to him reaching for his glasses.
"Ok Spencer, lie down now."
Spencer giggled and sat, and put his head down on the mattress.
We made the silent movie laugh face (laughing without making noise and grinning like idiots) at eachother and got him to do it a few more times. Amazing how little things entertain a person.
I then asked for a hug and Spencer shook his head no.
"He's gotten really good at saying 'No' , " said Guy as we watched Spence shake his head repeatedly until he almost fell down. I pretended to cry and be sad to see if it'd make him pity me. Instead he smirked and giggled at me. The kid has no sympathy, I tell you.
Guy tickled him, I teased him and helped him finish more milk before bed.
When he was done, he got up from the futon mattress and shuffled over to Guy to give him a hug, which he's done numerous times now to the point of me being jealous. Then suddenly, he wheeled around out of Guy's arms and was shuffling again, but this time towards me.
As I sat cross-legged on the floor with my back leaning on the futon mattress, he shuffled over to me, opened up his arms and threw them around me. My SON HUGGED ME.
I could have held him all night and into next week. I've been waiting for him to learn how to give a hug just for this reason and he finally did it. My son hugged me. He cooed and babbled and rested his adorable head on my shoulder, then chest. He smiled and giggled, pulled back and cupped his hands to clap lightly at my hair and over my ears (he likes to play with the curls), then he collected himself and scooted across the floor to his dad with arms stretched out: Daddy also doubles as taxi, elevator and human transport system.
Spencer hugged his daddy and turned around and then came back over to me again for another go round. I was ecstatic. "My son loves me!" was the only thing I could think of. It was undeniable proof that my son had a connection to me - that he indeed loved me.
Strange how a woman can carry a child in her body for 9-10 months, fall in love with a face she hasn't seen yet, give birth to her child with and fall in love with the being she's created, and have this unexplainable connection, but she isn't always confident that this child will even recognize her upon entry into the world. Or maybe that's just my own insecurity.
Regardless, unconditional love is the best. It's bliss and it's supreme. If there is a God, he's inside your little one when he or she hugs you. That's what a god's love should feel like.
For the record, it has taken me three days to get this out - I CANNOT write late night anymore. I fall asleep mid sentence. Makes a hell of a read the next morning, I'll tell you that. As I write now, the Eagles are getting a whooping by the Falcons. No thanks to some pre-game fisticuffs between Trotter and some shmuck from the Falcons. And by the way, Trotter DID NOT punch the dude. Facemask? Yes, absolutely. Roundhouse? Uh-uh.
Hey I bought like 5 tops and a jacket at Macy's over the weekend: $40.
I LOVE sales. Now if only I could find a cool bag to haul around all my stuff. I'm afraid to buy a big slouchy bag because I lose my keys in those things in like two seconds. Oh whoa is me.
Social Event Hint: Don't take your 1-1/2 year-old to a baby shower. You won't get to talk to anyone, sit down or eat. You will get lots of exercise, so maybe it's ok if you're trying to get in shape again or something. I don't know.
Media Warning: Ok, does anyone give a pig's fart if a soap star and b-rated voiceover actor have a live "dance-off"? Apparently they do 'cause ABC is giving them a show. I wonder how much the winner will donate to help Hurricane Survivors. Heh.
Political Rambling: Yo, America, your government is playing you. Hows about paying attention instead of drowning your sorrows in 'reality' tv? I speak from experience: The "Real World" won't make the real world go away.
Oh and one more thing: My Super Sickeningly Sweet Sixteen on MTV has GOT to be stopped. What could be worse programming for America's youth than 30-60 minutes of spoiled teenagers whining about their lack of boundaries, sky's-the-limit budgets and semi-present parental units, all the while touting their popularity, closet size and duty to throw the world's greatest parties that noone can attend but their own sycophant. I can't believe my eyes anymore and it's not just because my prescription glasses are old.
Monday Night Football calls. GO EAGLES!
Monday, September 05, 2005
JAWS
Just when you thought it was safe to go back into daycare...
My son bit two children last week and you never saw two parents more freaked out.
No, not their parents. Me and Guy.
He called me at work to tell me, which sent me spinning into a mental spiral of worry.
By the time I'd gotten into my car to fly home to get our little "savage", Guy had already researched everything there was to know about toddlers and biting. I imagine he Googled with the passion of someone looking for naked pics of a pregnant Britney Spears (none exist that I'm aware of, and how disgusting of you to wonder).
He explained how he wanted to handle things with the daycare: Coordinate our efforts via a face to face meeting where we'd discuss how they handled him and discuss how we could mirror their efforts at home in order to maintain consistency. He was focused and concerned about proper child rearing practices. I was afraid I'd see a parent of one of the afflicted and get the talking to of my life and that they'd kick my son out of daycare and we'd get sued by the other child's parents. My husband was strategizing and I was catastrophizing.
Nervous as a Korean engineering student making his debut on American Idol, I pulled into the parking lot. Nary a car. I prayed silently that we'd slide on outa there. When I entered Spencer's play room, there he sat in a table-highchair hybrid: Approximately two feet around him, separating him from every other child in the room. All I could hear in the back of my head was: "I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti".
And there was my angel baby.
Spencer was looking up at me, sweet as could be. I felt horrible. I picked him up, apologizing to the director profusely. I waited for her to chew me out (oh BAD. no pun intended. honest.), expecting dirty looks and tongue clicking. Instead it was business as usual.
They pointed out his victims and showed me that although they'd thought he'd broken the skin on one girls finger, it seemed to not be so bad. One victim, a little girl, came right over to hug Spencer. She was forgiving her attacker! It was amazing to learn she'd been accosted by my sons chompers and wasn't trying to pull his hair out.
The other little boy was about his age and tends to be his riding partner when they're all taken outside in strollers. Apparently they were having a WWF Smackdown right in the stroller. Spencer won without having to go to a closed cage match. Noone was worse for the wear really except me.
I skulked out of there with Spencer on my arm, smiling awkwardly and making small talk as we left. The only thing he's bitten since are my finger (cause I was trying to clean orange crayon from the inside of his mouth) and his three regular meals accompanied by ice cream.
If I see his teeth bared I just have to keep repeating the following mantra: "Redirect...Redirect...Redirect". Or buy a muzzle.
My son bit two children last week and you never saw two parents more freaked out.
No, not their parents. Me and Guy.
He called me at work to tell me, which sent me spinning into a mental spiral of worry.
By the time I'd gotten into my car to fly home to get our little "savage", Guy had already researched everything there was to know about toddlers and biting. I imagine he Googled with the passion of someone looking for naked pics of a pregnant Britney Spears (none exist that I'm aware of, and how disgusting of you to wonder).
He explained how he wanted to handle things with the daycare: Coordinate our efforts via a face to face meeting where we'd discuss how they handled him and discuss how we could mirror their efforts at home in order to maintain consistency. He was focused and concerned about proper child rearing practices. I was afraid I'd see a parent of one of the afflicted and get the talking to of my life and that they'd kick my son out of daycare and we'd get sued by the other child's parents. My husband was strategizing and I was catastrophizing.
Nervous as a Korean engineering student making his debut on American Idol, I pulled into the parking lot. Nary a car. I prayed silently that we'd slide on outa there. When I entered Spencer's play room, there he sat in a table-highchair hybrid: Approximately two feet around him, separating him from every other child in the room. All I could hear in the back of my head was: "I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti".
And there was my angel baby.
Spencer was looking up at me, sweet as could be. I felt horrible. I picked him up, apologizing to the director profusely. I waited for her to chew me out (oh BAD. no pun intended. honest.), expecting dirty looks and tongue clicking. Instead it was business as usual.
They pointed out his victims and showed me that although they'd thought he'd broken the skin on one girls finger, it seemed to not be so bad. One victim, a little girl, came right over to hug Spencer. She was forgiving her attacker! It was amazing to learn she'd been accosted by my sons chompers and wasn't trying to pull his hair out.
The other little boy was about his age and tends to be his riding partner when they're all taken outside in strollers. Apparently they were having a WWF Smackdown right in the stroller. Spencer won without having to go to a closed cage match. Noone was worse for the wear really except me.
I skulked out of there with Spencer on my arm, smiling awkwardly and making small talk as we left. The only thing he's bitten since are my finger (cause I was trying to clean orange crayon from the inside of his mouth) and his three regular meals accompanied by ice cream.
If I see his teeth bared I just have to keep repeating the following mantra: "Redirect...Redirect...Redirect". Or buy a muzzle.
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Mecca or Hell?
I have found it. Both in one place. Moorestown , New Jersey.
The five mile radius around my office is spilling over with every type of store, strip mall and mega mall. I dare say I was overwhelmed by this new reality.
Do you realize that in one day I could probably design, build, furnish a house, buy enough clothing, accessories and shoes to last a lifetime, eat and eat and eat, work out, eat some more, buy bigger clothing, go to the doctor with my higher cholesterol (from all the eating), get physical therapy, drink cappucino and all kinds of revved up coffee drinks until I am spinning like a top, buy a good book, get someone a greeting card and stock up on enough tchotkes until I can barely fit all the purchases in my car, go outside with the intent to write or read or clean something and end up in my car magnetically pulled in the direction of clothing on sale.
Narcolepsy is taking over. Eyes feel like little elephants are sitting on them.
Goodnight good people of LA and MISS. Try try try not to go crazy and kill eachother.
I am going to bed.
-K
The five mile radius around my office is spilling over with every type of store, strip mall and mega mall. I dare say I was overwhelmed by this new reality.
Do you realize that in one day I could probably design, build, furnish a house, buy enough clothing, accessories and shoes to last a lifetime, eat and eat and eat, work out, eat some more, buy bigger clothing, go to the doctor with my higher cholesterol (from all the eating), get physical therapy, drink cappucino and all kinds of revved up coffee drinks until I am spinning like a top, buy a good book, get someone a greeting card and stock up on enough tchotkes until I can barely fit all the purchases in my car, go outside with the intent to write or read or clean something and end up in my car magnetically pulled in the direction of clothing on sale.
Narcolepsy is taking over. Eyes feel like little elephants are sitting on them.
Goodnight good people of LA and MISS. Try try try not to go crazy and kill eachother.
I am going to bed.
-K
Sunday, August 28, 2005
Welcome to the Jungle
Ok, I admit it, it was a madhouse.
As we entered Subjective Family Fun Center today, my friend Barb asked me if I felt a little unsettled by the chaos all around us. I'd never been to a "family fun center" or "soft amusement park" or "indoor amusement center" with Spencer before, and I didn't want to feel intimidated right out of the gate, so I said no, that yeah it was wild, but it didn't have any effect on me really.
As it became more and more necessary to yell to one another as if we were in a bar, I started to wonder a little. As we were nearly run over by frantic parents chasing their candy-and-pizza-wired kids, I wondered a little more. As it became more and more apparent that parents go to these places to let their kids run wild like beasts; all over my son and my friends' toddlers, I was getting downright flabbergasted.
I spent half my time there parenting OPP (other people's progeny), trying to keep them from jumping on top of Spencer, who was happily flumfing around in what amounted to a box full of balls. The other half I spent trying to find my friends who were busy chasing their little ones around, or reassuring them after they'd been attacked by "wildekids". At one point I became indignant enough to approach the front desk and inquire assertively about the policy for monitoring the "Toddlers Only" area, since over half the jumping monkeys in there were at least 5. A disgruntled looking adolescent wearing her requisite staff t-shirt would patrol the area, a bit like the way the late night security shift does at your local 24 hour supermarket.
It appears today has taken its toll on me starting 5 minutes ago. I am falling asleep as I type this. More elaboration on the decline of civiliation when I return.
As we entered Subjective Family Fun Center today, my friend Barb asked me if I felt a little unsettled by the chaos all around us. I'd never been to a "family fun center" or "soft amusement park" or "indoor amusement center" with Spencer before, and I didn't want to feel intimidated right out of the gate, so I said no, that yeah it was wild, but it didn't have any effect on me really.
As it became more and more necessary to yell to one another as if we were in a bar, I started to wonder a little. As we were nearly run over by frantic parents chasing their candy-and-pizza-wired kids, I wondered a little more. As it became more and more apparent that parents go to these places to let their kids run wild like beasts; all over my son and my friends' toddlers, I was getting downright flabbergasted.
I spent half my time there parenting OPP (other people's progeny), trying to keep them from jumping on top of Spencer, who was happily flumfing around in what amounted to a box full of balls. The other half I spent trying to find my friends who were busy chasing their little ones around, or reassuring them after they'd been attacked by "wildekids". At one point I became indignant enough to approach the front desk and inquire assertively about the policy for monitoring the "Toddlers Only" area, since over half the jumping monkeys in there were at least 5. A disgruntled looking adolescent wearing her requisite staff t-shirt would patrol the area, a bit like the way the late night security shift does at your local 24 hour supermarket.
It appears today has taken its toll on me starting 5 minutes ago. I am falling asleep as I type this. More elaboration on the decline of civiliation when I return.
Monday, August 22, 2005
Cliff Notes for August
We bought & sold, we moved, we're diggin' in.
I was starting to get used to a weekly schedule of taking care of Spence MWF and having him in "school" twice a week, which allowed me to run errands and shop for stuff like paint, spackle, outlet covers, and the like. Then it happened: I got a JOB.
That's right, the thing I've been chasing since January: Working Mom status. It all happened in two days and now I'm driving two hours a day to get to work. I'm getting up WAY early. Good moolah and the gig is cool so far - it's amazing how when you've been sort-of doing the same stuff for awhile and you get an opportunity to flex your skills on a larger scale - it's like getting out of a small car after a long drive. It takes awhile to get where you're going and you had a really good ride, and now it's great to get out and open up into a larger space that can hold you.
Not sure if this analogy is working because I'm tired. In any case, compliments all around.
Got a chance to go out and tie one on at a local pub/karaoke bar. If secondhand smoke and 2$ pints (DOMESTIC, duh) are your bag, then go visit the Riddle Ale House on Baltimore Pike/Route 1 near the Granite Run Mall and Riddle Memorial Hospital. This is, of course, in Delaware County near where we're living now. All the trappings of suburbia with a tinge of city and low key everywhere. It's really a great mix we have around here. Now, if I could just get some shopping done in Moorestown.
I'm working almost right next to the Moorestown Mall. It's temptation hell. More stores than the eye can take in, more deals and sales and that's just the one flanking the mall on all sides. It's like a fortress of shopping. I mean it.
Spence started in a new daycare. It's near us so it's convenient that way, and Guy has really taken on the mornings with our man Spencer. He's in "school" more than I'd like, but as they say, hundreds of thousands of moms and families do it every day, so it's a matter of adjustment, right? Adjust THIS. It's weird.
Here's a Spencer primer for ya:
bwa bwa = Mommy's keys or anything I can see that looks fun to play with
ca = the dog, a door, outside, a bird
uh oh = "Pick that up, won't you?"
pu pu (or bu bu) = hubba bubba (I taught him that tonight)
We're learning sign language rapidly and he's more and more into everything, ESPECIALLY chalk, pencils and paper. He and his daddy have drawing/art time at least 3 times a week.
Note: Can someone explain to me the significance or appeal of Goodnight Moon? He is nearly as obsessed with this book as with my keys. Is there something I don't get?
I would appreciate a little analysis.
Speaking of keys, he now wants them when they're in the ignition keeping the car on. I think subterfuge may be necessary. A new keychain may be in order.
Ok, my laptop is running out of juice.
Technical Note: Get a camera phone.
Monday, August 01, 2005
Strange Noises, Stranger Names
Last night we slept in our bed in our room for the first time since we moved here.
It was shaping up to be great until we turned on Spencer's monitor and heard something that sounded like whales on land calling out to a large moose. Guy and I both bolted out of bed in confusion. When we opened the door to our room we could hear it coming from outside. NO idea what it was, but it suddenly felt all too much like a scene from the M. Night Shamalyan film Signs. We were freaking to say the least. Somehow I got to sleep, assuring us both that I'd call the township to find out what kind of an alarm they have going off in the middle of the night.
When I called the township this morning, the representative did not know what I was talking about. I even demonstrated for her over the phone (would have sounded REALLY weird if she'd had me on speaker). Guy told me later that it wasn't a fire alarm cause he'd heard one earlier that day. I suppose I'll need to listen for it again.
In an unrelated subject, I leave you with this question: What is "wishniak"?
It was shaping up to be great until we turned on Spencer's monitor and heard something that sounded like whales on land calling out to a large moose. Guy and I both bolted out of bed in confusion. When we opened the door to our room we could hear it coming from outside. NO idea what it was, but it suddenly felt all too much like a scene from the M. Night Shamalyan film Signs. We were freaking to say the least. Somehow I got to sleep, assuring us both that I'd call the township to find out what kind of an alarm they have going off in the middle of the night.
When I called the township this morning, the representative did not know what I was talking about. I even demonstrated for her over the phone (would have sounded REALLY weird if she'd had me on speaker). Guy told me later that it wasn't a fire alarm cause he'd heard one earlier that day. I suppose I'll need to listen for it again.
In an unrelated subject, I leave you with this question: What is "wishniak"?
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Relocationitis
Due to extreme fatigue and the need to look up outlet covers and find out how to attach a new clothesline (I can't even START on that one), I will summarize the past week using bullets...
- We did it. We settled on our old house and closed on the new one on Thursday May 21.
- Spent the next three days steaming old wallpaper, dusting, cleaning, whining about smelly things and pulling out disgusting old carpet.
- We moved on Monday July 25 and Tuesday July 26. We slept in the living room of our new house until today when we finally got the bedroom painted.
- Spencer spent alot of time in daycare. I spent alot of time driving him there and back.
- I think Guy has a hernia. He thinks he may too, but hmmm, has a doctor seen it yet to have a look? uh, NO.
- Mack and Spencer have been having a time getting adjusted. More Mack than anyone else I think.
- I like Home Depot. Target? Not so much. WHO PUTS CLOTHESLINE IN THE AUTOMOTIVE SECTION? AND WHY TRAIL MIX BUT NO RAISINS?
- My stomach is rebelling. I've been eating terribly, and dropping weight to the point that I almost have to wear belts to cinch up the waistband enough to keep pants on. Starting to look like someone from The Little Rascals.
- What does it mean to have water in your basement? How many basements do? What's normal? Why does everyone want to dig up your basement and clean mold?
- Showers are funny because we run out of water so fast it's absurd. Same thing happens when doing dishes. Oh did I mention? We have no dishwasher either.
- The paint job we did looks great. Good color choice which I am primarily responsible for - the research (big purple binder) paid off.
- I miss Sex & The City SO much I cried watching it last night (yes, we have HBO already. No DSL mind you, but Yankees Network, hell yes)
- So tired I'm hallucinating. Oh wait it's the tv - somehow the acoustics are different and when you turn sound up on tv you can hear almost every single background noise so it seems like there are people talking in the house
- Movers need to have a plan of their own and communicate it.
- Eyes closing as I write this. Will catch up when more coherent.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
It Didn't Stop All Day
Today VH1 ran a program called "And You Don't Stop: 30 Years of Hip Hop"
It was a five-parter and I believe it went on all day long.
I must say, despite some of the razzing I've seen online, I actually learned something about the history of hip-hop. I always wondered about it but kind of never knew where to look. I think if you're not terribly keen on the music but would like to know more about its history, this series is really a great start. Especially the first few episodes where they really get into how scratching and mc'ing and sampling got started. It's an amazing evolution and it deserves respect at the very least.
Spencer could have cared less. Maybe I should try to learn how to beatbox.
It was a five-parter and I believe it went on all day long.
I must say, despite some of the razzing I've seen online, I actually learned something about the history of hip-hop. I always wondered about it but kind of never knew where to look. I think if you're not terribly keen on the music but would like to know more about its history, this series is really a great start. Especially the first few episodes where they really get into how scratching and mc'ing and sampling got started. It's an amazing evolution and it deserves respect at the very least.
Spencer could have cared less. Maybe I should try to learn how to beatbox.
Threes and Throes
Tomorrow (well, today now since it's after midnight) we settle and close.
Packing hasn't been stellar on my part, but I've been wheedling away at it with some consistency despite Spencer's new found love of my left hand for use in walking. I will pat myself on the back for getting ALL the utilities switched or started, plus I bought us a new washer and dryer AND the custom closets I'd been lobbying for since we made the offer back in May.
So we're grooving along and then we almost had major meltdown today. Here's the rundown:
1. The title insurance company was apparently demanding an original of a power of attorney release we needed for settlement. Noone told us until this morning. Guy had to do a mad scramble to get that resolved and there was much ranting back and forth about our dilemma via AOL Instant Messenger. Without the document, we were being posed with the possibility of postponing settlement/closing and having to add financial burden.
2. We did the walk through on our new house. Mostly going well until I walked down the stairs into the basement and immediately smelled must/mildew. Recent rains had not properly been routed away from the house and it had seeped through the walls. The 1950's wood paneling was stinkin and the old asbestos laden floor tiles (not toxic I'm told) were soaked. The unfinished area also had water seepage. SO, bye bye big plans for kitchen renovation...
3. On the way home, Guy discovered that the estimate we were given for funds needed for closing was off by close to twenty percent. Not only bye bye kitchen, bye bye all money, period. I immediately began thinking about the fastest way to start earning money. When you're in what you perceive to be a hurry to earn money, the solutions you imagine are not necessarily logical or appropriate.
So, cut to me later on the phone with my mom, whining about the state we're in. I confess to her that I'm expecting something else to go wrong; the sting of the day's two major events still lingering.
"Things happen in threes," I tell her, knocking on every REAL piece of wood I can find (don't be fooled by melamine) and telling her I'm knocking on wood.
Why do I do that? How did I get superstitious? Is superstition a replacement for religious faith? The belief in something outside of your sphere of control that you have to accept unless you can somehow sidestep it or behave your way out of it? And the almost obsessive compulsive knocking on wood, while pacing around the house talking to my mother: You'd think I was a mental patient. If Spencer gets into this pacing thing, we're going to have to switch floors with him.
My mother was a rock for me.
"You already had three things happen though!"
"What is the third?" I squealed.
" The estimates -taxes thing you told me about. That's the third thing, so it should all be fine now."
"Whew, ok"
I knocked on wood again. It's pretty easy to do in my house actually. Guy is a big fan of real wood furniture.
I can't swing a dead tree without hitting real wood.
So we're past that trauma for now.
Guy went to bed early. It's our last Wednesday night in Overbrook Farms.
I can't believe we're moving. Guy has lived here for fourteen years, almost to the day we move, and he's less emotional about leaving than I am, and I am the one who pushed for the move to begin with.
I'll be driving around the area and I realize I will no longer be taking certain shortcuts home from Center City anymore. I won't be going to the same Genuardi's or Borders or 7-11s. I won't be taking the same drives into Ardmore- to Bella Italia - the best pizza I know of in Philadelphia except for somewhere in Southwest Philly (Kennerly help me out here!). No more competing Korean convenience stores down the street. No more Chinese and steaks within walking distance. No more easy walk to train station. Wah.
On the other hand...I also won't have the same pain in the arse drives to malls and Target. Infact, we'll have access to every major store I can think of, with the exception of Wal-Mart(I am so bummed. NOT). I'm sure there's one I don't know about yet. AND, let us not forget the trains rumbling past the house, the track crews honking horns and yelling at 2 in the morning. Also there are the buses, the drunk college students and their cars, and the traffic that's increased by probably twenty percent in the last year.
Overall, I'll grieve. It's inevitable. Especially when our washer and dryer aren't hooked up and I have to wash my clothes in a tub and hang them outside...
Here's to hopefully having DSL sooner than August 9!!!!!
I'm sure I'll be trying to write in here from a dial up. NICE.
Then again, I'll have a driveway.
Suburbia, I hope you're ready for the Vilims.
Packing hasn't been stellar on my part, but I've been wheedling away at it with some consistency despite Spencer's new found love of my left hand for use in walking. I will pat myself on the back for getting ALL the utilities switched or started, plus I bought us a new washer and dryer AND the custom closets I'd been lobbying for since we made the offer back in May.
So we're grooving along and then we almost had major meltdown today. Here's the rundown:
1. The title insurance company was apparently demanding an original of a power of attorney release we needed for settlement. Noone told us until this morning. Guy had to do a mad scramble to get that resolved and there was much ranting back and forth about our dilemma via AOL Instant Messenger. Without the document, we were being posed with the possibility of postponing settlement/closing and having to add financial burden.
2. We did the walk through on our new house. Mostly going well until I walked down the stairs into the basement and immediately smelled must/mildew. Recent rains had not properly been routed away from the house and it had seeped through the walls. The 1950's wood paneling was stinkin and the old asbestos laden floor tiles (not toxic I'm told) were soaked. The unfinished area also had water seepage. SO, bye bye big plans for kitchen renovation...
3. On the way home, Guy discovered that the estimate we were given for funds needed for closing was off by close to twenty percent. Not only bye bye kitchen, bye bye all money, period. I immediately began thinking about the fastest way to start earning money. When you're in what you perceive to be a hurry to earn money, the solutions you imagine are not necessarily logical or appropriate.
So, cut to me later on the phone with my mom, whining about the state we're in. I confess to her that I'm expecting something else to go wrong; the sting of the day's two major events still lingering.
"Things happen in threes," I tell her, knocking on every REAL piece of wood I can find (don't be fooled by melamine) and telling her I'm knocking on wood.
Why do I do that? How did I get superstitious? Is superstition a replacement for religious faith? The belief in something outside of your sphere of control that you have to accept unless you can somehow sidestep it or behave your way out of it? And the almost obsessive compulsive knocking on wood, while pacing around the house talking to my mother: You'd think I was a mental patient. If Spencer gets into this pacing thing, we're going to have to switch floors with him.
My mother was a rock for me.
"You already had three things happen though!"
"What is the third?" I squealed.
" The estimates -taxes thing you told me about. That's the third thing, so it should all be fine now."
"Whew, ok"
I knocked on wood again. It's pretty easy to do in my house actually. Guy is a big fan of real wood furniture.
I can't swing a dead tree without hitting real wood.
So we're past that trauma for now.
Guy went to bed early. It's our last Wednesday night in Overbrook Farms.
I can't believe we're moving. Guy has lived here for fourteen years, almost to the day we move, and he's less emotional about leaving than I am, and I am the one who pushed for the move to begin with.
I'll be driving around the area and I realize I will no longer be taking certain shortcuts home from Center City anymore. I won't be going to the same Genuardi's or Borders or 7-11s. I won't be taking the same drives into Ardmore- to Bella Italia - the best pizza I know of in Philadelphia except for somewhere in Southwest Philly (Kennerly help me out here!). No more competing Korean convenience stores down the street. No more Chinese and steaks within walking distance. No more easy walk to train station. Wah.
On the other hand...I also won't have the same pain in the arse drives to malls and Target. Infact, we'll have access to every major store I can think of, with the exception of Wal-Mart(I am so bummed. NOT). I'm sure there's one I don't know about yet. AND, let us not forget the trains rumbling past the house, the track crews honking horns and yelling at 2 in the morning. Also there are the buses, the drunk college students and their cars, and the traffic that's increased by probably twenty percent in the last year.
Overall, I'll grieve. It's inevitable. Especially when our washer and dryer aren't hooked up and I have to wash my clothes in a tub and hang them outside...
Here's to hopefully having DSL sooner than August 9!!!!!
I'm sure I'll be trying to write in here from a dial up. NICE.
Then again, I'll have a driveway.
Suburbia, I hope you're ready for the Vilims.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Sent Packing
It's Thursday the 14th. I have 7 days until we settle and close on the new house. 12 days until we officially move. I planned to be cleaning out bathroom cabinets and packing supplies...
I went to Staples and bought stickers to put on furniture, etc. I went to Borders and bought two design magazines and a design book. I saw my therapist. Spencer is in daycare right now. I'm sitting here typing.
I just reminded myself I wanted to apply AGAIN to Borders for a part-time gig. I love that place like the library. Books and books and books. Cabinets and boxes await me, whenever I feel the impulse. Guy would be giving me a look right now. The "well go do it" look.
Now I'm applying for work at Borders. The application is quite lengthy. Then it's off to pack. I mean it.
I went to Staples and bought stickers to put on furniture, etc. I went to Borders and bought two design magazines and a design book. I saw my therapist. Spencer is in daycare right now. I'm sitting here typing.
I just reminded myself I wanted to apply AGAIN to Borders for a part-time gig. I love that place like the library. Books and books and books. Cabinets and boxes await me, whenever I feel the impulse. Guy would be giving me a look right now. The "well go do it" look.
Now I'm applying for work at Borders. The application is quite lengthy. Then it's off to pack. I mean it.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
Mum's the Word
Still voiceless. Have been rooting through a drawer in a desk in our bedroom. Found pics and an envelope containing hair from Spencer's first official haircut. Grabbed the clear accordion folder with all Spencer's stuff and found feeding schedules and notes from daycare. It's amazing how much he's grown in a year. Ten inches and close to 20 lbs.
I missed a bunch of those early days due to Postpartum Depression. I don't know how forthcoming I've been about that, and from now on, I 'm determined not to avoid talking about it. ESPECIALLY after what Brooke Shields did. Who'd have ever thought I'd have something in common with Brooke Shields besides proximity to Princeton University.
I packed some boxes. We watched Gettysburg on TNT today. It's SIX hours long. That's at least twice as long as Scarface. Say hello to my extremely long movie! I wrote notes to Guy asking questions(tired of trying to whisper and having him go "What?" over and over) about the battle and surrounding history. He's on the ball with that stuff let me tell you. He'd be a great history teacher.
It's about time to crash out. But I'm watching BBC America (great network for Anglophiles) and the show "What Not To Wear" is on. There are these two gals, Susannah and Trinny. I saw them on Oprah once or twice.
They pick really dumpy ladies and make them beautiful-In a way that's appropriate.
In the shows I've had on, they've been dealing with moms of teenage girls. They helped this one woman who almost sounded like a man. She had a real cockney accent, and was so plain and so nondescript that she didn't seem salvageable. They really did a great job. She was so shocked when she saw how they'd primped her, she almost didn't speak. Her reaction was that she looked too good to actually be herself. Imagine that. You suddenly look as good as you could look, and you don't feel you're good enough to look that good.
It's really cool hearing all these British women speaking and using colloquialisms and slang I have no knowledge of. They all sound smarter just because of their accents. There's also a calm about Brits. It's funny everyone seemed to have overlooked it until the bombings. The media acted like Londoners were unusually calm in the face of incredible trauma.
DUH. Why do you think America happened? Stereotypically speaking, Brits have a tendency to be a bit repressed and passive-aggressive. That couldn't have helped their case in managing the colonies from so many thousands of miles away...I mean can you imagine men here working hard to build communities and industry from the ground up, and when problems arose and they tried to get assistance, they were greeted with things like a STAMP tax? They taxed tea, and our boys dressed up like friggin' Native Americans and dumped it into Boston Harbor. Talk about acting out!
So when you see the endless footage they'll show for the next week of the men and women, calmly but solemnly making their way out of the bombed Tube stations, remember, they've been sporting that kind of demeanor since before the Revolution. I wouldn't have expected behavior of any other sort. It's really just like us to suddenly notice how people from another country behave. They've been around longer than us, and we act like they just landed. Can you say "ethnocentric"?
Ok, I'm boring myself. Where was I intending to go with that? There is a teeny weeny bug crawling around on the screen and the little f***er is distracting me as I type. Go away before I squish you with my little pinky. EEEWW he crawled right up to where the lettters were moving on the screen. He's a smart little f***er.
If I was smart, I'd take some cough medicine like a good mommy and go to bed.
This bug has more common sense than me right now. Sure is busy. Hi bug. Shouldn't you be asleep? Are the lights keeping you up? I know you can't help but buzz around in their direction. If I turn off the screen, will you go to bed? He flew away. I can't explain why I called him a he.
"Quicker than a ray of light I'm flying" - "Ray of Light", Madonna*
*Also an Anglophile mum.
I missed a bunch of those early days due to Postpartum Depression. I don't know how forthcoming I've been about that, and from now on, I 'm determined not to avoid talking about it. ESPECIALLY after what Brooke Shields did. Who'd have ever thought I'd have something in common with Brooke Shields besides proximity to Princeton University.
I packed some boxes. We watched Gettysburg on TNT today. It's SIX hours long. That's at least twice as long as Scarface. Say hello to my extremely long movie! I wrote notes to Guy asking questions(tired of trying to whisper and having him go "What?" over and over) about the battle and surrounding history. He's on the ball with that stuff let me tell you. He'd be a great history teacher.
It's about time to crash out. But I'm watching BBC America (great network for Anglophiles) and the show "What Not To Wear" is on. There are these two gals, Susannah and Trinny. I saw them on Oprah once or twice.
They pick really dumpy ladies and make them beautiful-In a way that's appropriate.
In the shows I've had on, they've been dealing with moms of teenage girls. They helped this one woman who almost sounded like a man. She had a real cockney accent, and was so plain and so nondescript that she didn't seem salvageable. They really did a great job. She was so shocked when she saw how they'd primped her, she almost didn't speak. Her reaction was that she looked too good to actually be herself. Imagine that. You suddenly look as good as you could look, and you don't feel you're good enough to look that good.
It's really cool hearing all these British women speaking and using colloquialisms and slang I have no knowledge of. They all sound smarter just because of their accents. There's also a calm about Brits. It's funny everyone seemed to have overlooked it until the bombings. The media acted like Londoners were unusually calm in the face of incredible trauma.
DUH. Why do you think America happened? Stereotypically speaking, Brits have a tendency to be a bit repressed and passive-aggressive. That couldn't have helped their case in managing the colonies from so many thousands of miles away...I mean can you imagine men here working hard to build communities and industry from the ground up, and when problems arose and they tried to get assistance, they were greeted with things like a STAMP tax? They taxed tea, and our boys dressed up like friggin' Native Americans and dumped it into Boston Harbor. Talk about acting out!
So when you see the endless footage they'll show for the next week of the men and women, calmly but solemnly making their way out of the bombed Tube stations, remember, they've been sporting that kind of demeanor since before the Revolution. I wouldn't have expected behavior of any other sort. It's really just like us to suddenly notice how people from another country behave. They've been around longer than us, and we act like they just landed. Can you say "ethnocentric"?
Ok, I'm boring myself. Where was I intending to go with that? There is a teeny weeny bug crawling around on the screen and the little f***er is distracting me as I type. Go away before I squish you with my little pinky. EEEWW he crawled right up to where the lettters were moving on the screen. He's a smart little f***er.
If I was smart, I'd take some cough medicine like a good mommy and go to bed.
This bug has more common sense than me right now. Sure is busy. Hi bug. Shouldn't you be asleep? Are the lights keeping you up? I know you can't help but buzz around in their direction. If I turn off the screen, will you go to bed? He flew away. I can't explain why I called him a he.
"Quicker than a ray of light I'm flying" - "Ray of Light", Madonna*
*Also an Anglophile mum.
Quiet, Mommy
The most torturous event has occurred. I have no voice.
Guy couldn't be happier. The first thing he said this morning when I demonstrated my situation, was "Hey Spencer it's gonna be really quiet around here today!" Accompanied by a smile, of course. Spencer is looking at me like I'm a loon. And on top of this, I had THE worst sleep I've had since Spencer was born and it had absolutely nothing to do with him.
I took Alka Seltzer Flu Plus so I could sleep last night, and about two hours later I finally passed out in front of the tv with Guy next to me. At 330 I roused Guy and we transferred our delirious selves into bed. I closed my eyelids, but my eyes did not feel closed. My mind was racing about moving and packing, about a potential change in the whole schedule, about high school, college and my life so far. It was like having an annoying relative or acquaintance in the room that I couldn't get rid of. My brain would not shut up.
I tossed, I turned for probably 45 minutes with no end in sight. Finally I decided there must be something soothing about the couch, so I left Guy in bed for the raggedy sectional in the tv room. No sooner had I snuggled in under an ancient red nylon comforter, in walked Guy. I waved. He tried to help me get to sleep and apparently it worked, because back to bed we went. Where I promptly woke up again. We switched sides of the bed to simulate how we rested in the tv room. An entire production for a little shut eye. Sheesh.
I'm writing this in a bit of a drug haze. All that dextromethorphan and anithistamine and whatever else sure does linger. Wow, I just checked to see if my spelling of dextromethorphan was right: I'm good!
I need work on the word "delirious" though.
Spencer and Guy played dog with a ball today. I'll elaborate on this another time. I'm quite consumed with my lack of voice, they're replaying Live 8 without the annoying VJ interruptions on VH1 (and its distracting me), and I need to get some packing done or something even though I just want to go to sleep.
In less than 3 weeks, we'll be living in the suburbs. Time flies when you're procrastinating.
Guy couldn't be happier. The first thing he said this morning when I demonstrated my situation, was "Hey Spencer it's gonna be really quiet around here today!" Accompanied by a smile, of course. Spencer is looking at me like I'm a loon. And on top of this, I had THE worst sleep I've had since Spencer was born and it had absolutely nothing to do with him.
I took Alka Seltzer Flu Plus so I could sleep last night, and about two hours later I finally passed out in front of the tv with Guy next to me. At 330 I roused Guy and we transferred our delirious selves into bed. I closed my eyelids, but my eyes did not feel closed. My mind was racing about moving and packing, about a potential change in the whole schedule, about high school, college and my life so far. It was like having an annoying relative or acquaintance in the room that I couldn't get rid of. My brain would not shut up.
I tossed, I turned for probably 45 minutes with no end in sight. Finally I decided there must be something soothing about the couch, so I left Guy in bed for the raggedy sectional in the tv room. No sooner had I snuggled in under an ancient red nylon comforter, in walked Guy. I waved. He tried to help me get to sleep and apparently it worked, because back to bed we went. Where I promptly woke up again. We switched sides of the bed to simulate how we rested in the tv room. An entire production for a little shut eye. Sheesh.
I'm writing this in a bit of a drug haze. All that dextromethorphan and anithistamine and whatever else sure does linger. Wow, I just checked to see if my spelling of dextromethorphan was right: I'm good!
I need work on the word "delirious" though.
Spencer and Guy played dog with a ball today. I'll elaborate on this another time. I'm quite consumed with my lack of voice, they're replaying Live 8 without the annoying VJ interruptions on VH1 (and its distracting me), and I need to get some packing done or something even though I just want to go to sleep.
In less than 3 weeks, we'll be living in the suburbs. Time flies when you're procrastinating.
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Ack! A Booger.
Some observations:
Spencer is saying "Ack" about and to everything. He points to the sky, he points up stairs, he repeats it over and over while being carried around the house and outside. He says it in the car, he says it near and far...wait a minute, who invited Dr. Seuss?
He's making some signs -like "more", "eat" and sometimes "milk", but lately he's invented one of his own, and it involves the shoving of his right forefinger up his right nostril and just sitting there looking at me. He doesn't move it around, just sits there with a finger up his nose. Someday, boy, I hope you'll tell me what that meant.
I tell you what, he has truly earned the nickname "Booger".
Spencer is saying "Ack" about and to everything. He points to the sky, he points up stairs, he repeats it over and over while being carried around the house and outside. He says it in the car, he says it near and far...wait a minute, who invited Dr. Seuss?
He's making some signs -like "more", "eat" and sometimes "milk", but lately he's invented one of his own, and it involves the shoving of his right forefinger up his right nostril and just sitting there looking at me. He doesn't move it around, just sits there with a finger up his nose. Someday, boy, I hope you'll tell me what that meant.
I tell you what, he has truly earned the nickname "Booger".
London Calling
Stupid t********s.
I won't use the word. I won't acknowledge them by name. They who shall remain nameless.
The day after London won the bid to host the 2012 Olympics, the starting day of the G8 Summit in Gleneagle, Scotland, frigging bombs went off in London. Our president immediately talked about spreading an "ideology of hope" to combat an "ideology of hate." The heads of Parliament expressed their sadness and dismay with many a "here here" echoing in unison, Spain stood tall and condemned the attacks completely, Americans went shopping for shoes and talked loudly on cell phones in drug stores....
What? Yep. Cell phones.
I was out and about this morning and I didn't hear ONE single person talking about what happened. Listening to NPR in the car, a commentator reported that some Americans, when polled about this incident, said they actually DIDN'T WANT TO KNOW about it. I don't think I get that. How does that help anything? How does it unite us in a common goal with the world if we don't even care what happens on the other side of our borders?
I was at Live 8 over the weekend and there was a similar issue. In Europe and Canada, the concerts and events around the concert got incredible coverage. Here, we could barely keep the performances going on screen in between VJ chatter and Axe cologne ads.
How can we be at war and be so isolationist? Oh and another thing, I'm confused about whether or not we're at war with Iraqi insurgents, or at war with terrorism in general. The president keeps changing the focus and I can't keep up.
In local news, during a surprise late night session this morning, the Pennsylvania Legislature passed a new state budget, complete with major pay hikes they approved for themselves. Nice. Gas is up to 62$ a barrel, kids in Philadelphia schools can't get proper text books, but legislators need more money. Let me guess...the cost of living has risen because of gas prices? Heh. Don't ask anyone in the street about it though. They might run away.
Wow this is pretty politically driven today.
I blame it on the fact that I'm sick with some on-coming cold, and I'm too tired to discuss my packing habits, or lack therof.
Have I mentioned I hate moving? But here 's the difference between me and t********s: I'm not going to bomb anything, write manifestos or oppress anyone. I also hate broccoli and cream sauces. Does that mean I should live the rest of my life planning to obliterate them from menus worldwide?
I'll go pick up Spencer before Hurricane Dennis comes to get us.
Everyone be nice.