okay, so i didn't post over the weekend like i said i would. but here i am now! and you should savor this one, because i seem to be coming down with a cold, probably caught from mr. baby man and all those other snotty-nosed little punks at the playground, and i may not have the energy to post for a few days.
so before i get to what i originally had to say, the BIG NEWS: there was unassisted steppage! saturday, 4 steps, stephen and i were both there to see it. since then...well, not so much. a step here and there, but mostly he wants to hang on to my fingers and walk (just my index fingers, pointed in and angled injust the right way, and he gets totally indignant if i do it wrong). but, all in good time; i'm not rushing the walking. excuse me, what was that? oh, my lower back says "rush it, bitch! i'm dying down here with all the hunching over!"
okay, now to what i originally had to say:
1. only four months to spring training (if you don't like/care about baseball, you can skip ahead...)
the 2005 season, she is officially over. the best team won, and yes, it was a 4-game sweep, but they were awesome, close, exciting games, every single one of them. the only reason that i'm not 100% glad that the white sox won is that my mom picked the astros to win it all at the beginning of the playoffs.
but more importantly, how ' bout them mets? we finished 4 games over .500, and in third place. after the past few years, that's as good as winning the freakin pennant to me. and jose reyes led the league in triples and stolen bases. wile has a dollar bill signed by jose that his nana procured for him last spring, and the value just keeps going up.... now all we need to do is ship kazuwalt (aka kazuo matsui—my mom was listening to vin scully call a dodgers-mets game last year and scully pronounced his name "kazuwalt", which of course is so much better than "kazuo") back to japan and get a real second baseman. oh and find a closer. and probably another outfielder who can hit for power. and a catcher. and some more relief pitching. okay, fine. we're probably not going to make the playoffs next year either. but will you look at the left side of our infield?
works for me.
2. sayonara, milk diapers* (if you don't like/care about boobs, you can skip ahead)
it seems like all you ever hear about is women not having enough milk and having to give up breastfeeding. okay, maybe you haven't heard that much about it, unless you're also a mom...or read a lot of books/blogs/articles about momming...or just talk to a lot of moms. in any case, lack of milk seems to be a fairly common problem, with large sections of all the baby/parenting books devoted to ideas for stimulating milk production and support for women who end up throwing in the burp cloth and going with formula. you don't see or hear too much discusion of/support for my situation: having more milk than me or mr. baby man knew what to do with.
and i know i can't really complain. it's like when i bitch about my legs being too skinny and i get the "how dare you use the words thin legs and bad in the same sentence" glare from other women. believe me, i realize that not having enough milk is a problem of a completely different nature than having too much milk. not having enough milk leads to all sorts of emotional upheaval, which i respect—if i had had to give up the breastfeeding, i would have needed truckloads of those anti-post-partum-depression vitamins from tom cruise. having too much milk just leads to wardrobe and personal hygeine upheaval.
i spent the first four months of wile's life covered in milk. no, literally. the leaking was beyond prodigious. it was hoover dam–esque. they tell you that if you leak from one boob while the baby is feeding on the other, it means you have enough milk. yeah, well i think that my hormones sent my mammary glands the wrong message or something, because they seem to have thought that i was having triplets! i didn't leak, i spurted. like a spray gun. when i went shopping for nursing bras, the first thing the salesgirl gave me was this nice comfy cotton model that she said would be great as a "sleep bra", and i remember thinking "huh? why the hell would i wear a bra to sleep?" oh, maybe because if i didn't have some way of keeping the breast pads in front of the boobs, we all would have woken up in a pool of breastmilk every morning!
now, some of you might be going, "what the hizzel is a breast pad?" it's a little absorbant puck that you put in your bra to soak up the milk leakage. observe. i bought them by the 100-pack. for the first six months, i would burn through two per boob a day, no problem. one day i went out for the afternoon without mr. baby man and leaked through the pad, the bra, an undershirt top, and a wool sweater. there were droplets of milk clinging to the boobal region of my sweater.
but for the most part, once i got past the first few months of milk milk everywhere, the pads have done their job. so what's my beef? just this: they don't make for a real smooth silhouette. in fact, they make your boobs look at the same time flat and lumpy. so every outfit i put on in the past year has had to pass the "does it camoflage the breast pads?" test. let me tell you, it puts a damper on the wardrobe. the maternity clothes are finally a thing of the past, your beloved regular clothes are waiting for you...and now you have to contend with the breast pads. curses!
one time i tried to use these silicone breast pad alternatives, which are supposed to work by putting pressure on the nipple and slowing down the flow. ha! really, i should have known better. i was nursing the boo on the right side and the stream of "leakage" from the left side literally blew the little silicone jobby right off the left boob.
but now that mr. baby man is growing up and moving on (slowly, slowly) to the solids, the flow is decreasing. yes, i'll still leak a little bit from the other side when he feeds, but for the most part the milk is still in there but it's not rushing for the exits. so a couple of weeks ago i dared to go breast pad–free. and i haven't gone back. and it's fabulous. there was one incident at the playgorund when a little girl was crying and my left boob was all "here, here, i can help!", but besides that i have remained leak free.
any ideas for a good use for 50 unused breast pads?
* tm binky
3. btietw...
...is gonna have to wait. i need to go drink more tea and go to bed and fight this oncoming sick. hopefully my preventative measures will work and i'll be back soon.....
Monday, October 31, 2005
it was easy, all you need is some hunny and a bb gun
i'm sorry, but it looks less like he is pooh and more like he hunted pooh down, killed him, and is wearing his pelt.
you can see more pictures of the poohstravaganza here
you can see more pictures of the poohstravaganza here
Thursday, October 27, 2005
no boobs for you!
i had big plans for the posting tonight. big ones! i haven't posted in a couple of days, and i was all set to make up for it. i was going to write about baseball! and boobs! and food! like some kind of a perfect male fantasy, it was going to be!
but then i got hit with a big, nasty, shit-ass mood. there's no good reason for it. oh, sure i'm tired. but who isn't, really. and let's see, what else? well, i wanted to go down into the basement and get some of my musical soundtrack cassettes (yes, broadway musical. i was a huge theater geek in high school. shut up. i was also a cheerleader for 2 years. double shut up), but i couldn't becasue i saw the commercial for saw 2 last night and the thought of going down into a dark basement when i'm in the house by myself is turning my stomach into hot churning volcanic acid and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. stupid saw 2. stupid halloween-scary-movie season. depriving me of singing along to falsettos or into the woods, which would have improved my mood greatly. but nooooooo.
and oh, right, the little man only slept for 2-1/2 hours, followed by a really awesome 20-minute stretch. and stephen is out, so i had to go deal with him. but honestly, did i think that the sleeping for 8 hours was going to be a permanent thing? no. okay, so, yes, i hoped that it would, and possibly deluded myself that it might, so, yes, maybe i was a little frustrated when his dulcet tones came over the monitor at ten goddamn thirty. but really, after all these months of poor sleeping i shouldn't let 2-1/2 hours send me into a tizzy. a couple of months ago, 2-1/2 hours was an accomplishment! of course, a couple of months ago i hadn't experienced the luxurious, sumptuous 8 hours.
you know, it's funny. when i talk to people who have used the ferber method (in which, to explain for the non-parents among us who may not be familiar, you follow a systematic procedure of letting the baby cry themselves to sleep, incrementally increasing the time you allow them to cry without responding each night), or who are trying to convince me to use the ferber method, they always say something along the lines of "yeah, the crying is tough, but once you experience that first 8 hour stretch it's all worth it." well, that argument never swayed me before, and it's seeming even less persuasive now. because yes, the 8 hour stretch was pretty fantastic. but now that i know it's a possibility, anything less is just crap, and way way harder to accept than it was pre–8 hours. yes, i realize that there's something very defeatist and pessimistic about this attitude. but it's also true.
okay, i'm feeling better. i put with arms outstretched on repeat and have been signing along as loud as possible, and that's helping. [speaking of music, the new mountain goats album is amazing. go get it.] but i'm still done posting for tonight. baseball, boobs, and food will have to wait for the weekend.
i did throw some new pictures up on wile's site. go ahead, you know you want to look.
but then i got hit with a big, nasty, shit-ass mood. there's no good reason for it. oh, sure i'm tired. but who isn't, really. and let's see, what else? well, i wanted to go down into the basement and get some of my musical soundtrack cassettes (yes, broadway musical. i was a huge theater geek in high school. shut up. i was also a cheerleader for 2 years. double shut up), but i couldn't becasue i saw the commercial for saw 2 last night and the thought of going down into a dark basement when i'm in the house by myself is turning my stomach into hot churning volcanic acid and making the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. stupid saw 2. stupid halloween-scary-movie season. depriving me of singing along to falsettos or into the woods, which would have improved my mood greatly. but nooooooo.
and oh, right, the little man only slept for 2-1/2 hours, followed by a really awesome 20-minute stretch. and stephen is out, so i had to go deal with him. but honestly, did i think that the sleeping for 8 hours was going to be a permanent thing? no. okay, so, yes, i hoped that it would, and possibly deluded myself that it might, so, yes, maybe i was a little frustrated when his dulcet tones came over the monitor at ten goddamn thirty. but really, after all these months of poor sleeping i shouldn't let 2-1/2 hours send me into a tizzy. a couple of months ago, 2-1/2 hours was an accomplishment! of course, a couple of months ago i hadn't experienced the luxurious, sumptuous 8 hours.
you know, it's funny. when i talk to people who have used the ferber method (in which, to explain for the non-parents among us who may not be familiar, you follow a systematic procedure of letting the baby cry themselves to sleep, incrementally increasing the time you allow them to cry without responding each night), or who are trying to convince me to use the ferber method, they always say something along the lines of "yeah, the crying is tough, but once you experience that first 8 hour stretch it's all worth it." well, that argument never swayed me before, and it's seeming even less persuasive now. because yes, the 8 hour stretch was pretty fantastic. but now that i know it's a possibility, anything less is just crap, and way way harder to accept than it was pre–8 hours. yes, i realize that there's something very defeatist and pessimistic about this attitude. but it's also true.
okay, i'm feeling better. i put with arms outstretched on repeat and have been signing along as loud as possible, and that's helping. [speaking of music, the new mountain goats album is amazing. go get it.] but i'm still done posting for tonight. baseball, boobs, and food will have to wait for the weekend.
i did throw some new pictures up on wile's site. go ahead, you know you want to look.
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
ask me again how the sleeping is going
go ahead. ask me.
how is it going? i'll tell you how it's going: six hours, baby!!!!! that's right, six consecutive hours.
and what did the trick? i'll tell you what did the trick: i have no f-ing clue. it's not like the last few nights have been getting exponentially better. i put him to bed like any other night, we had a day like any other day.
but you know what? i'll tell you what: i don't care! six hours!
of course, he woke up cranky as a mofo and is now napping, but still. six hours!
how is it going? i'll tell you how it's going: six hours, baby!!!!! that's right, six consecutive hours.
and what did the trick? i'll tell you what did the trick: i have no f-ing clue. it's not like the last few nights have been getting exponentially better. i put him to bed like any other night, we had a day like any other day.
but you know what? i'll tell you what: i don't care! six hours!
of course, he woke up cranky as a mofo and is now napping, but still. six hours!
Monday, October 24, 2005
i saw the sign (sorry, but if i have to have the damn song in my head, as i have since i thought of this title, so do you)
since we don't have a down-on-his-luck sibling to come over and invent a baby translator, and the eeeehhhhh! is getting really old, i've been working on teaching mr. baby man some sign language. and not only is it beyond fantastic to feel like i'm communicating with him, the cuteness factor is also very, very high.
the first sign i taught him was for "nurse". i figured it was a good idea to start with something he liked, and did often. so for the past two months or so, every time i'd ask, "do you want to nurse?" i'd make the sign: put all the fingers of one hand together like you're making the stereotypical "mwah!" italian hand gesture, then bring your hand to your lips. technically this is the sign for "eat", but i figured it was close enough. i didn't expect him to get it right away, but after a month and a half and no discernable response, i started to feel like an idiot making the sign everytime i mentioned nursing, like wile was looking at me like "what's up with that weird nervous twitch that mama's developed? maybe she should talk to someone about that..."
then a few weeks ago we were in the grocery store because i had forgotten to place a fresh direct order, and i had mr. baby man in the seat of the cart and was plying him with pirate's booty to keep him from having a breakdown/trying to climb out of the cart. we had been at the park with our friend ruby, who is 3 months older than wile, earlier in the day and she'd been using the sign for "more", so i decided to give it a shot. when he started bleating for more booty, i asked if he wanted "more" and made the sign: put the fingers of each hand together like the nurse/eat sign and tap the fingertips together. within three aisles, he was doing it back. i took it all in stride, of course, stopping the cart in the middle of the aisle and shouting "you're a genius!!" and giving him a huge hug and kiss. i'm surprised i didn't scare him so bad that he never did it again.... so i don't know if it was the power of the booty (aka "baby crack") or if i just got him at the right moment, when his little brain was ready for it, but the "more" sign took hold and hasn't let go. of course, sometimes he asks for "more" when he hasn't had anything, and i have to try to figure out what in the blazes he wants more of—the cat? the pretzels we were eating an hour ago? the ball? huh?
that was our big turning point. it's not like he's signing complete sentences or anything, but he's definitely down with the concept. he does the "nurse" sign now, though sometimes he does it with only one finger and looks like the poster baby for bulemia, which is a little disturbing, and sometimes he'll do the "nurse" sign that he created himself: grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling it away from his chest, looking down it, and then looking at me. well yes, wile, that is more to the point, isn't it....
he's also got a pretty good hold on nodding his head yes—always with a big grin and accompanied by "deh!", his noise of assent—and just today started to shake his head no, thankfully not accompanied by the dreaded spoken "no!" his head shakes are very vehement, utilizing not only the head but pretty much the entire upper body. and he has refined his outstretched-hand-reach gesture into a definite point, with definite direction and intent. handing me the ball and pointing up? "throw the ball up in the air!" handing me a hat and pointing to his head? "put that thing on me!"
tonight in the bath he stood up, looked over at the soap dish, and rubbed his hands together. "do you want me to soap you?" i asked him, and he nodded. i almost passed right out. communication! invention of a sign totally on his own! i had already soaped and rinsed him and it was definitely time to be getting on with the bedtime, but i reached over and got that soap. maybe you could refuse a naked baby asking you for something with his chubby little hands, but i sure as hell can't.
the first sign i taught him was for "nurse". i figured it was a good idea to start with something he liked, and did often. so for the past two months or so, every time i'd ask, "do you want to nurse?" i'd make the sign: put all the fingers of one hand together like you're making the stereotypical "mwah!" italian hand gesture, then bring your hand to your lips. technically this is the sign for "eat", but i figured it was close enough. i didn't expect him to get it right away, but after a month and a half and no discernable response, i started to feel like an idiot making the sign everytime i mentioned nursing, like wile was looking at me like "what's up with that weird nervous twitch that mama's developed? maybe she should talk to someone about that..."
then a few weeks ago we were in the grocery store because i had forgotten to place a fresh direct order, and i had mr. baby man in the seat of the cart and was plying him with pirate's booty to keep him from having a breakdown/trying to climb out of the cart. we had been at the park with our friend ruby, who is 3 months older than wile, earlier in the day and she'd been using the sign for "more", so i decided to give it a shot. when he started bleating for more booty, i asked if he wanted "more" and made the sign: put the fingers of each hand together like the nurse/eat sign and tap the fingertips together. within three aisles, he was doing it back. i took it all in stride, of course, stopping the cart in the middle of the aisle and shouting "you're a genius!!" and giving him a huge hug and kiss. i'm surprised i didn't scare him so bad that he never did it again.... so i don't know if it was the power of the booty (aka "baby crack") or if i just got him at the right moment, when his little brain was ready for it, but the "more" sign took hold and hasn't let go. of course, sometimes he asks for "more" when he hasn't had anything, and i have to try to figure out what in the blazes he wants more of—the cat? the pretzels we were eating an hour ago? the ball? huh?
that was our big turning point. it's not like he's signing complete sentences or anything, but he's definitely down with the concept. he does the "nurse" sign now, though sometimes he does it with only one finger and looks like the poster baby for bulemia, which is a little disturbing, and sometimes he'll do the "nurse" sign that he created himself: grabbing the front of his shirt, pulling it away from his chest, looking down it, and then looking at me. well yes, wile, that is more to the point, isn't it....
he's also got a pretty good hold on nodding his head yes—always with a big grin and accompanied by "deh!", his noise of assent—and just today started to shake his head no, thankfully not accompanied by the dreaded spoken "no!" his head shakes are very vehement, utilizing not only the head but pretty much the entire upper body. and he has refined his outstretched-hand-reach gesture into a definite point, with definite direction and intent. handing me the ball and pointing up? "throw the ball up in the air!" handing me a hat and pointing to his head? "put that thing on me!"
tonight in the bath he stood up, looked over at the soap dish, and rubbed his hands together. "do you want me to soap you?" i asked him, and he nodded. i almost passed right out. communication! invention of a sign totally on his own! i had already soaped and rinsed him and it was definitely time to be getting on with the bedtime, but i reached over and got that soap. maybe you could refuse a naked baby asking you for something with his chubby little hands, but i sure as hell can't.
Sunday, October 23, 2005
so, you ask, how is the sleeping going?
1. sorry, i haven't passed my apparition test yet
two nights ago, around 2am. stephen had gone in to get wile at about 1:15, and was still in there. i thought i heard the monitor go static, which would mean that stephen had turned the "child unit" in wile's room off for a minute, which is our way of signalling to the other that they are needed. i peeled myself out of bed, padded down the hall, and the minute i poked my head through the doorway stephen whipped around so that wile couldn't see me. i stood there confused for a minute—maybe i didn't hear the bat signal?* then i heard stephen whisper "i don't want him to see you coming in...." heh? i was still half-asleep, and this confused me to the point of total incapacitation. of course at this point wile figured out that stephen was talking to me and turned around and saw me and whatever ruse stephen was trying to pull off was blown, so i just went in, took him, and stephen went back to bed while i gave wile a little snack and got him back to sleep.
when i got back in bed stephen was still awake, so i asked him what exactly he had wanted me to do back there.... he told me that he hadn't wanted wile to see me coming in the door, because when wile gets really inconsolable in the middle of the night he reaches for the door when he cries, and stephen didn't want to reinforce the idea that reaching for the door would make me appear in it. so he thought it would be better if he faced wile the other direction, then i came in, then he would let wile see me and it would just be like "poof, there's mama!" instead of "there's mama coming through the door."
but then wouldn't he just cry and reach for the spot in his room where i had magically appeared?
and wouldn't that really fuck with his tenuous, still-developing grasp on the laws of physics?
2. i thought you lo-o-o-o-o-ved me!
scene: stephen comes back to bed from nocturnal round three with mr. baby man
s: so what am i supposed to do with lamby?
me: oh, just put him back next to wile when you lay him back down...
s: i tried to give lamby to him when i first went in.
me: oh yeah? how did that go?
s: lamby got tossed.
maybe auntie meg was right and the chaps really are a good idea....
* speaking of bat signal, i had some perplexingly odd dreams last night involving the christian bale batman.... he was trying to get in to some event at some stadium or another to perform some heroic deed, all done up in the bat suit. he was with my neighbor from down the street, big mike, and as they were going in mike passed him a note or something, and batman was all, "no, no, don't hand me that here!" and mike was all, "what, man? it's no big thing!" and handed him the note, and batman heaved a big sigh and said, "now security's gonna be all over me!" and he was right, security guards came over and asked to see the note and gave him a hard time, but eventually let him go in to the escalator bank to the stadium (maybe they were at madison square garden?). so everything seemed to be okay then, but when batman got to the lady taking the tickets, she wouldn't let him in because she was suspicious of his outfit. and, sadly, i can't remember if she ended up lettting him in or not.
two nights ago, around 2am. stephen had gone in to get wile at about 1:15, and was still in there. i thought i heard the monitor go static, which would mean that stephen had turned the "child unit" in wile's room off for a minute, which is our way of signalling to the other that they are needed. i peeled myself out of bed, padded down the hall, and the minute i poked my head through the doorway stephen whipped around so that wile couldn't see me. i stood there confused for a minute—maybe i didn't hear the bat signal?* then i heard stephen whisper "i don't want him to see you coming in...." heh? i was still half-asleep, and this confused me to the point of total incapacitation. of course at this point wile figured out that stephen was talking to me and turned around and saw me and whatever ruse stephen was trying to pull off was blown, so i just went in, took him, and stephen went back to bed while i gave wile a little snack and got him back to sleep.
when i got back in bed stephen was still awake, so i asked him what exactly he had wanted me to do back there.... he told me that he hadn't wanted wile to see me coming in the door, because when wile gets really inconsolable in the middle of the night he reaches for the door when he cries, and stephen didn't want to reinforce the idea that reaching for the door would make me appear in it. so he thought it would be better if he faced wile the other direction, then i came in, then he would let wile see me and it would just be like "poof, there's mama!" instead of "there's mama coming through the door."
but then wouldn't he just cry and reach for the spot in his room where i had magically appeared?
and wouldn't that really fuck with his tenuous, still-developing grasp on the laws of physics?
2. i thought you lo-o-o-o-o-ved me!
scene: stephen comes back to bed from nocturnal round three with mr. baby man
s: so what am i supposed to do with lamby?
me: oh, just put him back next to wile when you lay him back down...
s: i tried to give lamby to him when i first went in.
me: oh yeah? how did that go?
s: lamby got tossed.
maybe auntie meg was right and the chaps really are a good idea....
* speaking of bat signal, i had some perplexingly odd dreams last night involving the christian bale batman.... he was trying to get in to some event at some stadium or another to perform some heroic deed, all done up in the bat suit. he was with my neighbor from down the street, big mike, and as they were going in mike passed him a note or something, and batman was all, "no, no, don't hand me that here!" and mike was all, "what, man? it's no big thing!" and handed him the note, and batman heaved a big sigh and said, "now security's gonna be all over me!" and he was right, security guards came over and asked to see the note and gave him a hard time, but eventually let him go in to the escalator bank to the stadium (maybe they were at madison square garden?). so everything seemed to be okay then, but when batman got to the lady taking the tickets, she wouldn't let him in because she was suspicious of his outfit. and, sadly, i can't remember if she ended up lettting him in or not.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
perhaps a medic alert bracelet is in order....
last night was one of my nights to put wile to bed. as usual, i nursed him till he was groggy then picked him up and hugged him to my shoulder to carry him over to his bed. he heaved a big sigh, snuggled against my shoulder, and i thought my heart was going to just seize up right there.
i love lots of people: stephen, my parents, my brothers, my best friends. but none of that love has ever given me heart palpitations.
i can't count the number of times that my mother has tearfully told me that i'm the best thing that ever happened to her. and until mr. baby man came along, i just chalked this up to my mother's tendency to get a little weepy and sentimental sometimes. but now i understand: she really meant it.
and the funny thing, the ironic thing, is, of course, that until the minute i found out i was pregnant, i was sure i didn't want children. i'd never really connected to little kids. i was a terrible babysitter. my brother ben was born when i was 14, and i know some teenage girls would have been thrilled to have a cute little baby around the house to coo at and play with, but the main emotion i felt was royally pissed off. i couldn't understand why anyone would choose to put themsleves through what i was watching my dad and my stepmom go through—no sleep, poop everywhere, screaming crying, whining, tantrums—and didn't appreciate having no choice but to go through it all with them. so the thought of having my own? not appealing. i had been inside the belly of the beast, and i wasn't interested, thanks anyway.
of course, everyone assumed that i would eventually change my mind. it was always "when you guys have a kid..." or "how are you going to raise the children?" or "make with the grandchildren already!!" (that last one was inferred.) but i held my ground. i honestly believed that it wasn't going to happen. i mean, older people were (are) always telling me how i'm going to think differently when i too get older, and i find most of what they tell me to be total poppycock. for example, i've been told, by people who know me well and should know better, that i'm going to be less interested in food when i get older (yes, i can see myself totally giving up on something that has been a passion since i was five), and that i'm going to become religious because life without it will start to feel hollow (hi, have we met?). oh and the person who told me that i was going to find god sometime in my thirties also told me that it was not only the impending hollowness that would drive me to religion but also the need to send the children that they assumed i was going to have to sunday school so that they could learn "morals". so that was a double whammy, that one.
but while i still think that the other predictions are more projections of the predicter's own issues than anything else, i'll happily admit that i was wrong about the kid thing. granted, i didn't have a great change-of-heart moment and start downing folic acid and charting my cycle. nope, i had a blackout, which led to me not being able to refill my pills which led to a diaphragm which led to me peeing in a cup at my ob gyn's office because i knew that even though e.p.t.s said no, there was something lurking in my uterus.
and from the second that my ob brought me the results, i never had any doubts that i wanted to have the baby. but i could never explain why. i just...knew. years of thinking i didn't want kids? feh! some switch turned over in my brain and i just knew that having this kid was the right thing for me. i couldn't put it into words. and i guess i still can't. but the squeezing, aching feeling in my heart says it pretty plainly.
so i guess there is a chance that in 20 years i'll be a food-hating church-goer. but i doubt it.
[disclaimer: i started this post before i read dooce's post of a similar nature, honest. great minds just think alike and all that (or are on corresponding hormonal swings....)]
i love lots of people: stephen, my parents, my brothers, my best friends. but none of that love has ever given me heart palpitations.
i can't count the number of times that my mother has tearfully told me that i'm the best thing that ever happened to her. and until mr. baby man came along, i just chalked this up to my mother's tendency to get a little weepy and sentimental sometimes. but now i understand: she really meant it.
and the funny thing, the ironic thing, is, of course, that until the minute i found out i was pregnant, i was sure i didn't want children. i'd never really connected to little kids. i was a terrible babysitter. my brother ben was born when i was 14, and i know some teenage girls would have been thrilled to have a cute little baby around the house to coo at and play with, but the main emotion i felt was royally pissed off. i couldn't understand why anyone would choose to put themsleves through what i was watching my dad and my stepmom go through—no sleep, poop everywhere, screaming crying, whining, tantrums—and didn't appreciate having no choice but to go through it all with them. so the thought of having my own? not appealing. i had been inside the belly of the beast, and i wasn't interested, thanks anyway.
of course, everyone assumed that i would eventually change my mind. it was always "when you guys have a kid..." or "how are you going to raise the children?" or "make with the grandchildren already!!" (that last one was inferred.) but i held my ground. i honestly believed that it wasn't going to happen. i mean, older people were (are) always telling me how i'm going to think differently when i too get older, and i find most of what they tell me to be total poppycock. for example, i've been told, by people who know me well and should know better, that i'm going to be less interested in food when i get older (yes, i can see myself totally giving up on something that has been a passion since i was five), and that i'm going to become religious because life without it will start to feel hollow (hi, have we met?). oh and the person who told me that i was going to find god sometime in my thirties also told me that it was not only the impending hollowness that would drive me to religion but also the need to send the children that they assumed i was going to have to sunday school so that they could learn "morals". so that was a double whammy, that one.
but while i still think that the other predictions are more projections of the predicter's own issues than anything else, i'll happily admit that i was wrong about the kid thing. granted, i didn't have a great change-of-heart moment and start downing folic acid and charting my cycle. nope, i had a blackout, which led to me not being able to refill my pills which led to a diaphragm which led to me peeing in a cup at my ob gyn's office because i knew that even though e.p.t.s said no, there was something lurking in my uterus.
and from the second that my ob brought me the results, i never had any doubts that i wanted to have the baby. but i could never explain why. i just...knew. years of thinking i didn't want kids? feh! some switch turned over in my brain and i just knew that having this kid was the right thing for me. i couldn't put it into words. and i guess i still can't. but the squeezing, aching feeling in my heart says it pretty plainly.
so i guess there is a chance that in 20 years i'll be a food-hating church-goer. but i doubt it.
[disclaimer: i started this post before i read dooce's post of a similar nature, honest. great minds just think alike and all that (or are on corresponding hormonal swings....)]
no, i'm not a furry
one of the tactics that the baby books suggest in the war for sleep is getting the baby attached to a stuffed animal, or, as the books puts it, to make a stuffed animal his "lovey". the theory being that it will help them to not freak out when they wake up in the middle of the night if they have their trusty lovey by their side.
so we're working on this with lamby, who was given to wile while he was still in the womb by aunt sarah, and is the softest thing i've ever felt. the boo likes to give lamby kisses, and always seems happy to see him, so he seemed like a good candidate. i put lamby in my lap with wile when he nurses, and we cuddle with him, and it seems to be taking.
the only problem is that whenever i go to think the words "make lamby his lovey", the phrase that instead pops into my depraved head is "make lamby his bitch." which conjures up all kinds of images of lamby in a gimp mask and ass-less chaps, and that just isn't right.
so we're working on this with lamby, who was given to wile while he was still in the womb by aunt sarah, and is the softest thing i've ever felt. the boo likes to give lamby kisses, and always seems happy to see him, so he seemed like a good candidate. i put lamby in my lap with wile when he nurses, and we cuddle with him, and it seems to be taking.
the only problem is that whenever i go to think the words "make lamby his lovey", the phrase that instead pops into my depraved head is "make lamby his bitch." which conjures up all kinds of images of lamby in a gimp mask and ass-less chaps, and that just isn't right.
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
btietw
this week's winner is the aforementioned pasta with beets.
i had roasted some beets the night before but not eaten them, and wasn't feeling too psyched about just eating sliced roasted beets. i considered going out to get some goat cheese to slather them with, but this was day 4 of last week's monsoon season, and i pretty quickly decided it wasn't worth it. then i remembered that alice waters had a recipe for pasta with beets in chez panisse vegetables...which turned out to be a recipe for pasta with beet greens, which sounded good despite the golden currants (gick!), but didn't solve my problem of what to do with the beets themselves. and i knew that somewhere, somewhere, i really had read a recipe for pasta with beets....
finally i remembered where: in more home cooking, sequel to home cooking, by laurie colwin. of course. i should know by now that those two books are where i should always look first when i'm in the throes of culinary indecision/uninspiration. laurie colwin was a novelist (who sadly died about ten years ago at age 42) who also loved to cook and eat and wrote for gourmet fairly regularly, and hc and mhc are collections of those essays and transcripts of talks she gave (the recipes are worked in to the essays). she's funny, quirky, unpretentious, and the recipes are simple and unfailingly successful.
so what i ended up making was a combination of laurie's recipe (she uses angel hair pasta, which i find annoying, and chicken broth, which i didn't have in the house) and alice's recipe (yes to the greens, which i had in the fridge; no to the nasty currants):
chop up as much garlic as you like (i used two big honking cloves), saute with about 1/4 cup olive oil. dice your roasted beets and throw them in for a minute (you can also start with diced raw beets, just saute them for longer). wash and chop the greens and throw them in with some salt and pepper, rosemary, and a dash of cayenne or red pepper flakes. saute quickly until greens just wilt, then throw on a splash of vinegar (red wine, balsamic, whatever). mix with pasta (i used spaghetti), adding more olive oil and/or a spalsh of pasta water to coat if you need to.
and look how pretty!
that was actually batch two, made a day later without greens (i used them all up in the first batch).
wile recommends it be eaten with your hands. beet chunks may be grasped between thumb and forefinger and inserted into the mouth, or taken from mama's hand with the mouth. for the pasta, grasp strands at each end firmly in your fists, pull taut, and bite from the middle.
i had roasted some beets the night before but not eaten them, and wasn't feeling too psyched about just eating sliced roasted beets. i considered going out to get some goat cheese to slather them with, but this was day 4 of last week's monsoon season, and i pretty quickly decided it wasn't worth it. then i remembered that alice waters had a recipe for pasta with beets in chez panisse vegetables...which turned out to be a recipe for pasta with beet greens, which sounded good despite the golden currants (gick!), but didn't solve my problem of what to do with the beets themselves. and i knew that somewhere, somewhere, i really had read a recipe for pasta with beets....
finally i remembered where: in more home cooking, sequel to home cooking, by laurie colwin. of course. i should know by now that those two books are where i should always look first when i'm in the throes of culinary indecision/uninspiration. laurie colwin was a novelist (who sadly died about ten years ago at age 42) who also loved to cook and eat and wrote for gourmet fairly regularly, and hc and mhc are collections of those essays and transcripts of talks she gave (the recipes are worked in to the essays). she's funny, quirky, unpretentious, and the recipes are simple and unfailingly successful.
so what i ended up making was a combination of laurie's recipe (she uses angel hair pasta, which i find annoying, and chicken broth, which i didn't have in the house) and alice's recipe (yes to the greens, which i had in the fridge; no to the nasty currants):
chop up as much garlic as you like (i used two big honking cloves), saute with about 1/4 cup olive oil. dice your roasted beets and throw them in for a minute (you can also start with diced raw beets, just saute them for longer). wash and chop the greens and throw them in with some salt and pepper, rosemary, and a dash of cayenne or red pepper flakes. saute quickly until greens just wilt, then throw on a splash of vinegar (red wine, balsamic, whatever). mix with pasta (i used spaghetti), adding more olive oil and/or a spalsh of pasta water to coat if you need to.
and look how pretty!
that was actually batch two, made a day later without greens (i used them all up in the first batch).
wile recommends it be eaten with your hands. beet chunks may be grasped between thumb and forefinger and inserted into the mouth, or taken from mama's hand with the mouth. for the pasta, grasp strands at each end firmly in your fists, pull taut, and bite from the middle.
Monday, October 17, 2005
like paroled convicts, they were
in elementary school we watched this movie about kids living on another planet—i think it was saturn—where it rained constantly. there was only one day a year when it was sunny, and all the kids finally got to go outside and run around and go nuts.*
today at the park was kind of like that one day.
we'd all been cooped up in our houses for the past week, trapped by the rain. but today was bright and sunny, and everybody was at the playground—and everybody was just a little wacky.
little girls were climbing all over the railings of the stairs of the jungle gym, hanging on by one foot and two fingers and sheer determination. we were part of a traffic pile-up on the slide: two going up, three coming down, and no room for any grownup to get in there and straighten things out—we just had to let nature take its course and hope for the best. a little boy made his way through the gate on to the sidewalk and had to be brought back in by a pedestrain who happened to be walking by. it was anarchy! everyone was at top volume and top speed and pushing the limitis of their abilities. all the kids' eyes were darting in twelve directions at once, looking for the next thing to do before they finished what they were already doing, trying to make up for their lost week. "slide! swings! wobbly bridge! no, slide again! tunnel! slide! why! won't! my! body! separate! into! 3! pieces! so! i! can! do! everything! at! once!?!"
in the morning we went to fort greene park, where wile spent a good ten minutes flinging dirt out of one of the planters with enormous gusto, then fell and skinned his nose and forehead crawling from the asphalt back on to the rubber mat. in the afternoon we went to underwood, the closer playground, where he crawled around at top speed, yelling his head off as he went. "ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!" he chased another little kid, who was actually older than him, through the tunnel and made him cry a little bit (hey, if you can't take the heat, get out of the playground). after i apologized to the kids mom, we went over to the slide, where wile climbed up the stairs on his feet (not knees). when he got to the top there was a 4-year-old sitting at the top of the slide taking a little too long to decide to go down, so the little man reached over and tried to hurry him up some with a relatively friendly push to the middle of the back. more apologizing—though the 4-year-old looked less upset and more confused that this very small person had been the one who pushed him.... we did some swinginating, some acorn-chucking, some digging in the dirt with sticks, then all the sudden he crashed and burned, started clawing at my sweater, and it was time to go home.
whew.
* the plot of the movie was that this one girl did something to piss off one of the other kids so to get back at her the other kid locked her inside for the one sunny day, and it was and still is one of the saddest things i've ever seen.
today at the park was kind of like that one day.
we'd all been cooped up in our houses for the past week, trapped by the rain. but today was bright and sunny, and everybody was at the playground—and everybody was just a little wacky.
little girls were climbing all over the railings of the stairs of the jungle gym, hanging on by one foot and two fingers and sheer determination. we were part of a traffic pile-up on the slide: two going up, three coming down, and no room for any grownup to get in there and straighten things out—we just had to let nature take its course and hope for the best. a little boy made his way through the gate on to the sidewalk and had to be brought back in by a pedestrain who happened to be walking by. it was anarchy! everyone was at top volume and top speed and pushing the limitis of their abilities. all the kids' eyes were darting in twelve directions at once, looking for the next thing to do before they finished what they were already doing, trying to make up for their lost week. "slide! swings! wobbly bridge! no, slide again! tunnel! slide! why! won't! my! body! separate! into! 3! pieces! so! i! can! do! everything! at! once!?!"
in the morning we went to fort greene park, where wile spent a good ten minutes flinging dirt out of one of the planters with enormous gusto, then fell and skinned his nose and forehead crawling from the asphalt back on to the rubber mat. in the afternoon we went to underwood, the closer playground, where he crawled around at top speed, yelling his head off as he went. "ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a!" he chased another little kid, who was actually older than him, through the tunnel and made him cry a little bit (hey, if you can't take the heat, get out of the playground). after i apologized to the kids mom, we went over to the slide, where wile climbed up the stairs on his feet (not knees). when he got to the top there was a 4-year-old sitting at the top of the slide taking a little too long to decide to go down, so the little man reached over and tried to hurry him up some with a relatively friendly push to the middle of the back. more apologizing—though the 4-year-old looked less upset and more confused that this very small person had been the one who pushed him.... we did some swinginating, some acorn-chucking, some digging in the dirt with sticks, then all the sudden he crashed and burned, started clawing at my sweater, and it was time to go home.
whew.
* the plot of the movie was that this one girl did something to piss off one of the other kids so to get back at her the other kid locked her inside for the one sunny day, and it was and still is one of the saddest things i've ever seen.
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Thursday, October 13, 2005
"f'n a, cotton. f'n a."
i just caught a few minutes of dodgeball on the tv, and i have to say: jason bateman's delivery of that line? award-worthy.
if you ever need to bail out a leaky boat, you know who to call
wile made two big discoveries in the bath tonight:
1. if you fill your hello kitty cup with water from in your inflatable tub and toss the water over the edge into the big tub, the drain will make the cool gurgling noise.
this led to the second dicovery:
2. if you fill your hello kitty cup with water from in your inflatable tub and then throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care, the water in the cup will go flying everywhere and oh my god is that the funniest thing ever!
this led to mama moving her chair a good 6 inches away from the tub.
1. if you fill your hello kitty cup with water from in your inflatable tub and toss the water over the edge into the big tub, the drain will make the cool gurgling noise.
this led to the second dicovery:
2. if you fill your hello kitty cup with water from in your inflatable tub and then throw your hands in the air and wave 'em like you just don't care, the water in the cup will go flying everywhere and oh my god is that the funniest thing ever!
this led to mama moving her chair a good 6 inches away from the tub.
dismount
the jungle gym at our playground has these great big plastic tubes in it that wile loves crawling through at break-neck speed. for a while we had a little problem with the exit, though—there's a drop of about 2 inches down to the platform from the tube, and he couldn't figure out how to conquer it. but with a little help from mama and auntie meg, he adopted the tried and true method of scooting your butt to the very edge and then dropping down. genius. of course, i'm still trying to teach him the other method of flopping over on to your belly and scooting off an edge backwards, which is helpful for descending from greater heights. it hasn't really taken, though. usually when he senses that a drop is too big for the butt scoot method, he just calls for help.
then the other day we had to take the cushions off the couch due to an unfortunate feline puking incident, and found that the drop off the cushionless couch falls into a gray area.... i would have thought that it was too high for the butt scoot method, but apparently mr. baby man disagress. observe:
the deliberation...
the approach...
and he sticks the landing!
then the other day we had to take the cushions off the couch due to an unfortunate feline puking incident, and found that the drop off the cushionless couch falls into a gray area.... i would have thought that it was too high for the butt scoot method, but apparently mr. baby man disagress. observe:
the deliberation...
the approach...
and he sticks the landing!
we got the beet
i had pasta with beets today for lunch and lo and behold, the little man likes beets.
the purple poop watch begins....now.
the purple poop watch begins....now.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
further adventures in delirium
we're trying, people. we really are.
last night, our best intentions were thwarted by technical difficulties and trucky.
i went to bed around 11:30 after putting mr. baby man back down from his first waking; stephen was already in bed with the monitor on. around 2:30, i woke up to the sound of wile crying, but from down the hall, not through the monitor. my first thought was "oh crap, he climbed out of our bed and is crawling down the hallway to the top of the stairs!".... as i sat there putting it together that wile wasn't in our bed to begin with and was safe (unhappy, but safe) in his room, stephen got out of bed and went to put wile back down. i still wasn't sure why i wasn't hearing him through the monitor, but i didn't give it too much thought, and lay back down. i could hear wile crying for a long time, then silence....then more crying, then stephen bringing wile in....
apparently the monitor had fallen off the mantle earlier in the night and hit stephen in the head, and when that happened the channel got switched. so when we both woke up, wile had been crying for a long time, but we hadn't been able to hear him, so he was really pissed off by the time stephen went to get him. hence the not stopping crying. stephen was finally able to calm him down and get him to stop reaching for the door (i.e. for me)—which was the period of silence that i heard—when trucky came barging in to wile's room and got him all riled up. they had some good kitty time, according to stephen, but then wile remembered that he wanted mama and there was no turning him asunder this time.
when stephen brought wile in, i rolled over and took him and he sat on my stomach. i pulled up my shirt so that he could nurse a little bit and calm down, and as soon as he saw the boobs, he let out the most relieved sigh/laugh, like "oh-ho-ho, there they are!", and looked at stephen like, "now, was that so hard?".
i know it wasn't productive, but it was damn funny.
last night, our best intentions were thwarted by technical difficulties and trucky.
i went to bed around 11:30 after putting mr. baby man back down from his first waking; stephen was already in bed with the monitor on. around 2:30, i woke up to the sound of wile crying, but from down the hall, not through the monitor. my first thought was "oh crap, he climbed out of our bed and is crawling down the hallway to the top of the stairs!".... as i sat there putting it together that wile wasn't in our bed to begin with and was safe (unhappy, but safe) in his room, stephen got out of bed and went to put wile back down. i still wasn't sure why i wasn't hearing him through the monitor, but i didn't give it too much thought, and lay back down. i could hear wile crying for a long time, then silence....then more crying, then stephen bringing wile in....
apparently the monitor had fallen off the mantle earlier in the night and hit stephen in the head, and when that happened the channel got switched. so when we both woke up, wile had been crying for a long time, but we hadn't been able to hear him, so he was really pissed off by the time stephen went to get him. hence the not stopping crying. stephen was finally able to calm him down and get him to stop reaching for the door (i.e. for me)—which was the period of silence that i heard—when trucky came barging in to wile's room and got him all riled up. they had some good kitty time, according to stephen, but then wile remembered that he wanted mama and there was no turning him asunder this time.
when stephen brought wile in, i rolled over and took him and he sat on my stomach. i pulled up my shirt so that he could nurse a little bit and calm down, and as soon as he saw the boobs, he let out the most relieved sigh/laugh, like "oh-ho-ho, there they are!", and looked at stephen like, "now, was that so hard?".
i know it wasn't productive, but it was damn funny.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
i'm just not that into her, pt. 3
the saga of ellen continues....
no, she hasn't shown up on my doorstep, or even called or emailed. it seems that she has given up on me, and turned her attention elsewhere. namely, to my friend susan.
bear with me through a little background information:
1) susan and ellen were on the same study-abroad trip to italy last spring (a trip i was supposed to go on until i got knocked up ), and susan got to learn first-hand what an f-ing tweaker ellen is. there were too many incidents to go into here (if you're interested in hearing them, comment me and i'll get susan to guest post....), suffice to say that ellen was as much of a nightmare as she was at school, if not worse. but because susan has the biggest heart of anyone i know, she tried to be decent to her. which, as we both know now, is a huge mistake.
2) when i started out at f.i..t, i was a part-time student, and therefore wasn't eligible for a locker even though i had nearly as much crap to haul to and from class as a full time student—and i was doing the hauling in heels b/c i was coming from work. so gay found me a gypsy locker: a random locker that had been sitting empty for half the semester that we just threw a master lock on and claimed. (as anyone who's familiar with f.i.t. or any other city school knows, that's the kind of every-woman-for-herself mentality you need to survive in those hallowed halls....) i used that locker for a year, until i stopped working and went full-time and....still wasn't given a locker b/c i wasn't technically full time, but was lucky enough to find a bigger gypsy locker. so, as i mentioned in part one of this series, i let ellen (and a couple of other people) put stuff in locker #1. then i graduate, clean out my big locker and take the lock off, but leave the lock on locker #1 and tell susan that she can use it when she goes back to f.i.t. in the fall (fall 04) to take a night class. ellen still had stuff in there too, and was also going back in the fall and wanted to continue to use it, but i thought we could all get along.
a couple of months ago i had dinner with susan and gay and trisha, another f.i.t.-er, and we have a little laugh over ellen: susan told us that ellen had called her to "warn" her that she had heard that the powers that be at f.i.t. were going to be clamping down on the rash of gypsy lockers, cutting the locks and cleaning them out, and she just wanted susan to know that so that she didn't lose her stuff, which sounded actually kinda nice...until trisha set us straight, telling us that ellen had been complaining to people in their classes about how susan's stuff was taking up so much room in "her" locker. typical ellen...
then susan calls me a couple of days ago to fill me in on the latest. a few weeks ago ellen called her with more dire warnings about locker raids, and susan again said "okay, thanks, i'll get on that when i can (you lying freak)". then ellen calls her to tell her that sinse susan hadn't come to remove her stuff yet, ellen had taken it all out of the locker and brought it home with her, for "safe-keeping"!! susan sighs, thanks her, and tells her that they'll have to arrange a time when susan can get it from her. ellen says okay, and then says "oh, by the way...i noticed that you were alwasy taking such wonderful pictures in italy, and i had some problems with my camera, so...i was wondering if i could get copies of all of your pictures..." susan was totally caught off guard, but recovered enough to spin a little tale of the pictures being on a disk at her mom's house in new jersey. ellen says okay, and they get off the phone.
but of course susan isn't all that pro-active about making a time to meet with ellen, so there's another call, in which she says to susan that she's very eager to set up a time to get her her stuff, but that it would be great if, before she "schlepps" all of susan's stuff down from her apartment, susan could guarantee that she was going to have the photos when they meet. oh and wouldn't it be nice when they met if they could grab a bite to eat!
yes, i always like to grab a little nosh with someone who's blackmailing me....
susan's plan is to tell her no problem, then give her a disk that has like 5 photos on it. heeeee!!!
oh, and i almost forgot the best part! ellen has also asked susan, numerous times, if she can keep the lock that was on the locker, because she "really like(s) that lock". that...plain black master lock. that you could buy at cvs for like $5. yeah, ellen, that's all you. consider it payment for my freedom....
no, she hasn't shown up on my doorstep, or even called or emailed. it seems that she has given up on me, and turned her attention elsewhere. namely, to my friend susan.
bear with me through a little background information:
1) susan and ellen were on the same study-abroad trip to italy last spring (a trip i was supposed to go on until i got knocked up ), and susan got to learn first-hand what an f-ing tweaker ellen is. there were too many incidents to go into here (if you're interested in hearing them, comment me and i'll get susan to guest post....), suffice to say that ellen was as much of a nightmare as she was at school, if not worse. but because susan has the biggest heart of anyone i know, she tried to be decent to her. which, as we both know now, is a huge mistake.
2) when i started out at f.i..t, i was a part-time student, and therefore wasn't eligible for a locker even though i had nearly as much crap to haul to and from class as a full time student—and i was doing the hauling in heels b/c i was coming from work. so gay found me a gypsy locker: a random locker that had been sitting empty for half the semester that we just threw a master lock on and claimed. (as anyone who's familiar with f.i.t. or any other city school knows, that's the kind of every-woman-for-herself mentality you need to survive in those hallowed halls....) i used that locker for a year, until i stopped working and went full-time and....still wasn't given a locker b/c i wasn't technically full time, but was lucky enough to find a bigger gypsy locker. so, as i mentioned in part one of this series, i let ellen (and a couple of other people) put stuff in locker #1. then i graduate, clean out my big locker and take the lock off, but leave the lock on locker #1 and tell susan that she can use it when she goes back to f.i.t. in the fall (fall 04) to take a night class. ellen still had stuff in there too, and was also going back in the fall and wanted to continue to use it, but i thought we could all get along.
a couple of months ago i had dinner with susan and gay and trisha, another f.i.t.-er, and we have a little laugh over ellen: susan told us that ellen had called her to "warn" her that she had heard that the powers that be at f.i.t. were going to be clamping down on the rash of gypsy lockers, cutting the locks and cleaning them out, and she just wanted susan to know that so that she didn't lose her stuff, which sounded actually kinda nice...until trisha set us straight, telling us that ellen had been complaining to people in their classes about how susan's stuff was taking up so much room in "her" locker. typical ellen...
then susan calls me a couple of days ago to fill me in on the latest. a few weeks ago ellen called her with more dire warnings about locker raids, and susan again said "okay, thanks, i'll get on that when i can (you lying freak)". then ellen calls her to tell her that sinse susan hadn't come to remove her stuff yet, ellen had taken it all out of the locker and brought it home with her, for "safe-keeping"!! susan sighs, thanks her, and tells her that they'll have to arrange a time when susan can get it from her. ellen says okay, and then says "oh, by the way...i noticed that you were alwasy taking such wonderful pictures in italy, and i had some problems with my camera, so...i was wondering if i could get copies of all of your pictures..." susan was totally caught off guard, but recovered enough to spin a little tale of the pictures being on a disk at her mom's house in new jersey. ellen says okay, and they get off the phone.
but of course susan isn't all that pro-active about making a time to meet with ellen, so there's another call, in which she says to susan that she's very eager to set up a time to get her her stuff, but that it would be great if, before she "schlepps" all of susan's stuff down from her apartment, susan could guarantee that she was going to have the photos when they meet. oh and wouldn't it be nice when they met if they could grab a bite to eat!
yes, i always like to grab a little nosh with someone who's blackmailing me....
susan's plan is to tell her no problem, then give her a disk that has like 5 photos on it. heeeee!!!
oh, and i almost forgot the best part! ellen has also asked susan, numerous times, if she can keep the lock that was on the locker, because she "really like(s) that lock". that...plain black master lock. that you could buy at cvs for like $5. yeah, ellen, that's all you. consider it payment for my freedom....
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
dream on
the time has come, the walrus said, to break mr. baby man of his night-nursing dependence. he's finally taking to eating solids more, so i don't feel like i'm depriving him of sustenence—even though i hear his little stomach growl in the night sometimes and it makes it very hard for me to not give in and give up the boob. but he needs to sleep, we need to sleep, and the only way that's going to happen is if he gets over the whole "the only way i can fall back asleep is with a mouth full of warm milk" mental block that he has going on.
so we're trying. stephen goes and puts him back down as often as possible, and when i go i don't feed him unless he just will not go back to sleep. it's tough—he can smell the milk on me, and as i'm trying to soothe him back to sleep he's trying to rip my shirt off.
last night at the 4 o'clock waking stephen went to get him. i heard him go then fell back into a half-sleep, in which i dreamed that stephen had asked me to come in to wile's room and help him if he wasn't able to get him back down in 10 minutes. so about 10 minutes later i came to, heard wile still fussing through the monitor, and stumbled down the hall to his room to get him, just like stephen had asked me to! and of course i was met by a totally confused stephen.... he tried to keep wile from seeing me (unsuccessfully) and whispered something like "what are you doing?", at which point i woke up for real, realized what had happened, and just shook my head and took the baby....
so we're trying. stephen goes and puts him back down as often as possible, and when i go i don't feed him unless he just will not go back to sleep. it's tough—he can smell the milk on me, and as i'm trying to soothe him back to sleep he's trying to rip my shirt off.
last night at the 4 o'clock waking stephen went to get him. i heard him go then fell back into a half-sleep, in which i dreamed that stephen had asked me to come in to wile's room and help him if he wasn't able to get him back down in 10 minutes. so about 10 minutes later i came to, heard wile still fussing through the monitor, and stumbled down the hall to his room to get him, just like stephen had asked me to! and of course i was met by a totally confused stephen.... he tried to keep wile from seeing me (unsuccessfully) and whispered something like "what are you doing?", at which point i woke up for real, realized what had happened, and just shook my head and took the baby....
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
pookiellamarazzi, take 2
isn't it always the way? when you're trying, you get nothing. but when you're just minding your own business, expecting nothing....
i was waiting for meg outside of blue ribbon in park slope on saturday night, leaning on a planter and watching the crowds filtering in and out of the restaurant. it was mostly barrel-chested, well-tanned, gel-haired men from bay ridge and the uber-highlighted, even-more-well-tanned, wonderbra-sporting women who love them. but then a very pregnant woman walked out in a really pretty silky maternity shirt and a cute little white jacket....and it was michelle williams! and right behind her, in a faded yellow-and-white striped polo shirt, was heath! and right behind him was some other guy who i didn't recognize but who was certainly good-looking enough to also be in the movies.
it was no joe lee, but it was a fun moment none the less. and i have to say, heath ledger? oh yeah.
i was waiting for meg outside of blue ribbon in park slope on saturday night, leaning on a planter and watching the crowds filtering in and out of the restaurant. it was mostly barrel-chested, well-tanned, gel-haired men from bay ridge and the uber-highlighted, even-more-well-tanned, wonderbra-sporting women who love them. but then a very pregnant woman walked out in a really pretty silky maternity shirt and a cute little white jacket....and it was michelle williams! and right behind her, in a faded yellow-and-white striped polo shirt, was heath! and right behind him was some other guy who i didn't recognize but who was certainly good-looking enough to also be in the movies.
it was no joe lee, but it was a fun moment none the less. and i have to say, heath ledger? oh yeah.
overheard in downtown brooklyn
"yeah, i got these new pants that are mad tight. if i put 'em on wrong i woulda choked my coochie!"
excuse me?
excuse me?
Monday, October 03, 2005
correspondence
dear two young foreign students trying to get on the g train at the classon ave. stop on friday evening,
i'm sorry. but it had been a long trip home from queens....
i doubt that either of you have kids (though, who knows), so you've probably never had to endure an hour on public transportation with an overtired baby. it started off okay, but by the time we got on the g train—after the n train and the 7 train—the baby had had it. every time the train came to a stop and the doors opened and then the doors closed and we were still on the train, he'd get a little bit more upset. have you ever tried balancing a baby on your hip while trying to keep a folded-up stroller from falling over and your diaper bag from sliding off the seat on a moving subway train? i'll tell you this now: it's not easy. and you know what makes it worse? when you try to sit down and the baby tells you "no, absolutely not, you must stand", and then when you go to stand up again you whack your child's head into the metal pole over the seat. this leads to the kind of loud wailing that i didn't really know my baby had in him.
so you see, by the time i got to the classon ave. stop, where we get off, i had reached my limit.
but i do feel bad. i mean, maybe before coming here you heard all the stereotypes about how new yorkers are all rude and pushy, and here i am totally perpetuating that myth. and it's not true! most of us are very nice and polite. most of the time, i'm pretty freaking polite. you just caught me at a bad moment.
all of that said, however...there is a lesson you should take from this little incident: when getting on to a subway car, you let the people on the train off first. not that i'm not at fault too! i absolutely deserved whatever nasty thing i overheard you say about me in polish/czechoslovakian/what have you. i'm just saying, this whole thing could also have been avoided if you had been more familiar with subway ettiquette.
sincerely,
the harried woman with the baby who snarled "get the hell out of my way" at you and then (unintentionally!) nearly decapitated you with her folded-up stroller
dear wile,
snookums. sweetie baby. you know mama loves you more than life itself. i mean that. i would gladly throw myself in front of an oncoming train for you. but mama also needs to get out of the house sometimes without you.
you know how we have dance parties in the living room? to the fun loud music with the singing that sounds kind of like talking and the kickin' bass lines? i love those dance parties. i love how you laugh like a maniac when i twirl you around, and how you kick your legs and beat the air with your arms. but you see, before you were born, mama used to go out and have dance parties with her girlfriends. it was one of her favorite things to do. and i miss it. so sometimes i need to go out and dance without you, and you need to hang with dad.
and i need you to be okay with that, because it kind of puts a damper on mama's evening when she checks her phone between this is how we do and i've got a crush on you, at 1:35am, and finds a text message that reads "he's been awake since 11:45".
xxxooo,
mama
dear michael,
i wish i could have been there yesterday to say goodbye.
the greatest game i've ever attended was the game in 99 against the braves when you guys scored 10 runs in the 8th inning to beat the braves 11-8, and it was your screaming home run to the retired numbers in left that put us in the lead. some people have given you shit for not being as much of a "team leader" as they think you should have been. but when you hit that home run you came around first and pumped your fist and it was so evident that you were just as excited as everyone in the stands, that you were as invested in this team as we all were—and that's all i need to know.
thank you for everything. i hope you go on to a glorious semi-retirement as a d.h.
let's go mets,
the daughter of the woman who got your autograph in the pineapple discount beverage center in jensen beach florida 5 years ago.
ps - you should have slugged clemens.
i'm sorry. but it had been a long trip home from queens....
i doubt that either of you have kids (though, who knows), so you've probably never had to endure an hour on public transportation with an overtired baby. it started off okay, but by the time we got on the g train—after the n train and the 7 train—the baby had had it. every time the train came to a stop and the doors opened and then the doors closed and we were still on the train, he'd get a little bit more upset. have you ever tried balancing a baby on your hip while trying to keep a folded-up stroller from falling over and your diaper bag from sliding off the seat on a moving subway train? i'll tell you this now: it's not easy. and you know what makes it worse? when you try to sit down and the baby tells you "no, absolutely not, you must stand", and then when you go to stand up again you whack your child's head into the metal pole over the seat. this leads to the kind of loud wailing that i didn't really know my baby had in him.
so you see, by the time i got to the classon ave. stop, where we get off, i had reached my limit.
but i do feel bad. i mean, maybe before coming here you heard all the stereotypes about how new yorkers are all rude and pushy, and here i am totally perpetuating that myth. and it's not true! most of us are very nice and polite. most of the time, i'm pretty freaking polite. you just caught me at a bad moment.
all of that said, however...there is a lesson you should take from this little incident: when getting on to a subway car, you let the people on the train off first. not that i'm not at fault too! i absolutely deserved whatever nasty thing i overheard you say about me in polish/czechoslovakian/what have you. i'm just saying, this whole thing could also have been avoided if you had been more familiar with subway ettiquette.
sincerely,
the harried woman with the baby who snarled "get the hell out of my way" at you and then (unintentionally!) nearly decapitated you with her folded-up stroller
dear wile,
snookums. sweetie baby. you know mama loves you more than life itself. i mean that. i would gladly throw myself in front of an oncoming train for you. but mama also needs to get out of the house sometimes without you.
you know how we have dance parties in the living room? to the fun loud music with the singing that sounds kind of like talking and the kickin' bass lines? i love those dance parties. i love how you laugh like a maniac when i twirl you around, and how you kick your legs and beat the air with your arms. but you see, before you were born, mama used to go out and have dance parties with her girlfriends. it was one of her favorite things to do. and i miss it. so sometimes i need to go out and dance without you, and you need to hang with dad.
and i need you to be okay with that, because it kind of puts a damper on mama's evening when she checks her phone between this is how we do and i've got a crush on you, at 1:35am, and finds a text message that reads "he's been awake since 11:45".
xxxooo,
mama
dear michael,
i wish i could have been there yesterday to say goodbye.
the greatest game i've ever attended was the game in 99 against the braves when you guys scored 10 runs in the 8th inning to beat the braves 11-8, and it was your screaming home run to the retired numbers in left that put us in the lead. some people have given you shit for not being as much of a "team leader" as they think you should have been. but when you hit that home run you came around first and pumped your fist and it was so evident that you were just as excited as everyone in the stands, that you were as invested in this team as we all were—and that's all i need to know.
thank you for everything. i hope you go on to a glorious semi-retirement as a d.h.
let's go mets,
the daughter of the woman who got your autograph in the pineapple discount beverage center in jensen beach florida 5 years ago.
ps - you should have slugged clemens.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
