We Wish You A Merry Christmas...

From our house to yours, wishing you happiness, health and peace, whichever holiday you celebrate!

So, to all my dear friends: Happy Solstice, Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukah, and may 2004 bring you joy!

Not A Creature Was Stirring...

Except me and my dogs.

Even the teething baby has finally fallen into a peaceful sleep. My husband is snoring away upstairs, even though it is only 5 pm here. He's not the sort of person who can function on long term sleep deprivation, so he's trying to assure that he will be able to get up and go to work tomorrow.

Its a bit of a boring holiday for me at the moment, but hopefully he'll just nap an hour or so and then we can watch LoTR: The Two Towers, which was one of my gifts to him (and myself, I guess...)

We had nice morning: got up, had English muffins, opened the couple of gifts still wrapped under the tree (we are two instant gratification kids-- we tend to give each other our gifts the moment they are bought, so all we had left to open were the presents my parents sent ) (and only those they wrapped-- the ones that were unwrapped were opened and played with long ago...) and then headed to church with the Boy. It was a nice service-- the church was full of babies, which makes the birth of one little baby ages ago seem so much more immediate, at least to this relatively new mom.

Mikro was amazingly well behaved, up until the point when he attempted to eat the pew, and discovered that wood is an evil substance. Much harder than the rubber teething toy he discarded in favor of the furniture biting attempt... Then he howled. At one point, we had quite the infant chorus going.

We were in a happy, relaxed mode, until we walked back in the front door and found that our dear dogs had completely trashed the house in our absence.

My husband went ballistic.

Which just scared the little dog into adding to the mess by peeing on the floor.

Which did nothing to improve dear spouse's mood.

After a major clean-up job, he calmed down and we had a quiet afternoon, until the Boy started screaming inconsolably. At which point we discovered one sharp white little tooth cutting its way through his gums in the top middle. At least that explains his attempt to eat the pew. Poor little guy finally nursed down for a nap, and I now have the first chance in almost a week to update my blog. I haven't even had a chance to read anyone lately!

Let's see-

Saturday we went to a mall. Yes, we are insane. Kev got me a new cell phone to replace our broken one, and upgraded us to the family plan so he could have a phone of his own. He was at the kiosk so long I had a panic attack because he was supposed to meet me in Sears, and he was waaaaay late, and I wandered the whole mall looking for him. To make matters worse, he had the diaper bag, and I had the Boy. I finally thought to check back at the cell phone place (he was supposedly seconds away from being done an hour before, when he urged me to go off and shop and meet up with him at Sears...), and he was still there, and another half hour away from being done...

Sunday is a blur. I think we cleaned the house, laid rubber tile around for Mikro's benefit, and wrapped presents.

Monday afternoon, Mikro's godmother stopped by and watched me decorate our tiny little Charlie Brown fiber optic Christmas tree with homemade spiral solstice ornaments. Monday evening the Crazy Artists stopped by and we exchanged gifts. They were very impressed with how much Mikro has grown, and all of his new tricks. He's crawling like a champ, and pulling up, and cruising. His newest form of entertainment is to crawl over to the baby gates, stand up, and dance.

My parents were supposed to come visit Monday, but cancelled because my Dad has a bad cold.

Tuesday was my SSDI hearing. Stress city. Kev went with me. At first, they made me go in alone, which I really didn't want to do. Then Kev was allowed to come in and testify for me. We left there and went across the street so I could get a cup of tea and calm my nerves. We wound up eating at a Subway's and feeding Mikro solids there. There was a really cool toy store, called Educational Warehouse, right in that minimall, so we went looking for some last minute Mikro-pleasers. While we were there, my usually fairly unmushy husband says: "I really must love you an awful lot. I was so worried about you when you had to go in there alone." and gives me a huge bearhug.

Mikro made out like a bandit, and so did I at the Office Max, where Kev bought me a laser printer. (Mine is seriously screwed up and probably soon to completely expire.)

Then we went home and cleaned up for my MIL's impending visit.

Christmas Eve, Kev's buddy J drove up here with Kev's mom. We had a really nice day, listening to Christmas carols, talking, going out for dinner, and watching our little guy flirt with his grandmother. He got to tear up his first wrapping paper. Of course, as soon as a strip of paper came off in his hand, he lost all interest in the present and focused on the amazing paper strip...

I am starting to think that my husband and son have the right idea for how to spend the rest of the afternoon. A nap sounds really good. But then, I probably will just stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep...

Uh oh. I hear a dog raiding the garbage... Gotta go.

Merry Christmas, everyone!

Pax Maternal

Last night my Mom (who hasn't talked to me in two days) calls my husband to ask him what laptop I've been drooling over (my current model is a $40 wonder from Goodwill with a 4MB hard drive, barely running Windows 3.11 for Workgroups and Wordperfect 5.1...). She ends their conversation with: Tell her to call me if she's not too mad at me.

In my family, that is as close to an apology as you get.

So, of course, I called her, because I missed her way too much not to, even though nothing really got resolved and probably never will...

We just pretend nothing happened.

My mom and I have a little ritual. Ever since I got married and moved away, neither of us have anyone to share a pot of tea with. So every day I make tea, call her, tell her to do the same, and we share a cuppa across the miles. I am glad she's talking to me again!

Once I throw a load of laundry in, I'm going to brew up a pot of the new Assam loose tea I got last night and call my mother.

An Addendum

I just want to make sure that no one thinks that, based on my last post, I do not respect the choices of other parents who formula feed, or use a crib, or make other choices different than mine. I choose what works best for me, and have nothing but respect for other people's right to do the same.


It is my mother's inability to respect my choices that I take issue with. Not any particular parenting method.

I strive to not be judgmental, but I tend to fall short and judge people for being judgmental. Sigh. Something to work on.

Mothers, Brothers, Sons -or- More Family Drama Than You Can Shake a Stick at...

Brother

Thank you all for the kind and concerned comments about my little brother's situation! It turns out it is probably a benign cyst, which will need to be monitored frequently, but he is not in immediate danger. They are actually as concerned (if not moreso) with his chain smoking and his blood pressure. He's 35 and has way too many self destructive habits for anyone's good. We are praying this scare is a wake up call for him to start getting his act together...


Mother

In other news... Not that my life is newsworthy...

My mother is driving me crazy.

I love her dearly. She is one of my very best friends.

But.


This grandparent/parent dynamic is not something that is working real well.

She's a great gramma to Mikro-- don't get me wrong. But whoa is she critical of me as a mother, and I really am starting to not be able to be civil about it.

I have tried to make sure that we didn't get into this conflict. I have told her that the experts are singing a different song now than in the sixties, when she was in my position. I do not blame her for not breastfeeding-- the medical establishment was pushing formula as the nifty scientific and superior option. Crying it out was all the rage then too. I have no problem with the choices she made, based on the information available at the time. I really do not want her to feel defensive because I have chosen another path.

However, I have a major problem with forty year old parenting advice being held up as graven in stone wisdom from on high, and Doctor Spock as the be all and end all of any issue. No offense to Spock, especially since I haven't read him. I have read tons of more modern tomes, and not just the ones written from the hippy dippy crunchy granola perspective that I share. I have done my research, I talk to other parents, including my mom and MIL, and I have made my decisions based on what I believe to be best for me and my family.

Enough second guessing and criticism, subtle or otherwise! I get to live with the consequences, good or bad. I love my son more than anything in the world. I would do anything for him. I will never willingly put him in danger or hurt him in any way.

Why is that so hard to understand?

I do not mind advice, but I will not blindly follow orders. That has never been my nature, and it never will be.

First it was comments that I am starving her grandson, because his primary nutrition is still breastmilk. Since solids at this point are largely for teaching him to eat, and discovering any sensitivities he may have to particular foods, I occasionally will let a day go by where all the Boy gets is boobie. My mother thinks this is equivalent to abuse and starving him.

Then it was that I am retarding his development by only letting him crawl around on the futon, rather than the floor, in a room that was not yet baby proofed.

So we finally get it kidlet safe, and put down those rubber puzzle piece flooring tiles to make his falls less likely to injure, and give him the freedom and space she was complaining we were denying him. His crawling has improved dramatically, and he is already pulling up and creeping along while holding onto the furniture. (He has been doing it for almost ten days, and just turned eight months old today.)

Yesterday I put him down in the middle of the floor, in a baby gated rubber matted room, and walked ten feet away to answer the door and sign for a package, while on the phone with my mother. I could see the Boy at all times. He was sitting and chewing a rattle. I picked the phone back up and got screamed at that I can't just put him down like that, it's not safe, I should have put him in the exersaucer. Which is it? Does he need freedom to grow and explore, or to be wrapped in bubble wrap and duct taped to a wall for his safety (ok, so it's a gross exaggeration, but I am pissed at the implication that I put him at risk. He was perfectly safe where he was.)

Nothing I do is ever right.

I got him a flu shot. That was a major source of second guessing until babies started dying from influenza. Now that topic has mercifully been allowed to drop.

We co-sleep. So I am told I am raising a pervert, or that he will be a clingy, needy little wimp boy all his life.

So how come, every doctor, every stranger, every friend who meets Mikro comments on how happy, secure, responsive and developmentally advanced he is?

I will just keep messing him up with my weirdo hippy parenting ways, thank you! The proof of the pudding is in the eating, and my little pudding is as sweet, smart, special and good natured as anyone could ever wish a baby to be. It ain't broke, and I ain't fixin' it.

And if people don't like my tone of voice when I respond to criticism, they should quit pushing the parental guilt button, and I will be my sweet civil self. Goad me about how I am a rotten mother, and I will snark back. So I guess that makes me a rotten daughter too? So be it. I am sick of this particular conflict.

So she hung up on me yesterday, and hasn't called today, even though I called and left a message. All this is in perfect keeping with my family's sick need to manufacture drama and crises around the holidays.

It is predictable, but maddening nevertheless.

Enough of this rant, I am going to go warp the Boy's mind by hugging him and telling him I love him.

Worried (and Pissed)

My kid brother spent the night in the hospital. He has been having blindingly bad headaches for two weeks, and finally got to the doctor yesterday. A couple of CAT scans and MRIs later, I got a call that he had a brain abnormality and they were going to attempt to relieve pressure on his brain by surgery.

I went to bed worried sick. It was late at night, and the trains weren't running, so there is no way I could have gotten there. And with the flu rampant and killing children, I am not sure I would have taken the risk of dragging my seven and a half month old into an ER setting... But anyway, after tossing and turning all night, my mom called. She and Dad spent the night at he hospital with him, in a panic.

But now the news is, they are releasing him without doing anything. They did want a spinal tap to rule out other things, but my brother refused.

So here I sit, a bundle of nerves, wondering if he is really OK afterall, if he is being discharged AMA or not, and why every member of my family of origin is an absolute blithering idiot when it comes to taking care of their own health!

Why would anyone walk around dizzy, in pain and on the verge of passing out for two weeks without seeing a doctor?

And why, if there was pressure on his brain needing relieving, is it suddenly OK not to relieve it?

And what the hell are the other things a spinal tap would have ruled out?

My first creepy thought is meningitis...

So now I get to worry about him some more, and also worry whether he has a contagious disease that will kill my parents too, because all three of these loved ones are too damn stupid to do the most rudimentary things to take care of themselves and safeguard their health.

ARGH!

The Antidote to Cabin Fever and Depression

I actually got out of the house yesterday.

And had a really wonderful time.

One of my oldest and dearest friends, a person I consider to be a sister, came up to visit Mikro and me.

We went on a jolly little jaunt, shopping at The Westchester Mall in White Plains. Upscale in the extreme. Way outside my budget, but really fun to see how the other half lives. The anchor stores are Nordstrom's and Neiman Marcus. I couldn't afford anything in there, but I had fun trying on $465 hats and $300 scarves... (If the hat had been $46.50, I would have snapped it up, LOL. It had orchids and foliage sculpted in wool, an actual piece of wearable art.)

Most fun of all was hanging out with my friend and Mikro, and watching the two of them together. Cin would make a great mama.

We had lunch at my favorite diner, The City Limits, and then made the rounds of the mall, picking up small but really cool presents for the people on our lists, and for each other. Cin bought me a beautiful silk folder with colored pencils and a watercolor pad, a bottle of perfume I liked, and a beautiful tea towel with scotty dogs appliqued on, which I am going to make a pillow out of, to match my scotty dog sheets... She got Mikro his first teddy bear, and a really cool plush fire truck that zips open to reveal a fireman, dalmation, hydrant and pail of water, all of which are rattles or noisemakers. He'll love it now for the texture and sounds, and later for imaginative play. I bought her a couple of blouses she picked out in Abercrombie & Fitch, and treated her for lunch.

We used the Mothers' Room at Nordstrom's when it was time to breastfeed Mikro and change his diaper. It was a really nice, comfy, private area. Best public breastfeeding accommodations I've yet found.

We brought my SUV of a stroller with us, and it carried all our purchases handily. But it developed a horrible high pitched wheel squeak, and I started to think someone would ask us to leave, it was so noisy. No one did, of course... I wonder if the poor thing was protesting at being so overloaded?

Mikro was so incredibly pleasant and well behaved all day. And it was a long day for him. He took a two hour nap in the stroller, had bananas and yogurt at the Diner, and sat up looking around and charming people the rest of the time (four plus hours). We got tons of comments about how alert and social he is (and of course, how cute. My son is a complete flirt!)

We had a blast, and spent too much money (this is the first Christmas in about seven years that I could afford to be truly generous, and I admit I went a bit overboard), but it was a really fun day.

I don't have many of those.

Yes, I love my son, and he makes me smile on a daily basis. And laugh more than I have in years. I love my husband too. And I am constantly amazed and appreciative at the gift of seeing a whole new side of him that fatherhood has brought out. But I am usually depressed and in pain, and the endless stream of daily life trapped in the house, a prisoner of pain and anxiety, gets old.

It's rare for me to really let loose and have a good time. Cin helped me do that. She's a great friend!

We ended the day vowing to get together more often. I hope we do!

One More Elf Photo

He wasn't as cooperative this afternoon, so I couldn't get many shots... He pulled down the backdrop and tried to eat it.

But I liked this one...

Now he's crabby beyond belief. I think he may be teething again.

Sigh. Poor little elfboy.

My Little Elf is Nocturnal

Mikro woke up screaming at 3 am. It wasn't a diaper or hunger issue. After a few minutes of rocking, he calmed down and was all smiles.

Do infants have nightmares?

Once he was happy again, he absolutely refused to go back to sleep. He wanted to play. Wouldn't let me sleep either, because he kept bopping me in the head with his stuffed pony toy. He finally ran out of steam at 430, and slept till 730.

He's been up since then, and I dressed him in a baby Santa suit. I set up a Christmas-y backdrop and took some photos. Most have red eye issues, unfortunately. I hate the flash on my Canon S30 digital camera. It is way too powerful, even when adjusted, and red eye mode seems to do absolutely nothing!

I took some film shots as well, but it will be a while before I get to a lab...

So I'll probably try for a reshoot this afternoon, if the little bugger will cooperate, He just nursed down to a nap. Hopefully he'll wake up in a good mood...

Here are a couple of this morning's attempts:

Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland

Here's a shot from my front yard:

We are Lazy Slugs

We haven't left the house all weekend, and yet, the sink is full of dishes, the laundry isn't started; in short, nothing got done. We watched Pirates of the Carribean, and sat around talking and playing with the Boy.

We were just talking about Master & Commander again, and remembered this:

At some point, there were loud, very shrill whistles going on, and I turned to Kev and asked: Uh, is that a bosun's pipe, or the Boy? (Which gives you an idea of the amazing high pitch and ear-piercing quality Mikro's screeching attains...)

Kev's response: Ya know, I'm not sure...

Turns out, it was an on-screen bosun's whistle.

Ha! Kev just dragged the laundry downstairs and is throwing a load in. Then he (far more ambitious soul than I, today) is hiking to the supermarket to pick up the absolute essentials. Mikro is in the swing upstairs, soundly blissfully asleep.

I'm going to steal this rare bit of time to myself to make a cup of tea and call my girlfriends.

Let it Snow!

Yesterday we only got a dusting, but right now there must be over a foot of the white stuff out there. Its 18F degrees, though, with single digit wind chills, so we haven't taken the Boy outside... They are calling it a blizzard.

None of the local food joints is delivering, and we are in Old Mother Hubbard territory here (were due to restock today), so we are going to have to scrape the bottom of the barrel stuff out of the fridge and cabinets and come up with a creative couple of meals here. The roads are too slippery to take a chance running out to do the grocery shopping, and besides, with the end-of-the-world-is-at-hand mentality that seems to hit here whenever there's an inch or more snow expected, I am sure the shelves are already bare...

Boyo screamed for four hours last night with really bad gas. My head is still ringing from the noise. I hate it when he's that upset and nothing I can do comforts him. It hurts to see him so unhappy. Today he's been much better so far, but he's frantically chewing his teething toys, so I expect snarkiness is in our personal forecast for the day...

We're going to just stay indoors (poor Kev has to go out periodically to shovel) and watch DVDs and do some cleaning and sorely needed baby-proofing around here. Oh, yeah, and laundry. There are ten or more loads of that just sitting here waiting for one of us to feel inspired (or desparate) enough to get started on it...

Hope everyone is safe and warm!

Snarkiness and Bright Spots

We are expecting a foot of snow later today. I wonder what Mikro will make of it?

My dad is at the doctors because of a drug interaction problem, which has me & mom scared.

Kev and I had a super snarky night last night. I did him a favor and cooked dinner and all he did was bitch. He's super pissed at the dogs, who are raiding the garbage and counter surfing and otherwise making known their displeasure at the marked decrease in attention they have received since Mikro's birth. So he takes it out on me. Factor in the additional detail that the boy never ever napped yesterday, and is now in the lovely separation anxiety phase, and I was pretty much ready to snap to begin with, without the spousal snarkiness supplement.

Not a good night in our happy home...

Today my mom and I are snarking at each other, because I feel constantly subtley criticized for my parenting choices. Especially co-sleeping and continuing to breastfeed, and not loading him up with jarred baby foods. I tend to snap back at her about other, very stupid things.

Like the Santa pictures. Neither Kev nor I are really hot to brave huge crowds to get second rate photos of a purple faced screaming baby with a pathetic looking store Santa. We were going to set up a backdrop, dress him up as an elf, or just in cute holiday attire, and take far better quality photos than what I expect from a mall Santa photo op. But we are horrid benighted parents for denying the experience to our seven month old, and denying the silly campy photos to his grandparents.

I finally relented and said I would do the Santa gig on the Wednesday mall trip with my college buddy. But then my mom tries to direct me as to what store I should got to, etc. And it just annoyed me and I snapped. I will go, scope out the mall, and pick a reasonable place, if the line doesn't go till the middle of next week. Let's just leave it at that!

She says I get nasty.

I feel guilty, because I know I get sarcastic and snippy when I feel like I am being treated like a child or an idiot (or an idiot child).

This is not the holiday spirit I was hoping for.

Of course, I can't even mention our odd and ecclectic Solstice/Christmas traditions without pissing off my thoroughly traditionalist Christian parents...

So the holidays are an exercise in eggshell walking.

But there are bright spots:

My sweet son's smile.

My upcoming Christmas shopping outing with one of my oldest dearest friends, next Wednesday (weather permitting).

The goofy antics of my two dear dogs (even if they are behaving like turds lately.)

My kitties.

A good cup of tea here and there, as the howling baby permits...

Sigh.

Speaking of which... He's screaming now.

He hasn't let me have ten minutes to catch up on my blogging buddies all week!

Gotta go.

Some Mikro Firsts

Last night, we actually dragged the 7 month old boy to a movie. He sat through Master and Commander and was exceptionally well behaved. I fed him solids during the previews, and he nursed once midway through the film, then fell asleep. Whew!

Today he was crawling around on the bed, and trying to climb over me, when he got a very mischevious look and bent over and blew a raspberry on my tummy!

He's been giving sloppy open mouth kisses on the cheek for a couple weeks now.

He just amazes me!

Love Notes (Not)

Left for my dear spouse, whose stomach is ever so much stronger than mine:

kev-- big dog puked on couch & down inside it. did what i could, peed my pants gagging. am hiding out upstairs due to retching. please pull off couch cover & throw in laundry & do something to scrub stink out of mattress. she did it while i was upstairs with boy and it had hours to sink into mattress. ugh. i left 409 near couch but didn't use it. too busy getting sick.

Now if the damn dog would stop eating baby wipes and diaper contents, maybe she wouldn't be decoratng the upholstery.

Welcome home to the looney bin, honey...

Death By Uncertainty and Debt Collectors -- A Rant

It feels like I am being condemned to a slow death from anxiety and uncertainty. I am a flashy, panicky, nightmarey mess. Some of the uncertainty relates to a situation in which my husband is acting as a liaison of sorts, to try to shield me from the anxiety inherent in it.

Something was left up in the air to the degree that I was terrified that it was either forgotten, with damage inflicted by delay, or else something was up and the deal was off the rails and we just didn't know it yet.

Actually, this fits a couple of different anxiety minefields that we are tip-toeing through at the moment.

One involves the firing/hiring of a fiduciary, and the signing of a contract. There are confidentiality concerns that effectively muzzle me from talking about it here or anywhere else. And talking might help, if I could safely do it.

All I will say is, I got pissed at hubby for saying he was going to wait to deal with it (i.e., leave it hanging over my head making me dysfunctional) because he didn't want to pressure the guy he's dealing with. Uh, honey? CLUE! The minor irritation and inconvenience to a third party is nothing compared to the PTSD craziness that waiting is gonna cause me! Argh.

My husband is a terminally nice guy. He hates to inconvenience anyone. He'll screw himself over (and by extension, me) rather than cause the slightest annoyance to anyone else. Sometimes that irks me. Sometimes, when it directly relates to a PTSD triggery thing, it positively drives me crazy.

But I guess I shouldn't complain too much, because he's trying to help.

The other situation concerns my most hated category of scumbag du jour-- debt collectors.

We made a deal to settle one of my credit card debts.

I have been burned before by a collection agency that played games, so we insist that we get a settlement letter in advance of payment, stating that they are taking $XXX as full settlement of the account, and what the original card number was, and that it will be reported to the national credit bureaus.

Hubby made the deal on 11/18. We get a call a few days later that its approved and to be on the lookout for the settlement letter.

On 11/28, the day after Thanksgiving, we get an urgent message (and still no letter...) Pay now by electronic check or the deal is off. Because their secretary was sick, the letter did not go out, and 11/28 is the last date for them to get the money under the terms of the letter agreement we still have not seen.

We say, no dice without the letter.

They say, we'll email it.

We say no, on the advice of our attorney (which related to another matter entirely), email is not accepted as a business record in court, and does not adequately prove that there is a settlement agreement. They want us to take a chance that they won't decide to come after us for the remainder. Trust these bottom feeders? Not unless I was hallucinating or drunk. Sorry. No deal.

So now we hear how its gonna wind up raising the number they will require us to pay to settle, because we aren't living up to the deal.

Uh, what deal?-- there's no letter, there's no deal. The letter was a material term of the agreement. They are the ones who queered the deal.

So today, in my mail, there's a letter dated 11/18, which states payment must be received by 11/28 (4 days ago), which is postmarked 11/29. After the supposed payment deadline.

These fuckers are playing games.

They ain't gonna win...

So -- my holiday greetings to collection agencies who try to fuck with me:

DEAR PARASITIC, SCAVENGING, ANIMATED PIECES OF EXCREMENT: F.O.A.D. GO DIRECTLY TO THE END OF THE LONG LINE OF PEOPLE WE OWE MONEY, AND IF YOU'RE LUCKY, MAYBE THERE'LL BE SOMETHING LEFT WHEN WE GET THROUGH PAYING OFF THE PEOPLE WHO DIDN'T TRY TO SCAM US.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Family Drama, Continued and Thanksgiving Blessings

My Mom came up on Saturday afternoon, and stayed till Tuesday afternoon. She is absolutely crazy in love with her grandson. She spoiled him rotten, and drove me a little crazy, because she gets hyper-anxious any time the boy cries. So I have two people to worry about and try to comfort, rather than one. Nevertheless, she is a cool gramma, and I am so glad she came.

My Dad is not speaking to her, because she had the nerve to go through with her plans to visit, even though he was having dental problems. Had she stayed home there is nothing she could have done to help with his teeth, except listen to him bitch and moan. Which is apparently what he wanted. He's pissed she left him alone and in pain. She's pissed he acts like such a big baby, and is jealous of a seven month old...

So, it is gonna be a chilly holiday at their place tomorrow....

Sunday night, my MIL announced she was going to come here for Turkey Day after all. Monday I went out and bought a ton of food. Last night, she cancelled again...

So, its jst gonna be me, Kev and Mikro, watching the parade on TV and relaxing and stuffing ourselves with too much food, and feeling sad that Mikro's grandparents won't be here. But that is their choice. And I am going to make the best of the day for our little nuclear family despite it.

Obviously, at the top of my list of things to be thankful for is my healthy, happy, adorable little boy. And his Daddy.

My Mom called last night and asked to talk to Kev. Last time that happened they were asking his permission to give me a dog (which they had already bought). So I really wondered if I was getting a GSD puppy to train for service dog work, given my dog's medical retirement.

Nope.

She just wanted to tell my husband that she thinks he is a wonderful father, and how good he is for her daughter, and that he is on her list of Thanksgiving blessings.

How cool is that?

In case I don't get online tomorrow, I just want to wish everyone a happy and healthy Thanksgiving, and to say that I am so very thankful for the wonderful friends I have, online and off!

Now off to de-crankify Mikro...

Not having a good day...

I'm in a foul mood. Its a combination of old fashioned cabin fever and my-family-betrayed-me-again funk. And it doesn't help that I got cheated out of the supposed benefit to me of exclusive breastfeeding. Eight weeks of lochia, a four week break, and then boom, back to regular cycles. So PMS is probably a contributor in my black mood.

I can't wait to get together with the Crazy Artists Club. We are really good at cheering each other up...

I just hope I don't depress them!

Hope and Faith (of the Heart)

A small excerpt from the lyrics to the theme song from Star Trek: Enterprise (the extended version of the song), Faith of the Heart :

[[[THIS POST HAS BEEN EDITED TO REMOVE THE LYRICS AT THE INSISTENCE OF MY DEAR SPOUSE, WHO SAYS POSTING THEM IS AKIN TO COURTING TROUBLE FROM THE FUCKING RIAA ASSHATS, WHO SUE LITTLE KIDS FOR DOWNLOADING MUSIC. APPARENTLY, THEIR NEXT TARGET IS GOING TO BE PEOPLE WHO POST LYRICS. I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU CAN GET IN TROUBLE FOR POSTING THE WORDS TO A SONG, WHICH YOU CREDIT TO SOMEONE ELSE, BUT SUCH IS THE FUCKED UP WORLD WE LIVE IN. AND I HAVE TROUBLE ENOUGH WITHOUT THOSE FUCKERS GETTING INVOLVED IN MY LIFE. THIS GOES WAY BEYOND MY INTERPRETATION OF COPYRIGHT, BUT I DON"T NEED A LAWSUIT. HEY, RIAA ASSHATS-- I BOUGHT THE FUCKING CD AFTER I READ THE LYRICS ON SOMEONE ELSE'S WEB SITE, BECAUSE I LIKED WHAT THE SONG SAYS. ITS FREE FUCKING ADVERTISING, IDIOTS. BUT I BOW TO YOUR IN TERROREM TACTICS.]]]

It's a song I used to sing alot when I was pregnant with Mikro. [[[OH SHIT-- DOES THAT BUY ME A FUCKING LAWSUIT? SINGING A SONG TO MY KID? IS THAT WHAT'S NEXT??? AM I STILL LIVING IN AMERICA??? ]]] He recognizes it. It's what I wish for him -- that he never ever lose faith in himself and his dreams.

It's hard for me to remember to wish it for myself. It fit Me Before The Accident. But it really doesn't fit Me Now, because the accident cost me alot of dreams. I am a pretty negative person alot of the time, and I have to fight that tendency constantly.


But it goes along with a favorite artist quote of mine:

	It is a huge danger to pretend 

	that awful things do not happen.

        	But you need enough hope to keep going. 

        	I am trying to make hope. 

        	Flowers grow out of darkness.



			-- Corita Kent

So that is the goal I strive towards. Trying to make hope... in spite of my last entry...

Generally I end up singing this song in tears, and hugging my precious little son, who is my Faith of the Heart.

OK, enough of me and my weird mood. Time to feed the kidlet.

[[[HAVING HAD TO MAKE THESE REVISIONS, THE INSPIRATION, HOPE AND FAITH THE SONG BROUGHT ME NOW FEELS KIND OF HOLLOW. HERE WE GO BACK TO DEPRESSION CENTRAL...]]]

The Artist's Way...

I'm about to take another stab at doing Julia Cameron's Artist's Way program, because I need something to get me off my behind and back in my studio... Which ain't easy with The Boy, but I haven't really even tried lately...

So, I started a new blog, which will focus on my artwork, at Brushstrokes & Breastmilk.

I failed miserably at the NANOWRIMO novel in a month gig, but I really do need to get back to a routine of writing and painting. Only maybe not at such an ambitious pace. I got way too stressed over the deadline and froze. So, I'm punting on NANO this year, and just going to try to take small steps forward on the creative stuff...

Signs of sanity???

I am having lunch tomorrow with my group of local artist friends, affectionately known as the Crazy Artists Club. All of us have been in the creative doldrums lately, and we haven't gotten together in ages. Maybe we can kick each other in the seat of the pants and all get moving again.

That's my hope for tomorrow. That and a baby who naps frequently....

Public Restrooms

Last night we watched the Gilmore Girls. There was a scene where Lorelei comments about a woman taking a four year old boy into a ladies' restroom.

I didn't get it. Call me dense, but what is the big deal? There are stall with doors. It's not like taking a four year old girl into the men's room, where she can watch the urinals being used.

Can someone tell me what the big deal is? What was she suppposed to do? Leave the four year old standing outside in the street while she went to pee? Not exactly safe where I live, and I live in a nice small town. I would never leave my kid like that, and I sure wouldn't crash the party in the men's room in the name of keeping him with me so I could pee. (Lord knows with the way men behave in unisex bathrooms on trains, I probably wouldn't want to sit on the seat in there anyway, even if there were not a risk I'd get arrested.) Heck, if my four year old son had to pee, I would drag him into the ladies' rather than send him alone into the men's. There are too many sickos in the world.

And yet, Lorelei obviously had a problem with this, so I suppose some other women do too. Why? I mean, I am assuming that I will be able to keep Mikro from peeking under the doors or being a total pest, which I suppose is a large asumption, given that I have seen other kids do those things. And yes, I was annoyed when it happened to me. But jeez louise, it's a four year old we are talking about, not a teenager! I got over it.

So what is a mama supposed to do?

I am years away from having to worry about this, but I worried about it when I was pregnant, when I found out I was having a boy. Yes, I'm nuts. But I wonder what the right answer is...

All of that said, here's an entry for my category called The Death of Civility

On Public Toilets:

What is it with women who stand up to pee in public toilets and then leave their splashings all over the seat for the next person to deal with?

If your pristine ass is too good to sit on the toilet like a normal person, then do what my over-cautious mama taught me, and wallpaper it with toilet tisssue until your comfrot level is reached. When you get done, use another bit of TP to slide your butt nest into the bowl and flush it away, please.

I am not your fricking maid, and your piss is no more or less offensive or unsanitary than the cooties, germs or VD you imagine your mannish pissing is going to save you from. It is ignorant and inconsiderate in the extreme.

I always wipe the seat before and after I use the facilities. I do not imagine for one second anyone is eager to wipe up my piss, or sit in it, so I make sure I leave a neat dry seat for the next happy camper.

Why is that so fricking difficult for some people???

And even if you are a mama with kids, clean up after the kids' pee too. It takes a second, and it is your responsibility.

I can remember one incident in particular which bugs me. A woman cut the bathroom line at the train station one morning, right in front of me, with her little seven year old boy. I was tap dancing because I had to pee so bad, but she came out of nowhere and practically tackled me to edge in front of me. When she came out some ten minutes later (which felt like an eternity), she left little boy piss all over the seat and floor. So I had to spend yet more time cleaning up her mess.

When I got out, I approached her, pissed purple, and managed to limit my response to her disgusting behavior to a very loud remark:

Lady, if you can't teach your son aim, at least teach him manners. Clean up your own damn mess!

At least she looked embarassed. Maybe I made her think. Maybe her kid will bug her about it. One can only hope.

What ever happened to common courtesy?

But I'm Doing Much Better Now...

Anyone remember John Astin's character on Night Court? As Judge Harry's wacky father, whose tag line is my title...

Things are much saner, although today the forecast is a return to windstorms, so who knows how I will be later. Right now its pouring rain, and my two silly dogs have a thing about getting their dainty paws wet, and won't walk on the grass. Being country dogs, they absolutely won't go on concrete, so I had to stand out there, getting soaked, until I could persuade them that wet feet would not be fatal.... I am dripping on my keyboard.

Mikro is much much better. He's not constantly in teething distress. The bottom two teeth are fully extruded up through the gums now, and actually look like teeth. The tops are still bugging him, but it isn't non stop. We did the washcloth thing, which helped. He also got some relief from gnawing on the stage one infant toothbrush (the thing that looks like a blue rubber asparagus spear). I will give the frozen bagels a shot next time, since I never managed to get to the store to pick some up this go-round.

As to the beloved teething keys -- We got them back.

Restrain me, someone, so I do not strangle my husband, but it turns out they weren't really missing.

They were not in the 99 places I looked.

They were in the one fricking place I asked him to look.

ARGH!

So, while my friend never bothered to look for them or call me back, which irks me severely, my husband is the true villain of the piece, for being a typical male unable to competently find anything without female assistance.

I am an idiot for not double checking where he looked myself.

After all, I know when I ask him to get something out of the fridge, his general response is "It's not in there," if it is not directly front and center.

Anything that isn't so obvious that he will trip over it (actually, sometimes even stuff he has actually tripped over) is strangely invisible. He and my dad both suffer from what I call Male Pattern Blindness. If actual effort is involved, they don't see it, so it isn't there. (Yet this is a guy who can tell where his bullets hit a target set up 50 feet away...)

So, three days of insane infant were totally unnecessary!

If it weren't for the fact that he is otherwise the most amazing daddy to Mikro (and he is kinda cute), I could have cheerfully strangled him.

In other news...

Mikro was seven months old yesterday. I'll be posting a new entry and some pictures to his baby blog later tonight, once I can get dear spouse to download the digital camera, which is currrently riding around on his belt...

Still in Teething Hell, with a Detour into PTSD Nightmareland

Still no call from my friend, and no suitable substitute for Mikey's teething keyring located yet... He screamed for three straight hours, despite singing, jiggling, dancing, swinging, and anything else I could do in my desperation. Then he threw a tantrum so bad I thought he was going to have a seizure or something. He turned purple and flailed and scared the hell out of me. I am in tremendous pain from slinging around a nearly eighteen pound raving crazy boy. He finally fell asleep. Tylenol and orajel didn't console him either. He's just exhausted. So am I.

I was already in PTSD hell because of the insane windstorms hitting here. They are major triggers, so I wasn't doing so well to begin with. The added teething hell stress has me on the edge of a major panic attack, with acid reflux and chest pain to boot. And I can't sleep. I got less than an hour last night.

Winds please go away. Girlfriend, please find (at least look for!) the bleeping teether toy!

Teething Hell

Poor Little Man has two new teeth, bottom center (as of about a week ago), and two coming in on top. And maybe an incisor on top too...

He is horribly uncomfortable, and what makes it worse is, we have lost his favorite teether.

It was a set of soft rubber keys on a plastic ring, velcro'ed onto his carseat. My friend removed it when the little guy spit up. It must have fallen out of her car when we pulled out the carseat. Or maybe its under the seat. I couldn't get ahold of her for more than half a day, and when I did, she was not enthusiastic about looking for it. Its a full twenty four hours later, and she still hasn't called to say she looked and either found it or didn't.

In the meantime, I have a screaming baby.

My husband ran out and bought what teethers he could find, but couldn't locate a duplicate for the lost favorite, or even anything very close. Mikey likes the new things as toys, but has no desire to chew them.

I guess, not having kids, my friend thinks this is no big deal. I would hate to think that she's letting him go without his beloved teething keys because she thinks I spoil him. Which she does. (Because I'll breastfeed him till he self-weans, and he co-sleeps, and I am going to let him set the schedule for potty training. )

But that's my decision to make. Since when do seven month olds need to be toughened up?

It hurts me to see my boy so miserable. (and I mean that in both the emotional and physical senses, since the only things he is willing to teethe on now are my boobs...)

Veterans' Day

To all the vets out there-- Thank You! I wish you peace.

When I was growing up, one of my neighbors was a Viet Nam vet. He was a USMC combat medic. Back then, nobody had ever heard of PTSD. My neigbor, T, was a sweet and funny man, when his demons weren't tormenting him. When they did, he drank. People called him the Neighborhood Drunk. Most avoided him. My Mom and Dad liked him, and listened to him. He was my friend. I had no clue what he suffered. I only knew he came back from over there having seen awful things, and it hurt him. It cost him his marriage, and his daughter, who was about my age. Maybe that's why he liked me and told me funny stories. My Dad used to talk to him and encourage him to stop drinking. It didn't happen. I watched someone I cared about slowly self destructing. One night T was evicted from his apartment because he woke up in a flashback and beat up his roommate, who he thought was an enemy soldier trying to kill him as he slept. After that he disappeared and became one of the far too many homeless vets out there. I still wonder how he is doing, and I pray for him. Since my accident, and being diagnosed with PTSD myself, I have a clue about what he was going through. I wish someone had understood back then and offered him the help he needed so badly. I hope by now, he has found peace.

Sharing the Wealth (of Germs and Grunginess)

My dear spouse brought this miserable cold home from work... He got over it in three days. I've been sick for a week, and it seems to like me so well, its decided to stick around. At least the worst (the sore throat and fever) is over. Now I'm just alternately dripping like a faucet from the nose, or left thinking Liquid Plumber might be what it would take to clear the clog... I am sick of being sick. And worst of all, the baby seems to be catching it from me. He's running a fever, and is a crabby little guy at the moment. I don't expect this nap to last long.

And on today's agenda is the continued archaeological excavation of my junk-locked living room, into which I am supposed to be willing to admit company tomorrow night. Actually, this was supposed to be two weeks from now, which was just about how long it would take to get the place quasi-presentable, but our guest moved things up, and my husband (who has absolutely no shame about living in a pig sty) agreed without consulting me...

The slob gene is one I wish we could have avoided passing on to The Boy, but we're both afflicted, so it seems inevitable he will be too. Unless two old very sloppy dogs can learn new neatnick tricks...

Kevin says we should be chanting the mantra "we have too much shit." We are at the point where one (or both) of us needs to learn how to throw something out. The Collier Brothers have nothing on us. (And you know how they died, right? Killed by their own boobytraped junk... We don't have traps set, LOL, but the piles of books and magazines are independently dangerous. An avalanche of paper could kill someone around here.)

If only being a packrat was a marketable skill, we'd be fabulously wealthy...

I probably should never have booted the computer today, because it is much more fun than cleaning up (i.e., skillfully concealing) this mess...

Thank God The Boy hasn't started crawling yet, because we are far from baby-proof. That may be the only thing that actually motivates us to change. In a hysterical last minute manner, of course.

As one of our friends says, "you need a bulldozer." And a dumpster or two.

Or a magically expanding house that stretches itself to add on a much needed library and pair of home offices, as well as an extra bedroom or two, and a studio for me and audio-visual editing lab for Kevin, and ... you get the idea.

Two aging packrats. Two cats. Two dogs (one a humongous German Shepherd). One baby. Four hundred tons of art supplies, equipment, and research materials. One small "starter" home. Yipes.

Oh, and did I mention the sixteen filing cabinets and seventy boxes of research material for dear spouse's book (a technological history of egress systems in military aviation) which are being truckled in from Texas sometime in the very near future?

We are doomed.

So Why?

Don't the archives work today??? Argh.

New Look

With any luck, this blog now has a new logo bar, new background colors, font colors, etc. ...

A Halloween Friday Five

Yipee! It's Halloween! My favorite holiday, during my favorite season.

Today's edition of The Friday Five is all about Halloween:

1. What was your first Halloween costume?

I am going to have to ask my mother... The first one I remember was a home made Peter Pan. I wore my Dad's lime green Lake George sweatshirt, turned fleece side out, which came down to my knees, to which mom added brown paper bag fringe. She made me a green felt hat and elf shoes, and and I wore green tights and carried a toy sword.

2. What was your best costume and why?

Absolutely my sophomore year of high school home made (but with store bought collector's helmet) Darth Vader. Mom got the perfect vertically lined quilted black material for the suit, and I had a heavy black velvet cloak, and cardboard boxes for chest and belt plates. Knee high black boots. No one knew I was a girl. I got pelted with sneakers in the girls locker room, and chased out. But the best thing about that costume is, it was the reason I met my high school sweetheart, who I eventually married. Dear Hubby couldn't resist pointing out flaws in the costume, LOL. He's an extreme detail modeling freak.

3. Did you ever play a trick on someone who didn't give you a treat?

Nope. Too well behaved. I reserved my tricks for my little brother, who I tormented regularly (and vice versa). I used to put gross things in his shoes, like grapes and jello and peanut butter. And I enjoyed gluing his clean underwear shut.

4. Do you have any Halloween traditions? (ie: Family pumpkin carving, special dinner before trick or treating, etc.)

When I was a kid, my mom always took us trick or treating in the early evening. Then we went home for hot chocolate and orange frosted cupcakes, eaten by the glow of a jack o lantern, while mom played really spooky halloween records (yes, the vinyl kind. My age is showing, LOL).

My son is only six months old, but we will dress him as a tiger, carve a pumpkin, and take him to the homes of a few neighbors with kids who we know and trust. After that, we'll have hot chocolate and eat his candy...

5. Share your favorite scary story...real or legend!

The weirdest thing that ever happened to me was a sort of spooky precognition thing, where I got a flash of me and my frineds getting hit by a car. We almost did get hit by the car I "saw" later that night, but I saw it and yelled, and we jumped away in time to avoid becoming another drunk driving statistic. Not really a ghosty thing, but spooky. Only other spooky weird thing was ball lightning coming into our childhood home one stormy night. I thought it was a ghost.

Quiz Stuff- Which Famous Artist...

This is extremely cool, considering how well it fits. I am majorly into GOK's work, and I do botanical anatomy type paintings and ceramic sculpture.

GOK is sorta my patron saint of creativity. I have photos of her in my studio, and did a portrait of her in clay, which sits on my mantel. (There's also a tribute in clay to Salvador Dali on said mantel...)


Fantastic!! You are GEORGIA O'KEEFE.
You are a true spirit of nature, and it shows in
the flowing floral paintings for which you are
most famous. You feel the beauty of all things
around you, and your friends appreciate you for
your ability to share that extraordinary beauty
with them.


Which famous artist most reflects your personality?
brought to you by Quizilla

Why Can't Anything Just Go Smoothly???

So, the Home Depot delivery came TODAY, without any warning. It was supposed to be yesterday, but the truck broke down, so they said they would call to reschedule. Usually they call at 7 am to say your stuff is on the truck and you'll get it between 11 and 3. They didn't call today, so I figured tomorrow, at the earliest.

Of course, there was a boy attached to a boobie when they arrived. So I scramble to get my clothes in order, feeling like a teenager who got caught doing something naughty, and run out to meet them, frustrated infant tucked under one arm like a howling little football.

All the items we ordered are there.

Sigh.

Not until after they pull out do I discover that the damn vanity they delivered is the WRONG color, and does not match my ugly bathroom AT ALL.

So now we either persuade them to make the swap (without dinking us foranother 60 bucks for delivery) , or I am stuck with yet another unmatching fixture in a bathroom that looks like someone hurled... we have a hodgepodge of pink, caramel, white, black and oak. Eeeewwww.

The sickest thing is, this is not an isolated incidence of horrific taste.

Every home on the block has a similar mishmash in the toilette.

What drugs were the local plumbers on in the 40s and 50s???

So, now I have one snarky little kidlet on my hands, and another freaking complication to deal with.

ARGH!

Righteous Rant

Moody Mama has one righteous rant up about self-styled so-called parenting experts... Go read her 10/29/03 entry. Kelp Koolaid...

Yesterday, Today and Tomorrow

A meme, shamelessly stolen from other bloggers I read:

and updated to include the 25, 20 and 15 year periods. Guess I stole this from one of my younger blog buddies, because theirs didn't go back that far...

Twenty Five Years Ago
-I was 12 years old.
-I was in junior high (7th grade?), and two years away from meeting Kevin, my high school sweetheart.
-I dreamed of becoming a veterinarian.
-I rode horses and painted in oils.
-I read Tolkein's Lord of the Rings and became a life long science fiction and fantasy buff.


Twenty Years Ago
-I was 17 years old.
-I was a college sophomore, majoring in economics and minoring in political science and English.
-Kevin and I had broken up.
-I let my college advisor talk me out of my dreams and into a pale imitation-- premed. I was miserable. I had no earthly idea what I really wanted to do when I grew up, but I knew organic chemistry was the death of my ambitions towards medical school. I did not want it badly enough to work that hard.
-I lived at home because my grades freshman year were so abyssmal, my parents insisted.

Fifteen Years Ago
-I was 22 years old.
-I was in my second year of law school, at the top of my class, loving every minute of it, because finally I found what my weird brain seemed wired to do. Legal analysis was like the most satisfying crossword puzzle ever. I wrote my way onto Law Review.
-Kevin and I were still broken up, but we talked occasionally by phone.
-I was writing poetry and the great american science fiction novel (never finished).
-I was still mourning the death of my first ever childhood dogdog, who was an early fifth birthday present, and died right after I graduated from college. She was my best friend growing up. (I still miss her.)



Ten Years Ago
-I was 27 years old.
-I was a commercial litigation associate in NYC, making nearly a six figure salary.
-Kevin and I had been married two years.
-We were not planning on having kids until after I made partner.
-Everything changed when I was in an accident on the job that I should feel lucky to have survived, which left me permanently disabled.

Seven Years Ago
-I was 30 years old.
-I was in chronic pain, and not sleeping because of nightmares about my accident.
-I was no longer working in NYC, but instead, trying to deny I was disabled and do some occasional legal work out of my home.
-We were in debt up to our hips.
-I no longer wanted kids because I did not think it would be fair to them to subject them to a broken down nutball of a mother.

Five Years Ago
-I was 32 years old.
-I was still in in chronic pain, and now formally diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
-I was pushed into attempting to return to work in NYC by a psychotherapist who did me more harm than good, and nearly wound up addicted to pain killers in order to survive the pain and PTSD, which became far worse.
-We were in debt up to our shoulders, and our marriage was pretty shaky, because it's not easy being married to a barely functional person (i.e., me).
-My biological clock was ticking, but I thought I was too crazy to be a decent mother.

Three Years Ago
-I was 34 years old.
-I was still getting my ass kicked by chronic pain and PTSD.
-Art became my major way of coping with pain and stress. Painting and pottery were therapy.
-We were in debt up to our eyeballs and nearly broke up several times.
-My biological clock was ticking, but I thought I was too crazy to be a decent mother.

Two Years Ago
-I was 35 years old.
-I was still getting my ass kicked by chronic pain and PTSD. September 11th triggered the PTSD realy bad, since I over-identified, having also gone to work one day and nearly gotten killed.
-I trained my German Shepherd Dog to work as a service dog, helping me with mobility and psych issues. She helped me start leaving the house more, and feel like a human being.
- I stopped practicing law entirely. We were in debt up to our eyeballs and nearly broke up several times.
-My biological clock was ticking, but I thought maybe with enough therapy I could be a fairly decent mother. Not the Mom I could have been but for the accident, but not toxic either.

One Year Ago
-I was 36 years old.
-I was still getting my ass kicked by chronic pain and PTSD. Therapy and my service dog helped me cope better than I had before, up until I was forced to give up my meds.
-I was supposed to have my first solo show of my paintings, but the gallery went out of business.
-We were in debt up to our eyeballs and nearly broke up several times.
-I found out in September that I was pregnant with Mikro. I threw up the entire nine months, and was pretty much housebound. I could not use my service dog because my pregnant nose was so sensitive, I could not stand dog smell without barfing. (Even if I bathed her daily.)

Today
-I turned 38 a couple months ago. I am mommy to a 6 month old boy.
-I am still getting my ass kicked by chronic pain and PTSD. My service dog had to be medically retired due to an injury, and I am forbidden to take meds because I am breastfeeding. The only good thing about my disability is I get to be home with my baby. Lifting the baby is killing my back and neck...
-I don't get much chance to paint since Mikro was born, but hope to get back to it one day soon.
-We have a shot at getting out of debt, having refinanced our home recently to get a better rate and get some equity out.
-I have seen a whole new amazing side of my husband, who is a truly wonderful and loving father. And I have a beautiful, sweet, smart son who has brought joy back into my life. I'm not a perfect mother, but I will be the very best mom I am able to be.

Tomorrow
-I will be waiting for a delivery from Home Depot so we can get started on baby proofing our bathroom.
-I will be hiding from Trick or Treaters till Kevin gets home, because I am an anxiety disordered mess, and can't deal with it on my own.
-We will take Mikro trick or treating in his tiger costume, which I bought six months ago and can barely cram him into. We'll just stop at a couple of our neighbors' places.
-We will carve a pumpkin, drink hot chocolate and eat Mikro's candy.
-I will celebrate how much I love my husband and my sweet little son, and be grateful that they love me despite my disabilities.

Midnight Adrenalin Rushes Are Not a Good Thing

Been awhile since I've updated, though I need to be quick, since The Boy is snarking and saying "Ning Ning", which generally means, 'hey ma, pick me up, I'm bored to tears with the Poop Machine (Exersaucer)". Hubby can't really distinguish it from "Nay Nay", which means "hey ma, I want boobie!", but I can tell the difference.

The little guy had his 6 month checkup, and is now 17 lbs, 1 oz., 27.5 inches long, and has a 16.75 inch head circumference. He's not so little anymore...

He always reacts badly to his imunizations, and this time I thought we managed to get lucky, until he woke us up Saturday night after midnigt, screaming in a something-is-really-wrong sort of voice.

My husband's jaw dropped, because kidlet was clearly sobbing "Mommy! Mommy!" He was hypothermic, which scared me enough to wake up the pediatrician. (Also scared me enough to check the accuracy of our digital thermometer, recently stuck up Boy's butt, by wiping it off quickly with alcohol and stuffing it in my mouth... To my husband's very vocal disgust. There is not another living soul I would do that for. But I will admit, I gargled with peroxide after the crisis had passed...)

Since he had no other symptoms, we were told to warm him up, and that the fact that he was ravenously breastfeeding was a good sign... Half an hour later, he was normal, smiling, and playing. And he's been fine since...

I, on the other hand, have been a flashy, panic attacky mess. And I'm not sure why, though its probably the high winds, and the Boy giving me a scare didn't help.

I think I hear a "Nay Nay", so I better go.

Idiotic Lawsuits

Worth a read: The 2003 Dumb-Ass Corporate Lawsuit Awards, which includes gems such as:

7.) More flammable breakfast foods. Allstate insurance seems to have found a hobby (see # 10). The huge corporation is suing the Kellogg corporation alleging that Pop-Tarts are also dangerously flammable and that Kellogg, and not Allstate, ought to pay for damage to burned homes that Allstate was hired to insure. These suits are clogging up courts and costing us all money in at least three states: Ohio, New Jersey and the similar "flaming foods" case in Michigan, above. Beware of Pop Tarts of mass destruction!

Its no wonder Justice wears a blindfold. I bet she's wishing for earplugs!

Retiring a Faithful Helper

Things just seem to be going wrong constantly.

A few weeks ago, my german shepherd service dog had an ear infection. We tried to clean it out. She didn't much like it. She struggled, and my husband tried to hold her. She wrenched herself around trying to get away from us. Shortly afterward, she started limping a bit on one rear paw. I figured she pulled a muscle. It did not get better.

We took her to the vet, who informs us that she has nerve damage. The dog can't tell where her rear paw is in space, so she's walking funny, and sometimes falls down. She may have a herniated disc.

She will not be able to be a working dog any more. She will not have the strength or the balance to assist me with mobility tasks, or the stamina to accompany me everywhere for the medical alert stuff.

I'm sorry to lose her help.

I'm sorrier still she's in this position, and scared to death she will hurt herself falling down. Especially on the stairs. The vet says she isn't in pain, but it is painful to see her this way. My poor faithful girl. She is terribly upset not to be able to be always at my side. And I am frightened of what life will be without her help. I haven't been using her much, since while pregnant and now with the baby, I don't leave the house much. But now it has become impossible to use her ever again for the work she loved doing.

Sigh.

Thank you my girl. You will always be my hero.

Hurricane's Eye or With Friends Like This...

Well, there is a temporary lull in the storm of craziness we are faced with.

All I can really say about it is, that a person I trusted and valued as a friend has betrayed me and made light of it, and I am hurt beyond measure. I was taking alot of abuse from this person, to try to preserve a long standing friendship. I was too naieve to realize it was already dead.

Then came a full on attack, full of venom and vitriol. Even I can't ignore that in the name of avoiding a confrontation or pretending there's something left to save. It's over.

I sent him a response, saying, thanks for the cruelty. It was LIBERATING.

And it was.

I feel lighter. Free. It is such a relief to be done with his toxic version of friendship.

There's still a little regret, because I looked up to him like a big brother in the good old days.

But the relief outweighs it.

Whew.

I still have to deal with him for a short while to wrap up the loose ends, but then he rides into the sunset and outta my life. There will probably be some drama before the absolute end, but its almost over.

I need some peace.

New Blog for NANOWRIMO

I have started a new blog for this year's NANOWRIMO...

Crying baby. Gotta go.

I HATE LAWYERS!

I hate all fucking lawyers and I hope they all get leprosy and their tongues and peckers fall off.

(I, of course, as a FORMER lawyer, and a pecker-less person, am exempt from that particular curse. I will also exempt the handfull of honest, ethical and genuinely caring lawyers out there. But the vast majority are scum deserving of torment.)

Panic City and Peas

Its been a bad week. Panic attacks galore. I have that waiting for disaster thing going. I am betting there is a major, nasty flashback in my immediate future. I am also in hellacious pain in my neck, shoulder and down my right arm. Which is nothing new, but its worse than usual. Probably because The Boy now exceeds my medically recommended limit for lifting... But I'm his mama, so I have to pick his heavy little butt up.

The only bright spots: First, I got a new (not really, it was on our old machine, but it works) keyboard hooked up. Second, The Boy eats peas. Greedily and happily. I have heard this is one of the hardest foods to introduce. But kidlet gobbled it down. Indeed, he liked it better than applesauce. I have a wierd kid. He also loves squash and sweet potato, but his big favorite is still banana. He's eating two full jars of food a day now. My little Hungry Man.

Entropy IS the Guiding Force in My Life

All hell is breaking loose on many fronts. Some of which I really can't write about, though I desperately need to.

We have had more stress here this week than most people could survive with any vestige of sanity intact. Not sure if we managed to...

My mom and dad came up Monday. On the walk here from the train station, my mom tripped over an uneven patch of sidewalk and split her lip open, bruised her face, hands and knees, and hit her teeth. She refused to go to the emergency room. My dad is afraid she will wind up with abcessed teeth...

He left way too soon, because he is wierd about being away from his dog, and because the triple hernia he insists on walking around with was excruciatingly painful. He bitches at my mom for not seeking medical treatment, while refusing to have simple surgery that would vastly improve his quality of life. That's my family for you!

I missed half his visit because my lawyer called and proceeded to make a scene, while refusing to acknowledge that I had company and could not talk. Same lawyer is the source of most of the stress Kev and I are under. Feh.

I made pesto from scratch on Monday nite for Mom, which was nice. Tuesday did thrift shop shopping with her. Wednesday, we took The Boy to the park (and the beach) for his first time ever. Which was fun except for the very persistent bees and yellow jackets. No stings, but major annoyance.

Hubbie informs me he is sick and can't watch kiddo so I can blog, so I gotta go now. More later...

Quick Update from Allergy Hell

My parents are coming today for a visit. Our house is, at its very best, messy. It had slid into excuse-me-is-this-the county-dump mode recently. So we had an archaeological dig this weekend and discovered the top of the coffee table. Of course, we promplty re-buried it...

We must have generated a dust cloud large enough to be seen from space, because all my evil allergies are out to get me. I am a sniffly mess.

Mikro decided to help matters further by attempting to bite off the boobs that feed him. So I am sore to boot. And the house still doesn't look like anything a sane woman would allow her mother to see. (So what am I worried about? We all know I'm nuts...)

I guess I can always hope my mom forgot her eye glasses...

Gotta go do the whirlwind bleach the kitchen countertops tour... Wish I could blare some classic 80s rock, but The Boy is sleeping, so I somehow have to convince my butt to move without the aid of music...

Is that why I'm Crabby?

The word Chele is Latin for the claw of a crab. So sayeth a google search. Is that why I'm crabby?

Chele is apparently also a village in the Himalayas.

The term chele is used in Nicaraguan slang to denote Europeans (in opposition to the North American-indicating gringo), and approximates to "foreigner".

And, of course, Ix Chel was the mayan goddess of the moon, childbirth, healing, art, creativity and weaving.

Can you tell I'm in avoidance mode???

Time to go feed The Boy, who has moved on to sweetpotatos now. (Very messy, staining, and stinky when viewed the second time around, if ya know what I mean...)

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Little Man typed my title. He was sitting on my lap and started pounding keys.

He's eating apple saucenow,which he doesn't like nearly as well as bananas...

He's actually sleeping four and five hours at a stretch, sometimes.

I'mslowlylosingmyminddealingwithseveralvery highstresssituations. Thefact that the space bar onmy keyboard only works abouttwentyfive percentof the time does nothingto improve matters...

Gas Mask, Please

Remind me to wear a freakin' gas mask when changing banana poop diapers. Oh.My.God.What.A.Smell.

The fabric cover of The Boy's swing is currently making its way through the spin cycle for the second time. The safety harness is, unfortunately, not removable for cleaning. Whatever genius decided to use white strapping should be dipped in banana poop and sprinkles... I will never get the yellow ochre stains out.

Of course, the only place I can safely deposit him (without screaming) while attempting to clean up his lovely mess is the Exersaucer Poop Machine, so the fun continues...

Update-- he has once again produced prodigous amounts of yellow ochre mush... This was not what I had in mind for a birthday present...

MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA!!!

As of Monday night, my little guy is saying Mama. The Dada-ing started over the weekend. Anytime I leave his immediate vicintiy, he yells "Mamamamamama!", so he actually connects it with me.

He also seems to say "nay nay" when he wants to nurse, which is cool, because I never taught it to him. My ever so subtle inquiry is: "Hey, Mikro, want some boobie?"

He's sitting up without support. He can't quite get into a sit himself, but if you plunk him down, he stays plunked. Except when he's really tired, because falling on his face takes less effort...

He's constantly babbling and trying new sounds now. I am pretty sure he said "baby" today. He's been doing bababa for a while now. He also loves to scream at the top of his lungs and vary the pitch.

Did I mention he's just barely five months old?

The Boy scares me. Shades of Doogie Howser...

In other news, he ate some Gerber First Foods mushed banana last night. I poured half a jar on a paper plate to feed him. The little monster grabbed the plate out of my hand, and went for the spoon too. I don't think he has a prayer in the world of feeding himself yet, because I doubt his aim is that good. He can get his hands or thumb to his mouth, no problem, but he flails wildly with utensils and drum sticks and such. After he ate every bit of the bananas, he yelled for more. He ate most of the remainder in the jar, then nursed awhile. He definitely likes to eat. He is constantly snarky when we eat anything, and attempts to grab from our plates. He was more than ready to start solids. I wasn't. Sigh. He is growing up way too fast!

My Husband is NOT a Domestic Goddess

I have not been down in my basement since shortly after becoming pregnant, because the combined odor of the mildew and the catbox caused me to projectile vomit as soon as I opened the basement door.

The laundry is down there.

My dear spouse has been "doing the laundry" since September 2002.

What that translates to is dumping buckets of clothes on the wet basement floor, walking on them, and grinding the dirt in, while actually washing only those articles which in his estimation were essential to our continued survival.

He keeps telling me he is not yet ready to turn the job back over to me, despite the fact that our son is now five months old.

That has caused me no end of dread wondering what the hell my basement looks like.

I just took a freakin' safari down there. It is another world. It should be the site for the next version of Survivor! It is utterly disgusting. I didn't have to puke, but I wanted to...

We won't even mention the cat barf and scattered litterbox contents. Oh, guess I just did...

There are clothes I have not seen in a year down there.

There are also piles of very good clothes that are now nothing more than stained rags. And, oh, yeah, coincidentally, the vast majority thereof are mine. Stuff I cannot afford to replace.

OK, so he's passive aggressive, and definitely NOT Martha...

But what currently has me pissed purple is he is now throwing the baby's clothes on the moldy yucky floor.
That is just plain gross.

I am now on load number three, and the pile is literally taller than I am and about twelve feet square.

What the hell was he thinking?

Uncertainty Sucks

It seems like many major major things are up in the air right now, and it is driving me crazy. I hate uncertainty. Tragedy I can deal with, joy too. But that knife edge you ride before you know which of the two it is going to be is enough to have me pulling out what little hair the post-partum hormonal stew hasn't already taken care of...

Least critical but still annoyingly uncertain thing on the long list-- whether my brother is going to show up here today, and whether he is bringing La Viper with him.

It turns out his sicko gorlfriend just told him she was pregnant with someone else's child as a test. I think that's not only cruel but stupid and I have a hard time deciding when to believe an admitted liar. Was it just a ploy, or did she get rid of an inconvenience? I feel like shreiking "Have you ever heard of birth control or AIDS?!?" I'm not sure I believe this latest retraction, because why wouldn't the test involve it being HIS kid? Why go as far as she did with the lie? Who knows. I used to stick up for her and give her the benefit of the doubt. Now I have major misgivings. And my brother appears willing to blithely accept the "explanation" and take her back. Which may well be a case of seeing what you want to see... It is his life, his relationship, his risk to take. I can only wish him well.

But I would rather not have La Viper sitting on my couch cooing at my baby.

Anyway.

It would be really nice if I knew who was coming, and when, if at all.

Sigh.

TFMB-The Total Fucking Moron Brigade (TM)

What a long, strange trip its been...

I am surrounded by stupidity, flanked by fools, drowning in dumbshit.

I can continue the alliteration, or describe the idiocy...

Tuesday Sept. 9th:

Having asked our mortgage broker not less than five times whether I needed to be at the closing, or provide dear spouse with a power of attorney (to which the answer was very definitively "No!" each time), dear spouse arrives at the closing, only to be greeted by a halfwit chorus of: "Where's your wife? We can't do this without her!"

(Picture me doing a primal scream that can be heard three states away...)

So, for what must be the first time in the history of real estate closings, they allow Kev to sign and then bring the papers home to me for signature, after I telephonically tear them a new one...

Wednesday September 10th:

Kevin sits home from work, awaiting a fed ex of a final few closing documents. He is planning on sticking around to receive them, accompanying me to the bank to get my signature notarized, and then heading into NYC to work, and to drop the docs at a FedEx outpost somewhere.

Tra-la-fucking-lovely, except the assorted real estate mavens, whose collective brain activity would measure lower than that of most coma patients, never sent the documents out!

It was a good thing he called, or he'd have sat here all day waiting, we'd have missed the notary, and he'd have to miss another day's work tomorrow.

So, off we head to the bank, and we think, notarization nirvana.

Oh, no. This is when we discover that we truly live in a one horse town.

The bank does not have a notary.

Neither does the other bank, three pharmacies, a CPA's office, an insurance agent, or the post office. We finally do locate one, at the one remaining pharmacy. But, we are informed, prescriptions come first, so you may have to wait.

We wait and wait and wait some more, but then it is done. Four hours later.

Thursday, Sept. 11th:

I am triggered beyond bearing, as well as desolately sad. I went to work one day and nearly got killed. So I tend to feel connected to the poor unsuspecting people at their desks in the Towers two years ago...

I post a memorial tribute off my family's main website, which I will not link here due to the lawsuit crap, because there are actually people with nothing better to do than track my steps around the internet in an effort to further harass me and abuse me because I dared to sue their asses for trying to kill me. And people who are pissed at me for speaking the truth, who think I should muzzle myself out of fear of reprisals. My compromise to them is the relative anonymity of this blog...

Nevertheless, I agree to meet with my lawyer that evening to discuss my accident-at-work case. Large mistake.

More than the date conspires to make it a harrowing day. My lawyer proceeds to heap unbelievable abuse on me, which continues for days, and still isn't resolved. The worst part about that is that he is someone I called my friend.

I spend the night dreaming plane crashes.

Friday September 13th:

My lawyer threatens to fuck up my case if I don't increase his fee. He also suggests that, if I refuse to agree to his demands, he will deem me incompetent/insane, and usurp control over the case, because I "can't act in my own best interests."

Them's fightin' words!

Saturday and Sunday:

Fighting.

In other news, my son ate his first solid food and is beginning to sit up unsupported. He also sucked on his toes for the first time ever. I discovered that, despite being old, broken down and fat, I can still stick my foot in my mouth. Aren't you thrilled for me?


Monday: That would be today. My lawyer is a jerk. I am surrounded by jerks. The closing is STILL not finalized, because the idiot bank forgot one more form they need signed.

I hereby form the TOTAL FUCKING MORON BRIGADE (TM), a society in which membership is conferred by nomination by yours truly. I think I will have Tshirts made, and give them out to deserving inductees. Whether I shall be subtle and design a logo using only the acronym, or use the full organizational title, remains to be seen...

Fairy Tales and Freakouts

I am having a bad bad bad set of days. On the edge of a breakdown bad. Of course, I am looking for ways to avoid dealing with reality...

Hence:

FAIRY TALE

nce upon a time there has a young WOODCARVER named HORATIO. He was BRAVELY TRAVELING in the FURRY forest when he met WISE MICHAEL, a run-away JESTER from the SMELLY Queen MIRANDA.

HORATIO could see that WISE MICHAEL was hungry so he reached into his TREASURE CHEST and give him his UGLY PORRIDGE. WISE MICHAEL was thankful for HORATIO's PORRIDGE, so he told HORATIO a very GOOFY story about Queen MIRANDA's daughter CHELE. How her mother, the SMELLY Queen MIRANDA, kept her locked away in a TOWER protected by a gigantic WOLF, because CHELE was so SWEET.

HORATIO SEARCHED. He vowed to WISE MICHAEL the JESTER that he would save the SWEET CHELE. He would JUMP the WOLF, and take CHELE far away from her evil mother, the SMELLY Queen MIRANDA, and SERANADE her.

Then, all of the sudden, there was a STRANGE POOPING and WISE MICHAEL the JESTER began to laugh. With a puff of smoke he turned into the gigantic WOLF from his story. SMELLY Queen MIRANDA JUMPED out from behind a HARP and struck HORATIO dead. In the far off TOWER you could hear a SONG.

THE END.

Make your own Fairy Tale at fuali.com

and from the same site:

I am 74% Tortured Artist

Art is significant in my life, people are scum but I have the capicity to deal with it. Give it a few more years and I will either forget about art or hate the world.

Take the Tortured Artist Test at fuali.com

How silly is that?

My Life Is a Sit-Com and It Belongs on Fox!

I am supposed to be getting together with my girlfriend Cathy tonight. At around 6 pm, two hours after he is supposed to have left his office, my dear spouse calls to inform me he is still there and my plans are screwed. OK. We'll just go out later, I think. I hang up the phone, and the kid starts screaming upstairs, having awakened from a far too short a nap.

So the phone rings again, and it is Cath, and as I am explaining that I need to call her back because kidlet is having a meltdown, it occurs to me that my feet are wet. Huh?

My dear blind, geriatric diabetic dog has just pissed Lakes Erie, Michigan and Superior, not on the floor, but ON my feet. Joy. So Cath is gabbing in my ear, and I am attempting to stretch the phone cord to reach the very few sheets of newspaper left in the house, because stupid me put it all out with the recycling this morning, and trying to sop up piss, and placate kiddo long distance. Cath says she'll call back. She is not staying over at her parents' tonite, so if we are going to get together, it has to be soon.

I run around, leaving pissy footprints across the living room, kitchen and dining room as I hunt newspapaer. I fling it on the deluge, then run up the stairs, wash hands and stick a boob in the kid, while trying to remember to hang my still pissy feet off the bottom of the bed and not foul the sheets. As soon as he drops my boob, I grab him, run downstairs, stuff him in the exersaucer and attempt to deal with the mess, which is right in front of my front door, so I can open it to let Cath in for coffee.

At this point, my big dog decides she needs to get involved and attempts to lay in the piss puddle. So now I am yelling, "What, is there a mop handle up your ass? If not, get outta there!". She rolls in it some more. I drag her out to the dog run. I realize I can't leave a muzzle on her, because we are down to one, and I need it not to smell of mud and dog piss, so I put her in without one.

Then the neighbors' kids decide to play basketball. So the dog starts barking louder than I have ever heard her bark before, on continuous loop. Lovely. No muzzle to muffle her.

I dash back in, turning my kitchen upside down for a trash bag, but my helpful spouse has concocted a treasure hunt for cleaning supplies for me. I can't find bags, mop, bucket or pinesol. I finally trip over the mop and bucket. So I am dashing in and out of the house, with handfuls of dripping pissy paper, when the parade of Friday night home-from-work neighbors begins, all of whom want to socialize, which I can't do well with piss dripping off the paper down my leg. They now must all think I am a rude antisocail jerk, or hate them, because it goes like this:

Them: "Hi, how are you?"
Me: Growl. Hi. Bye.

I grab the lysol with bleach kitchen spray and use it to mop up my floors (knowing spouse will bitch about fading, but then I will bitch about treasure hunts).

Now the kid is screaming, and the doggie perpetrator of piss puddles is under my feet, so I am screaming at the dog. Cath calls. I peer into kidlets diaper, and once again the exersaucer or gravity have had their effect and he is fully smeared with ooey gooey mustardy shit goodness.

Cath is coming over in 5 minutes.

So I scoop him up, run up the stairs, wash hands with alcohol wipes, clean up humongous shitty mess, stuff him into diaper and shorts, alcohol wipe piss off my feet, change into clean clothes, grab kid, run downstairs, look at watch, realize diabetic dog needs food and shooting and a walk. Stick kid in car seat. Throw diabetic dog out of house on leash, yelling "go piss you fucker" (with full complement of friendly neighbors for audience). Run back in, fill dog dish. Run back out, almost throw it at dog, yelling "eat you sonuvabitch." Run back in, fight with stupid fucking over priced over packaged syringes, until finally I can get the fifth one out of the stupid plastic tube packaging, grab insulin, run out door, pull insulin, shoot dog after verifying some food ingested, again, with entire neighborhood watching. Hear big dog barking like machine gun fire. Run in. throw insulin in fridge and syringe in bucket. Run out and around back of house to kennel, yelling "shut up you fucker" and threatening to make dog go live with my mother. Also with audience. Muzzle dog, leash dog, drag dog in. Drag little pissy dog in. Kid is screaming yet again. No poop this time. Start singing to kid (who was laughing at idiot mother thru most of the above).

Phone rings. Cath is not coming.

AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!

No Pottery For Me

Sigh. My adult ed pottery class isn't being given this semester, not that I thought it was going to be easy to do with a new baby... But Kev did encourage me to sign up for it... What will I do for stress relief if I can't beat up clay?


Kiss:: Kiss
Nothing:: Ventured, nothing gained
Reach:: for the stars
Late:: night
Stump:: remover
Dreams:: schemes
LOL:: PIMP
Ornament:: hook
Neck:: pain
Guitar:: player
Unconscious Mutterings

I Flashed the Restaurant

On August 24, 2003, I took a big step. I breastfed an inconsolable baby at the table in our favorite restaurant. Normally, I would slink into the bathroom and hide behind the privacy of a stall door. But Mikro was insistant, and my Tshirt was long. So I stuck him up under the shirt and he ate. (Now that I think about it, it actually isn't the very first time I breastfed him in public, if you call a deserted beach public... but there were lots of people around this time.)

Then, a week later, same bat-time, same bat-channel, same bat-restaurant, he wanted to do it again. My Tshirt wasn't as long, but I had this long pareo thingie that I bought at a pier in Key West, so I tied it over my shoulder and across my chest, and we did our thing.

I figured that must have been scads more discreet than the prior occassion. Well, last night my helpful spouse informed me that, much to my dismay, I managed to flash the entire restaurant in the process...

Oh well. It isn't going to stop me, but it does make my face burn red.

Gravity works...

At least it seems to for my little boy. If you pop him in the Exersaucer, within half an hour an unbelievable amount of material works its way down through his digestive tract. We have begun calling this toy by a new name...

The Poop Machine.

Kev had to work today. Sigh. Its just me & the Boy, and he's snarky...

Just ordered a Maya Wrap to carry the Boy around in. We have heard good things about their baby slings and pouches...

Woo Hoo- I Figured Out Comments!

So, hopefully there is now a comment feature here...

We shall see if it works.

Yesterday I got mind numbingly bad legal news. Today I saw my shrink. Life is a whirlwind, and I am a little speck of aerial flotsam/jetsam. The fun never ends...

Avoidance Mode

I say … and you think … ?
Bay:: watch
Boarding school:: rich kid
Riddle:: me this
Hunger:: thirst
Allergy:: sneeze
Sponsored:: by
Spin:: the bottle
Interest:: bearing
Scrabble:: game
Mold:: release
Unconscious Mutterings

The Boy is asleep. I am sleepwalking... I just brewed a pot of coffee and forgot the coffee. Imagine my surprise when I poured hot water into my milk... Yuck. So yeah, I am in avoidance mode, because the Accident case is looming, and my brain, she no work. Joy. Oops. Screaming baby...

Don't Ask If You Don't Want to Know

Why do people ask you for advice, when they don't want to listen?

My brother did this all through law school (I graduated several years before he did). He would even ask me legal questions and then disregard the answers.

Hell, my father does the same thing, and he has no legal training whatsoever, just thinks he's smarter than me, I guess.


My husband asks me to review the refi papers from a legal perspective, and when I point out problems, he gets pissed. I guess he just wanted a rubber stamp of approval. Sorry, when I see a problem, I speak up.

He claims it is because I got angry about the few little surprises that I found in the documents. Now, I got angry at the bank fopr trying to pull a fast one. I did not get mad at him. But anytime I get angry at anything, Kevin takes it personally.

So I guess this goes beyond why ask me to play lawyer when you will just ignore my professional opinion. Not that it counts because I'm no longer practicing law, but I can still read and analyse the occassional document or a case.

My husband cannot handle me being angry.

Its either that I must really be angry with him, or that nice girls don't get angry, or that anger is dangerous, or some equally dysfunctional script running in his head. Sometimes he says that he feels like he's failed me if I get angry, because he should have protected me from being upset.

Hello? Since when is he responsible for my emotions?

When I am not curled up in fetal position courtesy of PTSD, I have the full range of human emotions. Including anger. I think that is a good thing.

Now, I also think its what you do with an emotion that can be *wrong*, but not the emotion itself.

To me, becoming violent when you are angry is just plain wrong. Repressing anger to the point that you explode over minutae is wrong. Venting is not, so long as it isn't a personal attack. Bitching loudly is not.

Kev doesn't mind pitching things across the room when he's pissed. But he thinks its a tragedy of epic proportions if I bitch and moan, or, god forbid, raise my voice.

I wish I hadn't raised my voice, but when it seems like people don't hear me (or have just ignored me), I tend to get louder, hoping they will.

Sigh.

Friday Five Again-- on a Friday, for a Change!

1. When was the last time you laughed?
Last night, with my four month old son, who had an irresistably contagious attack of the giggles!

2. Who was the last person you had an argument with?
My husband, over something totally stupid, which is our most common fight fodder.

3. Who was the last person you emailed?
A dear old friend, whom I met many years ago at a Star Trek convention...

4. When was the last time you bathed?
This morning, though with a newborn, I can't always say that!

5. What was the last thing you ate?
A vegan spinach & tofu lunch pocket thingee.

The Friday Five

Our Own Idiotic Language

K- I think your thingee binged.
C- OK, thanks.

Translation-- the microwave buzzed.

You know you've been married forever when you can translate the seemingly nonsensical. Twelve years now. And I've known him for 21! That is mind boggling. I feel old.