Is motherhood the most thankless job on the planet? Or is it just one of several that you can't understand until you've done it?
I've spent quite a bit of time feeling sorry for myself lately, to the point where even I'm sick of me. I walk around at home, making mental lists of how I'm neglected and unappreciated. I catalogue the number of times I go unthanked, stumbled over, clonked by accident, snapped at, argued with, and unblessed upon my sneeze. I count the parties made, errands run, appointments scheduled, notes written, clothes laid out, and meals assembled.
"How on earth," I fume silently, "would anything get done without me around?"
Foolish question that, since DH managed to run the household smoothly when I went to Arizona last year with my mom. But there wasn't any "oh, thank GAWD Mommy's back" upon my return. There was a brief moment of utter panic when DH called me to say he couldn't find the location of preschool's spring event and was an hour late, to boot. But he resolved it and the kids were fine.
My girlfriends get it. "I don't know how you do it," they exclaim -- especially those without kids. They remark at my photographic memory of all Target aisles, my enormous coupon collection, my ablity to shlep all three car-seated kids in the back of my '93 Corolla. My therapist tsk-tsked me after my bedrest, when I noted how DH bravely attempted to run weekend errands without me and once spent more than a half-hour just searching Target for the Pull-Ups. "This is your own fault," she said. "You should have been letting other people do this stuff years ago."
She's right, and now it's too late. It's become obvious that Mommy is the only one who will put together outfits, keep track of school functions, research summer camps, arrange a social life. There is no question that, when Saturday rolls around, Mommy is the one who shops without a list -- and who can get through Target, Costco, PetSmart and Jewel in three hours with at least one kid in tow. If a holiday or event is to be celebrated, no one other than Mommy plans it (party), invites them (guests), cooks it (food), shops for them (supplies), wraps them (gifts), and thanks them (guests). My kids are flabbergasted by instructions to hang up their clean clothes, put their books on the bookshelf every day instead of just once in a while, and wipe out the sink after coating it in blue Spider-Man toothpaste. My husband changes a diaper or Pull-Up at least every day, but I would bet a fiver that he doesn't know the exact type of wipes we get -- the only ones that don't give Danny a rash.
And this is not to say I'm perfect. My apartment is in a constant state of mess -- a fact I'm reminded of often not only by the stacks of uncategorized stuff in what should be a dining room, but my mother, father, and husband. I'm far too quick to lose my cool. I dress like a slob, at home if not outside. I'm ALWAYS tired. Oh, and I'm chunky.
But still, there should be a Mom award. I know a lot of us deserve it. It doesn't have to be anything fancy, though I can't think of any Moms who would turn down a piece of jewelry or a weekend getaway. Something little and thoughtful would do, too. Just something to keep us going while we stack the dishwasher for the nth time, wearing only our work pants and a bra, while the microwave heats up yesterday's coffee.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, shame on the bureau wires. Thank G-d for this girl's parents the Olympics are over.
You can, you know. Just submit your most embarrassing recipe to Flea's blog. She has proposed that she, Orange and I get together to cook the top three recipes and vote on them. Just be aware that I do have a sensitive stomach, and I'm nursing. You can torture me all you like, but please, think of the baby!!!
The same colleague who sent me yesterday's Sasha Exposed post directed me to this one. Okay, the first one was probably not an intentional photo (intentionally used), but I'm sure the repeat of the shot with another skater was intentional.
Oh, and the subject line of my colleague's e-mail?
In honor of Eric Zorn's blog & column today on the death of blogging, I'd like to post the following, completely unnecessary bit of information:
My boobs hurt.
You heard it here, folks. I brought my pump with me to work, but completely forgot the clean accessories I need in order to actually use the damned thing. I haven't pumped now since late yesterday, and I feel like I'm going to explode. And I certainly can't yell "DAMN IT, MY BOOB HURTS!" at work. I don't have that kind of job.
I'm not sure what kind of job that would be. Where would it be acceptable to shout "DAMN IT, MY BOOB HURTS?" Maybe in a porn/S&M video? Doing voice-overs for the same?
This just in.... Kid Rock is suing to stop the sale of a video showing him, former Creed creepoidloser frontman Scott Stapp, and four women having sex.
Seriously, does anybody really want to see Kid Rock naked, let alone having sex? Anybody, that is, other than Pamela Anderson, whose judgement has clearly been in question for some time now.
The Trib's Marc Caro has been running with the crappiest-movie-title-of- all-time theme for a bit, and posts today his list of finalists for the title. They are:
"Ballistic: Ecks Vs. Sever" "Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness?" "C.H.U.D." "I (Heart) Huckabees" "The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies!!?" "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?" "The Shawshank Redemption" "Snakes on a Plane" "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot" "To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything, Julie Newmar"
Here's my comment: It's easier to pick a movie I *wouldn't* vote for than one that could win. "Shawshank" gets a pass because it's so fabulous, even if the title was shortened from the original.
A couple of the movies are bad enough to warrant watching at a party of drunks for the sheer heckling potential, so they get knocked off the list, too. Those include: - "C.H.U.D." - "Mother, May I Sleep With Danger?" (Tori Spelling = unintended hilarity) -"The Incredibly Strange Creatures...."
I didn't need to see these movies to know they'd suck: - "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot!" - "Ballistic: Ecks Vs. Sever" - "I (Heart) Huckabees" (actually, I tried to watch this but just couldn't get into it. It had attractive elements but it bored me.
We're getting close, folks. - "To Wong Foo..." (Foo much.) - "Snakes on a Plane" (Simple, descriptive, ridiculous. I kind of like it, actually.)
So, that leaves the worst movie title (from this selection) as: "Can Hieronymous Merkin Ever Forget...." Did Anthony Newley never read his Nabakov? (Go on, Google "merkin.") Oy.
Let me get this straight. We're living in a country where the president thinks it's totally fine to eavesdrop on anyone at any time, but we're not yet paranoid enough to think that selling our east coast ports to an Arab company isn't perhaps a bit dangerous? And don't you dare sit there and call me a racist. This has very little to do with race. I'm not going to be suspicious of regular Arabian citizens (here or there), but why on earth would an Arabian company need to own major ports of the United States? And why on earth do we need to sell them?
The only good thing to come of this news? The fact that it's actually brought Dems and Republicans together -- against the Bush administration, who okayed the deal.
There was a commercial for this on WGN News this morning.
The voice-over copy concluded dramatically with the phrase "See it. Or live to regret it." Which, as it turns out, is a quote pulled from a review. However, the following is proudly posted in the "History" section of the official site:
"The most talked about innovation in this production is the casting of a male dancer in the coveted role of Odette/Odile known as 'the Swan'. 'The idea of a male swan makes complete sense to me' says Matthew, ' the strength, the beauty, the enormous wingspan of these creatures suggests to me the musculature of a male dancer more readily than a ballerina in her white tutu.'”
I saw the male dancer performing as Odile... check out his costume at the Gallery section of the site. All I can say is, Gosh. Take yourself a wee bit too seriously, Bourne? Check out the Official Web Site -- the art is just plain creepy. It's Edgar Allan Poe's Swan Lake. It's like Swan Lake for schizophrenics. Kill the swan! KILL THE FUCKING SWAN!!!!
Your date of conception was on or about 1 September 1969 which was a Monday.
You were born on a Monday under the astrological sign Gemini. Your Life path number is 11.
The Julian calendar date of your birth is 2440731.5. The golden number for 1970 is 14. The epact number for 1970 is 22. The year 1970 was not a leap year.
Your birthday falls into the Chinese year beginning 2/6/1970 and ending 1/26/1971. You were born in the Chinese year of the Dog.
The date of Easter on your birth year was Sunday, 29 March 1970. The date of Ash Wednesday (the first day of Lent) on your birth year was Wednesday 11 February 1970. The date of Whitsun (Pentecost Sunday) in the year of your birth was Sunday 17 May 1970. The date of Whisuntide in the year of your birth was Sunday 24 May 1970. The date of Rosh Hashanah in the year of your birth was Thursday, 1 October 1970. The date of Passover in the year of your birth was Tuesday, 21 April 1970. The date of Mardi Gras on your birth year was Tuesday 10 February 1970.
As of 2/20/2006 11:12:29 AM EST You are 35 years old. You are 429 months old. You are 1,865 weeks old. You are 13,055 days old. You are 313,331 hours old. You are 18,799,872 minutes old. You are 1,127,992,349 seconds old.
Your age is the equivalent of a dog that is 5.10958904109589 years old. (You're still chasing cats!)
There are 94 days till your next birthday on which your cake will have 36 candles.
Those 36 candles produce 36 BTUs, or 9,072 calories of heat (that's only 9.0720 food Calories!) . You can boil 4.11 US ounces of water with that many candles.
In 1970 there were approximately 3.7 million births in the US. In 1970 the US population was approximately 203,302,031 people, 57.4 persons per square mile. In 1970 in the US there were approximately 2,158,802 marriages (10.6%) and 708,000 divorces (3.5%) In 1970 in the US there were approximately 1,921,000 deaths (9.5 per 1000) In the US a new person is born approximately every 8 seconds. In the US one person dies approximately every 12 seconds.
Your birthstone is Emerald The Mystical properties of Emerald Though not meant to replace traditional medical treatment, Emerald is used for physical and emotional healing.
Some lists consider these stones to be your birthstone. (Birthstone lists come from Jewelers, Tibet, Ayurvedic Indian medicine, and other sources) Agate, Chrysoprase
Your birth tree is Ash Tree, the Ambition Uncommonly attractive, vivacious, impulsive, demanding, does not care for criticism, ambitious, intelligent, talented, likes to play with its fate, can be egoistic, very reliable and trustworthy, faithful and prudent lover, sometimes brains rule over heart, but takes partnership very serious.
There are 308 days till Christmas 2006! There are 321 days till Orthodox Christmas!
The moon's phase on the day you were born was waning gibbous.
My kids adore the Game Show Network. They got hooked on it because Alberta The Wonder Nanny loves game shows. I find many of them to be innocent enough, so I allow a bit of it. Last week, I was watching the Feud and each of the Family members were holding a white helium balloon, as was horny host Richard Dawson.
Dawson, however, was using his to suck helium and say stuff. And as he went around snogging all the women, he offered them each a hit off of his balloon. It was just the strangest thing ever. I did a search for this but haven't been able to find it on the Internets.... sometimes they're just very stingy with their TV clips.
My old stomping grounds are all over the news right now. The student editor-in-chief decided, along with a couple colleagues, to post a selection of the Danish cartoons that have touched off a holy war of the world.
Eric Zorn has a piece on it today, including his reflections from a conversation he had with Acton Gorton, the above referenced EIC. He's staying fairly cool on the subject, though my impression (perhaps mistaken) was that he was perhaps not supporting publisher Mary Cory's decision to send this letter to DI alums yesterday.
I posted this comment on Zorn's blog: I worked at the Daily Illini from 1989 to 1992, as a columnist, reporter, and eventually as associate and interim opinions editor. During my tenure, we student journalists waged a few controversy wars ourselves -- though nothing quite as big as this one, I'll concede.
I vividly recall being awakened by a phone call from a local Jewish leader, accusing me of being "the worst kind of self-hating Jew" because of a column we allowed onto the Opinions page. (I believe that was the time Matthew Hale was gaining his loud, anti-Semitic voice downstate.) I didn't agree with the author's words, but the editorial board did discuss the topic and delivery at length, and decided the community deserved to make their own opinions as to its content. Long story short, I'm not positive I'd make that same decision today; I definitely don't have that paper to which to refer and reconsider.
I suppose what I'm trying to say is that these are, indeed, student journalists. Some are just learning their skills and craft, and some are just learning a little about the necessary craft of good judgement as well. The power of the pen has not diminished since we've moved to digital publication.
I worked under Mary Cory (and Dan Bernard -- who first hired me -- as well), and found her to be incredibly knowledgeable, reasonable, and a great mentor to the thousands of writers, photographers, and artists who course through the DI. I received the letter to the alums yesterday and had nothing but sympathy for those dealing with this awkward situation. I don't know the student editors involved, but my personal guess is that this was a possibly misguided combination of bravado and self-righteousness, mixed with the impetuousness of youth. I don't know whether the cartoons should or should not have been printed at all, but I do think such an inflammatory topic should have been very carefully considered by a larger group of people than two or three editors, with potential input from (let's say) a trusted journ professor or two.
BTW, one poster above commented that his/her objection to the situation was that the DI is a school-funded paper. Unless things have changed since my '92 graduation, The Daily Illini is (or at least, was) one of the only independent student newspapers in the country. It's funded by advertising, sponsorship, and subscription. So, while this whole brouhaha does reflect (fairly or unfairly) on the University of Illiniois, nobody's tuition or tax dollars pay Gorton's salary.
When I went back to read his post on the letter (I'd received it personally so hadn't gone to his blog's entry on it until just now), I discovered that Zorn's problem with Mary's letter was what he viewed as "humbug." Let's just say "inconsistency," ; here on my blog, 'kay? Zorn felt that Mary's statement (of Gorton's acting without consultation was worthy of his suspension from the paper) ran contrary to her stating that the editor-in-chief has full editorial control.
Some seem to think that Mary is perhaps abusing her authority, and pretending that the protocol isn't really the reason for the suspension -- actually running the cartoons was. Frankly, I worked under Mary and can't fathom that really being the case. She is far too accustomed to working with -- and empowering -- students to operate in such a way.
I have to say that I agree with those who believe this particular EIC was operating with a mind towards personal gain in this situation... anyone notice that he's already got an attorney -- a Muslim civil rights specialist, yet -- speaking for him? I may have worked with some minor egos in my time, but this takes the cake, and indicates far more to me about Acton Gorton than do his words.
Yoinked from Almsthvn.... the Johari Window. Please select the five or six traits you think apply to me... and feel free to let me know if you make your own!
Phone call from OB-GYN's office, reminding me that we owe about $400 from the delivery of the baby (one week after I set up a payment plan with their suburban office).... unhappy sound. Baby giggles....happy sounds. Baby being cranky at 5:12 am.... unhappy sound. Hearing that I need to change Danny's sheets at 5:21 am.... unhappy sound. Hearing Jake & Danny being loud at 6:00 am.... unhappy sound. Hearing Jake & Danny gleefully singing the Chanukah blessings, double-time, at the top of their lungs.... hysterically funny happy sound. Dick Cheney interview on Fox.... unhappy sound (except for my laughing at him). New Jack Johnson CD.... happy sounds. Thanks to DH for the CD, which he handed me in the middle of the night last night. Now I can be all mellow at work today, even though I got almost no sleep. I'll just keep listening to "Upside Down" all day.
["We're Going To Be Friends," Jack Johnson & Friends]
Thank you for such a balanced article on the African-American curriculum proposal that's being considered in District 65. My husband and I are caucasians and Jews, who moved to Evanston from the city in order to send our sons to great public schools in a diverse community. I find this proposal quite interesting, but haven't yet decided how I feel about it. In general, I would say that splitting up the children based on race feels wrong.
I sympathize with the African-American community, since so much of typical curricula doesn't reflect our diverse population. However, I don't think the content of the program is going to be the *one* thing that helps children excel in school.
My eldest son, a six-year-old kindergartener at XXX Elementary School in Evanston, says he learns "nothing" at school most days; just like Ms. Lattimore's little girl. He has, however, told me plenty of details about Martin Luther King -- primarily, I believe, because there were special activities, songs, and an assembly that involved the whole school. The kids were exposed to the same information in creative ways, and that's what, to me, made the biggest impression on him.
As Jews, my husband and I feel it's important to expose our children to a Jewish education, but we have chosen to provide that in addition to a public school education for a variety of reasons. Our sons will be attending classes that teach Jewish history and culture outside of the regular school day, and we will reinforce those lessons in our home. Perhaps, if the curriculum proposal is not adopted by the school board, there could be programs developed and offered as extracurricular activities that exposed children to more diverse traditions, history, and culture.
Cheney will finally grant an interview about his accidentally almost killing a hunting partner (as opposed to indirectly killing tons of American and other troops). His channel of choice? Ultra-conservative Fox News.
What a wimp. A real man would have gone on The Daily Show.
Happy two-month birthday, my littlest man. I snapped this picture of you last week, when you were grinning your little baby grin at me. Every time I hit the button, you'd make a face instead. But I promise, you were smiling with your whole face, from your little chin to the sparkle in your eyes.
Do you let me sleep as much as I'd like? Well, let's face it -- who really gets all the sleep they'd like to? Nobody, that's who. And though you are relatively fussy in the evening, when you feel it's time to party on down, I can practically count backwards from 10 as midnight approaches and watch your whole body fall asleep. You prefer to sleep snuggled into swadddled blankets, with your pacifier firmly gripped in your mouth. Often, you will pass out sweetly in my arm, clutching two of my fingers with your two hands.
In fact, you really like to use your hands. You have a penchant for pulling the pacifier purposefully out of your mouth, and then crying for it to be returned. Last night, when your daddy came home from work, you awoke and raised one arm in the air, saying "Hey, talk to the hand, Daddy."
Unlike your brothers before you, you actually do sleep pretty well after midnight most nights. Like your brothers did before you, you enjoy sucking on my chin, prompting me to sing "Suck on my face, and tell me that you love me..." My mom -- your Nanna -- thought that was too cute until I sang her the real song. Then, she spit out her decaf. But hey, she laughed. You've got some good, silly genes in you. Let's hope Mr. Darwin was right, because you'll need the good ones, baby.
You've been born into a strange family, it's true. But we're really glad you're here, and we'll try to make sure you enjoy your stay.
Jacob got nine million red and pink cards and candies from school. Except for two "low-carb" peanut butter cups. Seriously, someone sent low-carb chocolates for kindergarteners. I'm dying to know who it was. I bet their birthday cakes are just delish.
Danny got a little heart-shaped box filled with conversation hearts, because once I saw what Jacob was bringing home, I knew he would be miserable. And what did the little monkey do with his candy? Promptly offered it up to Jacob. *sniffle*
Alberta, the Saint of All Nannies, got flowers from me, because I may have just about no money left until payday, but the woman deserves it. And I doubt her husband is the Valentines type. (Although her genius grandson Gemel will probably have something sweet for her.)
I got:
- an upset stomach from the z-pac (see Strep, below) - fever and chills - kisses from GUI the wonder cat - puke on the floor from SCSI the beastly cat - a crying baby, who I think is just overtired - hassled by my boss for not openly infecting the 440 people at my office with strep throat - nightmares about - bringing snack to Jacob's class and not having enough (16 instead of 24) - being forced into porn (although, weirdly, I had a great body in my nightmare) - losing Alberta to another family, who offered her fewer hours but more pay - work, as usual - and a still very-sore throat
Nothing from DH. He admitted last night that he hadn't gotten me anything. I'm not incredibly disappointed, if only because we have no money. Even if we did, I'd bean him silly if he spent $60 on flowers that you can generally buy at Costco for $12.99. He hates greeting cards, so I've come to not expect them. My mom thought that was weird, but I explained that if the giver doesn't believe in them, they don't mean anything. Plus, greeting cards are increasingly expensive. I'd much rather have a night out, or even a little thing of chocolate, anyway.
Of course, I could be really small-minded and say that I wish he'd thought ahead, but we've been tight on money for weeks and, having known the man for nearly 11 years now, I can honestly say I'd be shocked if he planned that far ahead for something so silly.
I did get one incredibly significant thing - yesterday. I need to explain first, if I haven't before, that Jacob's school has a positive reinforcement plan called Tiger Tickets. They have all these rules of deportment, and every time a kid is "caught" doing good stuff, they get a Tiger Ticket. All of the staff -- not just teachers -- are charged with trying to hand out as many a day as they can. They're for stuff as big as helping a disabled kid and as small as sitting quietly during a certain period. The tix are then redeemable for little prizes and special activities (for example, in hot weather, they have popsicles once a week for a certain number of tix, or "Chalk the Walk" with the principal -- special time outside drawing on the sidewalk with the Big Man).
Tiger Tickets are the main focus of Jacob's life, to hear him tell it. He judges his day on whether or not he got any. So when he came home yesterday with two homemade valentines (to "Mom" instead of "Mommy" -- he's all grown up!), I was touched. But I was practically devastated when he said it cost 10 Tiger Tickets to get to make valentines -- it was a special lunchtime activity. This child redeemed ALL of his Tiger Tickets in order to make valentines -- just for his Mom.
I do have a Valentine this year... he's just about four feet tall with big blue eyes and a penchant for whining. But he's all mine.
I try not to write about work, but I am so very pissed off right now and have to let it out.
The rule on strep is that you stay quarantined for 24 hours after beginning the antibiotics. I took the first two pills of my Zithromax on Monday at about 3:25 pm. And then e-mailed my boss to advise that I did indeed test positive for strep, and would have to be home for one more day. The reply I received included a statement along the lines of "two days back at work and two days sick.... let's hope this isn't a pattern for the year."
I'm so pissed I can't see straight and I can't let this go. This is a huge bone of contention for me. If I thought Boss was kidding, I might be able to relax. But I know Boss isn't kidding. What, am I supposed to go to work all infectious and choking on my own throat, and give strep to everybody else?
I think tomorrow I'm calling the doc's office and asking them to fax a note verifying that I had strep and was advised to be home for 24 hours. And I'm going to think very seriously about going to HR for a confidential discussion.
Yep. For the second time in three weeks, I have tested positive for strep throat. I guess we can assume I won't be getting a raise again this year... calling in sick on my third day back at work after maternity leave does NOT look good.
"Emergency personnel traveling with Cheney tended to Whittington...." An article posted yesterday stated that Cheney has an ambulance on call at all times, so they had "his" ambulance come as well. I wonder what that's costing the American people?
"The accident was not reported publicly by the vice president's office for nearly 24 hours, and then only after it was reported by the Corpus Christi Caller-Times on its Web site Sunday. [Cheney spokeswoman Lea Ann] McBride said the vice president's office did not tell reporters about the accident Saturday because they were deferring to Armstrong to handle the announcement of what happened on her property."
Oh, bullshit. The CHENEY office was going to let a Texan ranch owner report this to the news? Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. They were hoping the news didn't get out. How much you wanna bet Cheney's people were trying to get a secret service agent to take the blame?
How bad is it that, when I first saw the headline online yesterday, I cracked up?
1. Comment spammers. Die, die die. What would cause you to think that millions of people are reading really ancient, archived posts and then excitedly discovering they can purchase a variety of faux prescription drugs from you? I'm sick of deleting your comments. And yes, tBloggers, I did turn off outside comments and that didn't work. They're creating empty, blank-named blogs to do it. I shouldn't have to shut down comments completely, but I guess that's in my future.
2. Dubya. You seriously think making up a thwarted hijack attempt is going to suddenly pull your poll ratings out of the dumpster? Not when the reality of Brownie's complete disregard for human life is thrust back into the spotlight.
3. Caffeine jonesing. I made it for nearly four months only having the smallest amount of caffeine once in a while. Less than one day at work and I was shaking for a Coke. Damn damn damn.
4. Yeast infections. They gave me Amoxicillin for that strep infection... I need say no more. One-day treatment, my ass.
5. Holidays and celebrations that happen when I'm broke. Phooey.
Well, it's day two back at work. Yesterday went just fine; everyone was really nice, I'm on a new project, uncompensated overtime is in my near future, etc. When I got home last night, things were mellow. The baby was sleeping, as was Danny. Apparently, he climbed into my bed while Jake was bathing, and he passed out there. He didn't wake up until after 9 pm, when he sleepily murmured "Mommy, I mist you when you go work." *sniffle*
I forgot to blog this the other day. I've become somewhat belatedly hooked on Huff (starring secret boyfriend #3). DH was watching the "Flashpants" ep with me the other night, which included the news that Huff's mother-in-law had found a lump in her breast that was, apparently, malignant.
Somebody please sit Britney down. Her trash list has gotten way too long:
- Drunken, hastily annulled Vegas wedding... check.
- Well documented diet of subs, cigs, and bright orange snacks.... check.
- Complete loss/lack of fashion sense.... check.
- Tasteless, talentless spouse.... check.
- Butchered haircut with fried-out dye job.... check.
- Utterly stupid and potentially dangerous treatment of spawn.... check.
I've lost no love for the tabloid bimbette list, but I'm actually worried about this girl. We need an intervention, STAT!
I can hardly believe it, but the last day of my maternity leave is Wednesday. Ambivalence abounds. It's awfully easy to imagine being a SAHM when I have basically full-time help and a husband with good work. Except that we're barely making ends meet this way, and the gulit is overpowering. I'm going to miss so many sweet moments with little Benjamensch*, and so many with Danny, too. My little Dannyman has become quite attached to our little outings and snuggles. He's not the only one.
On the flip side, the routine of going to work will be good for all of us. Getting my paycheck will help (not as much as I'd like!), but even more importantly, the boys are used to having a mommy who works. It's good for their (admittedly limited) self-sufficiency to have to deal without me... and better for my patience, too. Though I can't imagine how much of that I'm going to have every evening after work and maybe four or five hours' sleep.
Right now, the baby is nudging me and I'm thinking he could use a bath. I also have a swollen eye (the strep moved into nasty cold territory), and a lunch date with a neighbor tomorrow before Ben's 8-week checkup. (Holy shit, he's almost two months old!) So I think a hot compress is in order.
[Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet]
P.S. I fully intended to rag on the comment spammers who keep hitting an old post of mine, but forgot.
*This is DH's new nickname for the baby. Like it? I also use "Benjimunch."
We ordered Thai food last night, courtesy of my visiting mother-in-law. Jacob will eat the meat from beef Pad Se Ewe, and the noodles from Pad Thai, but Danny's not adventurous yet. He did see the Crab Rangoon that my MIL and I were going to eat, and asked for that. So, knowing that DH doesn't want the kids eating shellfish, MIL ripped off a crispy edge of the fried wonton and just gave him that.
Naturally, he loved it. He wanted more. "Just a little," I said. "This isn't dinner, this is garbage."
1. Did you go to public schools or private? A: Yes. My brother and I attended prep school in the Cleveland suburbs until I was 13, at which point my family moved to the Chicago area. When I say "prep," I'm not kidding -- we counted our Polo shirts and were listed in The Preppy Handbook. When we moved, I was entering 8th grade, and attended public junior high and high school in an affluent, primarily Jewish suburb. When I graduated, I attended (and graduated from) the University of Illinois.
2. Who was your first romantic kiss? A: I guess that depends on for whom it was romantic. I was 14, I think, at Interlochen. I had a terrible crush on a trumpet player from the jazz band. We were in one of the outbuildings where the band stored instruments on campus, when our conversation turned to "experience." I admitted that I'd never had a "real" kiss. "Really?" He was incredulous. "Really," I said, looking down shyly. So he took my face in his hands (wow!) and kissed me. About it I'll say this: he made horn players look damned good.
3. What song do you just LOVE to "get down" to? A: Hmmm. This could go in one of several directions. I'll keep it clean... I love latin rhythms (there's a little Spanish in my bloodline), and soul music. If the DJ plays some Earth, Wind & Fire, Stevie Wonder, Chaka Khan, etc., I'm on the dance floor. But I love lots of kinds of music and I'm kind of easily affected by it.
4. When do you want to get together.... I'm afraid to ring the bell! A: <sigh> Oh, how I'd love a weekend to party with my girl Sheryl and the adorable Katie! Do you think you might like to come this way over the summer? We can take the kids to the water park and unleash them on the slides while we chat and sip spiked lemonade.
5. Where did you grow up? A: When I was born, my parents bought a house in Beachwood, Ohio. At about seven, we moved to Pepper Pike, where we lived in an incredible, four-story, ultramodern home. When we moved to the Chicago area, my parents selected Highland Park because we'd been in such a WASPy school in Ohio and dealt with some anti-Semitic crap there.
6. Did you like or hate high school? *cough* cheerleader *cough* A: Yes, I was a cheerleader -- pom pon squad in junior high until my singing career got in the way. (I was auditioned into a group that did musicals for children every weekend, and had rehearsals that conflicted with games.) I did cheer a little early in high school, but didn't pursue it. Again, I chose the theatre because it required less clique-dealing and more dance than gymnastics. But that's not what you asked.... I hated a lot of high school. I always felt lonely, too tall, too fat, too not-Highland-Park-enough. When I look back, I have plenty of fun memories, but I know I was ridiculously lonely and awkward. But hey, did anyone really like high school? I don't know anyone who did, and I don't know how I'd communicate with them.
