Someone in my department just committed the egregious sin of making microwave popcorn. The smell is absolutely turning my stomach. I wonder what the top five workplace sins are? I mean, besides the obvious -- don't steal stuff, don't fuck the help, yada yada...

5. Thall shalt not remove any non-personal items from the communal fridge.
4. Thall shalt not complain about a superior to their superior(s).
3. Thall shalt not maintain a personal odor that can be noticed by anyone else.
2. Thall shalt not clip thine finger- or toenails at work.
1. Thall shalt not stink up the office with your snack products. 

The dog's diary:

7 am - Oh boy! A walk! My favorite!
8 am - Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 am - Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
Noon - Oh boy! The yard! My favorite!
2 pm - Oh boy! A car ride! My favorite!
3 pm - Oh boy! The kids! My favorite!
4 pm - Oh boy! Playing ball! My favorite!
6 pm - Oh boy! Welcome home Mom! My favorite!
7 pm - Oh boy! Welcome home Dad! My favorite!
8 pm - Oh boy! Dog food! My favorite!
9 pm - Oh boy! Tummy rubs on the couch! My favorite!
11 pm - Oh boy! Sleeping in my people's bed! My favorite!

The cat's diary:
Day 183 of my captivity.

My captors continued to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from clawing the furniture.

Tomorrow I may eat another house plant. Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded - must try this at the top of the stairs.

In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair - must try this on their bed, (or car.....)

Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body in an attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear in their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was. Hmmm, not working according to plan...

There was some sort of gathering of their accomplices. I was placed in solitary throughout the event. However, I could hear the noise and smell the food. More important, I overheard that my confinement was due to my powers of inducing "allergies." Must learn what this is and how to use it to my advantage.

I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird, on the other hand, has got to be an informant and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room, his safety is assured.

But I can wait; it is only a matter of time...

I'm taking Carrie to the prom again. I'm not pleased. I mean, it's good because it's supposed to happen, and maybe some day I'll see my waist again, but dammit, this hurts. It's been about 18 months, so I've had a good run. Now it's time to get the OB to prescribe some bigger dose of the Pill and make this a little easier on me.

In honor of this disgusting passage, I bring you:

I'm a girl and by me that's only great
I am proud that my silhouette is curvy
that I walk with a sweet and girlish gait
With my hips kind of swivelly and swervey

I adore being dressed in something frilly
When my date comes to get me at my place
Out I go with my Joe or John or Billy
Like a filly who is ready for the race

When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curls
I float as the clouds on air do
I enjoy being a girl

When men say I'm cute and funny
And my teeth aren't teeth but pearls
I just lap it up like honey
I enjoy being a girl

I flip when a fellow sends me flowers
I drool over dresses made of lace
I talk on the telephone for hours
with a pound and a half of cream upon my face

I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a brave and free male
who'll enjoy being a guy, having a girl like me

When men say I'm sweet as candy
As around in a dance we whirl
It goes to my head like brandy
I enjoy being a girl

With someone with eyes that smolder
Says he loves every silken curl
That falls on my ivory shoulder
I enjoy being a girl

When I hear a complementary whistle
That greets my bikini by the sea
I turn and I glower and I gristle
But I'm happy to know the whistles meant for me

I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a brave and free male
who'll enjoy being a guy, having a girl like me

Oh, fuck this.

Warning: insecure dork emotofall coming.

It's hard to believe it's already summer, but Jacob's baseball season is almost over. He's done fine -- a bit overeager sometimes, but at least he's one of the three kids on his team actually paying attention to the game. In fact, I often say watching his team play is like seeing The Bad News Bears without the swearing.

Originally, I signed up to help coach with DH (since the league commissioner had sent out an e-mail in April, pleading for more parents to volunteer), but when four other dads showed up to coach, I dropped back into Team Parent mode and let DH handle the coaching at games. The rest of the coaches have sort of grudgingly accepted our presence; they're all so freakin' laid back that I have to encourage them to set practices.

Some of the other moms have been really nice, but I can't seem to really break the ice with most of them. I'm most upset about the mom of two kids Jacob really likes -- one who was in his class this year, and that boy's twin brother. The kids are really cute together --after the games, Jake and M always hug and want to play more. Their dad seems nice, if shy, but I can't make any kind of connection with their mom, and that drives me crazy (and the fact that it does, drives DH crazy). But not only does it bring my youthful geekiness floodng back, it worries me that my social status (or lack thereof) could impact my kids' social lives.

Apparently, there's an end-of-season bash thrown by each team, and I recently e-mailed the league commissioner to ask him the 411. However, I just received an e-mail from M's parents, inviting the team to stay after tomorrow night's game for a barbecue, in honor of their youngest son turning three. They're doing a big hot dog barbecue and handing out game balls to the whole team.

I feel usurped. I sent an e-mail saying "what fun! Can we bring anything?" but I don't know if I'll hear back. I don't know if I'm supposed to get a little gift for their son (I normally would no matter what), or if this takes the place of our end-of-the-year thing. Maybe I'll just bring popsicles to the last game next Saturday. I wouldn't mind doing a little thing to thank all the coaches but I'm not sure what. Oh, wait, just thought of something... but can't say it here, since one of the coaches may read this blog -- the only one whose opinion of me I really care about anyway. 

I'm reading in bed while I wait for the Nyquil to kick in, and the book is "jPod," by Douglas Coupland -- almost a sequel to his Microserfs (which is one of my favorite books). I just reached this passage:

"You know, I once visited someone out in the building where you work. Out in Burnaby."
That was odd. "Really?"
"Yes, I had to, er...influence somebody."
"Somebody up high?"
"No. At the bottom of your food chain. In quality assurance."
"Oh, Q/A. Everybody tortures the guys in Q/A. It's like being hazed for a living."

Remind me to write a mash letter to Douglas Coupland, because Microserfs is one of those books I never wanted to end. It was full of funny stuff that really appeals to geeks (pet mice named "Look" and "Feel!", but also to some very deep shit that could really make you think. The bottom line was no matter how randomly fucked up all these people were, they really loved each other and were loyal to one another.

I'm reading in bed while I wait for the Nyquil to kick in, and the book is "jPod," by Douglas Coupland -- almost a sequel to his Microserfs (which is one of my favorite books). I just reached this passage:

"You know, I once visited someone out in the building where you work. Out in Burnaby."
That was odd. "Really?"
"Yes, I had to, er...influence somebody."
"Somebody up high?"
"No. At the bottom of your food chain. In quality assurance."
"Oh, Q/A. Everybody tortures the guys in Q/A. It's like being hazed for a living."

Remind me to write a mash letter to Douglas Coupland, because Microserfs is one of those books I never wanted to end. It was full of funny stuff that really appeals to geeks (pet mice named "Look" and "Feel!", but also to some very deep shit that could really make you think. The bottom line was no matter how randomly fucked up all these people were, they really loved each other and were loyal to one another.

If penises could talk..."
- ...They'd have to, because the balls really screw up sign language.
- ...You'd never understand them, because they'd be muffled all the time -- if they're lucky.

Upside to Jacob's going to camp in a different neighborhood than ours:
1. Meeting and making friends with kids of different backgrounds
2. Playing all.day.long like a maniac and loving it
3. Lightening up on his boy-crush on the BMOC of his school

Downsides:
1. Coming home sunburnt on day 1
2. No bus transportation
3. Responding to almost anything I say with "Dang!"
4. Having to protect his Lunchables from overly aggressive poachers
5. Before- and After-Camp childcare consists of a few bored counselors watching the kids play basketball in the gym for two hours at a time. I thought they provided a cold breakfast but I was wrong. Luckily, I brought Jacob a breakfast to eat there this morning after having already pressed a drinkable yogurt into his hands while I packed his lunch. Jacob's breakfast: Nutri-Grain bar, banana, lowfat chocolate milk, and cereal. Fellow camper Christian's breakfas t: Pop-Tart and Hawaiian Punch.

Last night, I let the boys all jump into Big Bed to watch a half hour of Sprout (grr) with that dumb beyotch Melanie, whose aggressive sweetness makes me want to set my own hair on fire. After a shockingly repetitive game of "Melanie Says," Jacob announces:

"It's not 'Melanie Says,' it's 'Simon Says.'"
"I know, honey."
"And it's way too easy."
"Well, honey, I guess you're getting to be pretty old for this stuff. It's really meant for kids who are younger than you are, but it's safe for Danny and the baby."
"I'm just not down with that, Mommy."

Hunh????

"What'd you just say?"
"I'm not down with that."
"Where did you get that?"
"I made it up. It means I don't like it; I'm not into it."
"Jakey, you didn't make it up; it's something some people say, but it's just not something I'm used to hearing from a kid."

I didn't know how to explain hip-hop terminology to him, so I dropped it. But I have to wonder how much of a poser my kid will sound like by August.

Ugh, the nanny search has tentatively begun. While I haven't yet brought out the big guns -- aka the Evanston PTA -- I did manage to place an ad on Craigslist and put the word out on a mailing list I frequent. The CL ad went in on Sunday night, and so far I've gotten about 30 responses. Some of my favorite bits:

- "Member of Mizzou students for Christ"
- "Nanny at your service"
- "Another asset I carry to a job of this kind is my global perspective and experience."
- "I have grown up in a Christian household that has taught me the value of honesty, hard work, and integrity."
- "I also worked as a nanny for a family for four years taking care of their two girls and then (when he arrived) their son.
- "Hi there!!! How are you?? :) "
- "I was doing everything with the kids: waking them up, making breakfast, lunch, sneak, dinner, laundry, tidding up the rooms, put them to sleep, driving to school, to parks, etc."
- "I am pacience, independent, outgoing, warming, and I love kids a lot."
- "Do you provide a car for the nanny?"
- "I recently discovered that the perfect job for me would be childcare, and would like to be given an opportunity to do so. "
- "I am responding in regards to your post in search of a wonderful nanny for..."
- "I’m e-mailing you because I saw you job offer on the creglist.org."
- "I take great delight in pouring into kid's lives..."
- "I am basically on the lookout for a job that I enjoy doing"
- "I have expirience in childcare, mostly for my family members and I am very good in it  and I love it!"
- "I was also a recreational leader who was 1 of 8 leaders who watched 75 children ages K-5th grade"
- "I have an interest in your job offer because I believe I am a great fit after reading your description of the baby sitter that you are looking for."
- "I am a 28 years old professional childcare provider and have been for the past 15 years and with a total of 10 years worth of experience by now"
- "I left my last nannying job due to a bad case of mono!"

I'm being snarky about a lot of these -- unfairly, I know. I've nothing against Christians, people with weaker language skills, or even just those reaching for a job I know they won't want to keep. I guess the problem is, a nanny isn't someone whose resume you read. A nanny is someone you come to rely on more than anyone else -- how else to explain the trust you give to, basically, a stranger?

When Alberta started working for us, I remember my therapist telling me that I was DH's wife, and Alberta was mine. In an old-fashioned sense, she has been -- I'm responsible for providing her a safe place to care for my children while I'm off earning a living, and then I turn all my salary over to her. [grin]

I already know I'm going to be biased against almost every candidate so far, since they're all pretty young. Don't yell at me -- no 36-year-old mother of three needs to have to worry about her husband ogling the barely postpubescent who washes his boxers.

So even though Alberta is very grumbly right now, I don't see the light at the end of the tunnel yet. Which is probably for the best -- we have to get the kids settled in to their new summer schedule; Benjamin is supposed to start having three meals a day, and Danny is still deliberately pissing on the floor (don't get me started). We have plenty on our hands right now.

After a nearly sleepless night, where what sleep I got was plagued with nightmares,
After having to wash my hair by leaning over the tub because the hot water was torture on my sunburn,
After the daily depression-immersion treatment of getting dressed,
After a cold phone call from the OB-GYN's office demanding payment on the $432 not covered by insurance for delivering my son,
After ten hours of soul-numbingly-boring-and -yet-difficult work,
After a weepy phone session with my shrink where my massive bill was discussed and the necessity of postponing further sessions until I could catch up on it was decided,
After the trip to the gas station where my credit card did something evil and shut down the cash register and every pump there,
After the visit to the really expensive gas station where my credit card was declined,
After paying cash and discovering I'd left the gas cap at the first gas station,
After going home for a full five minutes to scoop up all three kids and a jug of lemonade,
After shlepping said kids back to the first gas station to reclaim the gas cap,
After the phone call to the bank where I was told the deposit I'd made on Saturday would be credited tonight at midnight,
After blowing $15 at the Burger King drive-through,
After getting all three kids to the school Family Picnic,
After the baby puked three times in ten minutes,
After DH arrived and announced I'd brought the wrong contact lens case and no contact solution,
After being submitted to the horror of hearing the Chicken Dance followed by the Macarena followed by some scary disco boot scoot thing by the DJ,
After the third-grade girls complained to me that Danny was chasing them,
After watching Jacob devour my dinner,
After being snubbed (again) by another mom,
After the requisite "we're leaving in 10 minutes" announcement,
After being forced to follow Danny around the playground and down the bumpy slide,
After being called "stupid" by a mom-friend's son and enduring him throwing a bundle of ground-cover mulch in my face,
After asking Jacob nicely to say good-bye to his friends until tomorrow,

The damned kids blew up on us. The baby was blessedly quiet but Danny got that I'm-too-tired-to-function weepiness while Jacob got pissed enough to grunt like a gored bull. Finally, DH and I left him sitting on a bench while we started to leave the schoolyard, and he eventually came after us, freaking out that we were going to abandon him. DH stayed very calm, and I stayed almost calm but not quite. I did manage not to scream.

Nearly an hour after we said we were leaving the event, the two elder boys were in bed. It had taken me five full minutes to get Danny up from the car, because he was crushed that we wouldn't have our little time of snuggling before bed, watching "a Danny show." Usually I try to have at least five minutes of peace with them before we hit the hay, but as we were heading towards an hour past bedtime, that just wasn't feasible. But Danny was so miserable, and crying so hard, that he tripped on the stairs and just fell backwards. If I hadn't been standing behind him (and able to catch him), I might be filling out the DCFS paperwork that must accompany any ER check for concussions.

After the boys were in bed and I was rocking Benjamin in the living room, DH came in. "Jacob asked me to tell you that he's not angry at you anymore. He realized that you did something nice for him by taking him to the picnic and he's sorry." DH took the baby so I could go in and hear Jake parrot his dad's words, but somewhere in there was a glimmer of reality -- DH had actually gotten Jacob past his pissiness to see that there are actually five people in this family with disparate needs.

I don't know if it's the breakthrough we need; the thing to make Jacob understand that the whole world simply cannot revolve at his command. But it's a start.

An open letter to Melissa, who'll probably never read it:

I get it. I get it more than you can know. And I don't know how that can possibly help you -- that someone else (probably millions of "someone elses") totally gets how you feel. That no matter how many blessings are in your life, that deep pain in your sould never really seems to go away.

Sometimes it sleeps. It hibernates long enough to bring you some semblance of security, and then, it awakens; an angry, hungry bear lumbering out of the dark, blinking its eyes and growling with desire to pulverize life as you know it.

I know SO MUCH how hard it is to drag yourself up every day, to fake being "normal" (whatever the fuck that is), to try and try and try to make things okay but keep getting beaten down by real life. I know how the darkness in your soul can make you blind to even the smallest joy; how there are days when inexplicably that sweet-smelling hug from your child can't heal you.

And all we can do is keep trying. We keep taking the pills that make us sluggish or fat* or sexless because they mask some of the pain. The ones that make us not want to kill the asshole who cuts us off in traffic. We put on the upbeat music and try to sing along. We sigh and clip coupons, pass up sales, put on scuffed shoes and go back to work. We take deep breaths and count to ten. We cry, sometimes when nobody can see, and sometimes when everyone can but we can't help it.

We try to put the armor up and keep fighting. Because, honey, the alternative is just worse. As bad as a mom as I know I can be -- as impatient, unfeeling, and exhausted as I can be sometimes -- those kids NEED me. Leaving them to a motherless life is unthinkable.

I know this does you no good. I know the money and the stress and the pain pile up on you until you want to just collapse and go fetal. And hearing it happen to someone else doesn't make it any better. But you're not alone. We get it. And when you go crawling into the dark silence, sometimes even the unlikeliest person will be the one to turn up the music and ask you to dance.

*did you know that Zoloft and other SSRI's have supposedly been proven to make you crave carbs? Doesn't that just fucking figure?