I forgot to take my pills today, until it was too late.

Sounds dramatic, eh? It doesn't catch up with me until the afternoon, when I start yawning uncontrollably. Then, the crankiness sets in. Of course, it doesn't help that I didn't eat today. Oops. See, I was in the habit of picking at an Au Bon Pain asiago bagel throughout the morning. Once the band around my stomach felt comfortable enough, I could take my pills. I literally spent three hours a day working on this bagel; I'd usually get through at least half of it, and that got me through most of the day. Then, Wednesday morning I walked to Au Bon Pain only to find they'd shut down -- no notice. No signs on the window or door. Cruel, unusual punishment!

The problem is, since I didn't eat anything, I didn't think about my pills. The thyroid stuff I don't notice if I miss only one day, but it will catch up with me. The birth control pill, I can double up on if I need to later. But the happy pills? It's shocking how badly I need them, and how horrid I am without them. I had gotten the little bit of Zoloft in this afternoon when I realized what I'd done, but I figured it was too late to take the Welbutrin -- and that pill is big for me, so it's really hard to swallow on an empty stomach anyway.

Between the pills and the not eating and my teeth hurting oh, they hurt, I came home tonight with a nasty headache. And I was therefore a bit impatient with the kids, though not truly horrible. It wasn't until the two big ones were out cold and I went in to quiet the baby (screaming, all blankets, toys, pacifiers thrown to the floor, etc.) that I was calmer. I'd managed to get everyone to bed, return work emails, feed the cats, and bake two cakes (one rectangle -- to be a graveyard -- and one pumpkin) for tomorrow's cakewalk without completely losing my marbles, so that was good. Benjamin looked up at me as I put his things back into the crib, and said "eat?"

"No eat," I said. "Eat tomorrow. But you can have milk. Want more milk?"

"Mo meeeylk," he said, stuffing a pacifier back into his mouth. He sat peacefully while I filled a bottle for him, and when I came back in, snuggled up with his blankies and kitties and bottle.

"Meeylk," he said. I put his music on, and rubbed his back for a little while. We did our little ritual "I love you" exchange and touched index fingers (we're weird), and I finally tore myself away from his little plump cheek and silken brow. I put Danny's book aside (The Adventures of Captain Underpants!) and laid his raised hand down, then ruffled Jacob's hair as I left the room. Jake fakes sleeping a lot when he thinks I'll bust him for being up too late, so I never know if he smiles after I leave the room, or if he just stirs lightly and goes back to his dreams.

I am Newsletter Lady at the boys' school. I've been writing, editing, and publishing the PTA newsletter for almost three years now, and I don't see that job ending anytime soon. It's a mostly-fairly-easy way to satisfy the veiled requirement to participate -- I find it easier to volunteer than to be social like a normal person -- and between the three kids, I'll be affiliated with this school for something like 12 years, so I might as well do a job I like well enough.

Probably the most annoying part of doing the newsletter is having to go pick it up at the printer, bring the carton of prints to school, and distribute them into the teachers' mailboxes (really, drawers) outside of the principal's office. The timing is always funky; it takes longer to put it out than it should because it has to be printed in both English and Spanish, so I can't just dash it off. For a while, I did short translations with a combination of my pigdin Spanish and Google Translator, but it was clear to the Spanish-speaking population that I was full of shit, so now I have to send any articles to the bilingual co-president of the PTA, who either does it herself or gives it to other minions for translation. Then the printer always takes kind of a long time; it's a very tiny shop in the basement of a weird building, and the guy there has to special order the yellow paper it's printed on.  

Now that October is half over, I was able to pick up the October edition and bring it to school. I do like getting there during the day, though. I really like being a voyeur at the window of the boys' outside lives. Is that Danny's class at recess? Is that my Jacob who is being greeted at the auditorium door? I love being recognized by the kids as Jake or Danny's mom (even if I don't always recognize the kids or remember who is who); I really love if I get to duck my head into Jacob's classroom because he really lights up at the unplanned sight of me. How long can that last? But it's awesome. My parents never had the kind of schedule where they could do that, so I get such a kick out of it. Of course, it's not really proper to disrupt classes, so I restrain myself as much as I can,  and reserve the pop-in for just before the kids are lining up to go.

Today, I did the newsletter distribution, subtly listening to the school secretary/receptionist/ma nager of everything as she answered phones, paged various people, greeted a plumber, snagged me an updated class count list, and calmly dealt with a child who had clearly gotten himself banged up on the playground. He was waiting (in vain) for his mom to come pick him up, and apparently couldn't go back to class because he was covered in his own blood. Yikes.

I finished up the distribution and picked up my empty carton, and began walking towards the front door of the school. There on the floor, near the stairs down to the multipurpose room where the kids eat lunch, were a series of laundry baskets, in which were piled all of the lunchboxes used that day. Since the kids go right to recess from lunch, the school has this neat policy of having each class toss their lunchboxes into a designated laundry basket; then, in the afternoon, two kids are sent from each class to get their basket. And then the lunchboxes are waiting by the classroom door when everyone is getting ready to leave. A very effective system, if you ask me, since in three years of school affiliation, we've never lost a lunchbox. (At least, not there. I think one or two of Jacob's have permanently ridden school bus #2.)

There, near the top of one of the baskets, was a very familiar sight - Danny's lunchbox. It's a soft-sided, well-used Bob The Builder lunchbox, and I'm just waiting for the day he tells me it's too babyish to carry. I didn't buy it for him; Alberta bought it as a present for Jacob when he was maybe two years old. He used to carry all sorts of treasures around in it, and in fact, it was the source of a great verbal mystery for a while. Jake used to insist "Baba Daya!" all the time, and we had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. (Of course, after a year of speech therapy, we never confused his speech again and he never shut up, but this was before that.) I don't know how long it was -- maybe months -- before DH and I put two and two together and realized that Baba Daya was "Bob The Builder," and referred to Jacob's lunchbox.

It actually did get used as a lunchbox at some point during his preschool years, when it was apparent that Picky Jakey would not each the school lunches. I used to send mini bagels, cream cheese, and little cans of V-8 to school in his Baba Daya lunchbox. It still says "Jacob Fox" on it in faint Sharpie; this year, I added just "Fox" in silver Sharpie, more cognizant of how these things get handed down. I feel a little guilty that, as is often the case, Danny just unblinkingly accepts his hand-me-downs (heaven knows, that will likely change at some point), and both chastise myself (why waste more money when we have something functional) and, well, chastise myself (what's another six bucks for Danny to have something that's just his?).

Danny trots happily off to the school bus each morning, wearing the same clothes his brother did (they wear the same size underwear and socks, so I guess those aren't strictly hand-me-downs), Jacob's coat from last year (fits him just fine and was only $27; thank you, Costco!), and carrying his Cars backpack stuffed with Baba Daya. Danny eats the same lunch every day: a toasted bagel with cream cheese, a Horizon organic chocolate milk, and some kind of fruit (last month, grapes or raisins; this month, apple slices). He comes home ravenous but his lunch box is empty, and from conversations with him I think he's actually eating his lunch, so that's a relief.

I don't know why the sight of that goofy lunchbox brought this on, but it did, and I really had to physically restrain myself from going to the boys' classrooms to hug them. Seeing Baba Daya there -- that little sign of my little guy being in big-boy school -- struck such a note of tenderness with me. That's not the only weird thing; I love seeing Benjamin's stuffed kitties left lying in various spots (I love even more watching him clutch one or two, massaging a kitty ear methodically). Jacob's got pieces of games he's created all over the apartment, which can be really annoying if you like clean surfaces, but are very endearing to find serendipitously.

Their crap is everywhere, and usually it is crap to me, but late at night, when I'm bumbling through the apartment, these signs of boyhood remind me of that crazy depth of love those kids have created in me. Seeing their passions, their interests, their short little histories grow longer; that's what it's all about.

Is it just me, or does it strike anyone funny (ironic-funny, not ha-ha funny) that the man who, IMHO, was supposed to be our president just won the Nobel Peace Prize, while the one who somewhat mistakenly became our president led us to war?

Note, not only did Gore win, but he SHARES the win with a committee of international eco-do-gooders. So he's peaceful, positive, and a team player. Oh, and he's giving his share of the $1.5m prize to the cause he champions.

*liberal swoon*

I don't want to count the number of posts I've written that start with "boy do I suck because I haven't been writing." But, boy do I suck because I haven't been writing. I probably suck because of other things too, but I'm probably being dramatic because I just finished reading King Dork (finally) so I have nerdisms stuck in my head.

I've been busy for so long that I can't remember when I was last "good" about writing, but I suspect it was before I left my job at The Bad Place (which really wasn't The Bad Place so much as A Fairly-Decent Place With A Shitty Boss). What is it about being unhappy that promotes creativity? I don't know. And the thing is, I don't know if I'm truly happy per se, but I am sure I'm less unhappy than I was. If that makes sense. See, I might suck about making sense, too.

Lots of things have changed over the past year, though some have not. I'm still chubby (though a bit less so since the baby weight is pretty much gone), still sleep poorly, still have no patience or sex drive (are those two things related)? and I'm still hopelessly insecure. Maybe DH thinks I'm being cutesy when I ask "still love me?" but probably I'm just actually making sure he does.

So, things that did change... well, I started this new job (when is it no longer "new?") a year ago July, and for the most part I really like it. I have a lot more autonomy, which is to say I actually have some. A month ago, I got to move into my very own, unshared office, which while boxy, small and institutional, is ALL MINE baby, and boy is that awesome. (I even had a little tiny fridge in here for a while, but the department assistant appropriated it. Bummer. I liked having cold water and stuff right there next to me.)

Work is still work, even when you like it. Did anyone ever tell you that? I get frustrated and tired and freaked out, but things are generally going well, which is a big fat relief. I had to start a brand new program here, so that we can deliver our postgrad education online, and that was a rough startup. But my first blended class just graduated (blended meaning that they take the didactic stuff online and then come here for hands-on stuff), and they were pretty happy with how everything turned out. Test scores came out fine, so we can say that we didn't graduate a bunch of unqualified idiots.

And just because we're doing this online, doesn't mean it's easy. Actually, it was probably an easier program when it was a traditional one. And it's sure not always easy for me. I spend a lot of time repeating instructions to students over email and instant messenger -- stuff I've taught, written out, and elucidated a million times over the past year. People still suck at following directions -- even when they're really smart and go to a fancy-schmancy university.

Among other changes, DH completed his contract with Big Company in July of this year, so for the first time I can remember, he's home pretty much every night. He got a contract with my department so he's creating our IT infrastructure, which is cool because I don't really trust anybody else to do it; he really spoils me with how he does things. They just seem to make sense, when he sets things up. It might be considered odd that we're spouses in the same department, but we don't report to each other so there's no weirdness about who's in charge or doing what. (Besides, I've decided my secret to a happy relationship is that each person lets the other one believe that they (and not you) are always in charge and make all the decisions.)

It's fun to seem him kind of chewing on all these ways to do things, and hopefully he's enjoying it. I also hope he's enjoying being at home (though it's no picnic to be home with three boys in a messy apartment). I think the boys are enjoying the adjustment from "is Daddy working late again tonight?" to "Daddy, can we play chess before bed?" Heaven knows it's a relief to me, too -- I'm not alone at night! Woo hoo! No more freakish, childish panics about sleeping across from the front door (not a fan of this bedroom placement), no more being the only one to hustle all three kids through the nighttime routines almost every night. And, how about this one -- sometimes, I get to go do things at night during the week!

I went to my first PTA meeting a few weeks ago, and it was so funny to meet all of these women (let's face it, few dads show up for the inevitable gabfests) who all knew my name but had never met me. I have done the school newsletter for going on three years now, so my name and email address are out there, but I have been experienced at flying into the schoolroom for the odd holiday party or birthday celebration and flying back to work. Now, I can even be a room parent!

The whole world has opened up for me, and I feel so much less pressure knowing that I'm now one of two parents at home at night. Of course, I may have transferred my pressure onto DH, who, instead of working freakish hours at an office downtown, spends too many late hours researching stuff about networks and possibly worrying that he's not making scads of money. I think it's worth it, though -- the money from this last contract was great, and because of him we made huge headway against our debt, but MAN did his schedule suck ass. And more consulting is likely forthcoming (G-d willing and the creek don't rise, as my old drama coach used to say), so I think we'll likely be okay.

Wow, I meant to just check in and here I am, mind-dumping all over the blog again. I guess I'll go into kid changes later (provided I behave about restarting this writing habit), but they include Jacob going into 2nd grade (holy shit!), Danny starting kindergarten, and Benjamin being a totally funny, hammy, destructive little force of nature. Oh, and new meds for sleeping (woo hoo!).

I'm going to write this down, so I can be guilty about it if I don't continue. I will now begin again to:

1. Write regularly in my blog, if only to provide therapy for my addled brain;

2. Go to the gym and sweat myself into submission at least twice a week, even if the skinny, cute girls always flank my treadmill (what is that about? "Let's make the chubby girl feel even more insecure!!").

Um, that's it. I think restarting two fairly healthy habits is all I can take for now. Let's see how this works out.