Here is a photo of Bobo at his new gym class today. His form is bad. He’ll never beat the Bulgarians for the gold medal this way.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Nine (for the gold)
I'm 9 weeks today. I am still a nice pale shade of green most of the time. My jeans no longer zip so I'm going business casual to work in khaki and olive drab pants. It's a good look with my metatrsal boots and flame retardant jacket. There is general churn and turmoil in my department, so I am waiting to see how the inevitable re-org works out before I mention anything.
Here is a photo of Bobo at his new gym class today. His form is bad. He’ll never beat the Bulgarians for the gold medal this way.
Here is a photo of Bobo at his new gym class today. His form is bad. He’ll never beat the Bulgarians for the gold medal this way.
Tuesday, September 06, 2011
Ten
Friday marked my ten-year wedding anniversary. I now own the copyright on my wedding photos. So, I guess I could call our photographer and go get our negatives. I could post pictures for you right here. But, you know, the photos are on the other computer so that seems like a bit of a pain. Maybe another day.
Since it was our super-romantic wedding anniversary (Tin....or as I told him: "Happy Sn Anniversary"...I also tried "Happy Tinth Anniversary"), my mother-in-law insisted that we go out for dinner. We went somewhere we had a gift card for (romance! and thrift!). We haven't told our families that I am in a delicate way, so I was all, "Ohhh, the malbec was so good" when we got home...at 8:15. We had worked all day, we were both exhausted, and we work in a factory. It was 95-degrees out on Friday. It was draining. Nevermind that I have morning sickness starting promptly at 3:45 every afternoon lasting until I go to sleep.
So, we went out for dinner. It really wasn't bad. It took about 2 hours. The food was good. I only ate half of everything so I had leftovers. Did I mention that I look approximately 4-months pregnant? Well, I do. I was reading pregnancy week-by-week (I feel as though I should treat this the same as the last two, so although I could probably write it and I find stuff that's not true in there, I still read), and they said that if it's not your first pregnancy, you might already have a pooch. Never were truer words written. I was in my regular clothes with Chuckles until 17 weeks. I just went to read my archives to figure out how far along I was with Bobo when I surrendered to the elastic pants (14 weeks, really?), but all I noticed is that how I was with Bobo is exactly how I am this time with Muse. Yes, I think I have just given this embryo a nickname. Muse. And I am sick and tired and happy and grateful and on progesterone, so if you want to know how I'm doing, April 2008 is a good place to look. And I guess it goes from 17 weeks to 14 weeks to 11 weeks for maternity clothes (if in fact I can make it 3 more weeks...I am 8 weeks today). The pants, they are snug.
Since it was our super-romantic wedding anniversary (Tin....or as I told him: "Happy Sn Anniversary"...I also tried "Happy Tinth Anniversary"), my mother-in-law insisted that we go out for dinner. We went somewhere we had a gift card for (romance! and thrift!). We haven't told our families that I am in a delicate way, so I was all, "Ohhh, the malbec was so good" when we got home...at 8:15. We had worked all day, we were both exhausted, and we work in a factory. It was 95-degrees out on Friday. It was draining. Nevermind that I have morning sickness starting promptly at 3:45 every afternoon lasting until I go to sleep.
So, we went out for dinner. It really wasn't bad. It took about 2 hours. The food was good. I only ate half of everything so I had leftovers. Did I mention that I look approximately 4-months pregnant? Well, I do. I was reading pregnancy week-by-week (I feel as though I should treat this the same as the last two, so although I could probably write it and I find stuff that's not true in there, I still read), and they said that if it's not your first pregnancy, you might already have a pooch. Never were truer words written. I was in my regular clothes with Chuckles until 17 weeks. I just went to read my archives to figure out how far along I was with Bobo when I surrendered to the elastic pants (14 weeks, really?), but all I noticed is that how I was with Bobo is exactly how I am this time with Muse. Yes, I think I have just given this embryo a nickname. Muse. And I am sick and tired and happy and grateful and on progesterone, so if you want to know how I'm doing, April 2008 is a good place to look. And I guess it goes from 17 weeks to 14 weeks to 11 weeks for maternity clothes (if in fact I can make it 3 more weeks...I am 8 weeks today). The pants, they are snug.
Thursday, September 01, 2011
I owe you all an update
So, who in their right mind announces she's pregnant and then disappears for 2 weeks? Exactly.
So, I had my appointment at the doctor's office but only with the nurse practitioner because the doctors are far too important and busy to see you that early. First you see the nurse, get the blood drawn, get a super-awesome internal exam, pee in a regular cup, pee in a clean catch cup, and other super awesome fun stuff like getting weighed and having your blood pressure taken.
After all that totally normal stuff was done, it was decided I needed two more non-routine blood tests with my history, so they checked for progesterone and something because I had a cat (toxoplasmosis, I think and I am way too lazy to google it).
Two days later I got a call on my cell phone while I was at work: "ObGyn" said the display. Of course, I excused myself from a meeting and took it (I actually walked outside to take it). The progesterone was 15.4 which does indicate I ovulated and can be OK for a pregnancy, but let's say that a number that lower doesn't inspire confidence. They wanted to make sure I hadn't been spotting (no...a pregnancy first for me) and ordered me onto supplemental progesterone (suppositories...or bullets as I call them). I then had to locate a compounding pharmacy (it's OK...I know where all 4 of them are).
All is well, and I started them and still no spotting. Because of no spotting, I didn't get an ultrasound. I have never gone without an early fluttery ultrasound. I need that ultrasound. How do I know this is real without some kind of confirmation?
I was then supposed to fill a script for pre-natal vitamins (free at Meijer even if you have insurance. Yay Meijer) and make an appointment for my "new Ob" with the same old doctor I had the last two times. The practice is a man and a woman. The woman delivered both of my boys (performed the c-sections). Our kids used to go to day care together. I could not get in to see her before 12 weeks. She's just booked. I want the nuchal translucency test (since I will be 36 come April) and I really need to get in at 10 weeks to have time to schedule with the perinatalogist. Same thing happened with Bobo. So, I will again do all my prenatal visits with the man, and just hope the woman is on-call when I start hemmorhaging or however you know it's time to go to the hospital to have the baby extracted.
ACOG just came out with new guidance saying that VBA2C is safe. I'm not interested for a variety of reasons but the #1 reason being I don't like the way safety is calculated. Pretty much the only complication that matters to me is death of mother or baby. Infection, longer recovery, and all that is great, but I don't care. From a strictly mortality perspective, the planned repeat c-section is safer than the VBA2C. Also, totally frivolous but I know what to expect from a c-section, I get two additionl paid weeks of maternity leave for a c-section (though people who've had babies both ways tell me those two weeks are wasted not laughing and holding your stomach when you cough), and my nethers have never had a baby pass and my abdomen is already ruined, so why destroy a second geographic region?
Also, Chuckles started first grade, and it's OK. It's really still too early to tell. I'm not thrilled, but I might be eventually. I really wish there was some kind of half-day first grade option because the half-day format suited him so well last year. Also, they do a 90-minute reading block every day where they drill phonics and whatever other theory of teaching reading is popular right now. I just hope they leave him alone and let him read. He gets really irritated after about 5 minutes of review. I get his point, but sometimes you need to be a team player and just go along with it, but he reads, so leave the kid alone.
The teacher said they'd be doing 5 weeks of review. Another mother and I were joking that we're just holding our breath for the end of the 5 weeks. I hope they hurry up and put her kid and my kid in a reading group. I know there are 3 strong readers in his class who did pull-out reading last year. I requested that they be put in a class together so that they wouldn't have to do pul-out (because Chuckles hates being singled out and felt punished by having to do "extra" work last year). If there are 3 (or more!) of them all doing the same things, I don't think he'll feel persecuted (and maybe he'll stop acting out...he rushes through his circle-the-letter work and then disrupts class...he's a handful, but I'm rather fond of him).
So, I had my appointment at the doctor's office but only with the nurse practitioner because the doctors are far too important and busy to see you that early. First you see the nurse, get the blood drawn, get a super-awesome internal exam, pee in a regular cup, pee in a clean catch cup, and other super awesome fun stuff like getting weighed and having your blood pressure taken.
After all that totally normal stuff was done, it was decided I needed two more non-routine blood tests with my history, so they checked for progesterone and something because I had a cat (toxoplasmosis, I think and I am way too lazy to google it).
Two days later I got a call on my cell phone while I was at work: "ObGyn" said the display. Of course, I excused myself from a meeting and took it (I actually walked outside to take it). The progesterone was 15.4 which does indicate I ovulated and can be OK for a pregnancy, but let's say that a number that lower doesn't inspire confidence. They wanted to make sure I hadn't been spotting (no...a pregnancy first for me) and ordered me onto supplemental progesterone (suppositories...or bullets as I call them). I then had to locate a compounding pharmacy (it's OK...I know where all 4 of them are).
All is well, and I started them and still no spotting. Because of no spotting, I didn't get an ultrasound. I have never gone without an early fluttery ultrasound. I need that ultrasound. How do I know this is real without some kind of confirmation?
I was then supposed to fill a script for pre-natal vitamins (free at Meijer even if you have insurance. Yay Meijer) and make an appointment for my "new Ob" with the same old doctor I had the last two times. The practice is a man and a woman. The woman delivered both of my boys (performed the c-sections). Our kids used to go to day care together. I could not get in to see her before 12 weeks. She's just booked. I want the nuchal translucency test (since I will be 36 come April) and I really need to get in at 10 weeks to have time to schedule with the perinatalogist. Same thing happened with Bobo. So, I will again do all my prenatal visits with the man, and just hope the woman is on-call when I start hemmorhaging or however you know it's time to go to the hospital to have the baby extracted.
ACOG just came out with new guidance saying that VBA2C is safe. I'm not interested for a variety of reasons but the #1 reason being I don't like the way safety is calculated. Pretty much the only complication that matters to me is death of mother or baby. Infection, longer recovery, and all that is great, but I don't care. From a strictly mortality perspective, the planned repeat c-section is safer than the VBA2C. Also, totally frivolous but I know what to expect from a c-section, I get two additionl paid weeks of maternity leave for a c-section (though people who've had babies both ways tell me those two weeks are wasted not laughing and holding your stomach when you cough), and my nethers have never had a baby pass and my abdomen is already ruined, so why destroy a second geographic region?
Also, Chuckles started first grade, and it's OK. It's really still too early to tell. I'm not thrilled, but I might be eventually. I really wish there was some kind of half-day first grade option because the half-day format suited him so well last year. Also, they do a 90-minute reading block every day where they drill phonics and whatever other theory of teaching reading is popular right now. I just hope they leave him alone and let him read. He gets really irritated after about 5 minutes of review. I get his point, but sometimes you need to be a team player and just go along with it, but he reads, so leave the kid alone.
The teacher said they'd be doing 5 weeks of review. Another mother and I were joking that we're just holding our breath for the end of the 5 weeks. I hope they hurry up and put her kid and my kid in a reading group. I know there are 3 strong readers in his class who did pull-out reading last year. I requested that they be put in a class together so that they wouldn't have to do pul-out (because Chuckles hates being singled out and felt punished by having to do "extra" work last year). If there are 3 (or more!) of them all doing the same things, I don't think he'll feel persecuted (and maybe he'll stop acting out...he rushes through his circle-the-letter work and then disrupts class...he's a handful, but I'm rather fond of him).
Thursday, August 18, 2011
Recap of my Vacation
Just back from a tour of the West Coast. The West Coast of Michigan, that is. We hit up the chain ferry in Saugatuck, the lighthouse at Grand Haven (in an absolute downpour during a Red Flag rip current warning), Manistee (including Michigan's largest make-your-own-sundae bar with over 50 toppings), the East Bay of Grand Traverse Bay in Traverse City. We also visited the Grand Traverse Pie Company (I had chicken pot pie) and North Peak brewery where I had a fine root beer float. Additionally, we road the steam locomotive at Clinch Park (the kids were wearing their Thing 1 and Thing 3 shirts...why had I left Thing 2 at home they all wanted to know). We enjoyed playing Venice of the Midwest walking along the docks on the Boardman River behind Front Street.
The East Bay is pretty neat. It's shallow (as you can see in the picture) for miles. You can start at the beach and just start walking into the water, and it doesn't go over your head. Chuckles and Mr. Long-Suffering set out and walked for 20 minutes. It never got over Chuckles's head and was at its deepest only at Mr. Long-Suffering's waist. It started to get shallow again, so they turned around and came back. They had wanted to walk to the drop-off, but alas, that wasn't to be.
But the best part of the whole vacation? There was a water cooler in the lobby of our hotel that dispensed ice cold water infused with fruit essence. The hotel was nice with a good (free) breakfast, but next time, I think we'll stay at the Holiday Inn.
Oh, and I saw a billboard on US-31 for Michigan's Finest Medical Marijuana dispensary in Saugatuck. I never saw the shop (nor did I smell it), but it's there should you have a need.
On the other hand, all 3 hotels we visited while in Michigan were 100% smoke-free on the grounds (must be 25' from a doorway). I don't know if that's the law or just good business, but I liked it.
My frugal travel tip if you're staying at a hotel without free breakfast: I pack instant oatmeal packets, spoons, and disposable coffee cups. I use the hotel coffee pot to heat the water. The kids eat it while sitting on the king-sized bed and watching Cable TV (which we don't have at home so they got to see their first-ever Sponge Bob). Another frugal tip for West Michigan: have lunch at Russ'. Russ' has some great specials, and their kids' meals are only $1.99 and come with a peach half (and if your kids are like mine, in a restaurant they eat ice, crackers, and the peach half, then demand a snack as soon as we're in the car on the way back to the hotel).
So I mentioned that I had donated blood back on August 2nd during a heat wave and people were faring poorly? Yes? Good. I did well at the donation. No issues. However, the next day I felt awful. Like hit by a bus, OMG I can't lift my head. Awful. I felt better Thursday but still not great. Friday I think I fell asleep on the couch after dinner. Saturday, I had a really low fever of about 99.3, but I rallied and went to the beach (to play with my wave runner...but only 300' or more from shore). Swimming the 100 yards out to the wave runner was not so much fun.
Sunday morning I woke up around 4am, rolled over, felt ill, and realized something was not right. I got up to go to the bathroom, decided to pee-on-a-stick, and I married your brother. Anyway, the plan was to pee on the stick, drop it in the drawer, and come back to it in the morning. However, while I was washing my hands, I glanced over (in the dark with just the little night light) and saw OMG two pink lines, what the hell is that? I have NEVER seen pink lines so dark. (And then I had to wait FOUR HOURS until morning to tell my husband...who was shocked!)
Now here's the weird part...the dates are all crazy. LMP is July 12th (the day of ridiculous PMS rage). The ONLY time I had marital visitation that entire month was July 24th. I had morning sickness starting on August 3rd (3w1d...who has morning sickness that early?) and got the absolute darkest hpt+ of my entire life on August 7 (3w5d). So, dear internet readers, what the heck? I had ess-e-ecks one time and got pregnant. What am I? A teenager?
I debated whether to tell you since it's so early (5w2d), but why hold back? If something awful were to happen, I want my internet posse behind me leaving me comments telling me that it sucks, and that I'll be OK. I even don't mind comments like "it's probably for the best" since I kind of roll that way anyway.
Because (apparently) I am not infertile, when I called the doctor's office, they didn't want to send me for a beta or anything. Sheesh! So, I have my first pre-natal appointment on Tuesday, August 23rd (which is 6 wks), and they will probably just have me pee on a stick or something (I don't actually know any fertile people in real life, so can anyone who had a non-medically assisted pregnancy tell me what happens?). I think I am going to tell them that I'm not sure about my dates, because this whole thing seems highly unlikely to me. I've only ovulated a handful of times in my life and never before CD20+, so this would just be crazy-talk. If I'm not sure of my dates, they'll send me for an ultrasound, right? And since it would be 6wks or more, there should be a heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump. For now, I'm operating as pregnant until proven otherwise.
And now you know why I had a root beer float at the brewery.
The East Bay is pretty neat. It's shallow (as you can see in the picture) for miles. You can start at the beach and just start walking into the water, and it doesn't go over your head. Chuckles and Mr. Long-Suffering set out and walked for 20 minutes. It never got over Chuckles's head and was at its deepest only at Mr. Long-Suffering's waist. It started to get shallow again, so they turned around and came back. They had wanted to walk to the drop-off, but alas, that wasn't to be.
But the best part of the whole vacation? There was a water cooler in the lobby of our hotel that dispensed ice cold water infused with fruit essence. The hotel was nice with a good (free) breakfast, but next time, I think we'll stay at the Holiday Inn.
Oh, and I saw a billboard on US-31 for Michigan's Finest Medical Marijuana dispensary in Saugatuck. I never saw the shop (nor did I smell it), but it's there should you have a need.
On the other hand, all 3 hotels we visited while in Michigan were 100% smoke-free on the grounds (must be 25' from a doorway). I don't know if that's the law or just good business, but I liked it.
My frugal travel tip if you're staying at a hotel without free breakfast: I pack instant oatmeal packets, spoons, and disposable coffee cups. I use the hotel coffee pot to heat the water. The kids eat it while sitting on the king-sized bed and watching Cable TV (which we don't have at home so they got to see their first-ever Sponge Bob). Another frugal tip for West Michigan: have lunch at Russ'. Russ' has some great specials, and their kids' meals are only $1.99 and come with a peach half (and if your kids are like mine, in a restaurant they eat ice, crackers, and the peach half, then demand a snack as soon as we're in the car on the way back to the hotel).
So I mentioned that I had donated blood back on August 2nd during a heat wave and people were faring poorly? Yes? Good. I did well at the donation. No issues. However, the next day I felt awful. Like hit by a bus, OMG I can't lift my head. Awful. I felt better Thursday but still not great. Friday I think I fell asleep on the couch after dinner. Saturday, I had a really low fever of about 99.3, but I rallied and went to the beach (to play with my wave runner...but only 300' or more from shore). Swimming the 100 yards out to the wave runner was not so much fun.
Sunday morning I woke up around 4am, rolled over, felt ill, and realized something was not right. I got up to go to the bathroom, decided to pee-on-a-stick, and I married your brother. Anyway, the plan was to pee on the stick, drop it in the drawer, and come back to it in the morning. However, while I was washing my hands, I glanced over (in the dark with just the little night light) and saw OMG two pink lines, what the hell is that? I have NEVER seen pink lines so dark. (And then I had to wait FOUR HOURS until morning to tell my husband...who was shocked!)
Now here's the weird part...the dates are all crazy. LMP is July 12th (the day of ridiculous PMS rage). The ONLY time I had marital visitation that entire month was July 24th. I had morning sickness starting on August 3rd (3w1d...who has morning sickness that early?) and got the absolute darkest hpt+ of my entire life on August 7 (3w5d). So, dear internet readers, what the heck? I had ess-e-ecks one time and got pregnant. What am I? A teenager?
I debated whether to tell you since it's so early (5w2d), but why hold back? If something awful were to happen, I want my internet posse behind me leaving me comments telling me that it sucks, and that I'll be OK. I even don't mind comments like "it's probably for the best" since I kind of roll that way anyway.
Because (apparently) I am not infertile, when I called the doctor's office, they didn't want to send me for a beta or anything. Sheesh! So, I have my first pre-natal appointment on Tuesday, August 23rd (which is 6 wks), and they will probably just have me pee on a stick or something (I don't actually know any fertile people in real life, so can anyone who had a non-medically assisted pregnancy tell me what happens?). I think I am going to tell them that I'm not sure about my dates, because this whole thing seems highly unlikely to me. I've only ovulated a handful of times in my life and never before CD20+, so this would just be crazy-talk. If I'm not sure of my dates, they'll send me for an ultrasound, right? And since it would be 6wks or more, there should be a heartbeat. Thump-thump-thump. For now, I'm operating as pregnant until proven otherwise.
And now you know why I had a root beer float at the brewery.
Tuesday, August 09, 2011
Best. Day. Ever.
Every night before bed, I ask the kids what their favorite and least favorite parts of the day were. Then they ask me the same. Usually, my least favorite is something like traffic or mosquitoes. Rarely, I will say that it was when they fought or something. Every once in a while, I say that there was no least favorite, it was a great day overall.
Sometimes, their answers surprise me. Yesterday, the kids went to Borders to buy discount-business-closing books, Office Max, and Office Depot. They were each given a quarter at Office Max and Office Depot to buy whatever penny filler paper or dime binders they wanted. They were so excited. While they were out, they also stopped by the State Farm office to pay car insurance.
When bed time rolled around, and I asked about favorite part of the day, do you know what they answered? Not dime binders or penny paper. Their favorite part was drinking water out of those little triangular cone cups from a water cooler at the State Farm office.
Today, they went to the County Fair. I joked with the nanny this morning that even though they are going to see farm animals and daredevil motorcycles, they will probably say that their favorite part of the whole day was the hand sanitizer station or something. I just got the following picture as a text from the County Fair:
Yep. They found a water cooler and are drinking out of those triangular cone paper cups (and sharing!). They are also wearing matching outfits...the better not to get lost in a crowd (their shirts say "Thing 1" and "Thing 3"...their cousins are 2 & 4).
Sometimes, their answers surprise me. Yesterday, the kids went to Borders to buy discount-business-closing books, Office Max, and Office Depot. They were each given a quarter at Office Max and Office Depot to buy whatever penny filler paper or dime binders they wanted. They were so excited. While they were out, they also stopped by the State Farm office to pay car insurance.
When bed time rolled around, and I asked about favorite part of the day, do you know what they answered? Not dime binders or penny paper. Their favorite part was drinking water out of those little triangular cone cups from a water cooler at the State Farm office.
Today, they went to the County Fair. I joked with the nanny this morning that even though they are going to see farm animals and daredevil motorcycles, they will probably say that their favorite part of the whole day was the hand sanitizer station or something. I just got the following picture as a text from the County Fair:
Monday, August 08, 2011
Hot Potato
I just got a really nice comment from creatingbalance on my last post about how I spring up in the comments sections of blogs she reads. This post is in response to that.
We are a pretty tight-knit blogging community. I go through periods where I comment a lot on my favorite blogs and other times, not so much.
I hang out on lot of the parent/ing blogs & blogs of the formerly infertile, but you might find me elsewhere too (Laura Ingalls Wilder-related blogs, politcal blogs, Freakonomics, the Tribune comments section on anything having to do with reproduction/adoption, and twitter). I use SarcastiCarrie everywhere as my name, so you might see me on google photos or youtube as well. Or even on mapmyrun, if only I were still running.
My half-marathon is this weekend and I am not running it. I got injured in April (tendonitis) while training for the Shamrock Shuffle (which I ran anyway!), and I am just now able to walk a half mile without too much pain.
The wave runner we bought at the beginning of the season is awesome. We've been having a lot of fun, but I got a federal ticket, which was bogus, but I am guilty. The thing is the rule is not fair. It's discriminatory, in fact, but I'm sure my $125 will help the debt ceiling. So what's the deal with the ticket? I was within 300' of shore (at idle speed) in a no wake/idle speed zone, but personal watercraft can't be there under power, only boats can be within 300' of shore at idle. I have to anchor 300' out and swim to shore (with both kids and a cooler of snacks). A small jet-powered PWC captained by a conscientious driver is much less damaging to ecosystems than a boat, but I digress. It's true that I did that illegal act in the National Lakeshore...which is why it's a federal ticket. And I found out later that the feds were just out flexing their authority because of a jurisdictional pissing match. Whatever. The ticket will be paid and the kids are getting a lesson in Why Mommy Likes Limited Government.
(Getting the ticket was quite a scene because of the whole jurisdictional angle...other police groups came out while I was being ticketing to make sure the Feds weren't overstepping their authority, then my dad stepped in and started arguing with the park ranger, then Bobo came over and started covering my feet with sand, then the town council president from the town where I was (the one with the jurisdictional issues) came out, then about 25-30 people started gathering around to find out what was going on. Big fun. Not embarassing at all.)
----
I gave blood last Tuesday. It was a hot day in Chicago. The room where the blood drive was held was not air conditioned. Blood donors were dropping like flies. Since I had been spending so much time at the beach, I was acclimated to the heat and did just fine. I even took the kids to a National Night Out Against Crime celebration that evening. It was 91 degrees at 8 pm. I had recruited several of our new hires and interns to be first time blood donors as well. they did not fare so well, but they all promise they will give again....come Fall.
We are a pretty tight-knit blogging community. I go through periods where I comment a lot on my favorite blogs and other times, not so much.
I hang out on lot of the parent/ing blogs & blogs of the formerly infertile, but you might find me elsewhere too (Laura Ingalls Wilder-related blogs, politcal blogs, Freakonomics, the Tribune comments section on anything having to do with reproduction/adoption, and twitter). I use SarcastiCarrie everywhere as my name, so you might see me on google photos or youtube as well. Or even on mapmyrun, if only I were still running.
My half-marathon is this weekend and I am not running it. I got injured in April (tendonitis) while training for the Shamrock Shuffle (which I ran anyway!), and I am just now able to walk a half mile without too much pain.
The wave runner we bought at the beginning of the season is awesome. We've been having a lot of fun, but I got a federal ticket, which was bogus, but I am guilty. The thing is the rule is not fair. It's discriminatory, in fact, but I'm sure my $125 will help the debt ceiling. So what's the deal with the ticket? I was within 300' of shore (at idle speed) in a no wake/idle speed zone, but personal watercraft can't be there under power, only boats can be within 300' of shore at idle. I have to anchor 300' out and swim to shore (with both kids and a cooler of snacks). A small jet-powered PWC captained by a conscientious driver is much less damaging to ecosystems than a boat, but I digress. It's true that I did that illegal act in the National Lakeshore...which is why it's a federal ticket. And I found out later that the feds were just out flexing their authority because of a jurisdictional pissing match. Whatever. The ticket will be paid and the kids are getting a lesson in Why Mommy Likes Limited Government.
(Getting the ticket was quite a scene because of the whole jurisdictional angle...other police groups came out while I was being ticketing to make sure the Feds weren't overstepping their authority, then my dad stepped in and started arguing with the park ranger, then Bobo came over and started covering my feet with sand, then the town council president from the town where I was (the one with the jurisdictional issues) came out, then about 25-30 people started gathering around to find out what was going on. Big fun. Not embarassing at all.)
----
I gave blood last Tuesday. It was a hot day in Chicago. The room where the blood drive was held was not air conditioned. Blood donors were dropping like flies. Since I had been spending so much time at the beach, I was acclimated to the heat and did just fine. I even took the kids to a National Night Out Against Crime celebration that evening. It was 91 degrees at 8 pm. I had recruited several of our new hires and interns to be first time blood donors as well. they did not fare so well, but they all promise they will give again....come Fall.
Monday, August 01, 2011
First Ever
It is far easier to ignore my blog than to figure out how to sum up the last month. But I’m going to fill you in.
I went on “vacation” with my in-laws, who are lovely people, but are not my parents. Hence, things with them are just different. And it’s OK (sometimes tense, sometimes passive-aggressive) but OK. However, at a certain point, a certain 2-year old’s meltdowns coincided with my husband announcing that he was going fishing for 5 hours 5 minutes from now (not asking, but proclaiming) first thing in the morning after I had gotten 4 hours of sleep because of various child-related overnight waking things, and I had my first-ever bout of PMS. And I lost it. I lost my shit all over the place. It was not pretty. In fact, I had never actually hissed anything before.
My husband and I have been married almost 10 years. We had never up until that “vacation” had a fight before. We had disagreed about things, but never what I would classify as a fight. I stormed off the next morning with the kids. I took them to McDonald’s for pancakes and then the pharmacy since Bobo developed some kind of rash. I had actually contemplated putting them in the car and driving them home by myself. That’s when I knew I was blowing things out of proportion. Royally.
And wouldn’t you know the next time I went to the restroom, I had my period (and had not packed in a vacation supply of “supplies”). Yay! It was Cycle Day 25 and was one of the most classic PCOS periods evah! It lasted 2 weeks, which is super awesome, was gone for a couple of days, and then came back. For good measure.
I guess my husband was mad at me after my outburst, for which I refused to apologize because, really, who leaves during a child’s tantrum when I’m supposed to be on “vacation”? So I didn’t apologize, and he didn’t talk to me for two weeks. It was all pretty gruesome. Eventually, I apologized for overreacting. We have resolved that we have a difference of opinion as to how vacations should be spent.
Mostly, he thinks he’s on vacation and should get to relax and he thinks I should dump our kids with his parents so I can spend my time alone.
Except, I want to spend my vacation spending time as a family since in our real lives we get very few chances to do that. And I don’t want to be alone because I work in a building by myself all day and commute to and from work by myself. I spend a ridiculous amount of time by myself as it is. I want to spend time with my husband and children on vacation. And if children are going to be dumped upon my in-laws, I really think it is my husband who should do the dumping because they are his parents.
So, our “vacation” usually involves him going off to relax by himself to do whatever he wants to do and me taking care of both kids by myself in the Northwoods of Wisconsin without the benefit of our normal toys or routines.
So, we’re not sure how to get past this, but this is the 10th or 11th time I have gone on this vacation and the longer we have kids, the worse this gets because the work load on me increases every year. Potty accident overnight…I’m washing sheets out in the sink and hanging them over the railing of the cabin’s deck so the kids have somewhere to sleep the next night. I keep telling myself (every single year) that it’s just one week and I need to suck it up because this is the only thing my husband looks forward to all year, and yet, I hate it so much, I don’t know how I can possibly go back next year (and we’re already booked for next year since he reserved our spot when he paid the bill).
It’s an agree to disagree kind of scenario. Oh, and I had dreams this year, since we bought the waverunner, of me just hopping on the waverunner while he was out and taking the kids on long rides, except it was so cold and rainy that it just wasn’t possible much of the time...nor was the park, the nature center, the guided nature walk, the wildlife rehab center. The only fun indoor thing I found was a hotel that would let you pay to go to their pool. That was a blast.
So, great and powerful readers, how would you resolve this conflict? (Note: I only get 3 weeks of vacation so taking another week-long family vacation is not going to happen because my vacation time is used for the first day of school, the class parties, field trips, parents' programs at school, volunteering in the classroom, Christmas, and covering the nanny's vacation days.)
I went on “vacation” with my in-laws, who are lovely people, but are not my parents. Hence, things with them are just different. And it’s OK (sometimes tense, sometimes passive-aggressive) but OK. However, at a certain point, a certain 2-year old’s meltdowns coincided with my husband announcing that he was going fishing for 5 hours 5 minutes from now (not asking, but proclaiming) first thing in the morning after I had gotten 4 hours of sleep because of various child-related overnight waking things, and I had my first-ever bout of PMS. And I lost it. I lost my shit all over the place. It was not pretty. In fact, I had never actually hissed anything before.
My husband and I have been married almost 10 years. We had never up until that “vacation” had a fight before. We had disagreed about things, but never what I would classify as a fight. I stormed off the next morning with the kids. I took them to McDonald’s for pancakes and then the pharmacy since Bobo developed some kind of rash. I had actually contemplated putting them in the car and driving them home by myself. That’s when I knew I was blowing things out of proportion. Royally.
And wouldn’t you know the next time I went to the restroom, I had my period (and had not packed in a vacation supply of “supplies”). Yay! It was Cycle Day 25 and was one of the most classic PCOS periods evah! It lasted 2 weeks, which is super awesome, was gone for a couple of days, and then came back. For good measure.
I guess my husband was mad at me after my outburst, for which I refused to apologize because, really, who leaves during a child’s tantrum when I’m supposed to be on “vacation”? So I didn’t apologize, and he didn’t talk to me for two weeks. It was all pretty gruesome. Eventually, I apologized for overreacting. We have resolved that we have a difference of opinion as to how vacations should be spent.
Mostly, he thinks he’s on vacation and should get to relax and he thinks I should dump our kids with his parents so I can spend my time alone.
Except, I want to spend my vacation spending time as a family since in our real lives we get very few chances to do that. And I don’t want to be alone because I work in a building by myself all day and commute to and from work by myself. I spend a ridiculous amount of time by myself as it is. I want to spend time with my husband and children on vacation. And if children are going to be dumped upon my in-laws, I really think it is my husband who should do the dumping because they are his parents.
So, our “vacation” usually involves him going off to relax by himself to do whatever he wants to do and me taking care of both kids by myself in the Northwoods of Wisconsin without the benefit of our normal toys or routines.
So, we’re not sure how to get past this, but this is the 10th or 11th time I have gone on this vacation and the longer we have kids, the worse this gets because the work load on me increases every year. Potty accident overnight…I’m washing sheets out in the sink and hanging them over the railing of the cabin’s deck so the kids have somewhere to sleep the next night. I keep telling myself (every single year) that it’s just one week and I need to suck it up because this is the only thing my husband looks forward to all year, and yet, I hate it so much, I don’t know how I can possibly go back next year (and we’re already booked for next year since he reserved our spot when he paid the bill).
It’s an agree to disagree kind of scenario. Oh, and I had dreams this year, since we bought the waverunner, of me just hopping on the waverunner while he was out and taking the kids on long rides, except it was so cold and rainy that it just wasn’t possible much of the time...nor was the park, the nature center, the guided nature walk, the wildlife rehab center. The only fun indoor thing I found was a hotel that would let you pay to go to their pool. That was a blast.
So, great and powerful readers, how would you resolve this conflict? (Note: I only get 3 weeks of vacation so taking another week-long family vacation is not going to happen because my vacation time is used for the first day of school, the class parties, field trips, parents' programs at school, volunteering in the classroom, Christmas, and covering the nanny's vacation days.)
Friday, July 08, 2011
Office Hours
I don’t want to leave that last post up any longer, so I’m posting this just to have something else up top.
Last night, we received a phone call from some friends asking us to be the guardians of their children should anything happen to them. We agreed. It seems as though we might be everyone’s go-to people for guardianship. We’ve told all of them that we agree, but they are not allowed to fly on the same plan as any of these other people, and that if any of the other people for whom we are guardians pass away, we need to pass on the opportunity to be your children’s guardians. So anyway, here’s the tally of what would happen if all our friends and family died on the same day.
I’ve been trying to keep up in the blogosphere with all the talk about NCLB, Affirmative Action, white privilege, and standardized testing, etc. Obviously, as a libertarian, I am not comfortable with anything other than a strict meritocracy. But I keep hearing how the deck is stacked against some kids. I want to tell you why that’s probably true, but I still call bullshit.
My parents were teenagers when they got married and had my sister. Shortly thereafter, I came along. My parents divorced. I grew up in a racially diverse area in an inner-ring suburb on the south side of Chicago. The suburb was a mix of small single family homes and rentals. It was very blue collar middle class. Most of the dads worked in factories and the moms stayed home or did clerical work. We were, at times, what is now known as “food insecure”. By the time we moved when I was in 7th grade to an area with purportedly better schools, my suburb was majority minority (which is a phrase that doesn’t make sense…it was majority non-white).
Fast-forward: I went to college. I was the first person in my family to go to what I call “sleep-away” college. Plenty of people in the family had taken some courses at the local community college, and some had even finished 4-year degrees at commuter colleges, but I was the first person to go to college. And I didn’t go to just any college. I went to a fancy-pants elite college.
I’ve long thought that racial preferences and programs don’t really address the real problem with student achievement and the minority achievement gap. I would bet that the achievement gap is based on socio-economic status and educational attainment of the parents. It probably just so happens that in America that is often confounded with race.
So, everything I knew about college I knew from TV. I thought that there was a way things were supposed to be in college, and I tried to make my college experience seem like what I thought it should be like. I thought I should be drinking (I never drank in HS). I thought there should be partying (though I am not much of a partier). I thought we’d all be poor and scraping by, eating cheap food and wearing the same clothes we’d had for years. I was so wrong about all of it. I don’t recall ever having seen a TV show or movie where the kids were bright, studied all the time at college, got internships, and did laundry on Friday nights. Even on Beverly Hills 90210, the kids had money during college, but they weren't studying all the time.
Unsurprisingly, I was offered work-study as part of my financial aid package. Dutifully, within a few days of getting on campus, I got a job in my dorm sorting mail in the mailroom. It was brutal work at the beginning of the year when many students had shipped large boxes to their dorms. We would deliver the boxes to the dorm rooms (with no elevators and just a hand cart) so that the boxes would be waiting in the room when the students showed up. Had I known anything, had a clue, or had parents who could guide me, I would have waited until the engineering department lab jobs were posted a few weeks later. It would have been easier work and given me a better resume. But I just didn’t know. By the time I figured out that lab jobs were cake and got you on the good side of professors, I had worked my way up to mail room supervisor and didn’t want to move to a lower-paying lab job. Money was tight and I had rent to pay and groceries to buy.
I never went to a library orientation. And for the record, during my entire 3 years at college, I never once checked a book out of the main library (I did check a book or two out of the engineering library, though). Last night, for the first time ever, I asked a librarian at my local library how the books were organized because I couldn’t find an Adult Biography. I’m 35 years old and still intimidated by all the knowledge I think I should already magically have and which I assume everyone else in the library has.
So clearly, I think there are obstacles to success for poor kids from the south side. I don’t, however, think those obstacles are greater for minority kids than they are for economically disadvantaged white kids, but maybe that’s just because I see what I had to overcome and think everyone else should be able to do so as well.
Last night, we received a phone call from some friends asking us to be the guardians of their children should anything happen to them. We agreed. It seems as though we might be everyone’s go-to people for guardianship. We’ve told all of them that we agree, but they are not allowed to fly on the same plan as any of these other people, and that if any of the other people for whom we are guardians pass away, we need to pass on the opportunity to be your children’s guardians. So anyway, here’s the tally of what would happen if all our friends and family died on the same day.
- We have two kids of our own.
- We are guardians for my sister’s daughter (my niece).
- My husband’s sister’s sons (my nephews).
- My own (half) siblings (one almost-18 year old boy, and two girls).
- The children I mentioned in my last post, a boy and a girl (and we went ahead and said we’d be the guardians because we do think we’d do a good job, even if it meant rearranging our lives and maybe having a full-time SAHP…mostly because we think those kids are worth it).
- And the two daughters of my husband’s best friend.
- (Plus I begged my BFF to let me be her son’s guardian because he is adorable and I want him, but I don’t think she’s going to let me. Maybe I can just borrow his cheeks. I think his cheeks could light my house for a week.)
**Abrupt topic change**
I was one of the only people at college I knew there whose parents were divorced, one of only a few receiving a Pell Grant and a Supplemental Education Opportunity Grant. I always assumed college students were struggling and cheap (and eating ramen). Everything I knew about college I learned from watching TV and movies like Animal House and Simpsons episodes.
I was way out of my league. But I am white. There were plenty of under-represented minorities there, and they got to go to the college 6 weeks before school started to take classes on study skills, learn to use the library, interact with faculty, explore different majors, and familiarize themselves with the workings of college. Some of them came from families with other college graduates. Some of their parents even went to college.
If you’d ever been exposed to college before, you might know what office hours are. I had no idea. At the beginning of all my classes, the professors would write their office hours up on the blackboard (or pass them out on the syllabus). I would dutifully write them down in my binder (which was the same binder I had used for a class last year and had removed the papers from because I didn’t have $3 to spend on a new binder…and death to the professor who required that homework be done on green engineering paper which was $6). So I would write these office hours down, but I didn’t know what they were. Why did he tell us when he’d be in his office or lab? Why would I care? I just had no idea. I never went to office hours during my entire college career.
Unsurprisingly, I was offered work-study as part of my financial aid package. Dutifully, within a few days of getting on campus, I got a job in my dorm sorting mail in the mailroom. It was brutal work at the beginning of the year when many students had shipped large boxes to their dorms. We would deliver the boxes to the dorm rooms (with no elevators and just a hand cart) so that the boxes would be waiting in the room when the students showed up. Had I known anything, had a clue, or had parents who could guide me, I would have waited until the engineering department lab jobs were posted a few weeks later. It would have been easier work and given me a better resume. But I just didn’t know. By the time I figured out that lab jobs were cake and got you on the good side of professors, I had worked my way up to mail room supervisor and didn’t want to move to a lower-paying lab job. Money was tight and I had rent to pay and groceries to buy.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
I'm just not good enough
We had an-almost sort of opportunity to maybe become guardians to a boy. It's kind of confusing, but anyway, there is a boy. And he could potentially have needed a family, and someone called us. Someone out there thinks we are good parents and wanted to know whether we might possibly want to parent this boy. I have met him several times. He's a nice kid. Boy Scout, adorable smile, flirtatious eyelashes, a friend to all the girls, athletic with all the guys.
We almost sort of kind of maybe perhaps want a third child, and this kind of fell into our lap. (Can you tell how very much awkward this is to write about...almost and kind of?) We did not go out and seek to adopt a child. Before Chuckles was born, I would have done almost anything to become a mother. My husband was less sure. He was fine with any fertility treatments we would need to undergo, but he stopped short at gamete donation and adoption. It was crushing to me since I just wanted a baby. Any baby.
Now, here I am potentially possibly turning down a child. The young man is older than Chuckles and has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. When I think about all the things I want for my children in their lives, I realize I just want them to grow up, become independent adults, and be happy. That is very hard for kids with FAS. I have no experience with it, but I did a very cursory google search and realized that this child has moderate-to-severe FAS. He will probably never be able to live independently and probably can't live in a home with a family. He needs boarding high school, and the intensive therapy and structure that comes with that. The statistics on FAS are grim: incarceration, unplanned pregnancy, bankruptcy, alcohol and drug addiction, chronic unemployment. There is even a little saying: The girls get knocked up, and the boys get locked up. That is not the promising future one hopes for her child.
It crushes me as a mom and me as an infertile to say that we need to pass on this young man. He has a family already. They adopted him as an infant and were unaware of the FAS. We were only asked to be the guardians should anything happen to them. The original guardians are backing out as the problems mount and everyone realizes that even as age 18 comes and goes, he would still need a guardian if anything were to happen to his parents. He will probably need parents for the rest of his life. His mother and father are already in their mid-50s, so even if they live to 85, the young man will only be in his 40s. He'll have years of needing help ahead of him. At that point, perhaps his younger sister (also adopted as an infant) could care for him or maybe she won't want to. Who knows? So the parents want a plan. As it turns out, we are not good candidate parents for him. At least not right now while we're in the Parenting Small Children Red Zone. Maybe when Chuckles and Bobo are grown and out of the house, we can reconsider it.
And you know what? I'm pretty angry at the birth mother. Pretty really angry. And I probably don't even have the right to be angry at her. But on behalf of this young man, I am angry at her. FAS is the only 100% preventable birth defect. Anger, seethe, anger, bunch of other words and unformed thoughts. Least eloquent post of my blog's history. So in summation, I feel like crap because I am just not a good enough person/parent to say, "Yes, if anything happens to you, I absolutely will step in and take care of your kids for you." I suppose it's good that I know my limitations both for my own kids and for these two kids. We just don't have the emotional resources now to handle this.
And that makes me wonder about the potential possible third baby that we might happen to want and maybe even get. What do I do if the luck of the draw says that I get a special needs child? I guess some might say you just accept it and soldier on. You don't go looking for trouble, but if trouble finds you.... I just don't know. Mostly though, I am just going to focus my anger at the birth mother since that is easier than searching my own soul and being angry with myself.
We almost sort of kind of maybe perhaps want a third child, and this kind of fell into our lap. (Can you tell how very much awkward this is to write about...almost and kind of?) We did not go out and seek to adopt a child. Before Chuckles was born, I would have done almost anything to become a mother. My husband was less sure. He was fine with any fertility treatments we would need to undergo, but he stopped short at gamete donation and adoption. It was crushing to me since I just wanted a baby. Any baby.
Now, here I am potentially possibly turning down a child. The young man is older than Chuckles and has Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. When I think about all the things I want for my children in their lives, I realize I just want them to grow up, become independent adults, and be happy. That is very hard for kids with FAS. I have no experience with it, but I did a very cursory google search and realized that this child has moderate-to-severe FAS. He will probably never be able to live independently and probably can't live in a home with a family. He needs boarding high school, and the intensive therapy and structure that comes with that. The statistics on FAS are grim: incarceration, unplanned pregnancy, bankruptcy, alcohol and drug addiction, chronic unemployment. There is even a little saying: The girls get knocked up, and the boys get locked up. That is not the promising future one hopes for her child.
It crushes me as a mom and me as an infertile to say that we need to pass on this young man. He has a family already. They adopted him as an infant and were unaware of the FAS. We were only asked to be the guardians should anything happen to them. The original guardians are backing out as the problems mount and everyone realizes that even as age 18 comes and goes, he would still need a guardian if anything were to happen to his parents. He will probably need parents for the rest of his life. His mother and father are already in their mid-50s, so even if they live to 85, the young man will only be in his 40s. He'll have years of needing help ahead of him. At that point, perhaps his younger sister (also adopted as an infant) could care for him or maybe she won't want to. Who knows? So the parents want a plan. As it turns out, we are not good candidate parents for him. At least not right now while we're in the Parenting Small Children Red Zone. Maybe when Chuckles and Bobo are grown and out of the house, we can reconsider it.
And you know what? I'm pretty angry at the birth mother. Pretty really angry. And I probably don't even have the right to be angry at her. But on behalf of this young man, I am angry at her. FAS is the only 100% preventable birth defect. Anger, seethe, anger, bunch of other words and unformed thoughts. Least eloquent post of my blog's history. So in summation, I feel like crap because I am just not a good enough person/parent to say, "Yes, if anything happens to you, I absolutely will step in and take care of your kids for you." I suppose it's good that I know my limitations both for my own kids and for these two kids. We just don't have the emotional resources now to handle this.
And that makes me wonder about the potential possible third baby that we might happen to want and maybe even get. What do I do if the luck of the draw says that I get a special needs child? I guess some might say you just accept it and soldier on. You don't go looking for trouble, but if trouble finds you.... I just don't know. Mostly though, I am just going to focus my anger at the birth mother since that is easier than searching my own soul and being angry with myself.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
I am not your sister-in-law
I was all sure how I was going to tell you, dear readers. I was going to title the post "I am your sister-in-law" and then the post would be a photo of two pink lines showing that I was all fertile and pregnant after just one month of (ahem) not-exactly-trying. First time we tried!!!
But alas, that's not how this post is going to roll.
Today is Cycle Day 35, aka new Cycle Day 1. I could've saved a buck and the dollar store test I took this morning if only I'd waited. I even have a rule about not testing before CD35 for just this reason (it will usually be obvious before I would get to the test).
But I'm not really disappointed...for a variety of reasons. The first is that I got my husband a wave runner for Fathers' Day. I would be mighty bummed if I couldn't ride it this weekend. (A wave runner is like a jet ski but you sit down on it.) The second is that I am going on "vacation" with my in-laws in a few weeks, and I would really like to spend most of the week slightly intoxicated (or on the wave runner...and stone cold sober).
The third is that I am highly ambivalent about a third baby. I want one, but if I don't get one, I will be A-OK and just fine. Really. I swear. We aren't even really trying. I can prove it! I have a prescription for progeterone suppositories in my purse, and I haven't even filled it (yet?). I own a fertility monitor, and I am not using it. I didn't take an OPK or my temperature this month. I only had marital visitation with my husband when I wanted to, not when the stick, the clock, the calendar, or the doctor told me to.
A word to the wise, women who are not taking The Pill have wild desire and mood fluctuations during a cycle, whoah. I guess I have never before in my life had an ovulatory cycle where I was not actively trying to get pregnant so this was crazy new. I'm starting to understand things like why women joke about PMS and mid-month libido. I've never known that before, and it's really amazing. I'm a little jealous that I never got to experience this before.
The 4th reason I am not bummed is that getting pregnant this month would've put me with a due date in February (my 36th birthday, actually). I would prefer to take my maternity leave over the summer. I know that infertile women don't usually indicate a preference, but if a teacher can say she's aiming for a summer baby, a not-really trying woman can say she'd prefer to give birth April - June. Beggars can't be choosers, but I ain't begging.
Lastly, I am taking prenatal vitamins because it's just a good idea for a woman who is not using any birth control to do that sort of thing responsibly. I am prudent. What I am not is pregnant.
But alas, that's not how this post is going to roll.
Today is Cycle Day 35, aka new Cycle Day 1. I could've saved a buck and the dollar store test I took this morning if only I'd waited. I even have a rule about not testing before CD35 for just this reason (it will usually be obvious before I would get to the test).
But I'm not really disappointed...for a variety of reasons. The first is that I got my husband a wave runner for Fathers' Day. I would be mighty bummed if I couldn't ride it this weekend. (A wave runner is like a jet ski but you sit down on it.) The second is that I am going on "vacation" with my in-laws in a few weeks, and I would really like to spend most of the week slightly intoxicated (or on the wave runner...and stone cold sober).
The third is that I am highly ambivalent about a third baby. I want one, but if I don't get one, I will be A-OK and just fine. Really. I swear. We aren't even really trying. I can prove it! I have a prescription for progeterone suppositories in my purse, and I haven't even filled it (yet?). I own a fertility monitor, and I am not using it. I didn't take an OPK or my temperature this month. I only had marital visitation with my husband when I wanted to, not when the stick, the clock, the calendar, or the doctor told me to.
A word to the wise, women who are not taking The Pill have wild desire and mood fluctuations during a cycle, whoah. I guess I have never before in my life had an ovulatory cycle where I was not actively trying to get pregnant so this was crazy new. I'm starting to understand things like why women joke about PMS and mid-month libido. I've never known that before, and it's really amazing. I'm a little jealous that I never got to experience this before.
The 4th reason I am not bummed is that getting pregnant this month would've put me with a due date in February (my 36th birthday, actually). I would prefer to take my maternity leave over the summer. I know that infertile women don't usually indicate a preference, but if a teacher can say she's aiming for a summer baby, a not-really trying woman can say she'd prefer to give birth April - June. Beggars can't be choosers, but I ain't begging.
Lastly, I am taking prenatal vitamins because it's just a good idea for a woman who is not using any birth control to do that sort of thing responsibly. I am prudent. What I am not is pregnant.
Friday, May 27, 2011
Details
So, as I was going through the digital photo archive to find the 5 photos that capture the last 10 years, I stumbled upon a photo that pretty much summarizes how photos can tell the whole story of my life.
This photo here pretty much sums up 2003-2004 (this is 2/9/2004). There is my beloved cat, Abigail (now deceased). She was on top of me while I slept, but I didn't mind because she is awesome.
If you look at the nightstand, you can see my basal temperature thermometer, some Pro-seed, a symptothermal chart, the tissues that I used with the progesterone suppositories, an alarm clock (haven't used one since Chuckles was born because he's awesome for getting me up every single morning of my life, no matter what), a book of erotica, and a book I read for pleasure. I assure you the erotica was not for pleasure.
I tried to zoom in on the clock to see how decadently late I was sleeping but the resolution just wasn't there. If you can give it the full CSI treatment, let me know.
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Five
Nov. 11, 2001 I was 25. We're newlyweds. We'd married just 2 months earlier, right before 9/11. Check out my husband's giant glasses.
12/29/2002 (26 now. It was windy this day. And I had a giant pimple on my forehead that lasted from 12/2002 to 2/2003. It was horrible.)
Nov. 30, 2003, same hat, same coats (As a matter of note, I am still using that same hat and we're both still wearing those same winter coats. We're a thrifty people.)
12/12/2004 I was pregnant with Chuckles and we took a babymoon to Las Vegas, so NO COATS in December. Woo Woo.
Last weekend. 5/24/2011 There is a lighthouse just over my hand. New camera. Once kids arrived on the scene, the photos of the husband and wife (alone, together take by the husband's outstretched arm) decreased in frequency. I convinced my husband to shave his beard a few weeks ago. I hadn't seen his face since 1999. The beard had gone mostly grey and I thought I might like this clean-shaven look. I was wrong. I'm ready for him to grow it back. It's too hard to kiss a man without a beard. Also, the pimple on my forehead is back. With a vengeance.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Mom
I want to tell you about my Mothers' Day before I forget. I also want my blog to be the #1 internet destination when someone searches for "Chuckles does not sleep...ever".
Mothers' Day started out at just after 6 am with a gleeful Chuckles ambling into my room and up into my bed because he was just so excited to give me the gifts he had made for me in school. There was a bound book that he wrote and illustrated all about how awesome I am (and I am). I had a face and in lieu of hair, flower petals.
There was a second book...a cook book. Recipe:
1. Get some dough with eggs and chocolate chips
2. Shape cookies.
3. Bake at 900 degrees for 3 hours (the way I yell "Stay away from the oven, it's hot," he might think it's 900 degrees and when you're waiting for cookies, it seems like 3 hours.)
4. Let cool
5. Eat.
It was so adorable, I nearly died. But it was so early and uncaffeinated and untoothbrushed. I love that child more than Godiva liqueur, but when will he start to sleep like a normal person? I can't complain too much. On Saturday, both kids and husband permitted me to sleep until 8:30 am.
The last 4 Sundays I have hosted a party. A random family get-together. Easter. Chuckles's birthday party. Mothers' Day. I am done for a while, I think. That's enough merriment and table cloth washing. But Mothers' Day was lovely. We cooked out. The children and their cousins frolicked and played. I not sure I was in a condition to the the adult-in-charge as...Many (many) bottles of champagne were consumed and at one point, my husband brought out a record album of the best patriotic hits of 1959 and my mother and mother-in-law MARCHED around arm-in-arm to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and then the Army air corps song. It was patriotic and drunken and lots of fun. The next morning, I had a wee bit of a headache, but some coffee, fluids, a day of work, and a good run took right good care of that.
It was so much fun to have a laid back day cooking out on the grill and hanging out with the family. Very nice. I evenshaved my legs wore capri pants and painted my toenails sandals.
Everything went alright on Tuesday with the mirena removal. I had to use some lamaze breathing. I would say that the removal was much worse than the installation (technically, I think it's "insertion" - whatever). Apparently, insertion is no big deal immediately post-partum, which is when I had mine. So, my removal was worse than insertion. It is the opposite for most people (insertion being worse than removal).
So, it's out. My body, which even in the best of times has no idea what it is doing, is still trying to normalize after that. I'm not "trying" as the infertiles might know it. I'm just not preventing. There is no forced death-march sex (man, you might think "trying" would be fun, but trust me, it is not), I'm not staying in bed after, ahem, wink wink nudge nudge, I'm not peeing on any sticks, or taking any morning temperatures. I did ask for a script for progesterone suppositories because ... just in cast. Progesterone and I have a long history. And that's about it.
I should say that I feel totally selfish and stupid and greedy "trying" for a third baby. I already hit the jackpot twice. But then I realize that I only feel this way because of the history of infertility. In fact, my insurance won't even cover fertility treatments this time since I already have two kids. Like two is some kind of magical ideal and you shouldn't want any more than that, you greedy whore. So, well, yes, moving on. I am selfish, but it wouldn't be that way if I were regularly fertile. Just another way infertility has screwed me over...removing the joy and spontaneity of a potential third baby. A girl baby, perhaps.
Don't get me wrong. I love my boys. If I get another son, I'll be thrilled with My Three Sons. But whenever I think about a third baby, I think about a girl baby. I mean, I got rid of all my baby clothes already, so I'd need new stuff anyway. Might as well be pink and lavender and lime green with dragonflies, right?
And my first baby....he only has 20 days of kindergarten left. Boo Hoo.
Mothers' Day started out at just after 6 am with a gleeful Chuckles ambling into my room and up into my bed because he was just so excited to give me the gifts he had made for me in school. There was a bound book that he wrote and illustrated all about how awesome I am (and I am). I had a face and in lieu of hair, flower petals.
There was a second book...a cook book. Recipe:
1. Get some dough with eggs and chocolate chips
2. Shape cookies.
3. Bake at 900 degrees for 3 hours (the way I yell "Stay away from the oven, it's hot," he might think it's 900 degrees and when you're waiting for cookies, it seems like 3 hours.)
4. Let cool
5. Eat.
It was so adorable, I nearly died. But it was so early and uncaffeinated and untoothbrushed. I love that child more than Godiva liqueur, but when will he start to sleep like a normal person? I can't complain too much. On Saturday, both kids and husband permitted me to sleep until 8:30 am.
The last 4 Sundays I have hosted a party. A random family get-together. Easter. Chuckles's birthday party. Mothers' Day. I am done for a while, I think. That's enough merriment and table cloth washing. But Mothers' Day was lovely. We cooked out. The children and their cousins frolicked and played. I not sure I was in a condition to the the adult-in-charge as...Many (many) bottles of champagne were consumed and at one point, my husband brought out a record album of the best patriotic hits of 1959 and my mother and mother-in-law MARCHED around arm-in-arm to "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" and then the Army air corps song. It was patriotic and drunken and lots of fun. The next morning, I had a wee bit of a headache, but some coffee, fluids, a day of work, and a good run took right good care of that.
It was so much fun to have a laid back day cooking out on the grill and hanging out with the family. Very nice. I even
Everything went alright on Tuesday with the mirena removal. I had to use some lamaze breathing. I would say that the removal was much worse than the installation (technically, I think it's "insertion" - whatever). Apparently, insertion is no big deal immediately post-partum, which is when I had mine. So, my removal was worse than insertion. It is the opposite for most people (insertion being worse than removal).
So, it's out. My body, which even in the best of times has no idea what it is doing, is still trying to normalize after that. I'm not "trying" as the infertiles might know it. I'm just not preventing. There is no forced death-march sex (man, you might think "trying" would be fun, but trust me, it is not), I'm not staying in bed after, ahem, wink wink nudge nudge, I'm not peeing on any sticks, or taking any morning temperatures. I did ask for a script for progesterone suppositories because ... just in cast. Progesterone and I have a long history. And that's about it.
I should say that I feel totally selfish and stupid and greedy "trying" for a third baby. I already hit the jackpot twice. But then I realize that I only feel this way because of the history of infertility. In fact, my insurance won't even cover fertility treatments this time since I already have two kids. Like two is some kind of magical ideal and you shouldn't want any more than that, you greedy whore. So, well, yes, moving on. I am selfish, but it wouldn't be that way if I were regularly fertile. Just another way infertility has screwed me over...removing the joy and spontaneity of a potential third baby. A girl baby, perhaps.
Don't get me wrong. I love my boys. If I get another son, I'll be thrilled with My Three Sons. But whenever I think about a third baby, I think about a girl baby. I mean, I got rid of all my baby clothes already, so I'd need new stuff anyway. Might as well be pink and lavender and lime green with dragonflies, right?
And my first baby....he only has 20 days of kindergarten left. Boo Hoo.
Thursday, May 05, 2011
Maureen
For Easter, my mother (Mimi) sent us cookies from Williams Sonoma. She sent us several items, in fact. The first several arrived about a week before Easter. She advised that cookies were on their way.
As the Wednesday before Easter arrived, and the cookies still hadn't been delivered, I got a little nervous, but they came on Thursday. I didn't want the kids to see them because they were a surprise. So, rather than open the box, I opened the shipping label, receipt, and packing slip.
The cookies were going to be personalized with "Mom & Dad", "Bobo", and "Chuckles". I realized then that not only had I ceased being "Carrie" and my entire identity had been subsumed within "Mom" but also that I now had to share my cookie (in addition to sharing my bedroom, bed, and Easter basket).
As it turns out, Mimi was not making a statement about my relative worth as an independent person. The cookies just come in packs of 3.
On Easter Eve, the "Easter Bunny" began assembling the baskets in the hallway outside the bedroom doors. The cookies were removed from their packages, labeled Love Mimi & Papa, and set atop their other Easterly treasures (jump ropes, whizzer whistles, pajamas, a Starburst, some coins). First came Mom & Dad, then Bobo, and finally Maureen. Guess I should have opened the box when it came. The Love: Mimi and Papa sticker was moved to cover up the personalization (after I took a photo for posterity).
All day Sunday, I just kept thinking about how Maureen must have felt crying on Easter because her grandmother thought she was a "Chuckles".
As the Wednesday before Easter arrived, and the cookies still hadn't been delivered, I got a little nervous, but they came on Thursday. I didn't want the kids to see them because they were a surprise. So, rather than open the box, I opened the shipping label, receipt, and packing slip.
The cookies were going to be personalized with "Mom & Dad", "Bobo", and "Chuckles". I realized then that not only had I ceased being "Carrie" and my entire identity had been subsumed within "Mom" but also that I now had to share my cookie (in addition to sharing my bedroom, bed, and Easter basket).
As it turns out, Mimi was not making a statement about my relative worth as an independent person. The cookies just come in packs of 3.
On Easter Eve, the "Easter Bunny" began assembling the baskets in the hallway outside the bedroom doors. The cookies were removed from their packages, labeled Love Mimi & Papa, and set atop their other Easterly treasures (jump ropes, whizzer whistles, pajamas, a Starburst, some coins). First came Mom & Dad, then Bobo, and finally Maureen. Guess I should have opened the box when it came. The Love: Mimi and Papa sticker was moved to cover up the personalization (after I took a photo for posterity).
All day Sunday, I just kept thinking about how Maureen must have felt crying on Easter because her grandmother thought she was a "Chuckles".
Tuesday, May 03, 2011
Fever
I'm sorry I haven't been blogging. I've had this fever. It's been very distracting. I keep thinking about it. I think it will go away and it does for a couple of days, then BAM it's back in full force. I'll go a few days without any symptoms, then BAM fever.
I'll be driving in the car, and then BAM fever hits and I get all woozy and disoriented.
I'll be sitting watching M*A*S*H (which is not really all that funny) and then BAM fever hits and I get all weepy and sweaty.
I'll be preparing to go out running (and somehow only making it out 1 in 5 times, thanks winter that never ends), and then BAM fever hits and I wind up crying in the shower.
I'll be sleeping soundly (thanks, kids - love you), have a bad dream, and wake up panting with my fever.
I'll be hosting Easter (or a 6th birthday party...by the way, how did that happen), loading the dishwasher, someone will ask me a question and I'll absentmindedly answer truthfully that her outfit doesn't match and then BAM fever.
As I said, it's been distracting.
So, I took my temperature, and it said 97.3F. Then I took it the next day: 96.8F. The next 98.1. Then, I figured it out and made a doctor's appointment. So, next week I am going on Tuesday to have my mirena removed. I'm going to kick this baby fever even if it means I have to have another baby. So, if I had a status update to give you, I would tell you that I am, uhhh, stupid and lucky and hopeful. That is all. Moving on. Nothing to see here.
I'll be driving in the car, and then BAM fever hits and I get all woozy and disoriented.
I'll be sitting watching M*A*S*H (which is not really all that funny) and then BAM fever hits and I get all weepy and sweaty.
I'll be preparing to go out running (and somehow only making it out 1 in 5 times, thanks winter that never ends), and then BAM fever hits and I wind up crying in the shower.
I'll be sleeping soundly (thanks, kids - love you), have a bad dream, and wake up panting with my fever.
I'll be hosting Easter (or a 6th birthday party...by the way, how did that happen), loading the dishwasher, someone will ask me a question and I'll absentmindedly answer truthfully that her outfit doesn't match and then BAM fever.
As I said, it's been distracting.
So, I took my temperature, and it said 97.3F. Then I took it the next day: 96.8F. The next 98.1. Then, I figured it out and made a doctor's appointment. So, next week I am going on Tuesday to have my mirena removed. I'm going to kick this baby fever even if it means I have to have another baby. So, if I had a status update to give you, I would tell you that I am, uhhh, stupid and lucky and hopeful. That is all. Moving on. Nothing to see here.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Heredity
There are two lots near my home that are vacant except for the pumping station in the corner hidden by some shrubbery. My town, in a fit of neighborhood beautification, put in a couple of benches and a sign on the corner calling it a "park". Lamest park ever. No walking track, no playground, no tot lot, and surrounded by detached garages and an insurance office. But sure, it's nice insofar as there are no buildings on the two lots and it is green-space.
The other day, we were driving past this "park", and the following conversation occurred in my car.
Chuckles (drolly): That looks like a fun park.
Mr. Long-Suffering (touching the top of Chuckles's head like some kind of faith healer): The sarcasm, it is strong in this one.
Me (blushing and beaming proudly): He gets that from me.
(And yes, yes, I understand that in America the punctuation mark is supposed to go inside the quotation marks, but you know what? That doesn't make sense outside of the she says comma open quotes capital-Go ahead period close quotation marks usage. When one single word is in quotes and the period is not a part of the direct quote, it doesn't make sense. Oh sure, you could say that these are rules for clarity,and we're just supposed to follow them. But then I would say, "Rules are made to be broken." And I might call you a "sheep". I'm a rule-breaker. What can I say?)
Also, the doctor's office called and either my foot is not broken or the fracture is too small to be seen on x-ray (that clears it right up, no?). Orthopedist appointment tomorrow!
The other day, we were driving past this "park", and the following conversation occurred in my car.
Chuckles (drolly): That looks like a fun park.
Mr. Long-Suffering (touching the top of Chuckles's head like some kind of faith healer): The sarcasm, it is strong in this one.
Me (blushing and beaming proudly): He gets that from me.
(And yes, yes, I understand that in America the punctuation mark is supposed to go inside the quotation marks, but you know what? That doesn't make sense outside of the she says comma open quotes capital-Go ahead period close quotation marks usage. When one single word is in quotes and the period is not a part of the direct quote, it doesn't make sense. Oh sure, you could say that these are rules for clarity,and we're just supposed to follow them. But then I would say, "Rules are made to be broken." And I might call you a "sheep". I'm a rule-breaker. What can I say?)
Also, the doctor's office called and either my foot is not broken or the fracture is too small to be seen on x-ray (that clears it right up, no?). Orthopedist appointment tomorrow!
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Darndest
This morning, Chuckles woke up and came bounding down the steps into the kitchen where I was making my lunch.
Chuckles: I woke up and wrote a song, do you want to hear all about it?
Me:Oh absoluterly, my superspecial snowflake, tell mummy all about it. Uh huh, go'head.
Chuckles: Well, it's called "Everything is Better with a Cherry on Top".
Me: ((I have now died from the cute and am laying on the floor.)) Oh, please sing it for me.
Chuckles: La-la-la-la, singing singing a song I wrote, blah blah blah.
THE END?
So, the big job title realignment and standardization? Yes? Well, it was official on April 1st, and we were all to be notified in person by our managers by Close of Business on the 8th. I'm still waiting for my meeting. Efficiency! And adherence to self-imposed standards! Did you my trusty coworkers have your meetings yet?
==
Many moons ago, I wrote that I was doing/did Couch-to-5k. Well, back in the fall, I ran 2 races. I signed up for an 8k back in January. 8k is about (roughly) 4.97 miles. A little over 2 weeks ago, I went out for a leisurely 6-mile training run (as if there is such a thing). Two hours after I got home, I was hobbling around becuase my left (or sinister) foot hurt quite a bit. I took 10 days off of running, went on two short practice runs last week of 2-3 miles each just to make sure everything was OK. It was.
This past Sunday was the Shamrock Shuffle. I ran 4.97 miles with 40,000 of my closest personal friends (in the hottest temperatures we had seen in 6 months). Thousands came out to cheer me on. All those signs that said "Go MOM Go"? They were for me.
Around the 4-mile mark, I realized something in my foot had snapped or broken, but I was already 80% of the way done and the pain was not unbearable, and it didn't actually affect my ability to run at all, so I finished (61 seconds below my goal time!) and ahead of about 8,000 people. However, I landed myself at the doctor's office and subsequently radiology yesterday on suspicion of a stress fracture. So now? I'm just sitting at my desk, drinking some lukewarm tea (decaf green), waiting for the doctor to call, and having my youthful coworkers fetch my documents from the printer. I'm in a rolling chair too, so I can get around my office if need be.
The human body doesn't want to run 5 miles is the lesson I learned. I think I make a much better 5k runner than half-marathoner. So, there you go. Takeaway lesson: you don't get stress fractures being a sloth who watches TV. Is it Must-See-TV Friday yet?
Chuckles: I woke up and wrote a song, do you want to hear all about it?
Me:
Chuckles: Well, it's called "Everything is Better with a Cherry on Top".
Me: ((I have now died from the cute and am laying on the floor.)) Oh, please sing it for me.
Chuckles: La-la-la-la, singing singing a song I wrote, blah blah blah.
THE END?
So, the big job title realignment and standardization? Yes? Well, it was official on April 1st, and we were all to be notified in person by our managers by Close of Business on the 8th. I'm still waiting for my meeting. Efficiency! And adherence to self-imposed standards! Did you my trusty coworkers have your meetings yet?
==
Many moons ago, I wrote that I was doing/did Couch-to-5k. Well, back in the fall, I ran 2 races. I signed up for an 8k back in January. 8k is about (roughly) 4.97 miles. A little over 2 weeks ago, I went out for a leisurely 6-mile training run (as if there is such a thing). Two hours after I got home, I was hobbling around becuase my left (or sinister) foot hurt quite a bit. I took 10 days off of running, went on two short practice runs last week of 2-3 miles each just to make sure everything was OK. It was.
This past Sunday was the Shamrock Shuffle. I ran 4.97 miles with 40,000 of my closest personal friends (in the hottest temperatures we had seen in 6 months). Thousands came out to cheer me on. All those signs that said "Go MOM Go"? They were for me.
Around the 4-mile mark, I realized something in my foot had snapped or broken, but I was already 80% of the way done and the pain was not unbearable, and it didn't actually affect my ability to run at all, so I finished (61 seconds below my goal time!) and ahead of about 8,000 people. However, I landed myself at the doctor's office and subsequently radiology yesterday on suspicion of a stress fracture. So now? I'm just sitting at my desk, drinking some lukewarm tea (decaf green), waiting for the doctor to call, and having my youthful coworkers fetch my documents from the printer. I'm in a rolling chair too, so I can get around my office if need be.
The human body doesn't want to run 5 miles is the lesson I learned. I think I make a much better 5k runner than half-marathoner. So, there you go. Takeaway lesson: you don't get stress fractures being a sloth who watches TV. Is it Must-See-TV Friday yet?
Tuesday, April 05, 2011
Careerism
I am so excited to learn that we all work together. It's like, "OMG! Meet you in the break room for lunch!"
While we're eating lunch, we can discuss strategy, team build, and explore our interdepartmental relationships so that we can actualize synergies and capture the economies of scale we've all heard so much about. During thesetrying, difficult times of opportunity, we should not let our sense of urgency waiver. It's during economic times such as these that we can realize greater efficiencies and improve our market share as we bring key resources back on line as demand for our Random Three-Letter Acronym product rebounds.
I want each and every one of us to come together to be proactive, not reactive, to put our customers and stakeholders first. We need to continue to improve our on-time delivery performance while not sacrificing our corporate commitment to safety, quality, and sustainability. Let us look forward to the future to explore new strategic partnerships to bring additional value to our brand.
Also, I believe a memo came out letting us know that we are to cooperate fully with Scott Adams and Tom Fishburne as they occupy the cube on the left aisle about half-way down near the coffee pot.
I also found this on the most ludicrous job interview questions ever, and I wanted to share with all my new coworkers. So, don't get fired, but I am pretty sure the answer to the first question is ONE, but the more interesting question is what is the smallest MAXIMUM number of guesses it could take.
I did want to tell you that my kids are awesome. However, "school" is still kicking my rear-end. There is so much parental involvement in "school" (and I am not talking about homework and reading to my child, etc) that it is really a drag on me. It's the system. The special formatting of envelopes that return items to school (order forms, permission slips, signing homework to prove my kid read to me, and really, a standardized way of writing envelopes?!?!), the gym shirt with child's name written on front and back in letters 2-3" high, fall and spring picture day, spirit day, wear a hat day, wear funny socks day.
Also, they don't send home paper report cards any more. And as far as I can tell, they no longer assign letter grades (at least not in kindergarten like they did when I was a kid). The parents are supposed to log into the computer system and view their child's performance relative to state standards. It is 'graded' as met or did not meet. And there are about 100 categories of things that are checked from specific information (tie shoes, recognize numbers 1-31, write own name, etc) to Successful Learning Behaviors (listens attentively, respects adults, etc). I'm finding it all stressful and draining. That said, Chuckles likes school enough, we've moderated some of his annoying behaviors, and he's doing fine. That's good.
But school is killing me. And don't even get me started on the PTO. I volunteer, I swear. I would even volunteer more if any of the opportunities were outside the hours of 8:30 am to 4:30 pm. Oh, sure, there was an opportunity to volunteer at the fun fair but the planning meeting was Tuesday at 10 am. And just let me write you a check. A nice big one. I don't want any Market Day, wrapping paper, Scholastic Books, spring term school photos, overpriced bags of popcorn, coupon books, happy ads on the announcements, or raffle tickets for an ipod touch.
While we're eating lunch, we can discuss strategy, team build, and explore our interdepartmental relationships so that we can actualize synergies and capture the economies of scale we've all heard so much about. During these
I want each and every one of us to come together to be proactive, not reactive, to put our customers and stakeholders first. We need to continue to improve our on-time delivery performance while not sacrificing our corporate commitment to safety, quality, and sustainability. Let us look forward to the future to explore new strategic partnerships to bring additional value to our brand.
Also, I believe a memo came out letting us know that we are to cooperate fully with Scott Adams and Tom Fishburne as they occupy the cube on the left aisle about half-way down near the coffee pot.
I also found this on the most ludicrous job interview questions ever, and I wanted to share with all my new coworkers. So, don't get fired, but I am pretty sure the answer to the first question is ONE, but the more interesting question is what is the smallest MAXIMUM number of guesses it could take.
I did want to tell you that my kids are awesome. However, "school" is still kicking my rear-end. There is so much parental involvement in "school" (and I am not talking about homework and reading to my child, etc) that it is really a drag on me. It's the system. The special formatting of envelopes that return items to school (order forms, permission slips, signing homework to prove my kid read to me, and really, a standardized way of writing envelopes?!?!), the gym shirt with child's name written on front and back in letters 2-3" high, fall and spring picture day, spirit day, wear a hat day, wear funny socks day.
Also, they don't send home paper report cards any more. And as far as I can tell, they no longer assign letter grades (at least not in kindergarten like they did when I was a kid). The parents are supposed to log into the computer system and view their child's performance relative to state standards. It is 'graded' as met or did not meet. And there are about 100 categories of things that are checked from specific information (tie shoes, recognize numbers 1-31, write own name, etc) to Successful Learning Behaviors (listens attentively, respects adults, etc). I'm finding it all stressful and draining. That said, Chuckles likes school enough, we've moderated some of his annoying behaviors, and he's doing fine. That's good.
But school is killing me. And don't even get me started on the PTO. I volunteer, I swear. I would even volunteer more if any of the opportunities were outside the hours of 8:30 am to 4:30 pm. Oh, sure, there was an opportunity to volunteer at the fun fair but the planning meeting was Tuesday at 10 am. And just let me write you a check. A nice big one. I don't want any Market Day, wrapping paper, Scholastic Books, spring term school photos, overpriced bags of popcorn, coupon books, happy ads on the announcements, or raffle tickets for an ipod touch.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Competencies
Since my work-blogging went over so well, I am going to do some more. We're "aligning" our corporate something or other and we're all going to get standardized job titles. I work at a HUGE, giant, soulless multinational corporation, so this is really quite an undertaking. But rather than, say, giving us titles that in any way reflect our relative importance in the company or what we actually do, we're going to be given titles that I'm pretty sure are just code. So, here is my version of the (powerpoint, corporate template) slides teaching us all about how awesome this change is going to be, or maybe some HR goons just needed to justify their existence and the large contract they have with the consultants. Whichever.
{Begin Slide complete with picture of innocuous nature scene or earnest child in underdeveloped nation studying}
{New slide, wherein we forget everything that was on the last slide}
So long as my checks keep getting direct deposited into my account, I don't really care, but it's fun to watch the young engineers who are in their first jobs out of college actually care about this kind of thing. I used to care about it. But now, as long as the checks keep coming, I just don't care. Give me the title of Chief Cook or Underling #17 or even Sr. Peon. I'm cool with it.
So, for 6 minutes this weekend, both Mr. Long-Suffering and I wanted a 3rd baby (at the very same time). It was awfully amazing. But since I have the mirena and those 6 minutes were while we were serving the kids lunch, we were unable to act on it. However, after those six minutes, one kid backtalked and the other one puked, so there's that.
And now Mr. Long-Suffering is sick. There is very little more pathetic than a sick husband. He did put up the large fever numbers though just to prove it and get out of bedtime duty. Any adult with a 103.1 degree fever gets a pass on bedtime duty (mostly so he doesn't infect Bobo...sweet healthy Bobo).
Chuckles went on Monday (Spring Break!) to get his hair cut. I let him pick for himself. He asked the nice lady for a Beiber. Heaven help me. This is the first time he has ever indicated a preference for anything other than a spiky Mohawk. It's just the beginning, and I am not fully ready for his autonomy yet. I think I need another baby to get me through.
{Begin Slide complete with picture of innocuous nature scene or earnest child in underdeveloped nation studying}
- Purpose of Major Job Title
InflationRealignment - Standardize something
- Get new business cards! Maybe something in grey! FONTS!
- Ensure competencies at all levels of the organization
- Total rewards/compensation
- Succession planning (for when that old guy who writes the schedule finally retires)
{New slide, wherein we forget everything that was on the last slide}
- New Job Titles, Decoded
- P1 through P6 not eligible for new business cards, just cross stuff out and write with pen
- S6 are all the commsioned sales force, they get to work from home, have cell phones, business cards, company car, and expense account, and no we won't tell you the career path or succession planning for S6 jobs, but just know that it's not S5 that feeds into S6, k?
- C4 plastic explosives
- D1 through D9 are now called Seven of Nine
- M1 through M3 are your boss, but you have a dashed line to M4
- M4 is out of the office on business
- MI6 don't ask
So long as my checks keep getting direct deposited into my account, I don't really care, but it's fun to watch the young engineers who are in their first jobs out of college actually care about this kind of thing. I used to care about it. But now, as long as the checks keep coming, I just don't care. Give me the title of Chief Cook or Underling #17 or even Sr. Peon. I'm cool with it.
So, for 6 minutes this weekend, both Mr. Long-Suffering and I wanted a 3rd baby (at the very same time). It was awfully amazing. But since I have the mirena and those 6 minutes were while we were serving the kids lunch, we were unable to act on it. However, after those six minutes, one kid backtalked and the other one puked, so there's that.
And now Mr. Long-Suffering is sick. There is very little more pathetic than a sick husband. He did put up the large fever numbers though just to prove it and get out of bedtime duty. Any adult with a 103.1 degree fever gets a pass on bedtime duty (mostly so he doesn't infect Bobo...sweet healthy Bobo).
Chuckles went on Monday (Spring Break!) to get his hair cut. I let him pick for himself. He asked the nice lady for a Beiber. Heaven help me. This is the first time he has ever indicated a preference for anything other than a spiky Mohawk. It's just the beginning, and I am not fully ready for his autonomy yet. I think I need another baby to get me through.
Friday, March 11, 2011
TLA
My post title is TLA. It stands for Three-Lettered Acronym. We use a lot of jargon at work. To make fun of ourselves, we call something a TLA when we make up a word for it. On my buzzword BINGO card, one square is called "Random Four-Lettered Abbreviation Pronounced Like a Word".
Anyway, there is something that happens at my work called a Lightning Bolt. Rather than call it an LB (because clearly that would eventually be shortened to #), we call it LGBT, which of course, always makes me think that we're talking about Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender manufacturing issues. I giggle a little whenever a giant PowerPoint presentation comes up with that in it, because if they only knew what I was thinking....
You want to know what else is on my BINGO card?
I am jealous of people who are certain that their families are done. Done done done. My little family is done, but I want another sweet little baby to hold and nurse. I don't even like babies. They're all need-filled blankets. And yet...I want one.
When I was 25, I didn't want any kids. When I was 26, I wanted one, some day. When I was 27, I wanted one rightnow. I got Chuckles at 29. After his traumatic birth, my infertility, his no sleep ever ever, and my difficult adjustment to motherhood, I was sure that I could be one and done. Then I quit my job and was a SAHM for a while and was sure that I did not want any more kids thankyouverymuch.
Then I went back to work and had Bobo. He was conceived relatively easily (only one drug required!), I felt pretty good during the pregnancy (placenta previa and pelvic rest notwithstanding), the not-totally-unplanned c-section was very easy, he slept through the night from 6 weeks to 3 months (and not again until age 2). He nursed, grew, and slept. And I thought about having another. I actually like being pregnant, and I don't mind nursing.
But my husband is done. He's just done. Consequently, I am done. We have two (beautiful, healthy) kids. He doesn't want any more. He said if we had an oops, he'd be OK with it, but he just can't decide to have another. He wishes we didn't actually have to decide. He says normal people have too much wine and wind up with a baby.
So, we agreed that we're done. There are a few remote conditions where I get a third baby but they aren't very likely (an oops, we win the lottery (we don't play), someone leaves a baby on out front porch, or my 16-year old sister or one of her friends gets pregnant and wants us to adopt the baby). So, you can see that I don't get to have another baby. And yet, I want one. I never thought I would want 3 kids, but I do. Chuckles was about the age Bobo is now when I started thinking about having another one. Maybe that's some kind of hormonal thing. I wouldn't want my kids more than 3.5 years apart so I have less than 6 months to get pregnant. I guess I better go buy lottery tickets.
Subpart 3: I signed up to run a half-marathon in August (since I'm not having another baby and won't be pregnant then). I am crazy stupid, but whatever. It's done. Now I am training. I don't even like running. And the worst part? The other night I ran, came home, went to bed, and then dreamed I was running. Can I count that on my training log?
Anyway, there is something that happens at my work called a Lightning Bolt. Rather than call it an LB (because clearly that would eventually be shortened to #), we call it LGBT, which of course, always makes me think that we're talking about Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, and Transgender manufacturing issues. I giggle a little whenever a giant PowerPoint presentation comes up with that in it, because if they only knew what I was thinking....
You want to know what else is on my BINGO card?
- Synergies
- Proactive, not Reactive
- impactful (gah, kill me now)
- these trying/difficult economic times
- world-class or dynamic
- ROI
- Key Performance Indicators
- Urgency, sense of
- sustainability, corporate responsibility, green
- strategic
- safety
- progress
I am jealous of people who are certain that their families are done. Done done done. My little family is done, but I want another sweet little baby to hold and nurse. I don't even like babies. They're all need-filled blankets. And yet...I want one.
When I was 25, I didn't want any kids. When I was 26, I wanted one, some day. When I was 27, I wanted one rightnow. I got Chuckles at 29. After his traumatic birth, my infertility, his no sleep ever ever, and my difficult adjustment to motherhood, I was sure that I could be one and done. Then I quit my job and was a SAHM for a while and was sure that I did not want any more kids thankyouverymuch.
Then I went back to work and had Bobo. He was conceived relatively easily (only one drug required!), I felt pretty good during the pregnancy (placenta previa and pelvic rest notwithstanding), the not-totally-unplanned c-section was very easy, he slept through the night from 6 weeks to 3 months (and not again until age 2). He nursed, grew, and slept. And I thought about having another. I actually like being pregnant, and I don't mind nursing.
But my husband is done. He's just done. Consequently, I am done. We have two (beautiful, healthy) kids. He doesn't want any more. He said if we had an oops, he'd be OK with it, but he just can't decide to have another. He wishes we didn't actually have to decide. He says normal people have too much wine and wind up with a baby.
So, we agreed that we're done. There are a few remote conditions where I get a third baby but they aren't very likely (an oops, we win the lottery (we don't play), someone leaves a baby on out front porch, or my 16-year old sister or one of her friends gets pregnant and wants us to adopt the baby). So, you can see that I don't get to have another baby. And yet, I want one. I never thought I would want 3 kids, but I do. Chuckles was about the age Bobo is now when I started thinking about having another one. Maybe that's some kind of hormonal thing. I wouldn't want my kids more than 3.5 years apart so I have less than 6 months to get pregnant. I guess I better go buy lottery tickets.
Subpart 3: I signed up to run a half-marathon in August (since I'm not having another baby and won't be pregnant then). I am crazy stupid, but whatever. It's done. Now I am training. I don't even like running. And the worst part? The other night I ran, came home, went to bed, and then dreamed I was running. Can I count that on my training log?
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