I don’t know where to start.
I haven’t written about this because it’s not my story. It’s not my life. It’s not my business. But I can’t stop thinking about it.
I work with a great group of people. I’ve become good friends with some of my co-workers. One of them – let’s call her Sally – is a few years younger than me, a single mom of four. We both have 6-year-olds and share stories about them. Her other kids are older – three teenage girls.
About 5 weeks ago, we learned that the oldest, who’s 17, is pregnant. My friend, who is 37, is about to become a grandmother.
Holy frigging crap dot com.
We then learned that not only was Sally’s daughter pregnant, she estimated she was about 6 months along. She’d been hiding it from her mom, who (in her defense) works long hours to put food and cell phones on the table for her four kids.
The 17-year-old has had no prenatal care whatsoever. At her first prenatal appointment, it turned out that she was 7 months pregnant and the baby is due in the first week of June. Needless to say, Sally is crushed. She is already struggling to make ends meet. Her daughter is in denial that this even happening, and doesn’t seem to have a clue or a plan as to how she is going to care for the baby. The parents of the baby’s father say they don’t want the kids to get married just because of the baby, they don’t want their son to drop out of school, and they’ll help pay for whatever the baby needs. In theory, this is great. In reality, I feel like they’re letting him off the hook for taking care of his baby – and who knows if they’ll actually come through with any money consistently.
Pretty much every day, Sally has more bad news about this whole situation. She comes into my office and tells me the latest (which I won't share here) and asks me what she should do. Fortunately, we work in social services, so all the resources for a situation like this are readily at hand. But every time we talk, I can feel my stomach lining being eaten away. I don’t know how she is even walking upright.
Last night, after the kids were in bed, Sweet Dub and I were sitting on the couch watching the NBA playoffs. I guess I was staring off into space because Sweet Dub asked me what was on my mind.
“I can’t stop thinking about Sally,” I said, and told him a fraction of what she’d told me. Then I said, “I can’t help thinking about how I’m going to talk to my kids, about what my hopes and expectations are for them. I mean, I feel like she did the best she could and it wasn’t enough. I just feel so bad for her.”
If nothing else, this has led us to the latest of many talks about how we want to prepare our kids for life in general, and more specifically about how we want to talk with them when it comes to sexuality. My mom was always very frank with me and my sister, and I expect I will be the same with my two. And Sweet Dub is pretty much the master of being direct and open. We are not perfect, but we are pretty much both of the school of “better to have too much information than too little,” and of the credo, “what you don’t know CAN hurt you.”
In the meantime, our little group at work is pulling together a baby shower which will be as much about pampering Sally as about preparing for the baby.
It’s a girl.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Thursday’s Random Five
(1) An old friend of mine that I’ve reconnected with on Facebook just emailed me to invite me to join Tubely. As you know, I can barely keep up with this blog and Facebook, never mind yet another networking site. I took a look to see what the hell Tubely was. It’s an online dating service. Bwuh? Since we are both married, albeit to different people, I find this a bit bizarre. I just sent her a message saying, well, basically, “What?” People should quit smoking crack. Or meth. Or whatever the hot and happening’ drug is these days. I can’t keep up.
(2) How funny is the whole right-wing hullabaloo over teabagging? You can’t make this stuff up! I love it. Now I hear that the hard-core right-wing National Organization for Marriage has adopted the slogan "2M4M", which is supposed to be indicate they’re hip to the young folks with all the newfangled texting and tweeting and whatever it is they do. It allegedly stands for "2 Million for Marriage." Of course, once again, they failed to do their homework and oh, I don’t know, see if this is already in common usage. Others more hip than I have indicated that this code is very familiar on social networking sites and stands for "2 Men for a Man," i.e. two men looking for a third for a ménage-a-trois. I almost feel sorry for NOM – they can’t win for losing. It is highly entertaining.
(3) Two days ago it was 95 degrees here in Los Angeles. Today, we are looking at a high of 68. It’s overcast and a little drizzly in places. I’m wearing a sweater. Happy global warming!
(4) I fell off the 100-Pushup Challenge wagon this week. Boo. I was up to 89 pushups!
(5) In related news, there’s also a 200-Sit-up Challenge and a 200-Squat Challenge. I did the 200-Sit-up Challenge initial test and was able to do 69 consecutive sit-ups. I plan to start doing both challenges next week. In preparation, my thighs have been blubbering in the corner. That’s right, you better be scared!
(2) How funny is the whole right-wing hullabaloo over teabagging? You can’t make this stuff up! I love it. Now I hear that the hard-core right-wing National Organization for Marriage has adopted the slogan "2M4M", which is supposed to be indicate they’re hip to the young folks with all the newfangled texting and tweeting and whatever it is they do. It allegedly stands for "2 Million for Marriage." Of course, once again, they failed to do their homework and oh, I don’t know, see if this is already in common usage. Others more hip than I have indicated that this code is very familiar on social networking sites and stands for "2 Men for a Man," i.e. two men looking for a third for a ménage-a-trois. I almost feel sorry for NOM – they can’t win for losing. It is highly entertaining.
(3) Two days ago it was 95 degrees here in Los Angeles. Today, we are looking at a high of 68. It’s overcast and a little drizzly in places. I’m wearing a sweater. Happy global warming!
(4) I fell off the 100-Pushup Challenge wagon this week. Boo. I was up to 89 pushups!
(5) In related news, there’s also a 200-Sit-up Challenge and a 200-Squat Challenge. I did the 200-Sit-up Challenge initial test and was able to do 69 consecutive sit-ups. I plan to start doing both challenges next week. In preparation, my thighs have been blubbering in the corner. That’s right, you better be scared!
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
Be a Light Unto the Nations
On Friday, Viva came home with a notice in her backpack that International Day will be held on April 24th. Oh, how nice – what a great opportunity for the kids to learn about different cultures, etc. In the past, students at her school have been given the option of wearing traditional dress or bringing traditional food if they choose.
But not this year. This year, the school is having an International Talent Show and requiring kids to participate in it. The school is also requiring a monetary donation of $10 per kid. The school is also requiring each kid to bring a dish from their "home country." The school also wants parents to donate cultural items to a “mini-museum,” and wants parents to participate both in the talent show and the all-day events. What the fizzle?
[Commence rant.] If you are African-American, this whole thing is just annoying. First of all, what country are we to choose? Sweet Dub says, “America. She is American. Send some damn apple pie.”
I say, to be even more obnoxious, “She allegedly has Cherokee on both sides. Maybe I should send some cornbread. Or maybe I’ll send some maize.”
I’m not up on the AIM doings, but I do know that the Cherokee are a separate nation. Why not claim that as our country?
I have no idea which country or countries in Africa we hail from. I also have no idea which country or countries in Europe we hail from. I’ve heard rumors of Spanish descent on my side, and the Blah Blahs’ family surnames are all English or Irish in origin, but as we all know, that doesn’t mean we are necessarily related to the people who gave us those surnames. I’m Cherokee on my dad’s side and Gingaskin on my mom’s (the Gingaskin are actually a tri-racial tribe from the eastern shore of Virginia). Since the Gingaskins were terminated as a tribe by being absorbed as free “mulatto” or “colored” folk on the census rolls back in the day, I really have no idea what food they ate. Nor were they ever recognized as a separate nation, never mind one of the Five Civilized Tribes who are way more well-documented.
Don’t even get me started on the talent show.
Nonetheless, I think this is a good opportunity to talk with Viva about her heritage and appreciation for all the different peoples that make up the world. And I’m sure she’ll learn something. The question is, what can we teach her classmates about her nation?
Weigh in. I’m interested to hear what you think.
P.S. Can I also just say that I find it annoying that the school is having International Day during the same week as Earth Day? And yet they have no Earth Day events planned. Why choose a random day to celebrate when you have an internationally-recognized eco-conscious day already on the calendar? Save the earth or there will be no nations. For heaven’s sake!
But not this year. This year, the school is having an International Talent Show and requiring kids to participate in it. The school is also requiring a monetary donation of $10 per kid. The school is also requiring each kid to bring a dish from their "home country." The school also wants parents to donate cultural items to a “mini-museum,” and wants parents to participate both in the talent show and the all-day events. What the fizzle?
[Commence rant.] If you are African-American, this whole thing is just annoying. First of all, what country are we to choose? Sweet Dub says, “America. She is American. Send some damn apple pie.”
I say, to be even more obnoxious, “She allegedly has Cherokee on both sides. Maybe I should send some cornbread. Or maybe I’ll send some maize.”
I’m not up on the AIM doings, but I do know that the Cherokee are a separate nation. Why not claim that as our country?
I have no idea which country or countries in Africa we hail from. I also have no idea which country or countries in Europe we hail from. I’ve heard rumors of Spanish descent on my side, and the Blah Blahs’ family surnames are all English or Irish in origin, but as we all know, that doesn’t mean we are necessarily related to the people who gave us those surnames. I’m Cherokee on my dad’s side and Gingaskin on my mom’s (the Gingaskin are actually a tri-racial tribe from the eastern shore of Virginia). Since the Gingaskins were terminated as a tribe by being absorbed as free “mulatto” or “colored” folk on the census rolls back in the day, I really have no idea what food they ate. Nor were they ever recognized as a separate nation, never mind one of the Five Civilized Tribes who are way more well-documented.
Don’t even get me started on the talent show.
Nonetheless, I think this is a good opportunity to talk with Viva about her heritage and appreciation for all the different peoples that make up the world. And I’m sure she’ll learn something. The question is, what can we teach her classmates about her nation?
Weigh in. I’m interested to hear what you think.
P.S. Can I also just say that I find it annoying that the school is having International Day during the same week as Earth Day? And yet they have no Earth Day events planned. Why choose a random day to celebrate when you have an internationally-recognized eco-conscious day already on the calendar? Save the earth or there will be no nations. For heaven’s sake!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Now With Ginkgo Biloba
Two posts ago, I think I promised you two “You know you’re getting old when…” moments.
Here they are.
Moment #1. 99 Cents Store on Sunset in Hollywood. I am standing in line between (a) members of a large family who have all used the same cart but are all paying for their items separately in several complicated transactions and (b) a young woman with bleached platinum spiky hair, black fingernail polish and a large ring through her nose*. The latter is, of course, on her cell phone.
Over the PA system, Annie Lennox's "Walkin' On Broken Glass" comes on. Young woman behind me shrieks into phone, "Oh my God, this is one of my favorite songs of all time! [singing into phone] Walkin' on walkin' on broken glass... Yeah, my mom totally raised me on this shit!"
Um, yeah. That’s what I was listening to when I was working my first job out of college. That made me want to curl up into a fetal position with a pint of Haagen-Dazs.
Moment #2. Sweet Dub is at work. He and a female coworker who is about his age are discussing a movie which is on the production schedule. It is a remake of Fame. Another coworker says, “What’s Fame?”
Sweet Dub and the female coworker look at each other. She says, “You know, Fame? Irene Cara? I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly? You know, it was a TV show?”
Second coworker has no idea what they’re talking about. “How old are you?” Sweet Dub says.
“Twenty-seven,” the guy says.
Yeah. Haagen-Dazs, please.
*Sweet Dub tells me later that I am describing what is known as a suicide girl. Oh, you crazy kids!
Here they are.
Moment #1. 99 Cents Store on Sunset in Hollywood. I am standing in line between (a) members of a large family who have all used the same cart but are all paying for their items separately in several complicated transactions and (b) a young woman with bleached platinum spiky hair, black fingernail polish and a large ring through her nose*. The latter is, of course, on her cell phone.
Over the PA system, Annie Lennox's "Walkin' On Broken Glass" comes on. Young woman behind me shrieks into phone, "Oh my God, this is one of my favorite songs of all time! [singing into phone] Walkin' on walkin' on broken glass... Yeah, my mom totally raised me on this shit!"
Um, yeah. That’s what I was listening to when I was working my first job out of college. That made me want to curl up into a fetal position with a pint of Haagen-Dazs.
Moment #2. Sweet Dub is at work. He and a female coworker who is about his age are discussing a movie which is on the production schedule. It is a remake of Fame. Another coworker says, “What’s Fame?”
Sweet Dub and the female coworker look at each other. She says, “You know, Fame? Irene Cara? I’m gonna live forever, I’m gonna learn how to fly? You know, it was a TV show?”
Second coworker has no idea what they’re talking about. “How old are you?” Sweet Dub says.
“Twenty-seven,” the guy says.
Yeah. Haagen-Dazs, please.
*Sweet Dub tells me later that I am describing what is known as a suicide girl. Oh, you crazy kids!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Whee Fit
I realize I have not yet done a recap of Viva’s birthday (April 1st), and I think that is because I am still recovering. I haven’t written anything yet about how great it is that she is six and how I love this age, nor have I written about any kind “cat’s in the cradle and the silver spoon” moment where I suddenly realize that she will be grown up and gone before I know it and I’ll be sitting at home morosely tuning my guitar and making up songs about her. (Please note that I do not play the guitar. This is one of my life goals, however.)
That said, let me tell you that Sweet Dub had the brilliant idea of piggybacking onto Viva’s Christmas gift and purchasing the Wii Fit for her birthday. Viva is a natural athlete, which is constantly amazing to me as I am quite possibly the most uncoordinated and klutziest person going. No, seriously. She participates in Sports Clinic after school and has won all kinds of trophies and ribbons, including the MVP for flag football. I do not say this to brag, but as background for this purchase. Her favorite games on the Wii are mostly sports, so the Wii Fit actually made sense.
As soon as Viva opened the Wii Fit, Sweet Dub set about syncing it with our existing system and within a few seconds had completely fried both systems so neither would work. This led to a lot of stomping around and some muttered expletives.
However, several days later he sat down and worked out the bugs, and he and Viva started using it. Last night, they both prevailed upon me to use it for the first time.
I am pleased to report that (a) I weigh less than I thought and (b) my body mass index is 20.5. I am not surprised to report that the Wii balance board says my posture is wiggity wack and I’m unbalanced. I am mortified to report that my Wii age is 55. FIFTY-FIVE.
Okay, some days I may feel 55. But I am not actually anywhere close to 55. And I never drive 55. (Huh?)
Update on the 100 pushup challenge: 77. I fell off the wagon and missed a day so it’s screwed up my log. But I’m still working out and I feel pretty good.
So, how about you? How’s the family? How’s life treating you? I’m out of touch.
That said, let me tell you that Sweet Dub had the brilliant idea of piggybacking onto Viva’s Christmas gift and purchasing the Wii Fit for her birthday. Viva is a natural athlete, which is constantly amazing to me as I am quite possibly the most uncoordinated and klutziest person going. No, seriously. She participates in Sports Clinic after school and has won all kinds of trophies and ribbons, including the MVP for flag football. I do not say this to brag, but as background for this purchase. Her favorite games on the Wii are mostly sports, so the Wii Fit actually made sense.
As soon as Viva opened the Wii Fit, Sweet Dub set about syncing it with our existing system and within a few seconds had completely fried both systems so neither would work. This led to a lot of stomping around and some muttered expletives.
However, several days later he sat down and worked out the bugs, and he and Viva started using it. Last night, they both prevailed upon me to use it for the first time.
I am pleased to report that (a) I weigh less than I thought and (b) my body mass index is 20.5. I am not surprised to report that the Wii balance board says my posture is wiggity wack and I’m unbalanced. I am mortified to report that my Wii age is 55. FIFTY-FIVE.
Okay, some days I may feel 55. But I am not actually anywhere close to 55. And I never drive 55. (Huh?)
Update on the 100 pushup challenge: 77. I fell off the wagon and missed a day so it’s screwed up my log. But I’m still working out and I feel pretty good.
So, how about you? How’s the family? How’s life treating you? I’m out of touch.
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
This, That and the Other
Well, hello! How’ve you been?
I’m on call for Jury Duty this week, so every day I’ve been at work I’ve been frantically trying to finish things just in case I get called. I have been working through my lunch hour, rather than blogging during lunch as I sometimes do. And then, at home I have actually been (a) working out (b) spending time with my family and (c) getting caught up on all the stuff that’s backed up on our DVR. Last night I watched multiple episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. Somehow I had missed three weeks in a row. What on earth?
All this to say, not blogging much although there’s lots to blog about. Highlights:
Sweet Dub is getting some kind of promotion at his job. We don’t yet know what exactly this means. Will he get more money? More time off? Or should he just be happy he has a job in this economy and not expect any compensation for these extra responsibilities (which are substantial)? He’s meeting with the mucky-mucks today. We’ll see. Maybe they will offer him a kajillion dollars and I can stay home and eat bonbons. I mean, do volunteer work. Oh, I mean, take my kid out of day care and go to Mommy and Me classes and roll my eyes at the moms in their yoga wear texting on their Blackberries. Because I would never do that!
Viva seems to have turned six, although I don’t even comprehend how it is possible that she is that old. She had two parties. Photos forthcoming (I brought the camera with me to work but have the wrong size USB cable, and my work computer has no memory card slot. I can not even tell you how irritated I am at technology at this point).
Viva has been sick for the past week with some sort of stomach thing. She is hardly eating anything. Monday I sent her to school with rice, crackers, a banana and some yogurt. Instead, she weaseled school lunch out of her teacher…and ended up paying for it with four separate rushed trips to the bathroom between lunch and 4 pm. Needless to say, she contritely went back on the boring diet.
Cily has developed separation anxiety, but not the normal kind, because why be normal? No, she doesn’t get upset if I leave her at daycare. She gets upset when we are getting ready in the morning and I have to put her down so I can get dressed. I can’t go to work in my underwear. I really don’t think that would go over too well, even on Casual Fridays.
I am still doing the 100-pushup challenge – 67 pushups on Monday. My arms feel like they were carved out of granite.
I am also doing Pilates, which is obviously (obviously!) the invention of some psychologically twisted person. I am convinced that I have no abdominal muscles at all. Maybe elves took them while I was asleep. Anyway, I was working out to an ab sculpting DVD last night and I swear to you the people on the DVD were doing things that are physiologically impossible. I also must tell you that I was more than a little grossed out by Mari Winsor telling me to tweeze my buttocks as we moved into various positions. (FYI, it’s not what you’d think. However, I am far too literal and visual a person for her to use that terminology.)
Speaking of technology – which I did, about 4 paragraphs ago – I am doing research on various forms of electronics for this foster teen program we are developing for work, and all I can conclude is this: I need a new laptop, a pocket video camera, and an MP3 player in order for my life to be complete. And I need them all now.
Beyond these petty concerns, I am enjoying the cooler, overcast weather today, and I am delighted that yet again the Blah Blah family seems to have been adopted by a cat. And, power to the people: this is another black cat. You may recall that at our old house, we were adopted by Jean-Jean*, who was inexplicably moody, at times extremely friendly and at times not. This mystery was cleared up when we discovered that there were actually two long-haired black cats with green eyes visiting our yard. One was tame, the other, not.
This new black cat is extremely tame, to the point where when I sit down on the back steps, he jumps into my lap. Tame to the point where he stands and scratches at the back door to let us know he’s there. Tame to the point where he jumps up onto the (covered) barbecue grill and peers into the kitchen window, as if to will us to come out and play. Tame to the point where, when Viva leaves the laundry room door ajar, he just saunters on in like he owns the place.
It has been fun to watch Viva getting used to him. She has never been around a cat that is this used to people. When I casually pick him up and remove him from somewhere he is not supposed to be, she gazes at me in rapture like I am a lion tamer. It is quite funny. I am considering investing in a top hat. Maybe I’ll sell tickets in the front yard.
Next time: two “you know you’re old when…” moments. Oh, dear.
* I went back through my old blog posts to find the one where I posted a picture of him, and alas! I can't seem to find it. Sorry. But know that he was a most beautiful cat.
I’m on call for Jury Duty this week, so every day I’ve been at work I’ve been frantically trying to finish things just in case I get called. I have been working through my lunch hour, rather than blogging during lunch as I sometimes do. And then, at home I have actually been (a) working out (b) spending time with my family and (c) getting caught up on all the stuff that’s backed up on our DVR. Last night I watched multiple episodes of The Office and 30 Rock. Somehow I had missed three weeks in a row. What on earth?
All this to say, not blogging much although there’s lots to blog about. Highlights:
Sweet Dub is getting some kind of promotion at his job. We don’t yet know what exactly this means. Will he get more money? More time off? Or should he just be happy he has a job in this economy and not expect any compensation for these extra responsibilities (which are substantial)? He’s meeting with the mucky-mucks today. We’ll see. Maybe they will offer him a kajillion dollars and I can stay home and eat bonbons. I mean, do volunteer work. Oh, I mean, take my kid out of day care and go to Mommy and Me classes and roll my eyes at the moms in their yoga wear texting on their Blackberries. Because I would never do that!
Viva seems to have turned six, although I don’t even comprehend how it is possible that she is that old. She had two parties. Photos forthcoming (I brought the camera with me to work but have the wrong size USB cable, and my work computer has no memory card slot. I can not even tell you how irritated I am at technology at this point).
Viva has been sick for the past week with some sort of stomach thing. She is hardly eating anything. Monday I sent her to school with rice, crackers, a banana and some yogurt. Instead, she weaseled school lunch out of her teacher…and ended up paying for it with four separate rushed trips to the bathroom between lunch and 4 pm. Needless to say, she contritely went back on the boring diet.
Cily has developed separation anxiety, but not the normal kind, because why be normal? No, she doesn’t get upset if I leave her at daycare. She gets upset when we are getting ready in the morning and I have to put her down so I can get dressed. I can’t go to work in my underwear. I really don’t think that would go over too well, even on Casual Fridays.
I am still doing the 100-pushup challenge – 67 pushups on Monday. My arms feel like they were carved out of granite.
I am also doing Pilates, which is obviously (obviously!) the invention of some psychologically twisted person. I am convinced that I have no abdominal muscles at all. Maybe elves took them while I was asleep. Anyway, I was working out to an ab sculpting DVD last night and I swear to you the people on the DVD were doing things that are physiologically impossible. I also must tell you that I was more than a little grossed out by Mari Winsor telling me to tweeze my buttocks as we moved into various positions. (FYI, it’s not what you’d think. However, I am far too literal and visual a person for her to use that terminology.)
Speaking of technology – which I did, about 4 paragraphs ago – I am doing research on various forms of electronics for this foster teen program we are developing for work, and all I can conclude is this: I need a new laptop, a pocket video camera, and an MP3 player in order for my life to be complete. And I need them all now.
Beyond these petty concerns, I am enjoying the cooler, overcast weather today, and I am delighted that yet again the Blah Blah family seems to have been adopted by a cat. And, power to the people: this is another black cat. You may recall that at our old house, we were adopted by Jean-Jean*, who was inexplicably moody, at times extremely friendly and at times not. This mystery was cleared up when we discovered that there were actually two long-haired black cats with green eyes visiting our yard. One was tame, the other, not.
This new black cat is extremely tame, to the point where when I sit down on the back steps, he jumps into my lap. Tame to the point where he stands and scratches at the back door to let us know he’s there. Tame to the point where he jumps up onto the (covered) barbecue grill and peers into the kitchen window, as if to will us to come out and play. Tame to the point where, when Viva leaves the laundry room door ajar, he just saunters on in like he owns the place.
It has been fun to watch Viva getting used to him. She has never been around a cat that is this used to people. When I casually pick him up and remove him from somewhere he is not supposed to be, she gazes at me in rapture like I am a lion tamer. It is quite funny. I am considering investing in a top hat. Maybe I’ll sell tickets in the front yard.
Next time: two “you know you’re old when…” moments. Oh, dear.
* I went back through my old blog posts to find the one where I posted a picture of him, and alas! I can't seem to find it. Sorry. But know that he was a most beautiful cat.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Freak Accident
Weekends have not been kind to me the last couple of weeks.
The weekend before last, I (unknowingly) ran over a piece of metal in my car and had to get the tire patched. Translation: I realized my tire was making the universal “I’m losing air” sound about a mile from home, pulled over and checked it, drove home at about 2 miles an hour, and ran into the house yelling up the stairs for Sweet Dub to come down. It then became his responsibility to fix the tire. You know, I consider myself a feminist, but this is one instance where I am happy to play the helpless damsel in distress because I just don’t want to deal with it.
So, this past weekend. Sweet Dub is lying on the couch, sick as a dog. Cily is asleep. Viva is…hmm, I’m not sure what she’s doing. She may be out in the back yard trying to find the latest cat who has decided we belong to him.
I am upstairs, having decided that our house is a Den of Filth and that I am going to clean from the top down. I start with the bathroom. I have already scrubbed the toilet and the tub. I am in the tub with my jeans rolled up, scrubbing the glass shower doors. I slide one of the glass panels over to get to the other one better, and all of a sudden there is a big crash. I am no longer holding the door, because the door is no longer there. I am standing ankle deep in bare feet in chunks of glass. Beads of blood are already starting to form on my arms. I realize if I move I am going to really hurt myself. I scream for Sweet Dub, who is already awake and moving because he heard the crash. He and Viva run upstairs. He and I both yell at Viva to stay out of the room because the glass has shattered all over the floor as well as the tub. It is in the toilet. It is in my hair. It is in the rolled-up cuffs of my jeans, and in the hood of my sweatshirt. Part of the shower door is still swinging a bit from the frame of the shower. Viva is whimpering. Cily sleeps through the whole thing.
Sweet Dub walks carefully into the room in sneakers and lifts me out of the tub. When I put my feet down, I cut myself – which I think was inevitable because tiny slivers of glass are clinging to my feet. I stand out in the hallway right outside the bathroom and carefully pull off my clothes, which we throw into a bucket. I have a couple of really deep gashes in my hands, on the outer parts of my thumbs, below the knuckle, and my left wrist is slashed up. I also have many smaller scratches all over my hands and feet. I wrap my hands in an old T-shirt and apply pressure. It could have been worse. What if Viva had been in the shower? I don’t think she would have had the presence of mind not to move, so she would have been cut up much worse.
Our landlord’s father is the one who put the shower in. It’s supposed to be a floating glass door, i.e. it doesn’t have a frame around the sides or bottom, only at the top. So when it jumped the track a millimeter, it hit the tub and with no frame to protect it, fell to pieces. At least, that’s what we think happened.
I don’t want to replace it. A tension rod and a shower curtain, and I’m all good.
On Sunday, Sweet Dub said to me, “Can we just make a pact? Can we go one weekend where you’re not screaming ‘HON-EAAY!!!’ with the latest disaster up or down the stairs?”
I’d like that. I really would.
The weekend before last, I (unknowingly) ran over a piece of metal in my car and had to get the tire patched. Translation: I realized my tire was making the universal “I’m losing air” sound about a mile from home, pulled over and checked it, drove home at about 2 miles an hour, and ran into the house yelling up the stairs for Sweet Dub to come down. It then became his responsibility to fix the tire. You know, I consider myself a feminist, but this is one instance where I am happy to play the helpless damsel in distress because I just don’t want to deal with it.
So, this past weekend. Sweet Dub is lying on the couch, sick as a dog. Cily is asleep. Viva is…hmm, I’m not sure what she’s doing. She may be out in the back yard trying to find the latest cat who has decided we belong to him.
I am upstairs, having decided that our house is a Den of Filth and that I am going to clean from the top down. I start with the bathroom. I have already scrubbed the toilet and the tub. I am in the tub with my jeans rolled up, scrubbing the glass shower doors. I slide one of the glass panels over to get to the other one better, and all of a sudden there is a big crash. I am no longer holding the door, because the door is no longer there. I am standing ankle deep in bare feet in chunks of glass. Beads of blood are already starting to form on my arms. I realize if I move I am going to really hurt myself. I scream for Sweet Dub, who is already awake and moving because he heard the crash. He and Viva run upstairs. He and I both yell at Viva to stay out of the room because the glass has shattered all over the floor as well as the tub. It is in the toilet. It is in my hair. It is in the rolled-up cuffs of my jeans, and in the hood of my sweatshirt. Part of the shower door is still swinging a bit from the frame of the shower. Viva is whimpering. Cily sleeps through the whole thing.
Sweet Dub walks carefully into the room in sneakers and lifts me out of the tub. When I put my feet down, I cut myself – which I think was inevitable because tiny slivers of glass are clinging to my feet. I stand out in the hallway right outside the bathroom and carefully pull off my clothes, which we throw into a bucket. I have a couple of really deep gashes in my hands, on the outer parts of my thumbs, below the knuckle, and my left wrist is slashed up. I also have many smaller scratches all over my hands and feet. I wrap my hands in an old T-shirt and apply pressure. It could have been worse. What if Viva had been in the shower? I don’t think she would have had the presence of mind not to move, so she would have been cut up much worse.
Our landlord’s father is the one who put the shower in. It’s supposed to be a floating glass door, i.e. it doesn’t have a frame around the sides or bottom, only at the top. So when it jumped the track a millimeter, it hit the tub and with no frame to protect it, fell to pieces. At least, that’s what we think happened.
I don’t want to replace it. A tension rod and a shower curtain, and I’m all good.
On Sunday, Sweet Dub said to me, “Can we just make a pact? Can we go one weekend where you’re not screaming ‘HON-EAAY!!!’ with the latest disaster up or down the stairs?”
I’d like that. I really would.
Physical Fitness
Hey, so the 100 push-up challenge! I started yesterday. I did my pre-challenge test on Saturday morning and discovered I could do 22 modified (on my knees) pushups. I decided to do the modified ones first and once I reach 100 of those, I’ll re-do the challenge but this time do standard pushups. I’ll be doing my pushups on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays.
So, Day One, Monday: 25 pushups.
FYI: I am also doing yoga on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and doing cardio workouts on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Sunday is my day of rest. Rrrarrh! (I feel very Howard Dean, even typing that.)
Stay tuned. I’m going to be a lean machine. For those who are also doing the challenge: how has it been for you? How do you feel? I’m honestly kind of surprised that I can already see progress. But that’s good for me, because too often I get discouraged if I don’t feel I’m moving forward, even though I’ve just started. That’s me, part of the Instant Gratification Generation. Ooh, look, something shiny!*
Edited to add: once again, I’ve started something without fully researching what I’m supposed to be doing. I just went onto the website to log my pushups and I realized I’m supposed to be doing SETS. Duh. So I’m starting on Week 3 and tomorrow I’ll be doing several sets of pushups. Holy crap. I’ll let you know how that goes and if I’m still as enthusiastic about the program.
* I said that to Viva the other day as a joke, and she whipped her head around and said, “Where?” Then I felt like kind of an ass. Good parenting skills!
So, Day One, Monday: 25 pushups.
FYI: I am also doing yoga on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday schedule, and doing cardio workouts on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Sunday is my day of rest. Rrrarrh! (I feel very Howard Dean, even typing that.)
Stay tuned. I’m going to be a lean machine. For those who are also doing the challenge: how has it been for you? How do you feel? I’m honestly kind of surprised that I can already see progress. But that’s good for me, because too often I get discouraged if I don’t feel I’m moving forward, even though I’ve just started. That’s me, part of the Instant Gratification Generation. Ooh, look, something shiny!*
Edited to add: once again, I’ve started something without fully researching what I’m supposed to be doing. I just went onto the website to log my pushups and I realized I’m supposed to be doing SETS. Duh. So I’m starting on Week 3 and tomorrow I’ll be doing several sets of pushups. Holy crap. I’ll let you know how that goes and if I’m still as enthusiastic about the program.
* I said that to Viva the other day as a joke, and she whipped her head around and said, “Where?” Then I felt like kind of an ass. Good parenting skills!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Good Concept, Not So Great Execution
So I blew off a little bit of steam yesterday. I was at work and I was a little pissed off and I didn't have a whole lot of time, so I have no idea whether yesterday's post was even remotely coherent. And what's more, I'm not all that worried about it.
You may have noticed (or not! and it matters not a whit whether you have or not) that I have been on a Grace in Small Things hiatus. Not because I don’t want to appreciate all the small wonderful things in my life. They are there, and participating in GIST was a great exercise to recognize that. But it’s hard to come up with things that are wonderful and great besides my kids and my husband every day (say what you want about my personal limitations), and then that becomes kind of hackneyed and predictable. “Hey, she’s happily married and she loves her kids and she’s saying it AGAIN!” Snore.
I think my default setting is a little snarky, with a side of riled up. And I think that having a space where I can blog about these things lets me blow off steam, which allows me to be better – better at my spousing and parenting and job thing. So mixing the Grace in Small Things in with this blog space was not the best move for me.* It may work for other people.
Don’t worry – this doesn’t mean I’ll be pissed off here all the time. Just that the GIST thing seemed to be messing with the Blah Blah vibe.
At any rate, you know what's a good idea when you're pissed off about something? It's a good idea to channel your fury into something positive. Hence and therefore:
I'm joining Nerd Girl in the 100-pushup challenge! (How's that for a segue?) And I have to say, I'm going to try my damnedest to do it. My problem is that I start off these things with all the best intentions, and then life happens and my good intentions kind of run off the rails. While this is very vexing to me, it might be quite entertaining to you, and you know me, I'm all about the entertainment. (That's me, I'm a giver.)
Do you want to try it? What's the harm? Come on in!
* I’m moving it back over to GIST where it belongs. You are welcome to visit it there.
You may have noticed (or not! and it matters not a whit whether you have or not) that I have been on a Grace in Small Things hiatus. Not because I don’t want to appreciate all the small wonderful things in my life. They are there, and participating in GIST was a great exercise to recognize that. But it’s hard to come up with things that are wonderful and great besides my kids and my husband every day (say what you want about my personal limitations), and then that becomes kind of hackneyed and predictable. “Hey, she’s happily married and she loves her kids and she’s saying it AGAIN!” Snore.
I think my default setting is a little snarky, with a side of riled up. And I think that having a space where I can blog about these things lets me blow off steam, which allows me to be better – better at my spousing and parenting and job thing. So mixing the Grace in Small Things in with this blog space was not the best move for me.* It may work for other people.
Don’t worry – this doesn’t mean I’ll be pissed off here all the time. Just that the GIST thing seemed to be messing with the Blah Blah vibe.
At any rate, you know what's a good idea when you're pissed off about something? It's a good idea to channel your fury into something positive. Hence and therefore:
I'm joining Nerd Girl in the 100-pushup challenge! (How's that for a segue?) And I have to say, I'm going to try my damnedest to do it. My problem is that I start off these things with all the best intentions, and then life happens and my good intentions kind of run off the rails. While this is very vexing to me, it might be quite entertaining to you, and you know me, I'm all about the entertainment. (That's me, I'm a giver.)
Do you want to try it? What's the harm? Come on in!
* I’m moving it back over to GIST where it belongs. You are welcome to visit it there.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Kumbaya
Sometimes I think life is too stressful and we’re all too angry and we all need to just breathe and link arms and teach the world to sing in perfect harmony. And then I come across a rant like this, on Bitch, PhD. (I’ll stop for a second so you can go read it, if you want. By the way, my favorite part of it is this, in regard to the AIG bonuses: “This tearing the doors off the barn and then running around trying to figure out how to Teach a Lesson to the cow that wandered into the kitchen is stupid bullshit, unworthy of anyone over the age of three. Put some goddamn fucking doors on the goddamn barn. That one cow isn't any different than any of the others, if you were a cow you wouldn't be either, and even if you shoot it in the head your kitchen is still going to be a mess and a different cow is going to wander in tomorrow.”)
I read a rant like this, and I think, no, you know what? NO. America, we have every damn right to be angry. Yeah, I’m tired of being pissed off at things, but the world is not all lollipops and rainbows. There’s a reason I’m pissed off. And as someone I’m too lazy to look up and cite properly once said, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.”
I’m pissed off and I’m sleep deprived, and I have no time to tie my own shoes. If I get my kid off to school each day with her hair oiled and combed and her teeth brushed and her face clean, I consider that a victory every damn day. I’m here to say I’m tired, man, and I’m not going to sugar coat it. I get up every day and do what I’m supposed to do, and nobody throws me a parade or gives me my own reality show for doing so. The economy is essentially flushing itself down the toilet and scaring me for the future of my children and yours, and I get up every morning and plow ahead anyway – that is the real story. Me and all of you like me, who don’t expect to get something for nothing, who don’t hang your hopes on some bullshit system – you get up and you grumble a little bit and you try to raise your kids the best way you know how. You try to be the best person you can be. You think about your parents, your grandparents, about people you know who have faced some of the worst horrors imaginable and come out – not whole, exactly, but with a kind of fractured intactness, and they function in the world, and they interact with people like you, and they think you are some crybaby fussypots for thinking these times are bad.
The sun rises. I get up. I have a job, I have a home, I have food. My kids are healthy and thriving. My bed is very comfortable. My husband calls upstairs to me that he’s leaving and it’s late.
I get up. The news is blaring, and the news ain’t good. I wipe bums, I pack lunchboxes, I put on lipstick. I drive through Los Angeles, explaining to my oldest the nuances of 6-year-old behavior on the playground. I kiss her as I drop her off. I almost get sideswiped by a black Escalade. I drop off the baby. I stop at the door and go back to kiss her again. I drive off. Passing the Metro station, I see an old woman with a shock of white hair and a white beard stumping around painfully, slowly pushing an overstuffed collapsible grocery carrier. I watch passersby avoid her. At work, I find out that requests to our internal emergency fund (for families who need immediate financial assistance due to eviction or job loss or relocation due to family violence) are up 75% over this time last year. At the same time, funding – from government sources and from private donors - is down.
You think, “What small thing can I do to make a difference?”
You get up.
I read a rant like this, and I think, no, you know what? NO. America, we have every damn right to be angry. Yeah, I’m tired of being pissed off at things, but the world is not all lollipops and rainbows. There’s a reason I’m pissed off. And as someone I’m too lazy to look up and cite properly once said, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.”
I’m pissed off and I’m sleep deprived, and I have no time to tie my own shoes. If I get my kid off to school each day with her hair oiled and combed and her teeth brushed and her face clean, I consider that a victory every damn day. I’m here to say I’m tired, man, and I’m not going to sugar coat it. I get up every day and do what I’m supposed to do, and nobody throws me a parade or gives me my own reality show for doing so. The economy is essentially flushing itself down the toilet and scaring me for the future of my children and yours, and I get up every morning and plow ahead anyway – that is the real story. Me and all of you like me, who don’t expect to get something for nothing, who don’t hang your hopes on some bullshit system – you get up and you grumble a little bit and you try to raise your kids the best way you know how. You try to be the best person you can be. You think about your parents, your grandparents, about people you know who have faced some of the worst horrors imaginable and come out – not whole, exactly, but with a kind of fractured intactness, and they function in the world, and they interact with people like you, and they think you are some crybaby fussypots for thinking these times are bad.
The sun rises. I get up. I have a job, I have a home, I have food. My kids are healthy and thriving. My bed is very comfortable. My husband calls upstairs to me that he’s leaving and it’s late.
I get up. The news is blaring, and the news ain’t good. I wipe bums, I pack lunchboxes, I put on lipstick. I drive through Los Angeles, explaining to my oldest the nuances of 6-year-old behavior on the playground. I kiss her as I drop her off. I almost get sideswiped by a black Escalade. I drop off the baby. I stop at the door and go back to kiss her again. I drive off. Passing the Metro station, I see an old woman with a shock of white hair and a white beard stumping around painfully, slowly pushing an overstuffed collapsible grocery carrier. I watch passersby avoid her. At work, I find out that requests to our internal emergency fund (for families who need immediate financial assistance due to eviction or job loss or relocation due to family violence) are up 75% over this time last year. At the same time, funding – from government sources and from private donors - is down.
You think, “What small thing can I do to make a difference?”
You get up.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Lunch Limbo
“Mom, I want to have school lunch.”
Oh, dear God. Well, I think we have fallen into a bit of a rut as far as packing a lunch from home. I admit it. Since the baby’s birth, I’ve started packing stuff I never would have sent to school with Viva before. I’ve actually broken down and bought – oh, the shame – junk food (Cheetos, I’m looking at you). And not just junk food, but individually packaged junk food, so not only am I potentially ruining my child’s health, but I’m simultaneously destroying the planet! All by my onesies!
Ah, my old friend, Guilt. When did you get back in town?
Okay, in all fairness, here’s what Viva went to school with this morning: tuna salad with multigrain crackers, strawberries, seedless red grapes, a “100 calorie” package of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies, and watered-down lemonade. (Regular readers may recall that Viva is not a big fan of the sandwich. I was pleased to discover recently that she loves a sandwich on a bagel, so that became a once-a-week staple until I learned that she was taking my lovingly constructed sandwiches apart and eating each component separately. Apparently this also meant she was throwing away the lettuce on the sandwich rather than eating it. Ugh.)
Her lunch generally consists of a “main course” with some kind of protein (can be anything from a turkey sandwich on a bagel to mac & cheese in a Thermos), one or two servings of fresh fruit (pretty much any fruit) or vegetables (edamame beans, baby carrots), a side of crackers or chips, and some kind of treat (this can be anything from a granola bar to Trader Joe’s yogurt to the occasional bag of cookies). And a drink. I don’t do juice boxes, so I fill up a reusable container with drinks from home – either water or watered-down juice. This covers two snack breaks and lunch during her school day.
When I asked Viva why she wanted school lunch, she said, “It just looks so good!” However, we have tried school lunch before, and aside from it being more expensive, there were often items that Viva simply didn’t like, and she’d come home hungry. Also, school lunch doesn’t include snacks, so I had to pack a lunchbox every day anyway.
I’ve been looking up lunch ideas online and found some good suggestions to get me out of my rut at lunchopolis and ilunchbox. Let’s face it – I’m never going to send Viva off with the gorgeous lunches you might see at Vegan Lunch Box. But I’ve got to think if I mix it up a bit more, she might back off on going back on the lunch plan at school…for the moment.
What about you? Do you have any fairly easy, fairly healthy lunchbox suggestions? Throw ‘em my way! I’m open!
Oh, dear God. Well, I think we have fallen into a bit of a rut as far as packing a lunch from home. I admit it. Since the baby’s birth, I’ve started packing stuff I never would have sent to school with Viva before. I’ve actually broken down and bought – oh, the shame – junk food (Cheetos, I’m looking at you). And not just junk food, but individually packaged junk food, so not only am I potentially ruining my child’s health, but I’m simultaneously destroying the planet! All by my onesies!
Ah, my old friend, Guilt. When did you get back in town?
Okay, in all fairness, here’s what Viva went to school with this morning: tuna salad with multigrain crackers, strawberries, seedless red grapes, a “100 calorie” package of Pepperidge Farm Chessmen cookies, and watered-down lemonade. (Regular readers may recall that Viva is not a big fan of the sandwich. I was pleased to discover recently that she loves a sandwich on a bagel, so that became a once-a-week staple until I learned that she was taking my lovingly constructed sandwiches apart and eating each component separately. Apparently this also meant she was throwing away the lettuce on the sandwich rather than eating it. Ugh.)
Her lunch generally consists of a “main course” with some kind of protein (can be anything from a turkey sandwich on a bagel to mac & cheese in a Thermos), one or two servings of fresh fruit (pretty much any fruit) or vegetables (edamame beans, baby carrots), a side of crackers or chips, and some kind of treat (this can be anything from a granola bar to Trader Joe’s yogurt to the occasional bag of cookies). And a drink. I don’t do juice boxes, so I fill up a reusable container with drinks from home – either water or watered-down juice. This covers two snack breaks and lunch during her school day.
When I asked Viva why she wanted school lunch, she said, “It just looks so good!” However, we have tried school lunch before, and aside from it being more expensive, there were often items that Viva simply didn’t like, and she’d come home hungry. Also, school lunch doesn’t include snacks, so I had to pack a lunchbox every day anyway.
I’ve been looking up lunch ideas online and found some good suggestions to get me out of my rut at lunchopolis and ilunchbox. Let’s face it – I’m never going to send Viva off with the gorgeous lunches you might see at Vegan Lunch Box. But I’ve got to think if I mix it up a bit more, she might back off on going back on the lunch plan at school…for the moment.
What about you? Do you have any fairly easy, fairly healthy lunchbox suggestions? Throw ‘em my way! I’m open!
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Joy of Not Cooking
This week, suddenly and unexpectedly, I have completely lost interest in cooking.
You know, I think I had a fairly good run there. I'm one of those who sits down on Sunday and maps out meals for the week, and then draws up a grocery list based on that, and then pretty much follows the meal plan with a little improv here and there. But I've just had it. I just want to come home and spend some time with the kids. This evening when I came home with Cily, Sweet Dub was mid-workout in the living room. Viva was upstairs, having finished her homework, and she proudly showed me her MVP ribbon from football clinic at school. I changed my clothes and folded laundry while sitting on the floor in my bedroom next to Cily on her activity mat. Viva plopped down with us and began playing an elaborate game of cars, planes and dinosaurs, which I provided some of the voices for. It was -- dare I say it? -- relaxing.
Sweet Dub came upstairs and asked what we should do for dinner. I realized I would be fine eating some fruit and a bagel sandwich, so that's what Viva and I had for dinner. Dub had leftover tortellini. All was well and the world did not fall off its axis. I could get used to this. The End.
You know, I think I had a fairly good run there. I'm one of those who sits down on Sunday and maps out meals for the week, and then draws up a grocery list based on that, and then pretty much follows the meal plan with a little improv here and there. But I've just had it. I just want to come home and spend some time with the kids. This evening when I came home with Cily, Sweet Dub was mid-workout in the living room. Viva was upstairs, having finished her homework, and she proudly showed me her MVP ribbon from football clinic at school. I changed my clothes and folded laundry while sitting on the floor in my bedroom next to Cily on her activity mat. Viva plopped down with us and began playing an elaborate game of cars, planes and dinosaurs, which I provided some of the voices for. It was -- dare I say it? -- relaxing.
Sweet Dub came upstairs and asked what we should do for dinner. I realized I would be fine eating some fruit and a bagel sandwich, so that's what Viva and I had for dinner. Dub had leftover tortellini. All was well and the world did not fall off its axis. I could get used to this. The End.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Lucky Thirteen.
Appreciating, on this thirteenth day of appreciating what I should appreciate:
1. I finally, after MONTHS of not, got my hair cut and colored on Saturday. I feel like a new woman!
2. New red shoes. HOT!
3. A quiet day at the office. I finished drafting my cover article, including sidebars and suggesting which photos to use.
4. Really good news from Sweet Dub's job. Apparently they appreciate him almost (ALMOST) as much as I do.
5. Jon Stewart taking on Jim Cramer. One love, Jon. One love.
1. I finally, after MONTHS of not, got my hair cut and colored on Saturday. I feel like a new woman!
2. New red shoes. HOT!
3. A quiet day at the office. I finished drafting my cover article, including sidebars and suggesting which photos to use.
4. Really good news from Sweet Dub's job. Apparently they appreciate him almost (ALMOST) as much as I do.
5. Jon Stewart taking on Jim Cramer. One love, Jon. One love.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Day Twelve. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.
Here are some small things for which I am grateful:
1. It’s Friday.
2. It’s cool and clear today, and because I am in Los Angeles, that means it’s 63 degrees. I never have to dig my car out of the snow before I go to work. As a Bostonian by birth, I know that is truly a blessing.
3. The Blah Blahs are officially planning a vacation. Destination as yet unknown (planning has just barely begun).
4. I gave a progress report on my foster care project in a meeting today. It was very well-received – staff are excited about all the possibilities of this new program. I am too. Maybe my enthusiasm rubbed off. But my boss and boss’ boss are particularly pleased.
5. I went to the Farmer’s Market at lunch today. There are few things more scrumptious than a fresh strawberry.
1. It’s Friday.
2. It’s cool and clear today, and because I am in Los Angeles, that means it’s 63 degrees. I never have to dig my car out of the snow before I go to work. As a Bostonian by birth, I know that is truly a blessing.
3. The Blah Blahs are officially planning a vacation. Destination as yet unknown (planning has just barely begun).
4. I gave a progress report on my foster care project in a meeting today. It was very well-received – staff are excited about all the possibilities of this new program. I am too. Maybe my enthusiasm rubbed off. But my boss and boss’ boss are particularly pleased.
5. I went to the Farmer’s Market at lunch today. There are few things more scrumptious than a fresh strawberry.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Day Eleven. Cheesy and soulful.
Grace in...oh, you know.
1. Brie cheese.
2. And Camembert, too.
3. And focaccia.
4. Soul sides. Because I go to the site and scroll around and inevitably yelp and yip with excitement. I hadn’t been in a while, I admit, and today I was reading back a few posts and YIP! “I LOVE DAVID RUFFIN!” Yeah, it’s like that. Really great artists you may have totally forgotten about. Old soul music is just like home to me. I can’t explain it any other way.*
5. Being told that the EVP where I work (who is a published novelist, and completely anal about language) has been praising my writing talents hither and yon. Wow.
* Ooh! Dionne Warwick! Now there’s an O.D. (Original Diva) for ya. And look at her picture. She looked FABulous.
1. Brie cheese.
2. And Camembert, too.
3. And focaccia.
4. Soul sides. Because I go to the site and scroll around and inevitably yelp and yip with excitement. I hadn’t been in a while, I admit, and today I was reading back a few posts and YIP! “I LOVE DAVID RUFFIN!” Yeah, it’s like that. Really great artists you may have totally forgotten about. Old soul music is just like home to me. I can’t explain it any other way.*
5. Being told that the EVP where I work (who is a published novelist, and completely anal about language) has been praising my writing talents hither and yon. Wow.
* Ooh! Dionne Warwick! Now there’s an O.D. (Original Diva) for ya. And look at her picture. She looked FABulous.
A Lovely Bouquet
One of my co-worker friends is getting married next year and she just asked me if Viva could be her flower girl. Given that the only lengthy conversation they’ve had was about tae kwon do, after which they practiced air kicks, she knew what a risky proposition this might be.
“Will she even wear a dress?” she asked.
“You know, that really is an issue. I’ll have to ask her about it and get back to you,” I said, and then sympathetically, “You might want to keep looking and have Viva as a backup. But I’ll see what she says.”
Can a flower girl wear track pants and a “My school is cool” T-shirt? That seems to be Viva’s default outfit these days. We’ll see.
“Will she even wear a dress?” she asked.
“You know, that really is an issue. I’ll have to ask her about it and get back to you,” I said, and then sympathetically, “You might want to keep looking and have Viva as a backup. But I’ll see what she says.”
Can a flower girl wear track pants and a “My school is cool” T-shirt? That seems to be Viva’s default outfit these days. We’ll see.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Day Ten. Belatedly.
Grace in small things:
1. Cily’s been healthy for a few days.
2. Had a great meeting with a VP at work – we brainstormed about a new creative arts program we want to offer to foster kids. He really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, and was happy I asked his opinion. I was happy because he really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, so he gave me a lot of great ideas. Now I just have to write them up and hammer out a budget. Sweet!
3. Talking with some work friends about massages and pampering yourself and discovered one of our work friends has never been to a spa. (She is only 27, so I’ll cut her a little slack.) The rest of us (there were three of us, late-30s and age 40-moi) were taken aback and insisted she learn how to pamper herself. I then went online and sent her the link to this. You look, too. It’ll relax you just to look at it. Once when I went there I had such a good time talking with my masseuse that she gave me an extra half-hour and then comped the entire massage. And she wouldn’t take a tip! Ah, good times.
4. Vietnamese take-out for dinner. No dishes to wash. Pho sho!
5. Sick, but I can still do push-ups. In sets of ten! Rrrraarrrh!
1. Cily’s been healthy for a few days.
2. Had a great meeting with a VP at work – we brainstormed about a new creative arts program we want to offer to foster kids. He really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, and was happy I asked his opinion. I was happy because he really knows his stuff and is excited we’re trying to do this, so he gave me a lot of great ideas. Now I just have to write them up and hammer out a budget. Sweet!
3. Talking with some work friends about massages and pampering yourself and discovered one of our work friends has never been to a spa. (She is only 27, so I’ll cut her a little slack.) The rest of us (there were three of us, late-30s and age 40-moi) were taken aback and insisted she learn how to pamper herself. I then went online and sent her the link to this. You look, too. It’ll relax you just to look at it. Once when I went there I had such a good time talking with my masseuse that she gave me an extra half-hour and then comped the entire massage. And she wouldn’t take a tip! Ah, good times.
4. Vietnamese take-out for dinner. No dishes to wash. Pho sho!
5. Sick, but I can still do push-ups. In sets of ten! Rrrraarrrh!
Banging My Head Against the Wall
Update on the day care situation:
The director of the center did not read my email. She heard from Cily’s caregiver that I had emailed her, so she called and left a message saying she would rather just speak with me in person.
When we spoke, she had the nerve to argue with me. Incredibly, she seemed to think that if Cily wasn’t crying, there was no reason to think she might be hungry. “We feed on demand,” she said.
“I understand that,” I said. “But if a child goes five hours without eating anything, wouldn’t you just offer her something?”
“Well, she wasn’t crying,” she said.
“No, sometimes she doesn’t,” I said. “But—“
“Well, usually she lets us know if she’s hungry,” she interrupted. “Believe me.”
“What I would like to see happen is EVEN IF SHE IS NOT CRYING, offer her a bottle every three hours,” I said. “If she isn’t hungry, she won’t eat it. But she should never go five hours without being fed.”
“Okay, we’ll do that,” she said. “But you know usually a baby will cry to tell you they’re hungry.”
Deep breath. “Okay, L. – let me tell you what I am trying to do here. I am trying to avoid having my husband come down here. He is not happy. You do not want him to come down here. Can we just agree that from now on you will check to see if she wants to eat every three hours or so?”
Agreed. Jesus Lord, give me strength.
The director of the center did not read my email. She heard from Cily’s caregiver that I had emailed her, so she called and left a message saying she would rather just speak with me in person.
When we spoke, she had the nerve to argue with me. Incredibly, she seemed to think that if Cily wasn’t crying, there was no reason to think she might be hungry. “We feed on demand,” she said.
“I understand that,” I said. “But if a child goes five hours without eating anything, wouldn’t you just offer her something?”
“Well, she wasn’t crying,” she said.
“No, sometimes she doesn’t,” I said. “But—“
“Well, usually she lets us know if she’s hungry,” she interrupted. “Believe me.”
“What I would like to see happen is EVEN IF SHE IS NOT CRYING, offer her a bottle every three hours,” I said. “If she isn’t hungry, she won’t eat it. But she should never go five hours without being fed.”
“Okay, we’ll do that,” she said. “But you know usually a baby will cry to tell you they’re hungry.”
Deep breath. “Okay, L. – let me tell you what I am trying to do here. I am trying to avoid having my husband come down here. He is not happy. You do not want him to come down here. Can we just agree that from now on you will check to see if she wants to eat every three hours or so?”
Agreed. Jesus Lord, give me strength.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Day Nine and Feelin’…Meh.
1. Yesterday I was asked to work on some creative projects at work. Today that translated into me writing the cover story for our company newsletter, along with a couple of other articles. That is so much with the coolness!
2. Good and yet not so good: I’ve been watching my money carefully and I was wondering why I had more money in my account than expected – but not enough to really pursue it. Today I was changing purses and I discovered a bill in my purse that I thought I had mailed two weeks ago. Oh, so that’s why I have an extra $779 in my account! Yeah, I’m really tired. It made me laugh at myself.
3. Piggybacking on my husband’s issues with his clothes: I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to wear this morning. Finding pants that fit, with tops that are warm but not too warm, and coordinating shoes, has become something of a challenge. Where is the grace in this, you ask? Wait for it, wait for it…well, it’s forced me to put together different items in ways I wouldn’t before. Today a random person at work stopped me to compliment me on my outfit. Somehow I made it work. Tune in tomorrow!
4. A friend at work gave me a free tamale this morning. It was yummy. (I see a theme developing here…there’s a lot of free food at work.)
5. Forgot to mention: this weekend Viva was imitating Edna Mode from The Incredibles, with perfect intonation:
2. Good and yet not so good: I’ve been watching my money carefully and I was wondering why I had more money in my account than expected – but not enough to really pursue it. Today I was changing purses and I discovered a bill in my purse that I thought I had mailed two weeks ago. Oh, so that’s why I have an extra $779 in my account! Yeah, I’m really tired. It made me laugh at myself.
3. Piggybacking on my husband’s issues with his clothes: I spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to wear this morning. Finding pants that fit, with tops that are warm but not too warm, and coordinating shoes, has become something of a challenge. Where is the grace in this, you ask? Wait for it, wait for it…well, it’s forced me to put together different items in ways I wouldn’t before. Today a random person at work stopped me to compliment me on my outfit. Somehow I made it work. Tune in tomorrow!
4. A friend at work gave me a free tamale this morning. It was yummy. (I see a theme developing here…there’s a lot of free food at work.)
5. Forgot to mention: this weekend Viva was imitating Edna Mode from The Incredibles, with perfect intonation:
“You are ELASTIGIRL! (disgustedly) My GOD, (mimes smacking someone repeatedly) pull - yourself - together!” Hey, she comes by it honestly.
The Gods Must be Laughing
Lately Sweet Dub has been complaining about his clothes and how he hates them all and needs new stuff, but he never seems to find time to shop. I found out that Macy’s was having a one-day only men’s private sale today and I decided to go downtown on my lunch hour to the Macy’s at 7th and Figueroa. I have never been to this particular Macy’s but it is the closest one to work geographically. As I was walking down to my car, this thought flashed through my mind: “No good deed goes unpunished.”
Foreshadowing much? So here is a conversation I had about 45 minutes later as I was walking back into the building and ran into a smartly-dressed male colleague:
LBB: I just drove downtown to Macy’s.
SDMC: Oh, I’m on my way to Macy’s right now.
LBB: For the men’s secret sale? Did you know they’re closed?
SDMC: The one at 7th and Fig?
LBB: Yeah.
SDMC: Yeah, they had to close that one because of the sucky economy. Why didn’t you go to the other Macy’s?
LBB: What other Macy’s?*
SDMC: There’s another Macy’s one block away, at 7th and Flower.**
LBB: Are you kidding me?? Why would they have two Macy’s so close together?
SDMC: One of them used to be a Robinson’s-May. But that’s why they closed the one at 7th and Figueroa, it was just duplicate business.
LBB: So you‘re going downtown right now? I wish I’d known.
SDMC: No, I’m going to the Beverly Center.
LBB: Wow. Have a nice two hour lunch, slacker.
SDMC: Shut up. Bye.
* Again, the “not being an LA native” thing works against me. Dammit!
** I've since heard that this Macy's sucks.
Foreshadowing much? So here is a conversation I had about 45 minutes later as I was walking back into the building and ran into a smartly-dressed male colleague:
LBB: I just drove downtown to Macy’s.
SDMC: Oh, I’m on my way to Macy’s right now.
LBB: For the men’s secret sale? Did you know they’re closed?
SDMC: The one at 7th and Fig?
LBB: Yeah.
SDMC: Yeah, they had to close that one because of the sucky economy. Why didn’t you go to the other Macy’s?
LBB: What other Macy’s?*
SDMC: There’s another Macy’s one block away, at 7th and Flower.**
LBB: Are you kidding me?? Why would they have two Macy’s so close together?
SDMC: One of them used to be a Robinson’s-May. But that’s why they closed the one at 7th and Figueroa, it was just duplicate business.
LBB: So you‘re going downtown right now? I wish I’d known.
SDMC: No, I’m going to the Beverly Center.
LBB: Wow. Have a nice two hour lunch, slacker.
SDMC: Shut up. Bye.
* Again, the “not being an LA native” thing works against me. Dammit!
** I've since heard that this Macy's sucks.
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