It's a slow day at work today. Mostly because the crazy lady who put herself in charge of the office is on vacation, so I'm acting like an unsupervised child.
So, but, yeah. The internet is BOR-RING. Fortunately, while checking my email for the third time (by 11:00 a.m.), I accidentally clicked on an old folder of correspondence with Chris, from about the time that Sam was born, before I got a job and abandoned him to the mercies of daycare. I've cutted and pasted my favorite missive to Chris below. I think it's especially funny to read these as I'm about to embark on the whole "newborn adventure" again.
Dear C. Haggerfield,
As one of our elite patrons, we would like to offer you a special promotion. As a thank-you for being a valuable husband, we would like to offer you, free of charge, a rare, out-of-production "Baby Don't Wanna Sleep." This model is no longer being made and cannot be found in stores unless it has been left there by the previous owner. This model also has the exclusive "Hiccups All The Time" feature. Remember, this offer is only to you and / or any friends or loved ones, or strangers off the street who would be willing to take advantage of this once in a morning offer.
Sincerely,
Pleasey Come-Homer
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
Crying over spilled dinner
Sam and Owen have both been going through this really irritating phase where they want to Do It Themselves. Owen wants to climb in and out of his car seat himself, even though it takes a half an hour in the bitter cold as I stand there. He wants to poke the straw into the juice box by himself, even though he ALWAYS spills.
And, actually, Sam’s big thing is “I want to help!” But you know what? He’s not helpful. I’m sorry. He’s just not. I could do it faster myself. But since I’m supposed to RAISE this kid, as opposed to just KEEPING HIM ALIVE, I let him help whenever possible.
Usually, it’s okay. Yeah, it takes a little longer to do the laundry when he’s helping, but since he often lists that as the high point of his day (at night, I try to ask him about his favorite thing about the day), I figure it’s worth it. But sometimes, it ends up doing bad things to my blood pressure.
Last night, Sam helped me a lot with dinner. Which means it took twice as long and involved dropping some eggs on the floor. But we were finally done with his egg-and-english muffin sandwich. We just had to lay a slice of cheese on top. Of course, Sam wanted to do it himself, so I handed him the cheese and turned to put the package back in the fridge. Then I hear a crash, and turn around. The plate has been over turned. Into a puddle of melted snow. All that TIME. And now I have NOTHING.
I posted this on facebook. And somebody responded, “I totally understand what you mean! Isn’t hard when you want to laugh, but know you should be serious!”
Whoa. No. No, I was not wanting to laugh. What I meant was I wanted to cry, or scream, or walk away, but was proud because I stayed totally cool and didn’t do any of those things. We just started over.
But I love when people remind me that I am a cranky excuse for a mother and my children might be happier with a traveling circus.
And, actually, Sam’s big thing is “I want to help!” But you know what? He’s not helpful. I’m sorry. He’s just not. I could do it faster myself. But since I’m supposed to RAISE this kid, as opposed to just KEEPING HIM ALIVE, I let him help whenever possible.
Usually, it’s okay. Yeah, it takes a little longer to do the laundry when he’s helping, but since he often lists that as the high point of his day (at night, I try to ask him about his favorite thing about the day), I figure it’s worth it. But sometimes, it ends up doing bad things to my blood pressure.
Last night, Sam helped me a lot with dinner. Which means it took twice as long and involved dropping some eggs on the floor. But we were finally done with his egg-and-english muffin sandwich. We just had to lay a slice of cheese on top. Of course, Sam wanted to do it himself, so I handed him the cheese and turned to put the package back in the fridge. Then I hear a crash, and turn around. The plate has been over turned. Into a puddle of melted snow. All that TIME. And now I have NOTHING.
I posted this on facebook. And somebody responded, “I totally understand what you mean! Isn’t hard when you want to laugh, but know you should be serious!”
Whoa. No. No, I was not wanting to laugh. What I meant was I wanted to cry, or scream, or walk away, but was proud because I stayed totally cool and didn’t do any of those things. We just started over.
But I love when people remind me that I am a cranky excuse for a mother and my children might be happier with a traveling circus.
But why? But why?
I took Sam to the store the other day. While there, it became clear that I was going to need a bathroom break (I need that a lot these days). The bathrooms in this store are the kind that is just one big room with a locked door, so I had to take Sam in with me. Rather than leave him to wander the store alone, you know.
As I sat down to pee, Sam said to me, “When you grow up you can learn to pee standing up like me and daddy.”
I told him, “No, girls don’t pee standing up.”
“Why not?”
Because they are not as lazy as men.
No, really I said, “Because girls don’t have a penis.”
“YOU DON’T HAVE A PENIS?!”
“Nope.”
. . . Pause . . .
“You just got a butt?”
At that point I didn’t really know where else to go. So I just said, “Well, yes. Basically.” I figure we’ll have the whole vagina talk later. When our girl baby gets here.
Sometime when I’m not using the toilet.
As I sat down to pee, Sam said to me, “When you grow up you can learn to pee standing up like me and daddy.”
I told him, “No, girls don’t pee standing up.”
“Why not?”
Because they are not as lazy as men.
No, really I said, “Because girls don’t have a penis.”
“YOU DON’T HAVE A PENIS?!”
“Nope.”
. . . Pause . . .
“You just got a butt?”
At that point I didn’t really know where else to go. So I just said, “Well, yes. Basically.” I figure we’ll have the whole vagina talk later. When our girl baby gets here.
Sometime when I’m not using the toilet.
Hey there. How are you? Bet you can breathe. That must be nice. I wish I could breathe. But I can’t. My only hope is that this cold is the culprit, because I can reasonably expect that to be gone sometime next week, whereas if it is the baby compromising my lungs she’s going to be hanging out inside, pushing around my innards for, I’m pretty sure, FOREVER.
So if you don’t feel like passing out from lack of oxygen, you should take a moment to be grateful.
Speaking of the giant baby inside me . . . last week I finally had to get my head out of the sand about my weight gain. It wasn’t so much the weight gain, as the increasing velocity of the weight gain. And then, after a week of gaining a half a pound PER DAY, I had to have a stern talk with myself. The return of my appetite around week 27 was so miraculous that I gave myself free rein to eat whatever I wanted. But given my history of gestational diabetes, I eventually had admit that it might be worth controlling what I ate. So even though I passed my gestational diabetes screening this time around, last weekend I put myself back on the gestational diabetes diet. I’ve lost two and a half pounds this week. I understand that dieting while pregnant is a delicate thing, but I figure if this was doctor-prescribed the last time around, it should fine. Plus, the rapid weight gain didn’t seem like such a good idea, either.
Plus, I think I’ve got a little extra padding to cushion any nutrition errors.
Plus, I work down the hall from a research group that’s been following the health and development of crack babies for the past 20 years and you know what? It turns out that they are basically fine. It seems to me that if crack babies are doing okay, then a fetus is actually pretty resilient. And I’m not even doing crack.
So if you don’t feel like passing out from lack of oxygen, you should take a moment to be grateful.
Speaking of the giant baby inside me . . . last week I finally had to get my head out of the sand about my weight gain. It wasn’t so much the weight gain, as the increasing velocity of the weight gain. And then, after a week of gaining a half a pound PER DAY, I had to have a stern talk with myself. The return of my appetite around week 27 was so miraculous that I gave myself free rein to eat whatever I wanted. But given my history of gestational diabetes, I eventually had admit that it might be worth controlling what I ate. So even though I passed my gestational diabetes screening this time around, last weekend I put myself back on the gestational diabetes diet. I’ve lost two and a half pounds this week. I understand that dieting while pregnant is a delicate thing, but I figure if this was doctor-prescribed the last time around, it should fine. Plus, the rapid weight gain didn’t seem like such a good idea, either.
Plus, I think I’ve got a little extra padding to cushion any nutrition errors.
Plus, I work down the hall from a research group that’s been following the health and development of crack babies for the past 20 years and you know what? It turns out that they are basically fine. It seems to me that if crack babies are doing okay, then a fetus is actually pretty resilient. And I’m not even doing crack.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Vaguarities
I like the word vaguarities. I find it useful. Difficult to spell, but useful. In fact, I was going to use it in a recent post (I was going to say "the vaguarities of the economy"). But it kept coming up on spell check so I went to look up how to spell it.
Guess what? Vaguarities? Not a word.
CRAPOLA. I LIKED that word. Now I found out that it is not a word at all. Just like irregardless. And other great words that are not words.
You know the worst thing about this? Apparently, vaguarities was a favorite word of George W. Bush, too.
Guess what? Vaguarities? Not a word.
CRAPOLA. I LIKED that word. Now I found out that it is not a word at all. Just like irregardless. And other great words that are not words.
You know the worst thing about this? Apparently, vaguarities was a favorite word of George W. Bush, too.
Mystery in my office
I have a pop-up Post-it dispenser in my office. I like it a lot. But I HATE the shock of pulling up that last Post-it and realizing I'm all out. Where's the warning system, Post-it people?
Anyway, I've been aware that my Post-its were getting low. I knew I only had a few left in there. I was prepping myself for pulling the last one. Today, I pulled a Post-it and it resisted coming out of the dispenser. I thought for sure it was the last one, but another one popped up in it's place. Thinking that was weird, I idly pushed on the Post-its to gauge how many more there were.
And it was FULL. And now that I think about it, I used to have green Post-its and these are yellow.
Someone has been in my office. And used my last Post-it. And replaced the pack with a new one.
Weird!
Anyway, I've been aware that my Post-its were getting low. I knew I only had a few left in there. I was prepping myself for pulling the last one. Today, I pulled a Post-it and it resisted coming out of the dispenser. I thought for sure it was the last one, but another one popped up in it's place. Thinking that was weird, I idly pushed on the Post-its to gauge how many more there were.
And it was FULL. And now that I think about it, I used to have green Post-its and these are yellow.
Someone has been in my office. And used my last Post-it. And replaced the pack with a new one.
Weird!
Found: important things
Last week went pretty well, in terms of finding important lost things. As upsetting as it is to literally lose thousands of dollars (as in, not to the stock market or the slumping of the economy, but to MISPLACE), it is a big relief to then FIND those thousands of dollars. Welcome back safety net! Maybe next time we won't keep you in a drawer! We've been considering using our safety net to pay off some of our credit card debt. It felt bad to finally realize we were going to have to give up the last source of emergency money we had, but have you SEEN the interest rate on our credit cards??? So we decided we needed to do it. That was when we realized that our emergency fund was missing.
Still we found it, and between that money, our tax refund, and my recent confiscation of Chris's credit cards, I think we should have the situation under control before the new baby gets here.
I also found something important that I had lost in the debris of my office. It is a not an interesting story, but, briefly summarized, it goes like this:
Yay, important thing! I'm so glad to have you! I will put you here, in the place that important things go!
Important thing? I need you now! I'm ready to do the work you are necessary for! Hello? Important thing?
Has anyone seen important thing?
File drawer, did I file important thing in it's appropriate place? No? Well, that's a surprise.
I wonder how I can hide the fact that I lost this important thing?
Much searching . . . much despair . . .
AH! Important thing! Look at you! You were buried so deeply in a pile I didn't see you! It's so good to have you back!
The End
So last week was a good week for finding things.
Still we found it, and between that money, our tax refund, and my recent confiscation of Chris's credit cards, I think we should have the situation under control before the new baby gets here.
I also found something important that I had lost in the debris of my office. It is a not an interesting story, but, briefly summarized, it goes like this:
Yay, important thing! I'm so glad to have you! I will put you here, in the place that important things go!
Important thing? I need you now! I'm ready to do the work you are necessary for! Hello? Important thing?
Has anyone seen important thing?
File drawer, did I file important thing in it's appropriate place? No? Well, that's a surprise.
I wonder how I can hide the fact that I lost this important thing?
Much searching . . . much despair . . .
AH! Important thing! Look at you! You were buried so deeply in a pile I didn't see you! It's so good to have you back!
The End
So last week was a good week for finding things.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Whatever. But don't run out of drinking yogurts.
You know what? Children. They are strange. One thing I've been struck by recently is the capacity children have to simply accept crazy things as reality, without any particular comment.
When Owen was born, I was convinced that Sam, the center of our universe, would collapse into a black hole of abandonment and deprivation. But he had less reaction to Owen joining the family than he had to Cayden getting a frog. He was just like, "Oh. Right then. New baby. I'll not be touching it. Get me a cracker."
We just up and do these things to kids and mostly they just . . . roll with it.
This baby we're working on now moves. A lot. I keep expecting it to freak somebody out someday, but I guess people just avert their eyes from the giant belly I am continually scratching. The other day, Chris talked to the baby while Sam was watching and the baby moved, quite visibly. Shouldn't that freak a four-year-old out? It freaks me out. I keep googling "fetus bursting through uterus" to see if there has ever been a real-life recreation of that scene from Aliens.
But no, Sam is totally chill with the idea of a new baby, and a surging mommy-tummy and many other things.
And yet, juxtaposed with this calm acceptance is the fact that you will need the good lord's HELP if you try to dress Sam or Owen in jeans instead of cozy pants. All clothes must be able to double as pajamas. Or they shall not touch their delicate skin.
When Owen was born, I was convinced that Sam, the center of our universe, would collapse into a black hole of abandonment and deprivation. But he had less reaction to Owen joining the family than he had to Cayden getting a frog. He was just like, "Oh. Right then. New baby. I'll not be touching it. Get me a cracker."
We just up and do these things to kids and mostly they just . . . roll with it.
This baby we're working on now moves. A lot. I keep expecting it to freak somebody out someday, but I guess people just avert their eyes from the giant belly I am continually scratching. The other day, Chris talked to the baby while Sam was watching and the baby moved, quite visibly. Shouldn't that freak a four-year-old out? It freaks me out. I keep googling "fetus bursting through uterus" to see if there has ever been a real-life recreation of that scene from Aliens.
But no, Sam is totally chill with the idea of a new baby, and a surging mommy-tummy and many other things.
And yet, juxtaposed with this calm acceptance is the fact that you will need the good lord's HELP if you try to dress Sam or Owen in jeans instead of cozy pants. All clothes must be able to double as pajamas. Or they shall not touch their delicate skin.
I mourn the loss of civility in our society.
So I was at work yesterday. I have to reschedule this one family because the day I originally scheduled them for turns out to only have one late and inconvenient MRI slot left. But when I called back to talk to the family, they said that it was okay. Sweet! Got a family scheduled!
But now it is 4:55 and I HAVE to call back to the MRI scheduling people and snag that last MRI time. I know it's rude to call right before closing, but I just can't risk losing that last time slot. Besides, all I have to do is schedule the appointment, right? Not that hard.
So the lady answers, I apologize for calling late in the day, but say I just need to schedule this kid on this day at this time.
She sighs, heavily.
She starts plodding through the scheduling process. Name? Birth date? Address? What time do you want? All the while, she's chatting with her coworkers. So on my end it sounds like this:
"Name? Yeah, I know, I can't believe I got stuck on this call. Birth date? I don't even know why I picked up the phone. Address? I'll come as soon as get this taken care of. What time? I thought I had the phones turned off, I can't believe this one got through."
But, you know, that's okay. I understand. It's time to go home.
But then things begin to go wrong. And for whatever reason, she can't figure out how to schedule the appointment. Which really has to be a problem if you are the MRI appointment scheduler.
So she takes it up a notch. Now she's talking to both others and herself, but not so much me. I'm mostly just listening to her not know how to schedule an appointment.
"Why isn't this working. I can NOT believe this phone call. I have to go pick up my daughter. This is ridiculous. What is wrong? Sherri, do you see this appointment? I know I made this appointment. Is it coming up on your computer? I can't see it on mine. His name is John Brown. Brown. John. What's his date of birth?"
Pause.
"MA'AM?? I'm TALKING to you! You need to pay attention. We're having a little problem here in case you couldn't tell."
Oh, she was talking to me there. That's fun. Stupid me. I totally should have known that that last question was directed at me when the previous 10 minutes consisted of talking about the stupid phone call as if I, the stupid phone call, couldn't hear.
"I really can't believe this. I really have to go get my daughter."
Um, so how about you shut up and schedule the damn appointment, then? I mean, I do apologize for calling right before closing, but I don't think it is unreasonable to expect you, the scheduling lady, to know how to schedule an appointment. I, too, have kids waiting at daycare to be picked up and that would go faster if you would stop being incompetent.
But you don't hear ME muttering rude things.
It finally got done, and I got the appointment time, but it was forty minutes on the phone with this lady who was all mad at ME because she answered the phone and couldn't do her job.
When did it become acceptable to behave this way, at work, in front of customers?
But now it is 4:55 and I HAVE to call back to the MRI scheduling people and snag that last MRI time. I know it's rude to call right before closing, but I just can't risk losing that last time slot. Besides, all I have to do is schedule the appointment, right? Not that hard.
So the lady answers, I apologize for calling late in the day, but say I just need to schedule this kid on this day at this time.
She sighs, heavily.
She starts plodding through the scheduling process. Name? Birth date? Address? What time do you want? All the while, she's chatting with her coworkers. So on my end it sounds like this:
"Name? Yeah, I know, I can't believe I got stuck on this call. Birth date? I don't even know why I picked up the phone. Address? I'll come as soon as get this taken care of. What time? I thought I had the phones turned off, I can't believe this one got through."
But, you know, that's okay. I understand. It's time to go home.
But then things begin to go wrong. And for whatever reason, she can't figure out how to schedule the appointment. Which really has to be a problem if you are the MRI appointment scheduler.
So she takes it up a notch. Now she's talking to both others and herself, but not so much me. I'm mostly just listening to her not know how to schedule an appointment.
"Why isn't this working. I can NOT believe this phone call. I have to go pick up my daughter. This is ridiculous. What is wrong? Sherri, do you see this appointment? I know I made this appointment. Is it coming up on your computer? I can't see it on mine. His name is John Brown. Brown. John. What's his date of birth?"
Pause.
"MA'AM?? I'm TALKING to you! You need to pay attention. We're having a little problem here in case you couldn't tell."
Oh, she was talking to me there. That's fun. Stupid me. I totally should have known that that last question was directed at me when the previous 10 minutes consisted of talking about the stupid phone call as if I, the stupid phone call, couldn't hear.
"I really can't believe this. I really have to go get my daughter."
Um, so how about you shut up and schedule the damn appointment, then? I mean, I do apologize for calling right before closing, but I don't think it is unreasonable to expect you, the scheduling lady, to know how to schedule an appointment. I, too, have kids waiting at daycare to be picked up and that would go faster if you would stop being incompetent.
But you don't hear ME muttering rude things.
It finally got done, and I got the appointment time, but it was forty minutes on the phone with this lady who was all mad at ME because she answered the phone and couldn't do her job.
When did it become acceptable to behave this way, at work, in front of customers?
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