July 31, 2008 @ 18:49

This morning we went to see the pediatrician.  We had been overdue for a round of vaccinations because of being sick and then having our little surgery.  So today, we had to get four shots.  He sat in my lap and I hugged him tight, a nurse held his feet, and two nurses stood on either side of him and each gave him two shots in rapid succession.  It was HORRIBLE.  At first the two with the needles just said they were going to do it together to make go quickly and then they asked if I had a good hold on him.  When I said I thought so, they called down the hall for a third nurse.  Next thing I know they turn him around in my lap to face away from me and go for it.  It was just awful.  I know getting it over with quickly sounds good, but dammit!  This happened so fast that it scared the bejeezus out of him.  And I didn’t even have time to protest.  I swear it was over in less than thirty seconds.  He forgave me pretty quickly, though.  He’s got a good heart.  And he did have the satisfaction of correcting his doctor.  After looking at his throat, he handed Puppy what they now call a flavor stick.  Which I don’t get, but apparently kids like ‘em.  He said, “Here, do you want the stick?”  To which Puppy replied, “That’s not a stick, it’s a tongue depressor.”  You tell ‘em sugar, you tell ‘em. 

July 29, 2008 @ 21:43

This morning I put on my current favorite pair of pants.  They are sherbet colored striped capris, pink, orange, pale yellow, taupe and white.  I wear them with a plain white sweater to tone it down, but I gotta admit . . .  Still, they cheer me up.  When I walked out of the bathroom and found Puppy in front of Sesame Street to ask him what he wanted for breakfast he turned around to look at me and literally bent over laughing. 

“Mommy!  What are you doing wearing fancy pants?!?!” 

Ummm, well . . .  what can you say to that? 

 July 28, 2008 @ 22:03

Today I took the first of what I intend to be a long line of cupcake experiments to work.  I’m not sure whether to feel good or guilty about using my co-workers as taste testers.  I hope the dieters don’t hold it against me.  I’m afraid it may be too late to stop anyway, after getting what may be the best cake compliment ever from one of our resident sci-fi guys.  First he explained how stars collapse creating black holes.  I totally admit to being lost on that part . . .  but then he said the cupcakes I took to work today were the cake equivalent.  As if an entire wedding cake had been collapsed into that little paper cupcake cup.  What a fantastic image!  Today the experimental cupcakes were Winnie Coopers.  You remember her, from The Wonder Years.  The quintessential girl next door.  I’m clearly experimenting with the names, not just the recipes.  Peanut butter cake with a strawberry jam swirl, peanutbuttercream and a white chocolate strawberry.  I wish I’d gotten a picture of the insides.  They turned out prettier than the picture below seems.  Am I the only one who’s disappointed in the strawberries this year?  But, even so, there was not a single suggestion for a change to these.  Not a single complaint about being too sweet.  So I think we hit that one on the first try.  For the next few days, however, I’ve got to make plans for an Optimus Prime birthday cake.  Then next week we’ll try a couple more.  I’m thinking we’ll try the Ginger and Mary Anns.  And I’m sure Puppy will be happy to help. 

July 28, 2008 @ 12:34

Taking a brief moment at lunch to give you a moment of adorableness.  Details to follow . . . 

Mom, seriously, quick takin’ pictures, the sun is in my eyes and I wanna go in . . .  this place looks cool. 

For the record, I did not cry until he walked away from the cafeteria in the little line behind his teacher. 

Oh, and how cute is his hair lookin’ today?  Huh? 

July 27, 2008 @ 08:09

Tomorrow morning Puppy will attend his first day of kindergarten camp.  Regular class does not start until the eighteenth, but for this week, parents were given the opportunity to send their children to attend for half days, to ease them into the big change to big kid’s school.  I have my fingers crossed and hopes all clutched tight to my chest.  But my fears have in large part subsided.  In fact, I may even be less fearful than I was when Bear started kindergarten.  We have been so lucky to have such an incredible group of people that have touched our lives in the past year and a half.  And the progress that he has made has been incredible.  From the day I walked in to that daycare to find him pinned against a wall by his teacher to the place we are now, we have walked this path with some amazing people.  Particularly Andrea, a speech therapist at Arch Ford.  Before her, I was a bit of a mess.  But there is something so special about her that she eased my fears, encouraged Puppy’s progress, and always had something positive and loving to say.  Throughout the process all of the staff at Arch Ford was more helpful than any other organization that we worked with.  We haven’t had any bad things happen in any clinic or with any specialist or therapist.  But there is something so special about the women that worked with us from Arch Ford.  The best proof of this is the boy Puppy has become.  As I’ve been writing his name on crayons and markers and backpack and lunchbox, just like I did for his big brother eight years ago, I have cried.  That woman who had him pinned against a wall just eighteen months ago had expressed an opinion of what a hopeless thing he was.  She even claimed he had thrown a table at her.  All I have to say to that is, yeah right, four year olds don’t throw tables.  Chairs maybe, but unless daddy has a whole double life he’s leading as a big green super hero, I don’t think so.  And on top of that, what was she doing to let the situation get that far gone?  But, in a twisted way I suppose I have to be grateful to her as well, for showing me so clearly that I had to get him out of there.  The road after, rocky as it has been, has gotten better every day.  I am overwhelmingly grateful for the staff of Arch Ford who helped us get to this place where we have proven her so very wrong.  As soon as their office is back from summer break (they work concurrent with the school year) I will be delivering them a great big cake.  And a picture of our sweet boy on his first day of school. 

July 24, 2008 @ 22:55

For those of you who have been waiting on pins and needles to hear whether Puppy ate salad, and I know there are hordes of you suffering, I must sadly tell you that, dude, no freakin’ way.  This is a pattern for him.  We frequently wander through the produce aisles where he shows off his extensive knowledge of fruits and vegetables and their spellings (also his knowledge that bananas are secretly phones and that mushrooms are not real, silly Mommy!).  We buy star fuit, candy melon!?!?, carrots, and squash (because it is a fun word to say out loud).  But we never eat any of it.  Well, Puppy does not.  Bear and I do.  Puppy’s nutritional needs are met by a wide variety of cartoon character shaped vitamins and thank god for it, V8 Splash, veggies cleverly disguised as fruit juice, oh and chocolate Pediasure frozen into popsicle molds.  Sometimes my brilliance scares me just a little.  Phffflllttt . . .  No, sweetheart, that’s a fudgesicle I promise!  But the whole enthusiam in the store and then complete turn around when we get the produce home, it sucks, mostly because I’m such a sucker for it every time.  It reminds me of those times in my life when I’ve been out on a really great date and then the guy never calls again.  Is this a glimpse into the man Puppy will become someday?  Perhaps it’s just a male trait.  Like male pattern baldness or believing that breasts do sometimes occur like that in nature.  Maybe that should go on your Match profile.  Did you eat your vegetables as a child?  Ah ha . . .  tricky tricky . . . 

Existing timestamp: July 23, 2008 @ 19:45

Really long self important pontificating post taken in large part from the email interactions I had with a friend today . . .  and fair warning, it’s about dating and I’m gonna use the f word . . . and be whiney . . .  

The worst part about all the clichés about finding love is the solid foundation from which sprung this overused phrase “stop looking and it will happen.”   This is a watered down and useless soundbite about making real change in your life.  Its cousin is “you have to love yourself before anyone else can love you.”  I hate soundbites.  It’s why I watch PBS.  I want to hear the whole story.  I’m sure Aesop was a great guy, but when a friend tells you “stop looking and it will happen” it is not a comfort.  Without some real time devoted to figuring me out, I’d be the donkey in the river. 
 
When you live your life according to what is right,healthy, and good for you, then you will have it.  When you continue looking outwardly for acceptance and love you will continually be disappointed.  Because it’s not a safe bet.  The house always wins.  And gambling is stupid when you’re betting things you can’t afford to lose, like your self worth.  When I look to someone outside of myself to validate me, I become nothing more than a reflection of their wants and needs.  My own are lost.  When I stop cutting my hair because my boyfriend likes it, but inside it makes me feel old and frumpy, I have sacrificed that sliver of self esteem to him by choosing to validate his preference over mine.  The first step to breaking this cycle is to stop thinking that your own wants and needs must be secondary to all others.  This is hard for mothers to do.  Especially single mothers.  When resources are limited, the children come first.  How do you nurture yourself, when the only well from which you can draw is yourself?  And how can you continue to be good at nurturing the little ones when you’ve become a jangled bag of frustration and pain because you need something for yourself and cannot have it?  This is the rock and the hard place.  I’m no good at it right now, myself, with children still at home.  I won’t even try to say how it could be done.  God help me, I don’t know.  I’m working on it.  But when your children are grown and have flown the nest and are doing well?  It may not be time for you to actively look for a new relationship with a man.  It may be time for you to rebuild your relationship with yourself.  Take yourself on vacation.  Buy yourself the ring.  Take yourself to the classes and movies and weekend road trips that you want to.  And while you are there, stop worrying about who is or is not with you.  You do not need to be one of a couple in order to deserve to be in a suite at a resort.  You just have to want to be there.  And then, someday, you will be standing over a forge at Williamsburg or floating at a swim up bar in Cancun and you will realize that that if you had waited for a man to come with you, what a waste of time you would have made.  Take a friend, take those grown up kids, take somebody, take you and just go.  And don’t look back.  And when the man that can keep up with you crosses your path, give him a chance.  That’s all.  If you slow down to let a man catch up with you, you’ll never be happy.  If he can’t keep up with you, he’s just another problem.  Better to pass him now and if he can catch up to you before you reach the finish line, well then, good for him. 

It is hard to be single; it is harder to be so consumed with the search for a mate that you become a desperate and pitiful thing.  We’ve had several good examples on that lately, haven’t we girls?  The luckiest among us don’t lose sight of reality; succumb to the desire to build little kingdoms of “oh, woe is me.”  It’s tempting, though. 

Because pain was built to last. 
 
A study I heard about recently said that the higher the IQ of the individual, that the more traumatizing negative events may be.  Evolution is not a parlor game.  It’s hardwired, primal, honest to god science.  If you never forget where the tiger ate your brother, you stand a better chance at keeping your DNA in the gene pool.  The sad part is, never letting go of painful baggage has created a whole generation of women who punish every man they have a relationship with for the mistakes of the first.  And the really pissed off ones even punish men they don’t have relationships with, I do so hate man-bashing. 

It can eat away until even the simplest interactions with the opposite sex are warped.  Not even a compliment can be accepted.  They are batted down like mosquitos because they are tiny little moments of man and woman relationships.  It’s a tricky thing.  Because it is only an issue if you keep giving the validation rights to the outsiders.  What I think has to happen is a re-evaluation of what is and is not important.  You immediately reject a man’s statement that you are beautiful, because you believe that to accept it is to give it value.  But assigning it no value is the flip side of the same coin.  By rigidly holding yourself apart from those innocent interactions, you have proven how much you value them.  If they say it and then it turns out they didn’t mean it, you would feel the rejection.  A man says you’re beautiful, who cares if he means it or not?  That’s his kharma, not yours.  You have to be aware that you may be fooled again.  Liars are everywhere.  But even though it’s an epidemic, it’s not fatal.  Not everybody likes you.  Not everybody thinks you’re smart or funny or pretty or any of a number of other things we want to always be.  And guess what?  That’s okay.  Would you go on a date with half of the men you know?  No way.  Does it mean they are without value as human beings?  Not a chance.  A man’s judgment of you is no more real than your judgment of him.  Maybe for awhile you should just work on removing the power from the statements when you hear them.  Then later work on a pat response.  Like “thank you”.  That’s good enough for anybody.  Besides that, when you deflect a compliment, you have subtly insulted the giver of the compliment as well as its intended recipient.  “What a fool you are to think I am beautiful.  I look upon your opinion with derision, on the chance that someday you may change your mind.  Screw you first.”  This is not a good position for negotiation.  Scorched earth policies should be reserved for nazis and pedophiles and other bastards among men.  Leave room for acceptance and a bending of will for those you might actually like and respect. 

Like an alcoholic.  Instead of developing a healthy relationship with the whiskey you shun it.  Because your addiction is not cured, only restrained.  You ought to be able to have a shot, dance with anybody you want to, and if you go home alone, so be it.  And while complete abstinence is a great plan for alcoholism or drug addiction, we are faced here with the same dilemma as a compulsive eater.  We cannot just walk away from food and we do not want to walk away from love.  Hell, no!  So, we are forced to figure out how to live with the problem.  Before it leaves us bitter and lonely. 

p.s.  You know Microsoft Word wanted me to capitalize nazi?  It might be correct, but screw those punks.  That just totally offended me.  I may be pms’ing . . . 

July 23, 2008 @ 23:34

Last Friday I had lunch with co-workers.  It was Sharon’s birthday so a group of us went for BBQ.  Halfway through the meal I overheard my name from the opposite end of the table.  I couldn’t let it pass, I hollered (okay, are you counting the hick indicators today?  there may be a prize . . .  ) down the table and asked what gives?  They explained that they were telling a girl who didn’t know me very well that I’m funny.  To which Sharon heartily agreed.  Hmmm . . .  I laughed just enough to not give myself away, leaned back in my chair and tried to look cool.  This is not something I’m good at . . .  being cool.  I was sure I would be called on it at any moment.  But I actually said a couple more things and people laughed.  I was flattered.  Nevermind that this led to Jenn telling the ficus tree story and totally stealing my thunder.  That tart.  For a brief moment I was the funny one.  My point here though, is that isn’t it weird when people tell you things about yourself that you just don’t get? I know not everybody has trouble taking a compliment.  And I mean more than just that.  It isn’t always complimentary.  I’ve been banned in our office from talking politics.  Apparently I’m a little . . .  opinionated . . .  and loud . . .  and . . .  scary.  You would too, if you’d been to all of my family functions.  Once, during a glaring moment of cruelty to E, Trixie and I were discussing relationships and the possible reasons for why we are both single.  (Perhaps we might consider that whole conversation to be a clue . . .  later . . .)  God love him, I asked E what was wrong with me.  He very calmly asked if I really wanted the answer.  I said yes, I really did!  He carefully stood, walked over to his car and got in, then rolled the window down about three inches and spoke loudly through the crack “well, first of all . . .  “  We died laughing all of us.  He got out of the car and in all seriousness told me that I was “formidable”.  Formidable?!?!  What the hell?  I always think of myself as a doormat.  My baby brother told me one day that his favorite thing about me was how strong I was.  I always think of myself as a marshmallow.  A co-worker a few weeks ago was trying to explain to me who someone was.  I couldn’t place her.  They described her as about my size.  When I realized who they meant, I was shocked.  I would never have thought of myself as that heavy.  It’s tricky how the mind will let you gloss over things.  Or interpret so differently.  Or just plain ignore.  In my head, I’m just like Nigella, but reality, I’m more like Ina, well except for the whole fabulous house in Martha’s Vineyard thing.  So my question is this, how do you tell?  How do you know when you’ve got your rose colored glasses on?  How do you know when you are being honest with yourself?  I’ve got a project where basically, I have to write an evaluation of myself and I cannot make myself start.  I’m just frozen.  So how do I do it?  And I’m not fishing for compliments here, oh fine, if you must, email me privately about how wonderful I am.  What I mean is, how can a person objectively evaluate themself?  Can it even be done? 

And really, things like this will surely make me even less objective.  But I have to share it, as timing is everything.  Willow, from Apron Strings and Angst has given me my very first ever blog award.  Thanks for that, sweetheart!  Sincerely! 

July 22, 2008 @ 16:55

Where does that phrase actually come from?  ‘Cause from here, it looks like Charlie’s got it pretty good. 

July 21, 2008 @ 17:51

Hey, schedules just aren’t my thing. 

This afternoon when Puppy and I arrived home from work, we picked our very first produce from our container garden.  Sage from the herb container for our chicken and rice, two poblano peppers and two tomoatoes, neither of them ripe.  Puppy is quick on the draw.  Besides, how could tell that face no to the orange tomato.  And then to top it all off, he says he wants salad for dinner.  Perhaps a veggie miracle is in the works! I’ll let you know.