Over the last couple of weeks, I've engaged in a pretty heated debate on Facebook responding to the statement from Chick-Fil-a regarding "traditional biblical marriage" and gay rights. Then, a college friend posted a very poignant picture of a 12-week old fetus as an abortion deterrent. In the past I've been involved in heated debates about abortion rights.
Look, I do not support, endorse or ever intend to have an abortion. I feel terribly sorry for those who do. I think it's wrong, I think it's murder.
But it's protected under the Constitution.
And regardless of mine or any other person's personal feelings about whether or not abortion is ethical, evil, reprehensible or even reliable birth control (?!), the fact remains that when the Supreme Court ruled on Roe v. Wade, it made it legal.
Same thing with gay rights. Although I don't harbor any anti-gay sentiments myself, I recognize that there are people who have been taught that the Bible is clear cut on the issue: Jesus hates Gays and That's That. While there are a million reasons why this is just not good Biblical scholarship, not representative of an understanding of Christianity, and just plain wrong, my arguments with people have hinged on just a few important points.
Gay marriage is protected under the Constitution.
No really. The Equal Protection Clause of the 14th Amendment says: "All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the
jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the
State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which
shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United
States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or
property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its
jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws."
All persons. Not all straight persons. Not all Christians. Not all any-one-group-to-the-exclusion-of-another.
So why does this debate even exist? Mainly, I think, because it is the Pet Issue of certain groups of Christians. Generally the same people who want the government out of their healthcare but want the government to require a woman to have an ultrasound before an abortion.
I have often been told (in all caps) that all morality derives from religion, therefore it is impossible to make laws that aren't influenced by religion. Although I will allow that many people derive their moral compass from their faith, I'd argue that Christianity doesn't have the lock-up on morals. I would be willing to bet that the vast majority of the Ten Commandments were things generally frowned upon by societies that flourished long before the emergence of monotheistic religion. I don't think that in Ancient Sumer it was considered cool to murder, steal, etc...... Actually, if I'm not mistaken, the Code of Hammurabi pretty much laid that out. And what scares the jeepers out of me is the idea that a large segment of Americans seem to want this country to operate as a theocracy instead of a democracy. A theocracy- a government based on religious laws. If you're interested in how that would turn out, I'd invite you to take a look at Afghanistan and the Middle East. Swell, no?
Theocracies scare me. They scare me because I think our founding fathers were really intelligent when they put in the Constitution that: "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof ...." The Founders seemed to understand that for a nation to be free, for the Bill of Rights to matter, the government had to be secular. Otherwise, why bother with a Constitution at all? Just follow the Levitical laws as they appear in the Bible and have a nice, Biblical society. Except the laws laid out in the Bible sometimes directly contradict what Americans have come to think of as moral.....
So why is it so hard for Christians to separate the idea of democracy with the idea of theocracy? I totally understand that mainstream and evangelical Christianity thinks it has the monopoly on determining right and wrong; but that's not how our country was founded. We were founded as the place where people could go when no other place on Earth accepted them. Granted, those people were some pretty hardcore religious fundamentalists, but their purpose in coming here remains the same.
So whether or not your faith allows you to agree or disagree with the sinfulness of abortion, gay marriage, eating pork, cutting your hair, or anything that your particular faith holds out as a non-negotiable sin, the tenants of one faith have no place in being the basis for legislation in this country. So I invite people to make their own decisions regarding whether or not they would like to participate in gay marriage and/or have an abortion based on their own faith. However, to use religion to justify oppressing or denying rights to a citizen of this country is flatly against the laws of this nation.
And on a parting note, I am particularly disgusted by the reaction I've gotten from so. many. conservative. Christians- that the only reason I would have these heretical thoughts and words is because I haven't read or don't understand the Bible. (Someone actually argued that Jesus taught against homosexuality.... in reality Jesus never even mentioned the subject in scripture.) I've had the First Amendment tossed at me, the "I have a right to my opinion," all of it.... but it changes nothing. I'm not arguing that people can't be anti-abortion and homophobic or homodisliking. I'm arguing that morality that you have derived from your own religion has no place forcing laws on others. And I'm calling it hypocritical to say that some biblical laws matter and some don't. If you're condemning gays based on the Bible, then please show me that you're living by every other law. And if your shirt is a cotton/poly blend, you've already struck out.
Friday, July 27, 2012
Friday, June 22, 2012
The One Where I Get Political
With the recent and justified outrage against "personhood," contraception, abortion rights and jackass radio host Rush Limbaugh, I find myself being increasingly aware of my own political tendencies. I remember well the first day of World History at McIntosh High school, 10th grade, 1993. My teacher was the enthusiastic Joseph Jarrell, a name revered through the halls of McIntosh as either the best or worst thing that could appear on your 10th grade class schedule. When we came in, he seated us in neat rows alphabetically according to last name and pointed out a quote he'd written on the chalkboard.
"Those who do not learn from history are often doomed to repeat it."
Nearly 20 years later, I believe I can tell the people who learned from history and those who did not, and the difference is startling and frightening in the political arena. Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I think most people, individually, are reasonably intelligent. I think that people as a whole are easily led lemmings looking for someone to tell them what to think, do, feel, and buy because they are too lazy or scared to decide that for themselves. And that's where religion comes in.
As I get older, I consider myself less and less religious and more and more simply spiritual. I believe there's a God- the chaos is too defined for there not to be, I think, and I believe that there was a man named Jesus who lived about 2,000 years ago and preached a message of being nice to each other and taking care of those whom we can help. When I look at history, I look at the history of the influence of religion, politics and economics on the lives of the people of this planet. In truth, we studied the whole history of Europe through the lens of the effects of the influence of the Catholic (Catholic-with-a-big-c, Mr. Jarrell would remind us) church. The history of America is studied through the lens of religion, economics and politics. When you go to a dinner party what are the three things you're not supposed to discuss? Money, religion and politics. As Kostas Portokalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding would say, "And there you have it."
Those are contentious subjects, sure, because everyone believes that whatever he or she think is the right thing to think. And what I believe has become dangerous to our country is that increasingly the people who are telling the mob how to think are a group of Fundamentalist Evangelical Christians who don't actually represent the actual opinions or feelings of most of America, just the ones that seem to shout the loudest and catch the attention of the Media.
I 100% believe that our forefathers were 100% in the right when they included in the Constitution that Congress shall make no law respecting religion. And I'm fearful that religion has become the number one driving force behind legislation and election happening in this country, and when religion takes control of legislation and election, you have one of two outcomes : The Dark Ages and/or The Taliban. BOTH of those things spring directly from allowing religious leaders to be the people who are making laws. During the Dark Ages, the Church was amassing huge wealth, building grand cathedrals that people still marvel at today and letting the believers live in fear, disease and filth. The Taliban failed pretty miserably at the amassing wealth and building cathedrals part,but they certainly slapped the Afghan people down into living in fear, disease and filth. Not the same sort, but nonetheless.
People like to argue with me that they don't have the opinions they do because of what they hear in church, and I say that's completely untrue. One of the things I like best about the churches that I've attended in my life with regularity is that they kept the polarizing issues from the media out of the pulpit. I've never had a pastor preach against voting for any one candidate or another. I've never heard a sermon on abortion or the sinfulness of birth control. So you don't think your opinions come from a preacher, eh? Well, in my mind there are 2 places where one can get their "truths:" their church (or the effect that religion has on their family and community, even indirectly) and science or mathematics. Morality and often political sentiment are taught to the masses by preachers, or those who are influenced by them.
So I don't know what the answer is. I'm not anti-religion, I'm not anti-government or even anti-politics. I think differences of opinion are necessary to inspire people to think. But I think the danger of the current hyper-religious political game is that it's taking one opinion, stamping "God Approved" on it, and running off with a smug sense of self-righteousness.
"Those who do not learn from history are often doomed to repeat it."
Nearly 20 years later, I believe I can tell the people who learned from history and those who did not, and the difference is startling and frightening in the political arena. Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear: I think most people, individually, are reasonably intelligent. I think that people as a whole are easily led lemmings looking for someone to tell them what to think, do, feel, and buy because they are too lazy or scared to decide that for themselves. And that's where religion comes in.
As I get older, I consider myself less and less religious and more and more simply spiritual. I believe there's a God- the chaos is too defined for there not to be, I think, and I believe that there was a man named Jesus who lived about 2,000 years ago and preached a message of being nice to each other and taking care of those whom we can help. When I look at history, I look at the history of the influence of religion, politics and economics on the lives of the people of this planet. In truth, we studied the whole history of Europe through the lens of the effects of the influence of the Catholic (Catholic-with-a-big-c, Mr. Jarrell would remind us) church. The history of America is studied through the lens of religion, economics and politics. When you go to a dinner party what are the three things you're not supposed to discuss? Money, religion and politics. As Kostas Portokalos in My Big Fat Greek Wedding would say, "And there you have it."
Those are contentious subjects, sure, because everyone believes that whatever he or she think is the right thing to think. And what I believe has become dangerous to our country is that increasingly the people who are telling the mob how to think are a group of Fundamentalist Evangelical Christians who don't actually represent the actual opinions or feelings of most of America, just the ones that seem to shout the loudest and catch the attention of the Media.
I 100% believe that our forefathers were 100% in the right when they included in the Constitution that Congress shall make no law respecting religion. And I'm fearful that religion has become the number one driving force behind legislation and election happening in this country, and when religion takes control of legislation and election, you have one of two outcomes : The Dark Ages and/or The Taliban. BOTH of those things spring directly from allowing religious leaders to be the people who are making laws. During the Dark Ages, the Church was amassing huge wealth, building grand cathedrals that people still marvel at today and letting the believers live in fear, disease and filth. The Taliban failed pretty miserably at the amassing wealth and building cathedrals part,but they certainly slapped the Afghan people down into living in fear, disease and filth. Not the same sort, but nonetheless.
People like to argue with me that they don't have the opinions they do because of what they hear in church, and I say that's completely untrue. One of the things I like best about the churches that I've attended in my life with regularity is that they kept the polarizing issues from the media out of the pulpit. I've never had a pastor preach against voting for any one candidate or another. I've never heard a sermon on abortion or the sinfulness of birth control. So you don't think your opinions come from a preacher, eh? Well, in my mind there are 2 places where one can get their "truths:" their church (or the effect that religion has on their family and community, even indirectly) and science or mathematics. Morality and often political sentiment are taught to the masses by preachers, or those who are influenced by them.
So I don't know what the answer is. I'm not anti-religion, I'm not anti-government or even anti-politics. I think differences of opinion are necessary to inspire people to think. But I think the danger of the current hyper-religious political game is that it's taking one opinion, stamping "God Approved" on it, and running off with a smug sense of self-righteousness.
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Baby Hairs
When I was pregnant, both times, I could get heartburn from crackers, from water, from antacids. According to the Old Wives' Tale Storybook, that meant my babies would have hair. Now, normally I am not one who puts too much stock in old wives' tales as I know plenty of people who had heartburn just as bad as mine whose babies were born as bald as Jean-Luc Picard. Then I gave birth to this:
Which looked like this at 2 months:
Who, by 6 months old looked like this:
And by a year and a half was sporting THIS:
When she was born with the mop, EVERYONE said "It'll fall out and come back in blonde." And here we are, over two years later and after cutting 4" off a New Years, my 2 and a half year old has brown hair to the middle of her back, still. Never once did a strand fall out, and nor did it turn blonde.
When I was pregnant with #2, we wondered what we would do if she was born bald. I mean, very few babies sport coifs like The Squirt, but we figured if Niblet was bald, we'd buy her a baby wig like Suzanne Sugarbaker in Designing Women. So when this girl was born, we were a bit relieved:
At first we were kind of excited because we thought maybe she'd have curls... but it turns out, she is a hedgehog.
And we like our hedgehog mighty fine.
Who, by 6 months old looked like this:
And by a year and a half was sporting THIS:
When I was pregnant with #2, we wondered what we would do if she was born bald. I mean, very few babies sport coifs like The Squirt, but we figured if Niblet was bald, we'd buy her a baby wig like Suzanne Sugarbaker in Designing Women. So when this girl was born, we were a bit relieved:
At first we were kind of excited because we thought maybe she'd have curls... but it turns out, she is a hedgehog.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
I have 2 kids! Let's not screw them up!
Well, Darling Daughter 2 was born just over a month ago and we haven't slept since then. C'est la vie. I think there is something in our genetics that causes us to forget, edit/polish or willfully ignore how awful having a newborn is because otherwise nobody would ever have 2 kids. On the plus side, she's totally cute and looks a little like a hedgehog.
Now that I have 2 kids, I feel very "parenty." And as a former nanny and now a teacher, I have dealt with the consequences of bad parenting and the rewards of good parenting every day for the last decade or more. I hope that I will do better by my own daughters than some of those whose decisions make my job more difficult than it needs to be while taking the examples of the great parents I interact with whose children reflect the job they're doing.
What are some things that are hallmarks of good or bad parenting? Oh, let me ennumerate....
1. Good parents advocate for their child but don't try to control outcomes for their children. Kids absolutely HAVE to learn what it feels like to fail. If you shield your child from every disappointment, even a truly deserved failure, you have taught them that everything will always go their way. As adults we KNOW that isn't true, and some of the most aggravating and intolerable people you know in your life are almost certainly those who believe they must get their own way all the time.
2. Don't be afraid to make your child cry. As humans we learn the difference between right and wrong by not liking how we feel when we've done something wrong. I don't think kids are born with a conscience. I think it is a parent's job to make his or her kid feel bad when they've done something wrong. The kid then learns that feeling bad about what you did sucks and boom! a conscience is born.
3. Trust your child's teacher until he or she gives you a real and valid reason not to. Teachers see your child in a whole different environment than their family does. A teacher might, one day, tell you that your child did something that you have a hard time believing- but in my experience, teachers don't generally make up stuff to make children look bad. Teachers understand kids a lot better than most parents do because we see such a wide variety of them. A teacher can often give you the best advice for how to deal with an issue, although legally we're not allowed to because it's overreaching, I guess. If your son or daughter's teacher tells you that he or she is having trouble with behavior or academics, it's in your best interest to believe it. It doesn't necessarily make you a bad parent if you have a kid who struggles with something- but it DOES make you a bad parent to ignore the reality of it and fail to help your child cope or overcome.
4. Learn to say no. Learn to MEAN no. Learn not to let "no" change to "yes" or "maybe." Being able to stick to an absolute no is an invaluable parenting must. Does that mean you're never allowed to change your mind? Of course not- one of the best things a child can learn from his or her parents is that sometimes it's necessary to reexamine a situation. But if you always cave into your child, they will learn, once again, that they're supposed to get their way in every situation.
5. Help your child learn that ALL actions have consequences; good or bad. I don't mean that you need to reward all good decisions and punish all bad ones. We already have a culture of children who have been raised believing that they deserve candy for pooping in the toilet. I reward for things that go beyond a regular expectation. But that doesn't mean that you can't teach your child that good things have good consequences anyway. You cleaned up your room? Wow, now you hava a nice neat place to play, aren't you lucky? You were nice to a new student in your class? Awesome, you probably made a new friend. You learned your vocabulary for the test this week and got a good grade? I'm proud of you and all those new words you are learning will make you sound so smart when you use them in your speech or writing. I don't expect kids to be perfect, obviously. But I have found one of the most powerful negative consequences for a child is to have a grownup express disappointment in their choices, but not to try to stop them from doing what they decided to do. You're choosing to play your computer game instead of studying for your science test? Wow, I'm really disappointed. I thought you would make a better choice than that..... for a child in whom you have developed a conscience, that stings worse than you unplugging the computer and forcing them to open their science notes.... they make the choice to do the right thing themself rather than being forced.... and they don't end up being mad about the Huge Injustice their Evil Parent just did to them.
I got all thoughty for this post because I have a set of parenst who is not happy that I noted on a report card that their child's behavior modification plan was going well. First of all, having the teacher tell you your child's behavior plan is successful is a COMPLIMENT to your child. But these parents are only concerned that it indicates that there was a behavior problem to begin with. So what? Stop believing your child is a perfect angel- kids are HUMAN and they are not perfect. CELEBRATE that your child has overcome something that was a struggle. Tell your child you're proud of the good work he or she has done in having more self control in the classroom. Understand that your child's failures don't make you look bad unless their reaction to the failure isn't what it ought to be.
Oy. I have just under another month of maternity leave and I'm pretty happy about that. I absolutely love many of the students in my class this year and the parents who have raised them to be awesome, but on the whole I will be glad to move this group up to first grade and start fresh with new kids and new parents. It's a hard mix this year.
Now that I have 2 kids, I feel very "parenty." And as a former nanny and now a teacher, I have dealt with the consequences of bad parenting and the rewards of good parenting every day for the last decade or more. I hope that I will do better by my own daughters than some of those whose decisions make my job more difficult than it needs to be while taking the examples of the great parents I interact with whose children reflect the job they're doing.
What are some things that are hallmarks of good or bad parenting? Oh, let me ennumerate....
1. Good parents advocate for their child but don't try to control outcomes for their children. Kids absolutely HAVE to learn what it feels like to fail. If you shield your child from every disappointment, even a truly deserved failure, you have taught them that everything will always go their way. As adults we KNOW that isn't true, and some of the most aggravating and intolerable people you know in your life are almost certainly those who believe they must get their own way all the time.
2. Don't be afraid to make your child cry. As humans we learn the difference between right and wrong by not liking how we feel when we've done something wrong. I don't think kids are born with a conscience. I think it is a parent's job to make his or her kid feel bad when they've done something wrong. The kid then learns that feeling bad about what you did sucks and boom! a conscience is born.
3. Trust your child's teacher until he or she gives you a real and valid reason not to. Teachers see your child in a whole different environment than their family does. A teacher might, one day, tell you that your child did something that you have a hard time believing- but in my experience, teachers don't generally make up stuff to make children look bad. Teachers understand kids a lot better than most parents do because we see such a wide variety of them. A teacher can often give you the best advice for how to deal with an issue, although legally we're not allowed to because it's overreaching, I guess. If your son or daughter's teacher tells you that he or she is having trouble with behavior or academics, it's in your best interest to believe it. It doesn't necessarily make you a bad parent if you have a kid who struggles with something- but it DOES make you a bad parent to ignore the reality of it and fail to help your child cope or overcome.
4. Learn to say no. Learn to MEAN no. Learn not to let "no" change to "yes" or "maybe." Being able to stick to an absolute no is an invaluable parenting must. Does that mean you're never allowed to change your mind? Of course not- one of the best things a child can learn from his or her parents is that sometimes it's necessary to reexamine a situation. But if you always cave into your child, they will learn, once again, that they're supposed to get their way in every situation.
5. Help your child learn that ALL actions have consequences; good or bad. I don't mean that you need to reward all good decisions and punish all bad ones. We already have a culture of children who have been raised believing that they deserve candy for pooping in the toilet. I reward for things that go beyond a regular expectation. But that doesn't mean that you can't teach your child that good things have good consequences anyway. You cleaned up your room? Wow, now you hava a nice neat place to play, aren't you lucky? You were nice to a new student in your class? Awesome, you probably made a new friend. You learned your vocabulary for the test this week and got a good grade? I'm proud of you and all those new words you are learning will make you sound so smart when you use them in your speech or writing. I don't expect kids to be perfect, obviously. But I have found one of the most powerful negative consequences for a child is to have a grownup express disappointment in their choices, but not to try to stop them from doing what they decided to do. You're choosing to play your computer game instead of studying for your science test? Wow, I'm really disappointed. I thought you would make a better choice than that..... for a child in whom you have developed a conscience, that stings worse than you unplugging the computer and forcing them to open their science notes.... they make the choice to do the right thing themself rather than being forced.... and they don't end up being mad about the Huge Injustice their Evil Parent just did to them.
I got all thoughty for this post because I have a set of parenst who is not happy that I noted on a report card that their child's behavior modification plan was going well. First of all, having the teacher tell you your child's behavior plan is successful is a COMPLIMENT to your child. But these parents are only concerned that it indicates that there was a behavior problem to begin with. So what? Stop believing your child is a perfect angel- kids are HUMAN and they are not perfect. CELEBRATE that your child has overcome something that was a struggle. Tell your child you're proud of the good work he or she has done in having more self control in the classroom. Understand that your child's failures don't make you look bad unless their reaction to the failure isn't what it ought to be.
Oy. I have just under another month of maternity leave and I'm pretty happy about that. I absolutely love many of the students in my class this year and the parents who have raised them to be awesome, but on the whole I will be glad to move this group up to first grade and start fresh with new kids and new parents. It's a hard mix this year.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
It Just Never Ends
I haven't posted in a while because I'm too pregnant to live. Between trying to not lose my job, keep my house neat enough to at least not qualify for an episode of Hoarders, taking care of the world's most awesome 2 year old, 2 dogs, 2 cats, a husband and myself, blogging basically didn't exist..... but you forgive me, you know you do.
So Fun With Labor officially got off to a start on Wednesday. Baby Girl #2 is due on 1/26, but all signs point to her intention to make her debut earlier. There's been a nasty stomach flu working its way through the kids at school and they were kind enough to share it. While I managed to avoid the cataclysmic puking episodes, the other symptom led to me getting fairly dehydrated. So dehydrated in fact, that it made my blood pressure go bonkers which in turn started me having some irregular but strong contractions. My blood pressure usually hovers around the 115/75 range, so seeing numbers like 140/110 was scary. On Thursday at work I just felt "off" and emailed my OB who asked if I could get my BP checked at school or if I could run over to their local office and have it checked. Our public health nurse who is one of those old-school nurses who know everything about everything took one look at me and said "Oh honey, you need to go home" before she even checked my BP. So once she got that scary number, I was sent packing to the OB who sent me to the hospital for monitoring, blood work and fluids.
Luckily all the bloodwork came back negative for anything scary, and after a couple of hours of fluids the contractions tapered off and I felt much better. But I still got sent home on bed rest and OB said she'd be surprised if I was still pregnant by the end of next week. On Friday I enjoyed having a day of rest, to be honest, and today I've been uncomfortable and just trying to keep the stress down so I don't ratchet up the bp again.
But of course, my mother can't allow that. Oh no. For some reason the woman has decided that me having children is somehow all about her. Yesterday I was accused of having had the baby and not telling her. Today I have enjoyed her standard passive-aggressive emails about how "inconvenient" it is for me not to answer her phone calls to make me decribe everything my 2 year old has done or said in the last 48 hours. Inconvenient. INCONVENIENT. Why do I have to make anything about my life convenient for you, Mother? Why is the birth of my child something that should revolve around you and what's easy for YOU?!? I don't see a single reason why it should, so therefore it's not going to. You are not the only grandmother on earth whose grandchildren live out of driving distance. I am not under any OBLIGATION to make travel plans for you. You're a big girl. As my dear friend would say, scratch your mad place and get glad.
Luckily my husband has risen to the occasion and will be informing her that I will not be talking to or answering text messages from her or anyone else until after the baby is born and if she wants updates on anything, she will have to embrace the "inconvenience" of calling him instead.
So Fun With Labor officially got off to a start on Wednesday. Baby Girl #2 is due on 1/26, but all signs point to her intention to make her debut earlier. There's been a nasty stomach flu working its way through the kids at school and they were kind enough to share it. While I managed to avoid the cataclysmic puking episodes, the other symptom led to me getting fairly dehydrated. So dehydrated in fact, that it made my blood pressure go bonkers which in turn started me having some irregular but strong contractions. My blood pressure usually hovers around the 115/75 range, so seeing numbers like 140/110 was scary. On Thursday at work I just felt "off" and emailed my OB who asked if I could get my BP checked at school or if I could run over to their local office and have it checked. Our public health nurse who is one of those old-school nurses who know everything about everything took one look at me and said "Oh honey, you need to go home" before she even checked my BP. So once she got that scary number, I was sent packing to the OB who sent me to the hospital for monitoring, blood work and fluids.
Luckily all the bloodwork came back negative for anything scary, and after a couple of hours of fluids the contractions tapered off and I felt much better. But I still got sent home on bed rest and OB said she'd be surprised if I was still pregnant by the end of next week. On Friday I enjoyed having a day of rest, to be honest, and today I've been uncomfortable and just trying to keep the stress down so I don't ratchet up the bp again.
But of course, my mother can't allow that. Oh no. For some reason the woman has decided that me having children is somehow all about her. Yesterday I was accused of having had the baby and not telling her. Today I have enjoyed her standard passive-aggressive emails about how "inconvenient" it is for me not to answer her phone calls to make me decribe everything my 2 year old has done or said in the last 48 hours. Inconvenient. INCONVENIENT. Why do I have to make anything about my life convenient for you, Mother? Why is the birth of my child something that should revolve around you and what's easy for YOU?!? I don't see a single reason why it should, so therefore it's not going to. You are not the only grandmother on earth whose grandchildren live out of driving distance. I am not under any OBLIGATION to make travel plans for you. You're a big girl. As my dear friend would say, scratch your mad place and get glad.
Luckily my husband has risen to the occasion and will be informing her that I will not be talking to or answering text messages from her or anyone else until after the baby is born and if she wants updates on anything, she will have to embrace the "inconvenience" of calling him instead.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
The Dangers of Christmas
After using a small crane to lower myself onto the floor this morning in order to wrap the only gifts I've managed to purchase so far this holiday season, I've come to the realization that Christmas is dangerous, ya'll. And not for the reasons you might think.
Sure, we hear about the folks who slice their finger or hand open on a blister package that requires a nuclear reaction to open and heading to the emergency room for stitches. There's the unfortunate Turkey Fryer accidents. There's the dissolution of marriages and disowning of children by parents who were up until 4am assembling the tiny plastic parts of a Barbie Malibu Dream Castle. But for pregnant kindergarten teachers, there is even more peril.
First of all, there's the hormonal issue. I cried the other night because the pork chops I had in the oven weren't browning the way I wanted them to because they were thicker than the ones I usually buy. I collapsed into a bewildered heap of sobs over that disaster. That has nothing to do with Christmas, of course, but how can you expect someone who cries over pork chops to be able to drive while you're playing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the radio, Light 98? Or "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch?" I mean, these songs are FILLED with emotional triggers like "Your soul is an appalling dung heap overflowing with the most disgusting assortment of garbage imaginable." Sobs, I tell you. I carry mascara in my purse so that once I get to school I can somewhat reassemble myself.
Of course, that doesn't last long. And why? Pants. They keep caring if I'm wearing pants to school. Yes, I wear a dress as often as possible and recently made the foray into leggings and longer shirts, but I haven't found a way yet to wear my ACTUAL nightgown or a pair of sweatpants to school without escaping notice. And with a baby belly roughly the size of the unexplained object orbiting Mercury:
They're COMING FOR US
Pants are seriously dangerous. As a matter of fact, on Thursday I was a mere moments from taking my scissors into the stinky peed-on bathroom in my classroom and cutting the waistband on the maternity pants I was wearing so that I could stand to wear them for another moment. I had a whole plan to extend them involving duct tape and my stapler, but luckily the Husband showed up with my sweatpants just in time for my pants to escape Mythbusters style rigging.
THEN this morning I got the proofs of The Squirt's 2 year old photo shoot with a talented photographer friend. The kid is spectacular, I must say. Even the dogs look cute in the shots they invaded. Me, not so much. I look like a whale. An actual, verifiable, World Wildlife Association Profiling Endangered Species. There is only one of my kind: The Central Virginian Mommious Colossus. I am SNL's Land Shark's Whale counterpart. And this is particularly troubling because I've really not gained that much weight at all (nneighborhood of 10lbs, sometimes as much as 15 depending on when you weigh me). So this served to completely destroy the picture of myself in my head that I have where I am a Whole Lot Thinner Than I Actually Am. Tears. Oh yeah. Tears.
And now I'm trying to plan some merriment for my kindergarten friends for next week, and it's frustrating because I have a Jehovah's Witness in my class. They take the fun out of everything and replace it with Watchtower pamphlets. This is the first year I haven't spent the whole month of December playing my collection of Robert Shaw carols and such on the CD player in my classroom instead of my usual "Piano's Most Relaxing Hits" albums.
On the slightest end of positive, this week I only had ONE unexplained pee puddle appear on my classroom floor, and only had to make one awkward phone call home to a parent because his son was masturbating on his rest mat during naptime. Oh yeah, baby.
Sure, we hear about the folks who slice their finger or hand open on a blister package that requires a nuclear reaction to open and heading to the emergency room for stitches. There's the unfortunate Turkey Fryer accidents. There's the dissolution of marriages and disowning of children by parents who were up until 4am assembling the tiny plastic parts of a Barbie Malibu Dream Castle. But for pregnant kindergarten teachers, there is even more peril.
First of all, there's the hormonal issue. I cried the other night because the pork chops I had in the oven weren't browning the way I wanted them to because they were thicker than the ones I usually buy. I collapsed into a bewildered heap of sobs over that disaster. That has nothing to do with Christmas, of course, but how can you expect someone who cries over pork chops to be able to drive while you're playing "It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year" on the radio, Light 98? Or "You're a Mean One, Mr. Grinch?" I mean, these songs are FILLED with emotional triggers like "Your soul is an appalling dung heap overflowing with the most disgusting assortment of garbage imaginable." Sobs, I tell you. I carry mascara in my purse so that once I get to school I can somewhat reassemble myself.
Of course, that doesn't last long. And why? Pants. They keep caring if I'm wearing pants to school. Yes, I wear a dress as often as possible and recently made the foray into leggings and longer shirts, but I haven't found a way yet to wear my ACTUAL nightgown or a pair of sweatpants to school without escaping notice. And with a baby belly roughly the size of the unexplained object orbiting Mercury:
They're COMING FOR US
Pants are seriously dangerous. As a matter of fact, on Thursday I was a mere moments from taking my scissors into the stinky peed-on bathroom in my classroom and cutting the waistband on the maternity pants I was wearing so that I could stand to wear them for another moment. I had a whole plan to extend them involving duct tape and my stapler, but luckily the Husband showed up with my sweatpants just in time for my pants to escape Mythbusters style rigging.
THEN this morning I got the proofs of The Squirt's 2 year old photo shoot with a talented photographer friend. The kid is spectacular, I must say. Even the dogs look cute in the shots they invaded. Me, not so much. I look like a whale. An actual, verifiable, World Wildlife Association Profiling Endangered Species. There is only one of my kind: The Central Virginian Mommious Colossus. I am SNL's Land Shark's Whale counterpart. And this is particularly troubling because I've really not gained that much weight at all (nneighborhood of 10lbs, sometimes as much as 15 depending on when you weigh me). So this served to completely destroy the picture of myself in my head that I have where I am a Whole Lot Thinner Than I Actually Am. Tears. Oh yeah. Tears.
And now I'm trying to plan some merriment for my kindergarten friends for next week, and it's frustrating because I have a Jehovah's Witness in my class. They take the fun out of everything and replace it with Watchtower pamphlets. This is the first year I haven't spent the whole month of December playing my collection of Robert Shaw carols and such on the CD player in my classroom instead of my usual "Piano's Most Relaxing Hits" albums.
On the slightest end of positive, this week I only had ONE unexplained pee puddle appear on my classroom floor, and only had to make one awkward phone call home to a parent because his son was masturbating on his rest mat during naptime. Oh yeah, baby.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
There's a Madonna Song in Here Somewhere
With The Squirt, I elected to have an induction and it failed. I ended up having a c-section which was neither the most or least enjoyable experience of my life.
What was the least enjoyable, you may ask? Well, it just might be the phone calls I get from various personages taking me on a delightful passive aggressive guilt trip revolving around the birth of my children!
When The Squirt was born, I was teaching the worst 5th grade class ever assembled by a soulless, neckless demon from the depths of Hell. I was compounding the problem, I'm sure, by being exhausted, uncomfortable and grouchy but truthfully passing the time with a pack of rabid babboons bent on giving me the Ebola virus would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my day. Then the phone calls began.
One side of the family remained willfully ignorant about the details of pregnancy and childbirth and didn't seem to understand why neither me nor my beloved obstetrician could pinpoint with any accuracy when exactly she would be born and how much she would weigh. I'm already getting the "have they told you how much she weighs?" questions again, and this time I'm answering with the information from my What Not to Expect app..... so today? About 4lbs. "Why is she so small?!? Is there something wrong?" Um no. Did you think that as soon as the sperm hit the egg a 7.5lb baby magically appears? I am under the impression that she grows. You know, gets larger every day. And if someone has invented an intrauterine scale then I certainly haven't heard about it. Le sigh. Last time someone expected to be able to videotape the birth and didn't really want to listen to my objections, so I got the nurses to tell people that nobody other that my husband was allowed in the room because of the Swine Flu outbreaks. L&D nurses are GREAT liars.
So one cold and rainy afternoon in November, I was forced to abandon the rabid babboon hoarde to field a series of passive aggressive phone calls from my own mother and grandmother. It appears that my mother had decided that my unwillingness to consult the Dark Arts to divine when my child would be born so that she could be assured of being present, and my inability to secure travel plans for picking her up from the airport when there were no day or time parameters to consider was code for me saying I Don't Like You And Don't Want You To Ever See My Child. Then to add insult to injury, I expressed interest in spending the last few days of the husband and my life as a couple as, you know, a COUPLE. Without houseguests. I am mortifyingly selfish it seems. Either that or my mother is secretly a 2 year old.
In the last few weeks, I've been trying to make it clear to various family that I don't intend to schedule a C-Section for the birth of kidlet #2. It does not appear to be sinking in for some, but others have decided that I am intentionally inconveniencing them so that I can be sure that they cannot be present when she is born. Out of spite, you know. I am spitefully choosing to give birth in the intended way if possible. Egg on my face, right?
My general feeling on the matter is this: I have a 2 year old. I will have a newborn. I would vastly prefer to avoid major abdominal surgery and the recovery involved. After a C-Section, you're not allowed to pick up anything heavier than your baby for like 2 weeks. Someone explain that to a 2 year old, please? All she would know is that Mama will hold the baby but not her, and I can't hurt her like that if I have the power to possibly avoid the issue at all.
Since I AM the one who will be giving birth to this little Riverdancer, I can't say I particularly care about making it convenient for anyone else. And it really chaps my ass that I'm dealing with passive aggressive guilt trips because my decisions regarding my body, my baby, and my family are inconvenient for people's travel plans. As far as I'm concerned there is exactly ONE other person on earth who has any actual right to be present for the birth of this little girl, and that would be her daddy. If it works out that the more long distance family is able to be there, great. If not, I'm not responsible for that.
So my decision to VBAC if possible is NOT made out of spite to you, Mother. Nor is it intended to relay some secret message of hatred towards you. It is about ME prefering NOT to be cut open and sewn back together when I have this handy dandy doorway all biologically ready for my child to exit. Why smash a hole in the wall if there's already a door to walk through? Of course, if medically necessary I'm not opposed to having another c-section, but it's nobody's decision but mine and my doctor's.
Oh, January, you cannot come swiftly enough.
To Quote Her Madgesty Herself: And I'm not sorry..... it's human nature.... and I'm not sorry, I'm not your b!tch, don't lay your $hit on me.......
What was the least enjoyable, you may ask? Well, it just might be the phone calls I get from various personages taking me on a delightful passive aggressive guilt trip revolving around the birth of my children!
When The Squirt was born, I was teaching the worst 5th grade class ever assembled by a soulless, neckless demon from the depths of Hell. I was compounding the problem, I'm sure, by being exhausted, uncomfortable and grouchy but truthfully passing the time with a pack of rabid babboons bent on giving me the Ebola virus would have been a more enjoyable way to spend my day. Then the phone calls began.
One side of the family remained willfully ignorant about the details of pregnancy and childbirth and didn't seem to understand why neither me nor my beloved obstetrician could pinpoint with any accuracy when exactly she would be born and how much she would weigh. I'm already getting the "have they told you how much she weighs?" questions again, and this time I'm answering with the information from my What Not to Expect app..... so today? About 4lbs. "Why is she so small?!? Is there something wrong?" Um no. Did you think that as soon as the sperm hit the egg a 7.5lb baby magically appears? I am under the impression that she grows. You know, gets larger every day. And if someone has invented an intrauterine scale then I certainly haven't heard about it. Le sigh. Last time someone expected to be able to videotape the birth and didn't really want to listen to my objections, so I got the nurses to tell people that nobody other that my husband was allowed in the room because of the Swine Flu outbreaks. L&D nurses are GREAT liars.
So one cold and rainy afternoon in November, I was forced to abandon the rabid babboon hoarde to field a series of passive aggressive phone calls from my own mother and grandmother. It appears that my mother had decided that my unwillingness to consult the Dark Arts to divine when my child would be born so that she could be assured of being present, and my inability to secure travel plans for picking her up from the airport when there were no day or time parameters to consider was code for me saying I Don't Like You And Don't Want You To Ever See My Child. Then to add insult to injury, I expressed interest in spending the last few days of the husband and my life as a couple as, you know, a COUPLE. Without houseguests. I am mortifyingly selfish it seems. Either that or my mother is secretly a 2 year old.
In the last few weeks, I've been trying to make it clear to various family that I don't intend to schedule a C-Section for the birth of kidlet #2. It does not appear to be sinking in for some, but others have decided that I am intentionally inconveniencing them so that I can be sure that they cannot be present when she is born. Out of spite, you know. I am spitefully choosing to give birth in the intended way if possible. Egg on my face, right?
My general feeling on the matter is this: I have a 2 year old. I will have a newborn. I would vastly prefer to avoid major abdominal surgery and the recovery involved. After a C-Section, you're not allowed to pick up anything heavier than your baby for like 2 weeks. Someone explain that to a 2 year old, please? All she would know is that Mama will hold the baby but not her, and I can't hurt her like that if I have the power to possibly avoid the issue at all.
Since I AM the one who will be giving birth to this little Riverdancer, I can't say I particularly care about making it convenient for anyone else. And it really chaps my ass that I'm dealing with passive aggressive guilt trips because my decisions regarding my body, my baby, and my family are inconvenient for people's travel plans. As far as I'm concerned there is exactly ONE other person on earth who has any actual right to be present for the birth of this little girl, and that would be her daddy. If it works out that the more long distance family is able to be there, great. If not, I'm not responsible for that.
So my decision to VBAC if possible is NOT made out of spite to you, Mother. Nor is it intended to relay some secret message of hatred towards you. It is about ME prefering NOT to be cut open and sewn back together when I have this handy dandy doorway all biologically ready for my child to exit. Why smash a hole in the wall if there's already a door to walk through? Of course, if medically necessary I'm not opposed to having another c-section, but it's nobody's decision but mine and my doctor's.
Oh, January, you cannot come swiftly enough.
To Quote Her Madgesty Herself: And I'm not sorry..... it's human nature.... and I'm not sorry, I'm not your b!tch, don't lay your $hit on me.......
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
'Twas the Week Before Thanksgiving Eve
So the World's Most Awesome Toddler turned 2 on Friday, and as punishment to her parents all of her Georgia grandparents came to visit. No, actually, it was fine.... just exhausting. Hadn't seen my parents get along that well in, well, my life. And Her Majesty certainly enjoyed being the EXACT center of attention. She is also a recent convert to the Birthday Cake Fan Club.
So now it's Thanksgiving Eve, and my mother has been here since The Squirt's birthday on the 18th. She has made it her mission to completely decorate The Squirt's new Big Girl Room which includes painting a lot of furniture because we're too cheap to buy anything new and happily took hand me down furniture. She also decided to repair the damage to the guest bathroom that my grandmother caused a good year ago and that she exacerbated. All fine and dandy. I think she intends to paint my upstairs hallway, too, which again, is fine. She's good at these sorts of things and while I could do it myself, I'd prefer not to.
However, today we took a trip out to a couple of shopping establishments because I had to buy The Squirt's new Big Girl bedding set (CUPCAKES!) and my mother needed to go to Home Depot for some things that she assures me are essential to the wellbeing of my family and the Earth and my lack of which she finds troubling (spray acrylic. Who just keeps spray acrylic in their house at all times?). These 2 hours of my life proved sufficient to render me more or less a hypertensive manic-depressive maniac hellbent on killing all those in my way. Why, you ask?
On the way to Homegoods, she tells me I have to buy new bathroom rugs because she threw out my existing rugs yesterday (and trash has since been picked up) because they weren't the correct rugs. Then I am informed that she intends to hang a towel bar about 2 feet up from the floor in the bathroom so that my daughter can wipe her mouth on it after brushing her teeth. Yes, because that's necessary. Then we arrive at Homegoods, and she immediately takes off at Warp 9.9 with my toddler in hand, ignoring the fact that I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and physically unable to move that fast. If you've never chased my mother around a home accessories or grocery store, let me tell you now that it's both aerobic and frustrating. The key is to NEVER let her have control of the cart. Otherwise, you spend the grocery trip filling your arms with all the things you INTENDED to put in the cart and then circling the store looking for the buggy and trying in vain to catch her long enough to put this armload of groceries into the cart so you can start that process again. The comedic properties of chasing your own grocery cart around the store as it's being driven by a maniac in sweatpants is unfortunately lost on me. It's kind of like Whack-a-Mole, only you don't get to hit her on purpose.
So being careful to keep from circling the sun while traveling at maximum warp to avoid unintentional time travel and having to be part of some bad Star Trek plot involving humpback whales, I managed to acquire the things I intended to buy and subsequently answer all her continuously unanswerable questions about what exact shade of purple was in the quilt set that I did not own yet. I was also required to purchase an over-the-door hanging organizer thing because she cannot abide my purse hanging on a doorknob or a Target bag being placed on the floor until the contents are unpacked. Oh, and a scented candle for the bathroom, which I guarantee my husband will throw away next week because scented candles give him migraines. My total cost: $140. She bought the kid a pink poodle purse for $4.99.
So then we head to Home Depot, where again, she grabs the toddler and accelerates towards the exit. Approaching the exit, she hands me the child and then despite me saying "This is the exit, the entrance is there," she zooms in through the out door, leaving us to chase behind her unable to get a cart or buggy for my 32lb ham of a child to ride in. So, this means I spent the next 30 minutes chasing her AND a toddler wearing new and exciting twinkling sneakers through Home Depot trying in vain to prevent injury to myself and/or damage to the Home Depot inventory that would require me to pay the store for the destruction. I vetoed a $30 towel bar that I don't need or want, much to her chagrin. Suck it, lady. After she amassed all the things that Home Depot sells that my home was teetering on the edge of self-destructing without, I was allowed to pay for the purchases while MotorMother takes my child and runs for the car like a woman currently shoplifting a turkey out of the store in her underwear.
Did I mention that in the course of this day I had to stop at no less than 3 different gas stations until she could find the appropriate brand of cigarettes? And I am so desperately allergic to and loathing of all things related to smoking that my soul dies a little with each stop. If only I'd known the incantation to make a horcrux, it would have been smart on this trip.
Finally, after we leave Home Depot I decided to acquire some lunch for everyone, and swung into McDonalds. The Squirt got excited about "Chicken anna FRIES anna SAUCE, Mama?!?" So taking a deep breath, I barely survived the sojurn through the highly inefficient newly redesigned 2 lane drive thru system with my mother on a continuous loop about how HORRIBLE the drive thru line is and trying repeatedly to get my child to repeat the things she wanted her to say.
When I got home, I more or less only wanted to sit on my sofa and try not to die. But no, I was sent to Target because you see, she'd decided my bathroom curtain situation was inappropriate, so she took down ONE curtain rod from the 2 windows in my daughter's room and moved it to the bathroom window which faces a windowless side of our neighbor's house. Since nobody except the 2.5 foot tall kid is ever naked in that room, I'd not really worried about covering the window which was apparently a sad, sad travesty in my life. Instead of just buying another rod next time we happened to be there, it became imperative to get one with some haste because now only one window of my daughter's room was covered. Logic defies.
And the kicker is that SHE has a prescription for Xanax, not me.
So now it's Thanksgiving Eve, and my mother has been here since The Squirt's birthday on the 18th. She has made it her mission to completely decorate The Squirt's new Big Girl Room which includes painting a lot of furniture because we're too cheap to buy anything new and happily took hand me down furniture. She also decided to repair the damage to the guest bathroom that my grandmother caused a good year ago and that she exacerbated. All fine and dandy. I think she intends to paint my upstairs hallway, too, which again, is fine. She's good at these sorts of things and while I could do it myself, I'd prefer not to.
However, today we took a trip out to a couple of shopping establishments because I had to buy The Squirt's new Big Girl bedding set (CUPCAKES!) and my mother needed to go to Home Depot for some things that she assures me are essential to the wellbeing of my family and the Earth and my lack of which she finds troubling (spray acrylic. Who just keeps spray acrylic in their house at all times?). These 2 hours of my life proved sufficient to render me more or less a hypertensive manic-depressive maniac hellbent on killing all those in my way. Why, you ask?
On the way to Homegoods, she tells me I have to buy new bathroom rugs because she threw out my existing rugs yesterday (and trash has since been picked up) because they weren't the correct rugs. Then I am informed that she intends to hang a towel bar about 2 feet up from the floor in the bathroom so that my daughter can wipe her mouth on it after brushing her teeth. Yes, because that's necessary. Then we arrive at Homegoods, and she immediately takes off at Warp 9.9 with my toddler in hand, ignoring the fact that I'm nearly 8 months pregnant and physically unable to move that fast. If you've never chased my mother around a home accessories or grocery store, let me tell you now that it's both aerobic and frustrating. The key is to NEVER let her have control of the cart. Otherwise, you spend the grocery trip filling your arms with all the things you INTENDED to put in the cart and then circling the store looking for the buggy and trying in vain to catch her long enough to put this armload of groceries into the cart so you can start that process again. The comedic properties of chasing your own grocery cart around the store as it's being driven by a maniac in sweatpants is unfortunately lost on me. It's kind of like Whack-a-Mole, only you don't get to hit her on purpose.
So being careful to keep from circling the sun while traveling at maximum warp to avoid unintentional time travel and having to be part of some bad Star Trek plot involving humpback whales, I managed to acquire the things I intended to buy and subsequently answer all her continuously unanswerable questions about what exact shade of purple was in the quilt set that I did not own yet. I was also required to purchase an over-the-door hanging organizer thing because she cannot abide my purse hanging on a doorknob or a Target bag being placed on the floor until the contents are unpacked. Oh, and a scented candle for the bathroom, which I guarantee my husband will throw away next week because scented candles give him migraines. My total cost: $140. She bought the kid a pink poodle purse for $4.99.
So then we head to Home Depot, where again, she grabs the toddler and accelerates towards the exit. Approaching the exit, she hands me the child and then despite me saying "This is the exit, the entrance is there," she zooms in through the out door, leaving us to chase behind her unable to get a cart or buggy for my 32lb ham of a child to ride in. So, this means I spent the next 30 minutes chasing her AND a toddler wearing new and exciting twinkling sneakers through Home Depot trying in vain to prevent injury to myself and/or damage to the Home Depot inventory that would require me to pay the store for the destruction. I vetoed a $30 towel bar that I don't need or want, much to her chagrin. Suck it, lady. After she amassed all the things that Home Depot sells that my home was teetering on the edge of self-destructing without, I was allowed to pay for the purchases while MotorMother takes my child and runs for the car like a woman currently shoplifting a turkey out of the store in her underwear.
Did I mention that in the course of this day I had to stop at no less than 3 different gas stations until she could find the appropriate brand of cigarettes? And I am so desperately allergic to and loathing of all things related to smoking that my soul dies a little with each stop. If only I'd known the incantation to make a horcrux, it would have been smart on this trip.
Finally, after we leave Home Depot I decided to acquire some lunch for everyone, and swung into McDonalds. The Squirt got excited about "Chicken anna FRIES anna SAUCE, Mama?!?" So taking a deep breath, I barely survived the sojurn through the highly inefficient newly redesigned 2 lane drive thru system with my mother on a continuous loop about how HORRIBLE the drive thru line is and trying repeatedly to get my child to repeat the things she wanted her to say.
When I got home, I more or less only wanted to sit on my sofa and try not to die. But no, I was sent to Target because you see, she'd decided my bathroom curtain situation was inappropriate, so she took down ONE curtain rod from the 2 windows in my daughter's room and moved it to the bathroom window which faces a windowless side of our neighbor's house. Since nobody except the 2.5 foot tall kid is ever naked in that room, I'd not really worried about covering the window which was apparently a sad, sad travesty in my life. Instead of just buying another rod next time we happened to be there, it became imperative to get one with some haste because now only one window of my daughter's room was covered. Logic defies.
And the kicker is that SHE has a prescription for Xanax, not me.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Reasons Why My Dogs Will Never Rule the World
This week I had the highly enjoyable experience of attending a 4 movie marathon and midnight premiere of the new Twilight movie with a wonderful group of girlfriends. Now, to be plainly honest, I did read the Twilight books but they have not become any sort of focus in my life.... I'm not a "twihard" or anything of the sort. I find Robert Pattinson to be fairly unattractive.... and I think Kristin Stewart is a truly terrible actress. I used to just think the first movie was badly directed, but no, it turned out that while that movie WAS badly directed, KStew was just as wooden and unemotional in the subsequent movies as in the first. But I digress.....
Anyway, for the uninitiated, the Twilight series involves a pack of shapeshifting Quileute indians who turn into giant wolves in order to hunt down their only natural enemy, the vampire. Most Twihards will tell you that they fall firmly into the "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob" category. Those on "Team Jacob" are essentially declaring their preference for men who become literal dogs, instead of just the figurative dog that most men become somewhere between birth and death. I have thought about it, and I believe that this move is a bad one because dogs are not intended to have any sort of power in society. I believe Gus and Pickle demonstrate this succinctly.
First and foremost, my dogs don't have thumbs. If they did, there would be a lot less cheese and raw meat in my refrigerator. Do you really want to be ruled by someone who cannot open jars?
Second, my dogs both lick their own butts. Now, I am sure there is a large contingency of men who would just love being able to lick their own manly areas; however, I don't think that's a selling point for a world leader. Because we all know, ladies, that such an activity renders the average man unable to speak coherently. And they're obsessed enough with it as it is.
Third, my dogs seem to believe there is some point to chasing squirrels. Neither of them will ever catch a squirrel, and honestly neither would have any idea what to do with a squirrel were he or she to catch one, but they insist that the 1lb furry tailed intruders in their yard merit mad barking dashes to rescue us all from their nefarious plots to take over the world one acorn at a time.
Fourth, despite their knowledge that the Magical Box in the kitchen where mommy keeps The Fud is stocked with unimaginable amounts of dog-approved goodies, they are willing to happily injest practically dehydrated pebbles of meat-ish dog food. Settling for dog food when you know mommy has a pork loin seems defeatist to me.
Fifth, they are un-pottytrainable.
Sixth, particularly Gus can be frightened awfully easily. I saw him jump in horror when a falling leaf from a tree landed on him. I think one needs to have a little gumption to be in charge of the world, don't you.
Anyway, so that's what I'm thinking about today. Wouldn't you like to spend a little time in my brain? Tee hee hee
Anyway, for the uninitiated, the Twilight series involves a pack of shapeshifting Quileute indians who turn into giant wolves in order to hunt down their only natural enemy, the vampire. Most Twihards will tell you that they fall firmly into the "Team Edward" or "Team Jacob" category. Those on "Team Jacob" are essentially declaring their preference for men who become literal dogs, instead of just the figurative dog that most men become somewhere between birth and death. I have thought about it, and I believe that this move is a bad one because dogs are not intended to have any sort of power in society. I believe Gus and Pickle demonstrate this succinctly.
First and foremost, my dogs don't have thumbs. If they did, there would be a lot less cheese and raw meat in my refrigerator. Do you really want to be ruled by someone who cannot open jars?
Second, my dogs both lick their own butts. Now, I am sure there is a large contingency of men who would just love being able to lick their own manly areas; however, I don't think that's a selling point for a world leader. Because we all know, ladies, that such an activity renders the average man unable to speak coherently. And they're obsessed enough with it as it is.
Third, my dogs seem to believe there is some point to chasing squirrels. Neither of them will ever catch a squirrel, and honestly neither would have any idea what to do with a squirrel were he or she to catch one, but they insist that the 1lb furry tailed intruders in their yard merit mad barking dashes to rescue us all from their nefarious plots to take over the world one acorn at a time.
Fourth, despite their knowledge that the Magical Box in the kitchen where mommy keeps The Fud is stocked with unimaginable amounts of dog-approved goodies, they are willing to happily injest practically dehydrated pebbles of meat-ish dog food. Settling for dog food when you know mommy has a pork loin seems defeatist to me.
Fifth, they are un-pottytrainable.
Sixth, particularly Gus can be frightened awfully easily. I saw him jump in horror when a falling leaf from a tree landed on him. I think one needs to have a little gumption to be in charge of the world, don't you.
Anyway, so that's what I'm thinking about today. Wouldn't you like to spend a little time in my brain? Tee hee hee
Saturday, November 12, 2011
SHAMEFUL!
Friends, I am disgusted and I am mobilizing.
A very good friend of mine just had a terrible experience with the Junior Federated Women's Club of Chester, VA. Her daughter was participating in their Cotillion program. She made the grievous error of questioning their use of public humiliation and bullying while claiming to be teaching manners to preteens. So the group disinvited her daugher, via cowardly letter left in their mailbox.
I think this is beyond the pale. Please, I know I don't have MANY readers or followers, but let's spread the word that we find it reprehensible that a group claiming to teach deportment would believe that bullying is an appropriate way to interact with preteen children.
A very good friend of mine just had a terrible experience with the Junior Federated Women's Club of Chester, VA. Her daughter was participating in their Cotillion program. She made the grievous error of questioning their use of public humiliation and bullying while claiming to be teaching manners to preteens. So the group disinvited her daugher, via cowardly letter left in their mailbox.
I think this is beyond the pale. Please, I know I don't have MANY readers or followers, but let's spread the word that we find it reprehensible that a group claiming to teach deportment would believe that bullying is an appropriate way to interact with preteen children.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
What I am Looking Forward To
A mere11 weeks from now I will be giving birth to another human being. At that moment, my job as the host to a parasitic organism will cease and for that I am thankful because lawdy, lawdy I hate being pregnant. So here's a list of things that I am already anticipating with glee:
1. Ibuprofen
2. Sleeping flat on my face on my stomach.
3. Possibly the diminishing urge to kick people in the face
4. The return of the ability to eat anything without crippling heartburn
5. Going to the bathroom without throwing up simultaneously
6. Ridiculous caffeine consumption
7. The return of my hip bones into their assigned socket spaces
8. Never being kicked in the bladder from the inside again
9. The ability to regulate my body temperature to a reasonable degree
10. The ability to swallow a pill with water without throwing it back up
11. Having haircolor stick to my hair
12. Patience and sympathy, as I have none right now
13. Never having to answer the obvious question "Haven't you had that baby yet?!?" again. Obviously, you moron, if I am still pregnant I have NOT had that baby yet. You, however, owe me $10 for wasting the oxygen needed to speak those words of stupidity aloud.
14. Being able to answer the question "So, when are you going to have another one?" with "Never. Asshole."
15. Standing up without doing a remarkable impression of a drunken penguin
16. Being physically able to stay awake past 8:30pm when necessary
17. WINE. and WINE. Oh, and Wine.
18. Red wine
19. White wine
20. Margaritas and other delectable alcoholic goodies.
1. Ibuprofen
2. Sleeping flat on my face on my stomach.
3. Possibly the diminishing urge to kick people in the face
4. The return of the ability to eat anything without crippling heartburn
5. Going to the bathroom without throwing up simultaneously
6. Ridiculous caffeine consumption
7. The return of my hip bones into their assigned socket spaces
8. Never being kicked in the bladder from the inside again
9. The ability to regulate my body temperature to a reasonable degree
10. The ability to swallow a pill with water without throwing it back up
11. Having haircolor stick to my hair
12. Patience and sympathy, as I have none right now
13. Never having to answer the obvious question "Haven't you had that baby yet?!?" again. Obviously, you moron, if I am still pregnant I have NOT had that baby yet. You, however, owe me $10 for wasting the oxygen needed to speak those words of stupidity aloud.
14. Being able to answer the question "So, when are you going to have another one?" with "Never. Asshole."
15. Standing up without doing a remarkable impression of a drunken penguin
16. Being physically able to stay awake past 8:30pm when necessary
17. WINE. and WINE. Oh, and Wine.
18. Red wine
19. White wine
20. Margaritas and other delectable alcoholic goodies.
For the love of Pete.
I LOVE it when I get emails that make me want to karate chop people in the face.
Georgie wet his pants today. Again. For the second time in 2 weeks.
And although I was 25 miles away at a meeting, somehow his mother still believes it's my fault. I am going to just have him catheterized. This is ridiculous. I am a TEACHER, I am NOT a bathroom monitor. If your kid doesn't bother to get in line to go until he's about to wet himself, what am I supposed to do about that? Open the bathroom door and remove the other child who's using the toilet so he can go?
Georgie wet his pants today. Again. For the second time in 2 weeks.
And although I was 25 miles away at a meeting, somehow his mother still believes it's my fault. I am going to just have him catheterized. This is ridiculous. I am a TEACHER, I am NOT a bathroom monitor. If your kid doesn't bother to get in line to go until he's about to wet himself, what am I supposed to do about that? Open the bathroom door and remove the other child who's using the toilet so he can go?
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
And I am Vindicated
Back in June/July I expressed quite a lot of frustration at my treatment at the hands of a certain endocrinologist. He treated me as if diabetes and/or gestational diabetes was a foregone conclusion simply based on my weight. Despite the fact that my blood sugar is in the clinically normal range and I didn't have gestational diabetes in my first pregnancy, he never seemed able to remember that and would open every appointment by saying "So when we treated your gestational diabetes before, I assume we......(fill in blank)," at which time I would say with dwindling patience "I didn't have gestational diabetes last time." Then in June he decided I needed to start monitoring my blood sugar 4 times a day, and despite a normal (albeit on the edge of high) hb1ac test (3 month glucose average) was talking about putting me on an insulin pump.
I felt like he never listened to me or considered me as anything except a weight. And following my gut instinct and knowledge of my own health, I immediately sought out a new endocrinologist. Based on my labwork and the indicators present in my current pregnancy, she recommended that I follow the low-carb diet prescribed for women diagnosed with gestational diabetes which was a very minimal impact on how I already ate (basically a change of breakfast, but no other big impact), but chose only to treat me for my obvious and rampant hypothyroidism. Being a pregnant woman herself and understanding the energy sapping qualities of that parasitic infection, she said that she prefers to keep thyroid levels during pregnancy at the higher end of normal so she increased my dosage and I am positive that this has had a very positive impact on this pregnancy.
So almost 29 weeks into this pregnancy, my weight gain is minimal. I have no swelling in my hands or ankles at this point and other than heartburn and a gag reflex that turns me into Linda Blair, I feel good. I have more energy than I did before, I'm not as uncomfortable. Niblet is swimming along quite happily and growing as she should.
And what's more, I had my glucose screening test this week. The way the diagnosis process for gestational diabetes works, you take a screening test first. Most people pass it by having a 1 hour glucose reading <140 after 50mg of glucose and don't have gestational diabetes. About 20% don't pass and have to return for a more complicated 3 hour test. About 3-7% of women will be diagnosed with GD.
With The Squirt, I passed the 1 hour. I found out today that with #2 I did, too. If I was diabetic or even had significantly impaired glucose tolerance, don't you think I'd have had to take the 3 hour test at least? I do. And I think that I am vindicated in my choice to trust my gut instead of a doctor that was not treating me like a person, but like a number.
So to doctors making assumptions instead of practicing medicine, I say neener neener. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
I felt like he never listened to me or considered me as anything except a weight. And following my gut instinct and knowledge of my own health, I immediately sought out a new endocrinologist. Based on my labwork and the indicators present in my current pregnancy, she recommended that I follow the low-carb diet prescribed for women diagnosed with gestational diabetes which was a very minimal impact on how I already ate (basically a change of breakfast, but no other big impact), but chose only to treat me for my obvious and rampant hypothyroidism. Being a pregnant woman herself and understanding the energy sapping qualities of that parasitic infection, she said that she prefers to keep thyroid levels during pregnancy at the higher end of normal so she increased my dosage and I am positive that this has had a very positive impact on this pregnancy.
So almost 29 weeks into this pregnancy, my weight gain is minimal. I have no swelling in my hands or ankles at this point and other than heartburn and a gag reflex that turns me into Linda Blair, I feel good. I have more energy than I did before, I'm not as uncomfortable. Niblet is swimming along quite happily and growing as she should.
And what's more, I had my glucose screening test this week. The way the diagnosis process for gestational diabetes works, you take a screening test first. Most people pass it by having a 1 hour glucose reading <140 after 50mg of glucose and don't have gestational diabetes. About 20% don't pass and have to return for a more complicated 3 hour test. About 3-7% of women will be diagnosed with GD.
With The Squirt, I passed the 1 hour. I found out today that with #2 I did, too. If I was diabetic or even had significantly impaired glucose tolerance, don't you think I'd have had to take the 3 hour test at least? I do. And I think that I am vindicated in my choice to trust my gut instead of a doctor that was not treating me like a person, but like a number.
So to doctors making assumptions instead of practicing medicine, I say neener neener. I fart in your general direction. Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
Friday, November 4, 2011
How to Cripple a Child
So this week I've been the recipient of The Blame Game. Perhaps earlier in my career I would have been willing to accept some of the blame that has been heaped upon me this week, but at this stage I know I'm right and that I've done nothing for which to be blamed.....Would you like to know what's my fault?
Well, it seems Georgie's mother has decided I'm a baaaaaaaaad teacher. And here's the reasons:
1. Georgie made a puddle on the floor earlier this week. And that was my fault because I wasn't tracking how often he was using the classroom bathroom and asking him if he needed to go pee pee in the potty at regular intervals. Now, a few years ago I would have offered to create some sort of reward system or something to encourage him to "go" and would have shouldered that responsibility. Now, no way. I told her that since he was the youngest kindergartener in my class (didn't turn 5 until the middle of September) that developmentally he probably wasn't identifying the beginning of "the urge" and didn't realize he needed to go until it was a near emergency and that I couldn't make another student evacuate the bathroom to let him use it. HE needs to be responsible for using his SIX (or more) bathroom breaks that I offer during our 6 hour school day. Lordy, I'm 7 months pregnant and the idea of 6 breaks a day sounds heavenly to me.... I get one. If I can make it on 1 a day, he can make it on 6.
2. I refuse to search through Georgie's backpack to find things that she sends to school with him. This has been an ongoing issue for him. For example, last week she sent treat bags to give the class on Monday for Halloween. Well, when Georgie came in to class, he told me he had "toys in his backpack." For those unaccustomed to elementary age kids, they OFTEN bring toys from home in their backpack, and are either naiive enough to tell their teacher that, or they think we're too stupid to notice that suddenly Justin Bieber has joined our class and is singing a tinny recorded song emanating from his abdomen. So when he announced he had toys, I said what I always say: "Toys stay in our backpack, and please don't bring them back to school." So that was the first nasty note of the week. Fun! I just flat out told Mom this time that he told me he had toys, and I told him toys weren't allowed. He needs to learn to communicate what he really means.
3. Then today, I'm in trouble with her because he hasn't brought a take-home reading book home all week. Well, tough shit. I spend the first MONTH of school chasing after the kids to make sure they are choosing a book and packing it away to take home. I spend a second month chasing the third of them who still don't get it. Now in the third month of school I do not chase, and will only remind. If he still doesn't know what his job is, then it's HER problem, not mine. SHE needs to help her child because MY job is to foist some independence on him.
All of this took me back to a couple of years ago when I was miserably plodding through a year of 5th grade hell.... I had a mother tell me I couldn't hold her child responsible for a book report because I hadn't written it down for him in his assignment notebook and hadn't called her to tell her that it was assigned. I told her that it was HIS assignment, not hers, and that I don't notify parents individually of assigned schoolwork. But come the hell on. Really?
These are the parents who are crippling our education system. And lordy I wish they weren't mine to deal with.
Well, it seems Georgie's mother has decided I'm a baaaaaaaaad teacher. And here's the reasons:
1. Georgie made a puddle on the floor earlier this week. And that was my fault because I wasn't tracking how often he was using the classroom bathroom and asking him if he needed to go pee pee in the potty at regular intervals. Now, a few years ago I would have offered to create some sort of reward system or something to encourage him to "go" and would have shouldered that responsibility. Now, no way. I told her that since he was the youngest kindergartener in my class (didn't turn 5 until the middle of September) that developmentally he probably wasn't identifying the beginning of "the urge" and didn't realize he needed to go until it was a near emergency and that I couldn't make another student evacuate the bathroom to let him use it. HE needs to be responsible for using his SIX (or more) bathroom breaks that I offer during our 6 hour school day. Lordy, I'm 7 months pregnant and the idea of 6 breaks a day sounds heavenly to me.... I get one. If I can make it on 1 a day, he can make it on 6.
2. I refuse to search through Georgie's backpack to find things that she sends to school with him. This has been an ongoing issue for him. For example, last week she sent treat bags to give the class on Monday for Halloween. Well, when Georgie came in to class, he told me he had "toys in his backpack." For those unaccustomed to elementary age kids, they OFTEN bring toys from home in their backpack, and are either naiive enough to tell their teacher that, or they think we're too stupid to notice that suddenly Justin Bieber has joined our class and is singing a tinny recorded song emanating from his abdomen. So when he announced he had toys, I said what I always say: "Toys stay in our backpack, and please don't bring them back to school." So that was the first nasty note of the week. Fun! I just flat out told Mom this time that he told me he had toys, and I told him toys weren't allowed. He needs to learn to communicate what he really means.
3. Then today, I'm in trouble with her because he hasn't brought a take-home reading book home all week. Well, tough shit. I spend the first MONTH of school chasing after the kids to make sure they are choosing a book and packing it away to take home. I spend a second month chasing the third of them who still don't get it. Now in the third month of school I do not chase, and will only remind. If he still doesn't know what his job is, then it's HER problem, not mine. SHE needs to help her child because MY job is to foist some independence on him.
All of this took me back to a couple of years ago when I was miserably plodding through a year of 5th grade hell.... I had a mother tell me I couldn't hold her child responsible for a book report because I hadn't written it down for him in his assignment notebook and hadn't called her to tell her that it was assigned. I told her that it was HIS assignment, not hers, and that I don't notify parents individually of assigned schoolwork. But come the hell on. Really?
These are the parents who are crippling our education system. And lordy I wish they weren't mine to deal with.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
The fairy was washed out
This is the face you get when your quest to get "CANNY INNA PUKKIN" is thwarted by weather.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Yeah, piss on it.
Yesterday I was all ooey-gooey lovey dovey doped up with hormones. Today those same hormones have turned the tables and have made me into the most insufferably miserable person possible.
Sunday October 30th, 2011, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.....
1. I hate that my humidifier ran out of water at 4 am, and my sinuses nearly immediately notified me that I needed to get up and refill it if I had any intention of not suffocating on my own snot.
2. I hate that I have 2 available body temperatures: volcano on the sun or igloo on Pluto. I cannot find a happy medium.
3. I hate that I actually BELIEVED the husband when he said that he'd clean up the kitchen last night, because I couldn't even SEE a countertop this morning in order to make my daughter breakfast.
4. I hate that MY day to sleep in is almost always ruined by the worrying of a 35lb corgi who insists that the only reason I'd still be in bed at 7am is because I died, and she wants to be first in line to eat my face.
5. I hate that I can only wear 3 pairs of pants right now because it means I have to wash them all the stupid time.
6. I hate having a child with a cold while I also have a sinus infection. Sick kid= no naps. Sick Mommy= wants to nap more than she wants Cocoa Pebbles, which is a lot.
7. I hate that I am such a crappy housekeeper. Perhaps the laundry situation wouldn't bother me so much if I actually had the wherwithal to complete a laundry cycle once in a while. I'm highly adept at filling and running the washing machine, and that's about it. I tend to let things mildew and require rewashing at least twice before they make it into the dryer.
8. I hate the third trimester of pregnancy because it robs me of my will to do anything I enjoy. I don't want to cook, I don't want to read, I would LOVE to sleep but can't. Come on January 26th.
9. I hate Sallie Mae. I trust that needs no explainer.
10. I hate that Words with Friends seems to have decided I'm some sort of master wordsmith who can play entire games getting only about 4 consonants total in an entire game. At last check, I had THREE games going where every tile in my panel was a vowel. One was particularly impressive: IIIIIUU. Yes, you can spell ANYTHING with those 7 letters!
Sunday October 30th, 2011, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.....
1. I hate that my humidifier ran out of water at 4 am, and my sinuses nearly immediately notified me that I needed to get up and refill it if I had any intention of not suffocating on my own snot.
2. I hate that I have 2 available body temperatures: volcano on the sun or igloo on Pluto. I cannot find a happy medium.
3. I hate that I actually BELIEVED the husband when he said that he'd clean up the kitchen last night, because I couldn't even SEE a countertop this morning in order to make my daughter breakfast.
4. I hate that MY day to sleep in is almost always ruined by the worrying of a 35lb corgi who insists that the only reason I'd still be in bed at 7am is because I died, and she wants to be first in line to eat my face.
5. I hate that I can only wear 3 pairs of pants right now because it means I have to wash them all the stupid time.
6. I hate having a child with a cold while I also have a sinus infection. Sick kid= no naps. Sick Mommy= wants to nap more than she wants Cocoa Pebbles, which is a lot.
7. I hate that I am such a crappy housekeeper. Perhaps the laundry situation wouldn't bother me so much if I actually had the wherwithal to complete a laundry cycle once in a while. I'm highly adept at filling and running the washing machine, and that's about it. I tend to let things mildew and require rewashing at least twice before they make it into the dryer.
8. I hate the third trimester of pregnancy because it robs me of my will to do anything I enjoy. I don't want to cook, I don't want to read, I would LOVE to sleep but can't. Come on January 26th.
9. I hate Sallie Mae. I trust that needs no explainer.
10. I hate that Words with Friends seems to have decided I'm some sort of master wordsmith who can play entire games getting only about 4 consonants total in an entire game. At last check, I had THREE games going where every tile in my panel was a vowel. One was particularly impressive: IIIIIUU. Yes, you can spell ANYTHING with those 7 letters!
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Maybe it's just the hormones
Maybe I'm just a gigantic wad of hormones, but I am completely in love with my little girl here lately. Let me count the ways....
Now that she's a talker, the things that come out of her mouth could get her a gig at the Funnybone. In addition to being precocious, she's also got an absurd vocabulary for a 2 year old (genetics, probably). Listening to her make connections to things and talk about it just warms the cold cockles of my heart. For example, at the doctor's office, there's a picture of a bunch of fairy tale critters in one of the room, and listening to her name them "Issa DRAGON! Issa fairy!" is amazing. Where does a 2 year old learn to identify a dragon? And how freaking awesome is that? She also commands your attention before she tells you something, much like someone doing a communication exercise for some sort of cult. Before she tells anyone anything, she says their name, quite forcefully, and makes sure they're paying attention because what she's about to tell you is super important. For example:
"MAMA!"
"Yes baby?"
"Dada gotta pee butt?"
"No, I don't think Dada has a pee butt. Dada doesn't wear a diaper anymore."
"Mama gotta pee butt?"
"No, Mama goes pee pee in the potty. Do you want to pee pee in the potty?"
"Nonononononononono."
I take her to the sitter's house most mornings and it's our special time to talk about things. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sing, sometimes we both look morose because it's 7:30 and we've been awake too long with too many things to do already. But the singing is usually my favorite, except for when we have to do the Oratorio of Old McDonald, where I have to sing it as she names the animal noise she'd like included in this verse. "A cow?" "A horse?" "A giraffe?"
But my favorite is when she plays pretend. She has several little plush toys of characters from Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba that she loves, and if you watch her carefully, she will make them pattycake or do the Itsy Bitsy Spider.....She'll have Elmo's hands in hers, making him do the motions while she sings:
Thaaaa ippy 'pider climbin' dere,
Down a rain an WASH it out!
Out a sun an dry a rain,
Anna ippy 'pider climb again!
Yeah, I may miss sleeping. I miss doing my laundry and letting the husband fend for himself. I miss having time to spoil my dogs. I miss not having to consider "toddler friendly" options for eating out and planning meals....I miss only having to clean up after my slob of a husband. But when I open a little girl's bedroom door in the morning and a tiny little thing in footed piggy jammies squeals and comes running to hug my legs and say "HI MAMA! I gotta BOOK!" then the rest of it kind of goes away.
Now that she's a talker, the things that come out of her mouth could get her a gig at the Funnybone. In addition to being precocious, she's also got an absurd vocabulary for a 2 year old (genetics, probably). Listening to her make connections to things and talk about it just warms the cold cockles of my heart. For example, at the doctor's office, there's a picture of a bunch of fairy tale critters in one of the room, and listening to her name them "Issa DRAGON! Issa fairy!" is amazing. Where does a 2 year old learn to identify a dragon? And how freaking awesome is that? She also commands your attention before she tells you something, much like someone doing a communication exercise for some sort of cult. Before she tells anyone anything, she says their name, quite forcefully, and makes sure they're paying attention because what she's about to tell you is super important. For example:
"MAMA!"
"Yes baby?"
"Dada gotta pee butt?"
"No, I don't think Dada has a pee butt. Dada doesn't wear a diaper anymore."
"Mama gotta pee butt?"
"No, Mama goes pee pee in the potty. Do you want to pee pee in the potty?"
"Nonononononononono."
I take her to the sitter's house most mornings and it's our special time to talk about things. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sing, sometimes we both look morose because it's 7:30 and we've been awake too long with too many things to do already. But the singing is usually my favorite, except for when we have to do the Oratorio of Old McDonald, where I have to sing it as she names the animal noise she'd like included in this verse. "A cow?" "A horse?" "A giraffe?"
But my favorite is when she plays pretend. She has several little plush toys of characters from Sesame Street and Yo Gabba Gabba that she loves, and if you watch her carefully, she will make them pattycake or do the Itsy Bitsy Spider.....She'll have Elmo's hands in hers, making him do the motions while she sings:
Thaaaa ippy 'pider climbin' dere,
Down a rain an WASH it out!
Out a sun an dry a rain,
Anna ippy 'pider climb again!
Yeah, I may miss sleeping. I miss doing my laundry and letting the husband fend for himself. I miss having time to spoil my dogs. I miss not having to consider "toddler friendly" options for eating out and planning meals....I miss only having to clean up after my slob of a husband. But when I open a little girl's bedroom door in the morning and a tiny little thing in footed piggy jammies squeals and comes running to hug my legs and say "HI MAMA! I gotta BOOK!" then the rest of it kind of goes away.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Things I love
1. My baby girl and her silly daddy
2. My ridiculous dogs
3. Wine
4. strawberries
5. watermelon
6. fur lined slippers
7. hot baths, especially in a jetted tub which I do not own.
8. yoga pants and giant t-shirts
9. DVR
10. Iced Oatmeal Raisin Luna Bars
11. Potato chips with mustard on them
12. someone else emptying/filling the dishwasher
13. online shopping
14. pedicures
15. my homemade beef stroganoff
Just feeling thankful. What do you love?
2. My ridiculous dogs
3. Wine
4. strawberries
5. watermelon
6. fur lined slippers
7. hot baths, especially in a jetted tub which I do not own.
8. yoga pants and giant t-shirts
9. DVR
10. Iced Oatmeal Raisin Luna Bars
11. Potato chips with mustard on them
12. someone else emptying/filling the dishwasher
13. online shopping
14. pedicures
15. my homemade beef stroganoff
Just feeling thankful. What do you love?
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Do I appear to have an abundance of time?
This week has already been an experiment in survival and it's only Wednesday.
In addition to a very nice field trip which some aggravating parent decisions rendered stressful for me, my kid is sick. She never gets sick. In her nearly 2 years of life, she's had a round of antibiotics exactly once. Therefore it's hard to know what to do to make her feel better because we've had to do it so rarely.
And did I mention I'm 27 weeks pregnant? If you've never done that, it's not so fun. This is the point where things start getting uncomfortable. I can't move or bend like I would like to, I can't hold my kid in certain ways, I have ver little lap for her and Gus to share. And since it's the second go around things that weren't such a bother last time like round ligament pain and Braxton Hicks contractions really seriously hurt and suck schweddy monkey balls.
And the husband has the creeping crud and is even less helpful around tha house than usual which means that instead of contributing in very minor ways to cleaning up his own messes, he's leaving them and making them bigger than ever. Why does he need to keep 4 pairs of dirty socks on the couch? Why?
Then today my to-do list at work grew by leaps and bounds, mostly from being voluntold to do various things. When people schedule things for me to attend or incorporate into my own overfull schedule, I get cranky. I was stuck in a meeting having the same conversation about the same aspect of curriculum that I've now had at least 5 times. I'm not sure if TPTB think that the learning curve on this particular math program is that steep or if they are just trying to find some way to fill our time other than letting us use it to accomplish some of the million things they want us to do during the day without actually allocating the time that accomplishing them requires. Thanks for that.
The Squirt has poison ivy. I didn't even know what poison ivy looked like. I've never gotten it and am pretty sure I'm immune to it. I KNOW I've come into contact with it many times but never had a rash or anything. The Husband is the same way. So then last night we noticed a couple of little red bumps on The Squirt that we first dismissed as bug bites because she loves to play outside right now. Then tonight when she requested bathtime and got nekkid, we noticed that her 3 or 4 spots had turned into 10-12. So, knowing her Papa has some sort of rash situation going on that his regular doctor couldn't identify but was supposed to be seen by a dermatologist today, we called to find out what his diagnosis is, and bingo, poison ivy. So thank goodness for Uncle Mike in Georgia who is hyper allergic to it and was able to confirm for us that the poor kid is indeed itchy and miserable.... and despite not inheriting her Mommy and Daddy's resistance to poison ivy, she did inherit her daddy's odd reaction to benadryl, meaning the medicine that should make her comfortable, less itchy and sleepy renders her hyper as a loon.
Mommy needs a break, people. And a burrito. And probably some cookie dough ice cream.
In addition to a very nice field trip which some aggravating parent decisions rendered stressful for me, my kid is sick. She never gets sick. In her nearly 2 years of life, she's had a round of antibiotics exactly once. Therefore it's hard to know what to do to make her feel better because we've had to do it so rarely.
And did I mention I'm 27 weeks pregnant? If you've never done that, it's not so fun. This is the point where things start getting uncomfortable. I can't move or bend like I would like to, I can't hold my kid in certain ways, I have ver little lap for her and Gus to share. And since it's the second go around things that weren't such a bother last time like round ligament pain and Braxton Hicks contractions really seriously hurt and suck schweddy monkey balls.
And the husband has the creeping crud and is even less helpful around tha house than usual which means that instead of contributing in very minor ways to cleaning up his own messes, he's leaving them and making them bigger than ever. Why does he need to keep 4 pairs of dirty socks on the couch? Why?
Then today my to-do list at work grew by leaps and bounds, mostly from being voluntold to do various things. When people schedule things for me to attend or incorporate into my own overfull schedule, I get cranky. I was stuck in a meeting having the same conversation about the same aspect of curriculum that I've now had at least 5 times. I'm not sure if TPTB think that the learning curve on this particular math program is that steep or if they are just trying to find some way to fill our time other than letting us use it to accomplish some of the million things they want us to do during the day without actually allocating the time that accomplishing them requires. Thanks for that.
The Squirt has poison ivy. I didn't even know what poison ivy looked like. I've never gotten it and am pretty sure I'm immune to it. I KNOW I've come into contact with it many times but never had a rash or anything. The Husband is the same way. So then last night we noticed a couple of little red bumps on The Squirt that we first dismissed as bug bites because she loves to play outside right now. Then tonight when she requested bathtime and got nekkid, we noticed that her 3 or 4 spots had turned into 10-12. So, knowing her Papa has some sort of rash situation going on that his regular doctor couldn't identify but was supposed to be seen by a dermatologist today, we called to find out what his diagnosis is, and bingo, poison ivy. So thank goodness for Uncle Mike in Georgia who is hyper allergic to it and was able to confirm for us that the poor kid is indeed itchy and miserable.... and despite not inheriting her Mommy and Daddy's resistance to poison ivy, she did inherit her daddy's odd reaction to benadryl, meaning the medicine that should make her comfortable, less itchy and sleepy renders her hyper as a loon.
Mommy needs a break, people. And a burrito. And probably some cookie dough ice cream.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Why I am a Mutant
When I was a little girl, my parents appeared to take their parenting responsibility seriously. I was fed three meals a day, usually containing some nutritional content. My clothes fit and were seasonally appropriate. I never got lice. They signed forms and returned them to school, attended meetings when required, came to concerts, and gave me the choice of buying or bringing my lunch each day, even giving the choice of PBJ, bologna and cheese or salami sandwiches. My brother and I were not allowed to watch horror movies, anything rated R or anything that involved sex. My mother still firmly believes that "fart" and "crap" are full on curse words, despite the fact that in the last year she's learned to drop the appropriate F bomb here and there.
Husband and I attempt to do the same sort of parenting for our daughter, and I'm sure that will continue when her sister is born. Something inside us just tells us that it's our job to provide food, shelter, clothing and guidance for our children. Among my circle of friends who also have kids, this seems to be the going trend of parenting: actual childcare. Are we mutants? It appears so.
Why do I think so? Well because in the last couple of weeks it has been made clear to me that I have been placing far too many expectations upon myself! I need to take it easy! How have I learned this lesson? Why, I've been taught by the parents of public school students!
I don't actually HAVE to feed my child 3 meals a day despite the fact that we can afford healthy, nutritious and often tasty fare. And if I'd rather not be responsible for that, the school system will just do it for me.
And returning permission slips? Unnecessary. That is, unless I decided at 8:45am the morning of a field trip that leaves at 9:30 that I'd rather not pack my child's lunch despite saying I would beforehand. If I just give her a few dollars to take with her, SURELY the teacher can stop and pick up something for my child to eat, right? If not, he can just eat her sandwich. She has a job after all and gets 3 months off every summer, I'm sure she can afford another one.
Maybe my daughter only speaks in monosyllabic whine and has a recurrent case of head lice? Well, if I was a good parent apparently I'd just wait until the school wanted to take care of the communication problem with some free therapy, and as for the lice, can't the nurse just pick it out for me?
And now that the weather's changing and it's in the mid 40's in the morning when my child heads off to school, I don't really need to worry about whether or not she has a jacket or coat. If she shows up in 48 degree weather in shorts and a t-shirt shivering, they'll just give her a new outfit at school.
And now that The Squirt is on the verge of turning 2, we have that whole potty training issue ahead of us. I THOUGHT that was going to be something we'd need to figure out and get cracking on, but as it turns out, she doesn't actually have to be potty trained to go to school. At least apparently not, as we have a half dozen students in Kindergarten and first grade who regularly urinate and/or defecate in their pants. And that's ok, because the school will just take care of it. They'll clean my child up (but they BETTER NOT SEE HER NAKED OR I WILL SUE!!!), give her new clean clothes, evaluate her to see if she needs medical attention or special education theraputic services and just take care of that little problem for me.
I dunno, mutant or not, I still feel somewhat compelled to, oh, I don't know, CARE FOR MY CHILD. And I am increasingly disturbed at the dwindling pool of parents who seem to believe that this is what they're supposed to do as well.
Husband and I attempt to do the same sort of parenting for our daughter, and I'm sure that will continue when her sister is born. Something inside us just tells us that it's our job to provide food, shelter, clothing and guidance for our children. Among my circle of friends who also have kids, this seems to be the going trend of parenting: actual childcare. Are we mutants? It appears so.
Why do I think so? Well because in the last couple of weeks it has been made clear to me that I have been placing far too many expectations upon myself! I need to take it easy! How have I learned this lesson? Why, I've been taught by the parents of public school students!
I don't actually HAVE to feed my child 3 meals a day despite the fact that we can afford healthy, nutritious and often tasty fare. And if I'd rather not be responsible for that, the school system will just do it for me.
And returning permission slips? Unnecessary. That is, unless I decided at 8:45am the morning of a field trip that leaves at 9:30 that I'd rather not pack my child's lunch despite saying I would beforehand. If I just give her a few dollars to take with her, SURELY the teacher can stop and pick up something for my child to eat, right? If not, he can just eat her sandwich. She has a job after all and gets 3 months off every summer, I'm sure she can afford another one.
Maybe my daughter only speaks in monosyllabic whine and has a recurrent case of head lice? Well, if I was a good parent apparently I'd just wait until the school wanted to take care of the communication problem with some free therapy, and as for the lice, can't the nurse just pick it out for me?
And now that the weather's changing and it's in the mid 40's in the morning when my child heads off to school, I don't really need to worry about whether or not she has a jacket or coat. If she shows up in 48 degree weather in shorts and a t-shirt shivering, they'll just give her a new outfit at school.
And now that The Squirt is on the verge of turning 2, we have that whole potty training issue ahead of us. I THOUGHT that was going to be something we'd need to figure out and get cracking on, but as it turns out, she doesn't actually have to be potty trained to go to school. At least apparently not, as we have a half dozen students in Kindergarten and first grade who regularly urinate and/or defecate in their pants. And that's ok, because the school will just take care of it. They'll clean my child up (but they BETTER NOT SEE HER NAKED OR I WILL SUE!!!), give her new clean clothes, evaluate her to see if she needs medical attention or special education theraputic services and just take care of that little problem for me.
I dunno, mutant or not, I still feel somewhat compelled to, oh, I don't know, CARE FOR MY CHILD. And I am increasingly disturbed at the dwindling pool of parents who seem to believe that this is what they're supposed to do as well.
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