Or Alcoholism

...hell is this? (or The End)

2006-08-02T22:10:00.000-04:00

I'm ending Or Alcoholism. I don't need it anymore, and it was for purely selfish reasons that I began it.

I know what I want now. I know what I'm doing, as much as anyone can know. I'm really, really happy.

Thanks. I didn't know who any of you were before I started this thing, and I have met some really cool, talented people who have given me good advice...and of course there was all that great cyber sex!

I am not going away. Novice Is Writing, just somewhere else, and it's going to be a lot less brain vomit, and a lot more structured pieces.

Hope to see you there, and if not, take care of yourself.

Insomnia...

2006-07-22T02:37:00.000-04:00

again.

It's 2.30 in the morning, and Sam will be awake in four hours. I have to drive almost 2 hours to a bridal shower today and I am going to need my sleep!

Dammit.

Stories From Writing Class, Two

2006-07-20T19:20:00.000-04:00

One of the students in my class was this petite 17 year old girl. She is about to begin her sophomore year at Emerson College in Boston. She has this shy emo-elf thing going on, she’s adorable.

She hadn’t written any fiction. She’s a poet. A former teacher of hers encouraged her to take the class.

This girl is so talented. Astoundingly talented for someone her age.

One of the first writing exercises was to write an entire story on a postcard. Hers was brilliant. In a few lines of text she had a story in prose that was lyrical and full of emotion.

If she’s the future of the arts in America, we are very lucky. I can’t wait to read her first book.

Best of luck to you, Hill.

Stories From Writing Class, One.

2006-07-18T18:53:00.000-04:00

Some of the exercises were kind of rough. On my hand. We had to write for certain periods of time without the pen stopping. So many hand cramps, but the point was to write and write and write so that of all the stuff that came out, some of it would be the start of something good. Sounds kinda fluffy, but it worked.

I finally have an ending.

It's so cool how this came about, too. The first night we (the teacher and the six students) started talking about the very basic bits of a story. What does every story need?

"Conflict." I said. That's the first thing everyone thinks of. Every story needs a problem.

Prof asked "What does your character want?" The want, and the not having of it, is the conflict.

Also needed is a crisis. Some moment when the conflict is fought, admitted, exposed. The boiling point.

From there you draw your Conclusion.

I always thought that my problem with this story was the conclusion. I just couldn't draw it. The second night I looked at my notes and realized that I didn't have a real crisis, so that was why I didn't have any conclusion.

That night, I'm wandering the halls, scribbling away, when it hit me.

I had been wrong about the conflict the whole time.

I stopped in the hallway and leaned against the wall. Once I figured that out, everything came clearly.

I had my true conflict and already had my crisis. The conclusion started writing itself.

I got back into the classroom and was near tears, I was so overcome. Prof. was stunned when I told her I had the ending. She said with a laugh, that I didn’t have to come back on day 3 if I didn’t want to. Of course I did. I got to work on other pieces, and best of all, got some really good feedback on what I had so far.

Hate. Computers.

2006-07-16T09:55:00.000-04:00

The iBook died again. I should have it back in 2 weeks, so check back then, if you want. I don't think I'll get much chance to sneak Husband's computer while he sleeps.

Quick note...the class was great and I have an ending!

2006-07-08T22:52:00.000-04:00

Of all the writing I have done over my life, there are pieces that I have started and abandoned, pieces I have shortened, stretched out. I’ve given them all some kind of closure, finished or not.

There is one, though...

Flashback to my senior year of college, January term. I had an assignment for a class. We had to write ten lines of dialogue. The conversation had to have something to do with the Human Genome Project.

Ten lines. I wrote eight pages. One of the professors came up to me at the end of the class and asked if I wanted to finish it.

I did. Still do. Problem is, I am very stuck.

The dialogue was between a college student and her older brother. They were discussing two things. The brother’s work on the Human Genome Project, and their older sister’s recent, fourth miscarriage.

I have scenarios, conversations. I have the entire family.

I have no ending. No closure. I don’t know why I can’t drop it.

It may have to do with a feeling of unworthiness.

A great deal of the story has to do with Jessica (the older sister mentioned in my class assignment) slowly growing emotionally numb, while her husband walks around her as if she’s glass, ignoring his own grief.

I have never had a miscarriage. Thank God. My mother has. A very good friend of mine and her sister have each had two.

Maybe I feel like I shouldn’t be writing about this. How can I write about the pain if I haven’t experienced it?

---------

This upcoming Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday I’ll be taking a class called “Jump Start Your Fiction”. I am hoping it will help.

Why, yes he IS the cutest little boy in the world.

2006-07-07T20:42:00.000-04:00

Stupid Laptop

2006-06-30T07:18:00.000-04:00

Well, that computer whose keys I wore down decided it had had enough of me for a while. It made a loud "beeeeeeee" the other night, got so hot that my husband had to put it in the freezer and shut off.

Until it gets repaired, I will be computer-less, or stealing second of keyboard time from other people's machines.

BAH!

2006-06-08T21:53:00.000-04:00

I type a lot.

Insanely Detailed Dream

2006-06-06T21:17:00.000-04:00

I had a crazy detailed dream, and this is a scene from it.

Backstory: In the future, there is an Academy. Children are chosen based on the intelligence and genetic makeup of their parents. They are taken at three years old, and they are kept until they are almost thirty. They are trained to be completely and totally proficient in one subject. They are given no education on anything outside their subject. When they reach their final few years, a decision is made.

From each graduating class, each race, and each subject, a Perfect is chosen.

Those who are not chosen are told that they have been given lucrative jobs far away, and they are never seen by their friends or family again. They are quietly executed, so the population of Perfects is not contaminated. The government intends these Perfects to take over as a Universal Ruling Class.

Someone sent Jude (the protagonist...me, in the dream) files revealing this. She was horrified, and began telling the other students. Several escaped the Academy campus. The Leaders are trying to find Jude, and her companions Michael and Jessica.

While they ran, they came across a Journalist. He has never told them his name, but he is fascinated by their story. He interviews them for hours every day, and they live in his family’s house.

By the way, “Jess” is Jessica Simpson. “The Journalist” is this guy.

I have no idea why.

Bizarre, huh?

-----------------
Jude knocks on the door. She can hear the shuffle of papers, and the Journalist loading a fresh sheet into the typewriter.

She sticks her head in the room. He looks up, surprised.

“Three already? Huh. Come in. Sit down.”

She sits on the couch. The rain is pelting the window, and the room is kind of dim. As if someone went over it with blue watercolor paint.

The journalist picks his typewriter up and moves it to the low table in front of the couch. He sits next to her.

On the table there is a thick stack of paper.

“What’s this?” she asks.

“Jessica’s latest interview. I asked three questions and she talked inanities for over an hour.”

The Journalist’s attitude towards Jess has always surprised and amused Jude.

“She can play every instrument known to man.”

“I know.”

“She can do that thing where a glass shatters when she hits a high note.”

“I know, Jude.”

“She wants to sleep with you so badly.”

The Journalist frowns. “Yeah. That’s obvious.”

“Do you know how many guys at the Academy would have killed to have her even willing to sit with them at tea? She shot them all down and she’s practically ripping your pants off!”

“I don’t like her.” he says simply.

“What, she’s not your type? Boobs too big for you? Into brunettes....or redheads? If you’d rather sleep with me, I have to tell you, the beard will have to go. Also...I’ll need to get drunk. Aaaand...you’ll need to start working out.”

That makes him laugh.

“Oh!” Jude’s eyes widen and she leans forward confidentially “Are you gay?”

“It has nothing to do with Jessica’s looks. She’s hot.”

There is a silence before he realizes the last part of her question may have been serious. He looks up to see if she’s waiting for an answer, which she is with a raised eyebrow,

“You think I’m gay?”

“Are you?”

The Journalist thinks, then smirks. “I’m not going to tell you. I will tell you that I don’t like Jess because she’s a narcissist."

Jude sighs. “I know she seems that way."

"She annoys the hell out of me.”

"She’s very sweet, really.”

“You’re loyal.”

“I guess I am.

He studies Jude. “She would have stayed.”

In response to her confused face, he ads “At the Academy. She would have stayed.”

“What? She was devastated when she saw the files!”

“If she had been one of the Perfect, she would have stayed.”

“How can you say that? No one I told stayed.”

The Journalist jerks his head towards the papers on the table. “I have pages where all she can talk about is how sad she was at not being chosen. She goes on and on about “Wasn’t I beautiful enough?” “Wasn’t I good enough at my instruments?” “What was wrong with my voice?”. Even if you and Michael had told her all about the horrible things that They did to Heukgisa and countless others, if she had been Perfect, she would have stayed.”

The Journalist misunderstands Jude’s silence. He assumes she is thinking about his tirade. “You’re very loyal.” he says again.

She isn’t thinking about Jessica anymore.

She is thinking about Heukgisa*. She does not like that the Journalist has said his name. She wishes she hadn’t ever told him.

Jude remembers Heukgisa’s face. How he would whisper the first ten thousand digits of Pi while they made love, trying to get her to see it as the poetry he did. She remembers him explaining to her that Math was a language, so she should be as expert in it as he was. She would laugh and say that the basic structure of words were like equations, so shouldn’t he then learn all the languages?

She remembers the phone call. “Chunsa**, they want me for the International Space Program! They want me to leave tonight for a place called Florida!”

That was the last time they spoke. She asked his Professors for an address, a phone number so she could reach him, call him, join him. They told her that because of the work he was doing, he was not allowed any visitors. Maybe after she finished her final year, after she had been chosen for work, she would be allowed to see him again. She cried for days.

Florida. It sounds like such a lyrical, pretty place. She wonders if it even exists. The Journalist will know.

“Journalist...” She says “Have you ever heard of Florida?”

He is quiet. He looks at her with surprise and then pity. “It’s in the United States, Jude. A Southern state.”

“Oh.” Jude looks out the window. She is sad.

The Journalist clacks away at his typewriter, recording every thought he has about this pathetic woman who is more than twenty, can speak every language the world has ever known and yet knows nothing else.

-----------------
*Korean: Knight
** Korean: Angel

Post Baby Sex

2006-05-23T19:40:00.000-04:00

I am going to be somewhat clinical with sexual descriptions, so don’t read it if that kind of thing makes you uncomfortable.

If you’re not a mom, this post probably won’t interest you. I know, I know, that could apply to a lot of my posts lately.

You know how most women experience a drop in their sex drives after giving birth? I know about this because every other mom tells me about it. All the books and magazines say that is what will happen, so that’s what they offer advice on. The TV shows geared towards mothers have groups of women sitting around, commiserating on their frustrated husbands and how they just “don’t feel like it”.

This is so not me. Not me at all. I had my sex drive back in full force two weeks after giving birth. We were counting the days until the 6 week waiting period was over.

Six weeks arrived, Husband and I were thrilled and leaped into bed!

Holy Hell it hurt!

I had 3 episiotomies when I had Sam. For those who are not moms, decided to read this anyway, and don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s the definition.

It hurt before there was even any penetration at all. Just the slightest amount of pressure sent spasms of pain through me. My Beloved climbed off and said “I am not going to do this if it hurts you!”

I assured him it was probably just initial contact pain, and urged him to keep going. He looked skeptical, and pressed slightly against my labia with his hand...excruciating. “Nope. You’re not ready.” he said.

His fear was that something wasn’t totally healed yet and we could tear open what should be closed. He was right, though admitting it was unbearable.

I talked to my doctor, and she said that sadly, with the difficulty of the birth, it may be longer than average before my body catches up to my libido.

We decided that maybe we were putting too much emphasis on the importance of it. We didn’t need an hour, or romantic crap. Emotional pressure could make it harder, and less likely that there would be a "perfect" moment.

Two and a half weeks ago Sam was fed, clean and content so I put him in his playpen and Husband and I took ten minutes to ourselves. It was brief, I was insistent that we push past the pain (which is no longer intolerable, but it’s still bad). It was nice, but the pain was a huge downer. I was unable to have an orgasm for the first time ever. That was really rough for both of us.

I don’t want to use a numbing agent because then I won’t be able to feel anything! I guess I could go the wine and painkillers route, but that’s another sensory stifler.

What I really want is someone who understands. A woman who understands. I know plenty of sexually frustrated guys, but this really calls for someone with a vagina. That and I don’t think any of the guys I know would be comfortable with this discussion.

So where are the moms with sex drives that are going crazy with the constant reigning in?

Please, someone tell me I am not alone out here!

Advice would be a big help, too.

Today I realized...

2006-05-20T00:49:00.000-04:00

...at almost 4months old my baby is becoming too big for his cradle.

Cradles have side walls, but they're lower than cribs, so once he can pull himself up into a sitting position, he can fall out.

He has to move to the crib.

Which means that he won’t be sleeping in our room anymore, because there is no way the crib can fit in our bedroom.

Which means that I will not be able to wake up in the middle of the night and look at his cherubic face, place my hand on his little round belly and marvel at how warm and soft and small he is.

After this realization I burst into tears.

I know this was partly brought on by visiting my friend and her son. I remember when she was pregnant with him, and now he walks and talks. He isn't a baby anymore. He is a little boy. It seems to have happened overnight.

I'm getting teary again.

I always thought I would be cool about this. I would be nothing but thrilled with every milestone. I would never want to hold my kids back, but...

...but I want my baby.

Mother's Day

2006-05-16T20:54:00.000-04:00

I tried to reflect on what Mother’s Day means to me now that I am one, but I was pretty freaking tired at 1 am. I haven't taken medication for my insomnia since Sam was born, because he wakes up a couple of times during the night, and I want to be alert for that. Now that his sleep time is stretching out longer and longer, though, I think I'll have to go back. I have Husband snoring on my left and Baby snoring on my right. Not conducive to slumber.

Last year on Mother’s Day, Beloved got me a card telling me that I would be a wonderful mother someday. I was pregnant then, but we didn’t know it yet.

This year he made me a card with photographs of us with Sam, bought me a bouquet of daisies and yellow rosebuds, lots of Reese’s Big Cups (chocolate peanut butter goodness) and is making me a carrot cake (my favorite).

The television commercials for Mother’s Day gifts are nearly as crazy as Christmas (though with not as long a run). Jewelry, flowers, clothes, any sort of “feminine” gift is forced into our faces, working on our affections (and guilt if we were born with rather large heads). Ah, consumerism.

I had the whole day to do whatever I wanted, which was merely to be with Beloved and Baby.

So there were no fancy gifts, and it was perfect. Had my husband gotten me a diamond necklace, or a giant basket of pricey fragranced things and not woken me up gently at 10.30 am with a card placed on the pillow beside me and spent the entire day doting on me, it would not have been nearly as special. Not even close.

To anyone this applies to: Happy Belated Mother’s Day!

Wet Worcester Weather

2006-05-16T20:33:00.000-04:00

It has been raining for days in New England. My son and I have both been cranky, unable to go to the park, and not too keen to run errands in the dank gray outside. I’ve taken him to the mall just so I can get some exercise and he can look at different colored lights. I know we need the rain, and we had a very dry April, I'm just saying...ugh.

We drove by Elm Park, and the pond was brimming. All the geese were flapping around the park. It looked like they were celebrating.

"HONK HONK! The people are gone! It is all ours! Victory, my brothers! HONK HONK!"

My moods have always been heavily affected by weather, it’s very strange. I mean, I know a lot of people who feel down when it rains, but I once had a panic attack when it snowed in April.

I’m a freak.

(and other thoughts of Tuesday)

2006-05-16T20:18:00.000-04:00

I read something that may interest my comic book buddies. “Comic Books” have always had a bad rap amongst the majority of educators, but that is starting to change.

Here’s the Newsweek piece.

I was happy to see The Babysitters Club getting a graphic novel adaptation (that's visible in the magazine, not the internet version) I loved those books when I was in elementary school. It was nice to read about girls who were neither the plastic, perfect teens Hollywood likes to dish out, or deeply angst ridden waifs who were just as unrealistic to me.

I think so many students could benefit from a lot of topics graphic novels cover. I would love to see a high school class discuss Watchmen, or the Sandman series.

There is an entire graphic novel section in my home library, and while some are not appropriate for my son to read yet (He can read Strange Embrace in high school, not before),some (a slightly water damaged New Frontier) will be an enjoyable part of his childhood reading. I hope.

Mother's Day

2006-05-14T00:54:00.000-04:00

Thank you, Wife, for squeezing ten pounds of Son out of your vagina. It sure looked painful!

Thank you, Mama, for offering your breasts as chewing gum for me. Just because I have no teeth doesn’t mean I can’t bite!

I'll have more profound stuff later. I'm too tired now.

I know how lucky I am.

2006-05-11T19:38:00.000-04:00

Husband and I ran the numbers a couple of months ago and realized that I had to go back to work part time. I mean, I'd go back to work if I wanted to, but I'd like my work to be my writing...it's just not paying work right now. We also realized that we can't afford daycare, so I would have to work weekends, when Husband could be home to watch Sam. Kind of sucks, as I would almost never see my Beloved, but you do what you have to. I sent out résumés, had a couple of interviews.

Turns out we don't have to now. Husband's job ran its numbers and figured out he could finally get his long overdue raise, which is easily twice what I could make. It also figured out that I could do some freelancing for them now and then.

I get to stay home with my son, work on my children's books, and still see Husband nights and weekends.

So many mothers don't have this option. Mothers who want to work, typically aren't as barred as mothers who don't want to work. Working mothers can get nannies, baby sitters, daycare. Mothers who don't want to work can't get money.

So I give thanks for Husband's company, the freedom to be both mother and writer, and the extra money that will come in occasionally.

My life is really great right now.

Grace

2006-05-04T08:02:00.000-04:00

My buddy Kevin has said it better than I could.

My new birth control pills

2006-04-06T21:42:00.000-04:00

say "Do not take if you are pregnant or planning to become pregnant" on the package...

...sigh.

Enjoy this time now.

2006-04-04T17:22:00.000-04:00

They’re those little footed things that almost all of us had when we were kids. Sky blue, with little cartoon cows, frogs, puppies and tractors on them. The cutest little pyjamas ever made and now he's too big for them. I got kind of teary as I packed them away with his first little booties, the giraffe layette and the hat he wore home from the hospital. I realized how soon it will be before he's a big boy.

I think of my sister, how the last time she saw him she said “He’s just going to get bigger and bigger and then he won’t be a baby!” I remember when she was just a tiny baby, and I lamented the same when I left for college. Now she’s almost a teenager.

Everyone says enjoy this time now because it will be gone before I know it. I do know it, and now I’m looking at him, resting against his Boppy on the couch, asleep.

Enjoy this time now.

Ever seen the fountains at the Bellagio in Vegas?

2006-04-01T09:18:00.000-05:00

Sam’s a little fussy. He needs changing.

Bring him to the changing table. Change the diaper, put the washcloth over his penis so nothing gets sprayed. Clean him up, reach for the fresh diaper and he

shoots

the washcloth off, spraying the window, the table, his whole right arm and his T-shirt.

I am yelling “Nooooooo!. Aw, MAN, Sam!”.

Then he

laughs!

No fooling, he laughed just like Ernie from Sesame Street.

Husband calls from the kitchen “Did he pee?”.

I say “(grumble) Yes.”

Husband comes in, “Is he laughing?”.

I lift up the now nude Mr. Pee, lower him on to a towel on the rug. He lies there while I mop up the table and wipe the window.

Then I clean him off, lift him to the clean dry table and

he
does
it
again!

The instant he touches the table! More than before!

“What? NO! AAAAAARGH how is this possible?” I yell.

Husband comes running back in “Again?”.

Sam is laughing more than the last time. At this point, his Daddy and I are, too.

I am doubled over and clutching the rocking chair for support.

We double team this time. Husband grabs him, cleans him, and diapers him with lighting speed while I mop up the fountain.

Now he is fussing.

He fusses because there is nothing to pee on.

The End.

They Two

2006-03-31T12:53:00.000-05:00

Wherever I am, there's always Pooh, there's always Pooh and me. Whatever I do, he wants to do; 'Where are you going today?' says Pooh, 'Well that's very odd, cos I was too. Lets go together' says Pooh, says he, 'Let's go together' says Pooh.

Muh! Muh!*

2006-03-29T19:56:00.000-05:00

He fell asleep in his swing while I did the dishes. When he woke up he had a messy diaper and he was sobbing.

I picked him up right away and put him on the changing table, kind of running on diaper autopilot. He was still wailing, and when I looked up, he was reaching for me.

He’d never done that before. I realized that he didn’t want to be changed, he wanted his Mama to hold him. Me.

I got pretty teary at this point and scooped him up, snuggling his fuzzy little head under my chin. His crying slowed down to wet little gulps, then he sighed.

It was the first time I felt that he recognized me as Mama. I wasn’t sure if he realized that I was more than walking food.

After about five minutes of rocking, Sam started fidgeting...turns out he did need to be changed.

*I am not so delusional as to think that my 2 month old is talking. I know he’s not saying “Mama” when he makes that sound.

I Can't Stand Tom Cruise.

2006-03-20T21:43:00.000-05:00

Tom Cruise (allegedly) refused to promote Mission Impossible 3 if Comedy Central (Comedy Central and Paramount Pictures are both part of Viacom) re-aired the episode of South Park mocking Scientology.

Comedy Central is not going to re-air the episode of South Park mocking Scientology.

I hope M.I. 3 tanks in the box office. I hope Parker and Stone release some sort of statement. I don't always like South Park. There have been episodes that I have found quite upsetting, but no matter what, I like that they do what they do.

I wasn't planning on seeing the movie, but now I really, really want to encourage people to boycott it.

I really really wish Tom Cruise would shut up. He has absolutely so sense of humor.

BAH!

8:30pm, Monday.

2006-03-13T21:52:00.000-05:00

I put Sam to bed while Husband was in the bathroom. He went in to say goodnight when he got out. Over the baby monitor, I heard him lean over the bassinette, and coo “I love you, Sam. I love you. I love you.”, then a series of baby kissing sounds.

I thought I was going to cry.

My husband is not by nature emotionally outgoing. My immediate family is, very much so. When he and I first started dating (and occasional lapses since then) I worried that less demonstration meant less love. Now I know that's not the case. He's also gotten more unconstrained during our relationship’s progression, so we’ve reached a nice balance.

Parenthood changes people. I knew that, but I didn’t think it would change him this much.

It’s not just tonight, either. Husband becomes almost unrecognizable when he holds our son. He gets this dreamy look in his eyes and rubs his nose against Sam’s übersoft cheeks. He holds Sam’s delicate fingers and peppers them with little kisses, making those “I’m pretending to eat you up” smacking sounds. It’s so beautiful.

I am newly in love with My Beloved, by seeing him in love with our son.

Someone color blind...*

2006-03-12T17:55:00.000-05:00

I'm sure someone else has thought of this, and put it out online, but it
hit me that the mostly Conservative, Republican states are known as
the "Red" states, while the mostly Liberal, Democratic states are
the "Blue" states.

Who decided these colors? I hear "Red" and think Communist.

I do not associate Conservative Republicans with Communism.

Quite the opposite.

Whoever chose them must have had a good sense of humor.

"Hee hee hee...let's make the Conservatives Commie color,
and see if anyone notices!"

I still get confused when a politician is called "Red" by a pundit or other media person. I have to listen to the whole news brief or read the whole blurb to figure it out.

I'm just saying, is all.

* but then they'd probably be Dark Blue and Light Blue States.

Old, Up and Just Plain Growing.

2006-03-12T17:45:00.000-05:00

My husband got the invitation to his 10th high school reunion, forcing me to realize that mine is just a year away.

I don't know if I want to go.

Two of my friends have attended theirs in this past year. They said it seemed everyone was either a. trying to prove that they haven't changed at all since high school or b. trying to prove that they have changed completely from who they were in high school.

I am not in touch at all with anyone from high school. I have two friends left over from my pre-college years. One from elementary school and one from middle school.

High school wasn't bad for me. It was okay. I spent most of it waiting for important things to happen. Things that would define who I really was (the things that happen in college and beyond).

My friends were a pretty cool bunch of kids. By that I do not mean that we were "cool" in the cliqued sense. We were those kids who were smart without being branded as "nerds", liked without being "popular", quirky and individual without being "weird". We all liked us fine.

I did feel, though, that there was a very large part of me that they never understood. I suppose it was because I was still trying to understand myself. I couldn't expect other people to, least of all people who were preoccupied with growing into their own adult selves.

Things changed around my sophomore year of college. I was working constantly with classes and theater, and pretty much allowed my social life to starve to death. This was particularly tough as I was dating and became engaged to my Beloved. My high school friends blamed my boyfriend for my lack of communication, didn't understand that it was a greater passion that was eating me up. The theater as Mistress, can take more than she gives (there's your icky poetical phrase for the day).

My friends didn't understand. They got really pissed off. They stopped talking to me.

I missed them for a while...and then I didn't anymore. I felt guilty for a while...that ended, too. The last few visits home had felt different. We had less in common, and weren't sure how to deal with that. I got distant, they got angry, but it was organic. We would have drifted apart eventually, that I do know. Hopefully it would have been under more amiable circumstances.

I do wonder how they are. I heard my old boyfriend got married, and that's terrific, because he was such a sweet, supportive guy. I heard one of my best girlfriends went to Africa to study archaeology, and that is awesome. She was always one of the smartest chicks in our class. She had a really cool hippie mom, and a great, sarcastic sense of humor. I did hear, unfortunately, about one girl's unhappy marriage, about another's unhealthy series of relationships. There's one friend I have heard nothing about, but something in my gut tells me she's doing fine. She was always very laid back, very mellow, always herself. She went through high school with a Mona Lisa smile, and the knowledge that she was okay and always would be.

When the invite comes for me, do I really want to go?

I don't think I do. I wish them well, but I don't feel the need for any sort of closure, and to be honest, the rest of the people I went to school with, I don't really care to see.

Huh. I started this post to talk about how old I felt, seeing that invite for the class of 1996.

I don't feel old anymore. Yes, thirty looms ahead, and I have a husband and child, but I don't feel old.

I think I just feel like an adult.

I’m cool with that.

Another baby posting...tired of them yet?

2006-03-02T00:30:00.000-05:00

I don’t want to be one of those women who cannot talk about anything but her children. I could talk about the recent Dick Cheney hunting thing (and maybe I will, later). I do have conversations about other things, with my husband, mostly. Thankfully I have not become one of those wives who refer to their husbands as “Daddy” all the time. So far, I have only called him “Daddy” when talking directly to Sam.

Having made the above statements, I am now going to talk about my child.

He’s amazing. All this kid does is sleep, fill diapers, chew on my breasts, stick out his tongue and wiggle (between writing this post and publishing it, he pushed himself up with his arms during tummy time...Husband and I freaked out) .

He fell asleep on my chest the other day and I started to cry. He’s so small and soft and warm. His little back was slowly going up and down as he breathed and I was overwhelmed with how much love I feel for this little tiny person. This little tiny person that my husband and I made. He blows my mind.

This bugs me to no end.

2006-02-26T22:38:00.000-05:00

This commercial irritates me. Why is this acceptable? I'm no prude when it comes to sexuality in advertising, but if a twenty something guy was acting in a seductive manner towards a thirteen year old girl, people would be up in arms. How is a twenty something woman and a boy not disgusting?

Mommy Body

2006-02-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

I mentioned in an earlier post that I gained fifty pounds during pregnancy. I lost 15 of those the day Sam was born, and another 10 in the last three weeks. So there are 25 pounds to go, though if I only lose 15 of them, I'll be really happy.

It took me 9 months to gain all the weight. I'm giving myself a goal of July to lose it (so 5 months from giving birth ). Once the weather is good enough to go out I can take Sam in his stroller and hit the park. I'm not going to diet, because I have to keep a high caloric intake to breast feed, but I am trying to eat really healthy. One cool thing is that I don't seem to have an appetite for junk food since having him. I guess that's to compensate for those bizarre Burger King fry cravings during the second trimester. I crave fresh fruit and yogurt. My body is making me want what I need, I guess. Or I could be in shock from watching "Super Size Me" last week (seriously good movie...but you will never want to eat fast food again).

Maybe this is stupid, but I really want to be able to fit into my leather pants again. It doesn't have to be soon. I don't need to be "The Hot Mommy". I know I will never have the rockin' body I had a year ago, and that's fine by me...Sam is a trillion times better than tight abs.

I just don't want to live in sweatpants for my kid's childhood, and I am sure my husband doesn't want that, either.

Oh, last night (last night being Friday, this post being finished on Saturday) we went "out"! We went to a party at a business associate's house. Sam came with us, and every person there made such a fuss over him. Especially the host's ubercute 2 year old granddaughter. She offered him a cracker ("He hungry?") when he started to fuss. I explained that he can't have crackers because he has no teeth. So she offered her broccoli.

I wore a dress and my sexy boots and everyone kept telling me how great I looked. It felt so good.

2006-02-23T09:55:00.000-05:00

He loves that bouncy seat!

When he snores, he sounds like a squeaky dog toy!

2006-02-23T08:18:00.000-05:00

I don’t want to be one of those women who cannot talk about anything but her children. I could talk about the recent Dick Cheney hunting thing (and maybe I will, later). I do have conversations about other things, with my husband, mostly.

Thankfully I have not become one of those wives who refer to their husbands as “Daddy” all the time. So far, I have only called him “Daddy” when talking directly to Sam.

Having made the above statements, I am now going to talk about my child.

He’s amazing. Seriously, all this kid does is sleep, fill diapers, chew on my breasts, stick out his tongue and wiggle.

He fell asleep on my chest the other day and I started to cry. He’s so small and soft and warm. His little back was slowly going up and down as he breathed and I was overwhelmed with how much love I feel for this little tiny person. This little tiny person that my husband and I made. He blows my mind.

While Praying Over My Newborn Son

2006-02-07T21:02:00.000-05:00

On the first night home (that he and I actually slept) I prayed over his bassinet. I prayed for a restful night for him, me,my Beloved, and my Mom. (asleep on the couch in the next room) I prayed that I would be a good mother. I prayed that he would grow up to know that my love for him is unconditional, and that he would forgive the mistakes his father and I will make. I prayed that I'll find the balance of protecting him without smothering him.

When I finally allowed myself to get into bed, my mind went to where I am in life now, as opposed to where I was a year ago. I started thinking about who I am supposed to be now. If Sam wasn't here, my life would have different goals. I'd be planning to finish my education, probably, and looking for a job that pays more than the ones I have had previously. Now those are back burner. Staying home with Sam is what I'll be doing for at least six months. That time I will spend with him is crucial to both of us.

When I started this blog, it was about discovering who I wanted to be. Now my life is not primarily about myself.

Who do I need to be for Sam?

I have tried to shy away from religion at Or Alcoholism. I find that a large selection of people tune you out when they find ot you have a defined faith. Considering the publicity the Christian Church has made for itself lately, I can't say that I blame them (after listening to Tom Cruise give Matt Laeur a verbal smackdown, I have a prejudiced view towards a Scientologist's ideas).

I am a Christian. I Consider myself a member of the United Church of Christ. I was raised Congregationalist, and went to a Nazarene college. There, they did a good job of breaking my faith, believing that you aren't a Christian just because you were raised in a Christian home. Faith is something requiring thought...ask yourself why you believe what you do.

God has felt more present in my life lately (I believe He always is, I just tend to forget it). I guess that's because of having Sam, of seeing a miracle happen in my own body.

The question is no longer who do I want me to be.

Who does God want me to be?

I can ask that and feel safe in the knowledge that along the journey, I will discover that who I want to be is who God has wanted me to be all along. As frustrating as the big questions are, I am glad that it is not spelled out for me, and grateful that I have free will.

Now my son is waking up from his nap. Who I have to be right now is a diaper changer, most likely.

Samuel David. Born 01.30.2006 11pm

2006-02-07T20:52:00.000-05:00

23 hours of labor

6 hours of pushing

3 episiotomies

Resulting in a 9.86 pound little boy.

Worth every second. My husband and I are so in love with this little breast chewing poop machine.

2006-01-24T23:25:00.000-05:00

Aw, he's so cute.

WHY
THE
FRIG
ISN'T HE
COMING OUT?

Awwwww.

"Had that baby yet?"

2006-01-22T12:27:00.000-05:00

So I am about a week overdue. We have an ultrasound tomorrow, and I will be induced a week from today, should he still not arrive on his own. I don't want to be induced, but more than that, I do not want to give birth to a fifteen pound baby.

He's moving around in there, I can feel him, but he seems to have no desire to come out.

Aaaaaargh!

2006-01-22T12:21:00.000-05:00

Nothing against Ms. Gwen Stefani, but if I hear her song "Luxurious" one more time I am going to set fire to something. It's not a bad song, though I wouldn't say I like it. It's just that the damn chorus has line that keeps going around my brain in an infinite loop.

Working so hard every night and day
And now we get the pay back
Trying so hard saving up the paper
Now we get to lay back

overandoverandoverandoverandoverandover!

She sings it very fast and it's very catching.

At four am,

2006-01-20T03:41:00.000-05:00

the strangest things go through your mind. I feel very Seinfeldian right now.

I think any business that would display a sign in their window reading "ATM Machine" should be shut down.

A stands for Automated
T stands for Teller
M stands for MACHINE!

So, there is an Automated Teller Machine Machine inside? A machine that spits out ATM's when you give it money?

These businesses are run by idiots. Idiots!

Grrr...

2006-01-15T06:31:00.000-05:00

So...the money was on my son arriving on the 9th. Several people I know are out a few bucks, as it is the morning of the 15th and he is not yet here.

His official due date is tomorrow, the 16th. By lovely coincidence, this is also Sam Costello's birthday. If you read this around the date of publication, hop over to Dark But Shining and wish him a happy 29th Birthday (hee hee hee...he'll be 30 in a year).

I am digressing.

This post is going up at 6:30something in the morning because I have not been able to fall asleep yet. I have not been able to fall asleep yet because I am massively uncomfortable and no matter how exhausted I am, cannot get into any position that will allow me to rest.

I am so huge. I have gained fifty pounds since becoming pregnant. The doctor thinks that the baby is between 8 and 9 pounds. I really am not worried about weight loss after he is born. I was kind of thin to start with, so even if I only lose half of the baby weight I'll be happy. What bugs me is that this extra weight is all in one place and it is making everything so damn difficult.

Sigh.

I really want my son to get here. Not just for reasons of being able to see my feet and lie down in comfort. I just want to have him here. I've been waiting for him for so long, I want him to get out here.

I say that now. A week from now, when he's screaming at 2 am, I may want to put him back.

Oh, please GOD let him be here in a week.

Resolutions from 2005. Resolutions for 2006.

2006-01-01T01:25:00.000-05:00

From 2005:

1. Join a gym. HA HA HA HA....didn't do that.

2. Take better care of my husband by not coddling his every whim, allowing him to do some things for himself (but still give him a verbal ass kicking if he wants to work 10 hour days), tell him when he's getting on my nerves, and not feel guilty about it. Done.

3. Have more people over/go out by myself more and not feel guilty about it. Done

4. Allow people to help me more, and not feel guilty about it. Done.

5. Eat better. Less frozen, more veggies. Mmmmaybe did it a little...

6. Send more work out to agents/publishers. I've been so busy lately, I haven't had the time, but if I don't make time, I'll be forty with a bunch of unpublished stuff (some of which is actually good) and a deep sense of regret. Did a little of that.

7. Not cry every day. Not by repressing anything, just by finding reasons to be happy. Yep!

Now for 2006...

1. Though I am having a baby, and my first priority in life is going to be being a wonderful mother to him, I do not want to forget that I am a wife, a writer, a woman, and a friend.

2. Send more stuff out to publishers.

3. Illustrate. My husband gave me wonderful tools and I am going to use them.

4. Eat better. I got a start on this, but I definitely want to kick this up a notch.

5. Every day this year, I am going to write down one thing that I love about my husband. On the next New Year's Eve, I'm
going to give them to him in a book.

6. Start a journal for my son. I think I'll go with the "one thing every day". I know some days I'll have ten things to think of, and some days I'll be too tired to think of any.

7. Buy one new book a month for my son. This will be easy.

Happy 2006!

Merry Christmas!

2005-12-25T10:23:00.000-05:00

Getting All Verklempt.

2005-12-24T23:31:00.000-05:00

My husband got me a gorgeous drafting table for Christmas, and some wonderful new professional art supplies. Pencils and Oil Pastels, my favorites to work with. This way I'll have my own space, and really good tools to work on the illustrations for my children's books.

I love him!

So my sister says to me...

2005-12-24T23:29:00.000-05:00

"Hey Big Sister...you know how the baby could come at ANY time? What if...what if you went into LABOR at two o clock in the morning? Wouldn't that be SO FUN? That would be the latest I have ever stayed up!"

In an hour, it will be Christmas Day.

2005-12-24T23:21:00.000-05:00

I have traveled many moonless nights,
Cold and weary with a babe inside,
And I wonder what I’ve done.
Holy father you have come,
And chosen me now to carry your son.

I am waiting in a silent prayer.
I am frightened by the load I bear.
In a world as cold as stone,
Must I walk this path alone?
Be with me now.
Be with me now.

Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.
Breath of heaven.

Do you wonder as you watch my face,
If a wiser one should have had my place,
But I offer all I am
For the mercy of your plan.
Help me be strong.
Help me be.
Help me.

Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.

Breath of heaven,
Hold me together,
Be forever near me,
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven,
Lighten my darkness,
Pour over me your holiness,
For you are holy.
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven.
Breath of heaven.

I’m having trouble sleeping,which is nothing new these days. I’ve gotten so big it’s tough to be comfortable in any position.

It never fails to astound me. Each Christmas she is in the forefront of my mind. I know it is the birthday of Jesus. God coming to Earth as one of its most helpless creatures is miraculous and awe inspiring. Yet firstly I think, on this holiday, of Mary.

I have been hearing her story every Christmas for my entire life.

Mary was about a decade younger than I am, and she was traveling on a donkey. I’m going to have a private room in a great hospital. She didn’t have the option of an epidural (I want to try it without). She didn’t even have the option of a bed. She had no books available to give her any hint as to what it would be like...not that it would have helped. It’s highly unlikely that she knew how to read.

She was poor and tired and scared and probably more uncomfortable than I can imagine. She gave birth in a barn. A smelly, drafty barn!

She is The Holy Mother to so many, many people. Yet she was just a poor kid who had to deal with nausea, stretch marks, cramps, back pain and a host of other things for nine months.

How some people can treat teenage girls with disrespect astounds me. God chose one of them to have His Son because He knew she could handle it.

Elevating an unwed teenage mother to a Holy status.

I'm getting sleepy now, so I think I'll just toss this up for people to read. I'm sure it is not my most eloquent.

Actually, before I go, I'm going to stick in the lyrics to one of my favorite Christmas Songs. It's about her.

Hmm.

2005-12-21T10:08:00.000-05:00

I mentioned in the previous post how my family tends to produce big babies. I am worried because a lot of the adorable, soft and probably costly baby gifts I am getting are newborn sized clothes. As in for babies up to ten pounds.

I fear a lot of them may go unworn. Which would suck, because they are freaking adorable.

Also, it would mean that my son won't have that many clothes that fit him.

Another pregnancy post? Can't this woman talk about anything else?

2005-12-13T20:26:00.000-05:00

My baby is due in four weeks and three days.

It is so strange, I feel as if I just found out, and now it's almost over. Rumor has it, though, that this last months feels like the longest.

I am so tired. Since I found out that I was pregnant, I have gained 40 pounds. That's a lot of extra weight to carry pretty much in one area of the body. I'm a little nervous about that. I know you aren't supposed to gain too much weight for heart reasons. I thought I was supposed to gain 25-30. My doctor says everything is fine, though, so I'll trust her. My mother has reminded me that our family gives birth to 9 pounders (that's the average, my cousin was 13 pounds at birth)so my big gain isn't that big a deal.

I'm very proud of the fact that I haven't looked at myself in the mirror and felt "fat", as I know other pregnant women have. I have been in awe of the sheer size of me, yes, but I have not felt fat. Just very, very, very pregnant. It is beautiful. Also exhausting.

My Beloved is starting to get a little unnerved, because he keeps running into people whose perfectly healthy babies were born three weeks early. I think he's worried it will happen to us and he won't have fixed the cradle yet.

The bottom falls out of the cradle when you put anything in it.

I'm not putting the baby in there until he fixes it.

I still need some stuff. I don't have a baby monitor yet, or a breast pump (I had no idea there were so many different kinds of pumps). I was overwhelmed in the breast pump aisle of Target. I also need nightgowns and other clothes with holes in the bosom so I don't have to strip every time I need to feed him.

I've also just found out that another two of my friends are newly pregnant.

Peer pressure, I guess.

Oh, I can't believe he'll be here soon! I can't wait to hold him and smell his head (love the smell of baby head) and hand him to his Dad when he starts kicking!

BabybabybabybabyIlovemybabybabybabybaby!

Oh. Holy. Crap.

I'm way too tired to keep typing (and it's not even 9pm, what the...?). I shall now go to bed and stop polluting the blogosphere with my drivel.

Buried in a Winter Wonderland

2005-12-09T14:42:00.000-05:00

Wow.

Worcester is covered in a beautiful blanket of pristine white.

A pristine blanket of white that is making it impossible for people to get up our street. My husband is at the office right now because he just tried for fiteen minutes to get up our road and couldn't.

All of the plows are out and trying to keep up with the snow, but it just keeps coming.

I feel stupid for saying this, but there's a fancy Christmas party tonight that we've been invited to and I have a pretty preggo dress and I really want to go, so I really really want the snow to clear up. Obviously, I don't want to go badly enough to risk safety.

33 Weeks!

2005-11-29T00:02:00.000-05:00

We (Husband and I) call this "Planet Baby".

People say that once your bellybutton pops out, the baby is "done".

Like those poultry timers.

Rumor has it that that is how the poultry timer was invented.

Thanksgiving

2005-11-24T20:26:00.000-05:00

My husband is well. My baby is well. I have a warm, safe home. I have a loving family. I've got great friends, really great friends. I'm about to be done with a job I no longer enjoy. I just ate a yummy cookie. I'm happy.

Today's good for realizing that the good things are much bigger and better than the not go good things are, size and crappiness wise.

Happy Thanksgiving.

God. Dammit.

2005-11-15T16:27:00.000-05:00

I went to college with Mella. She is my very good friend and I love her. She is an extraordinarily gifted writer.

She had a miscarriage a few months ago.

She recently came out as being pregnant again.

They went for the ultrasound. Here's what happened.

Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

I have no idea what to say to her.

I hate that she and her husband are going through this.

I hate that God is allowing this.

I feel guilty for having a healthy little baby inside me when she has lost two.

For you pop culturists to think on...

2005-11-08T21:22:00.000-05:00

Cute dream last night. The worlds of DC comics and Sex and the City had united. Carrie had a little crush on mild mannered reporter Clark Kent, and Samantha was doing her seductive best to land billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne.

They make an attractive couple. Though I have to admit, Bruce looks like Charlotte's ex Trey Macdougal.

In the last year:

2005-10-30T21:00:00.000-05:00

What do I want to do with my life? I don't know! Freak out! American media is kinda fucked up. My husband's going to die and I am sad. Wow, my friends are having kids. Boston is nice. I like comic books. I don't like school but I think I have to go back. Fine, I'll go back. Some people's breakups are funny. These blogs are cool. My husband didn't die but our marriage is having problems. We should move. Man, I feel lousy. Holy crap I'm pregnant! Freak out! It's pretty fucking hot this summer. I still feel lousy. Freak out! I feel much better. I like this porch. Our country doesn't appreciate mothers.

Also, I'm not going back to school, not now anyway, I'm going to stay home with my son, and maybe go back to work when he's a little older if I want to or we need me to. My husband is healthier than he's been in years.

I want to thank some of you for reading, responding, having cool blogs, and the like:

Christina
Cyke
Dorian
Kevin
Maureen
Mella
Mer
Midnight Arrow
Pauly
Rick
Sam (duh)
That Other America

And anyone else that I may have forgotten. If I did, I am sorry.

Things I could be doing now:

2005-10-24T14:51:00.000-04:00

1. finishing the thank you notes from the wonderful baby shower my husband threw me on Saturday
2. finishing the dishes
3. learning how to use the new crockpot my mom got me
4. ironing
5. napping
6. taking out the recycling/trash
7. making those reference check calls that I have to do for the store
8. getting my Rhode Island driving history so I can get car insurance here
(yes, I am driving around without insurance, please don't hit me).
9. elaborating on the analysis of my nightmare situation, which will hopefully banish it
10. working on the short story that's been knocking around my brain for a while

Instead I am on the couch in my sweats, feeling tired but not sleepy, in that frustrating and restless way.

I really really really don't want to turn the TV on, for fear that I 'll go into a mini coma and waste a day.

Bluh.

Seems fitting.

2005-10-19T22:40:00.000-04:00

Not that I can do All Hallow's Month anywhere near the justice my favorite horror/SF/fantasy men are doing.

Remember the nightmare question? See previous post if not.

Is this about horror or it is about psychology? I don’t know.

Let’s say you have a recurring nightmare. You know why you have it. You know what it symbolizes, but that does not make it any easier for you to have it. It’s the worst dream ever,and it happens at least once a week. You’ve never told anyone about it, because they would tell you to go to therapy and there is nothing that a therapist could tell you about the nightmare that you don’t already know. You are also powerless to prevent a similar situation from happening to you in real life. If it were as simple as “don’t worry about things you have no control over” this would be a much easier life we are all in, but the point is that it is not something that you worry about when you are awake. Only when you sleep.

They’re becoming more frequent.

Typically writing about difficult emotions is cathartic. But this doesn’t really qualify, does it? It’s a nightmare, not a feeling. But terror is the major player, which is.

If you write about it and fictionalize it, will that do anything, or will you just have to suffer through the typing of it for no cure? If you write about it as personal experience, isn’t that going to be more difficult?

Of course, this issue could make a very pretty little horror story, about someone who relives the same nightmare over and over, while maintaining a normal, rather happy life in waking hours. Perhaps it has already been done.

Nightmare

2005-10-13T13:36:00.000-04:00

If I blog about it, will it stop?

Motherhood's Worth

2005-10-06T21:36:00.000-04:00

In France mothers get at least six months of maternity leave.

Canadian mothers get a whole year. Fifty of the fifty-two weeks are paid.

Australian mothers get twelve months off, three months paid.

Japanese mothers get fourteen weeks.

In the United States, maternity leaves, on average are twelve weeks.

Canada: twelve months. United States: twelve weeks.

Yes, I know Canadians pay a lot more taxes than we do. A significant amount.

However...a considerable amount more in taxes and an entire year off, with job security versus twelve weeks with my son and lower taxes.

Oh, and French fathers get two weeks and many working parents are allowed Wednesdays off (as French children get Wednesdays off from school...though with that option they can get a small salary reduction.

On the couch this Sunday...

2005-10-02T21:49:00.000-04:00

I got 14 hours of sleep last night.

My husband is gone this weekend. He’s hanging out with some friends in the Berkshires, and I have a lousy cold, so I’m home. He wasn’t going to go, but I reminded him of when he was desperately ill and I went to see these same people. I had great food, good times, and got to relax. I needed that and so does he. Plus, it’s a cold.

My husband is having a really good time. He called around five. He told me he had decided to stay a second night, if that was okay. I was really glad, actually. Not like I don’t want him around, I have a happy mental image of him sitting on Colin and Emma’s couch staying up late, and the three of them laughing until their sides hurt.

I was also glad as it gave me a chance to get some cleaning up done around the house. I am feeling better than I have in a few days (14 hours of sleep can do that to you). I started thinking.

I started thinking about how nice it would be for Husband to come home to fresh laundry and a sink no longer full of dirty dishes. I always try to do this when I’m home and he has a long day of work. When he gets home, I like the house to be clean and for myself to be dressed in non-grungy clothes and smelling nice.

Not very feminist is it?

Kind of June Cleaverish, huh?

That got me thinking about lots of things. I work to look nice for my husband. Not hard...I mean, I rarely wear make up, I don’t spend a ton of time exercising, and never in a million years would I consider getting cosmetic surgery.

I do, however, like to look nice for my husband.

It’s not that I am insecure. I know there are women who feel that they have to look good for their men or they will find someone more physically attractive. No, it’s nothing like that. I actually have more self-esteem than most women I know. I am not hot, but I am aware that I am cute. I don’t cause heads to turn or anything, but I do get interested smiles from guys at coffee shops (not so much now that I am obviously pregnant).

I think of it as being the same as when he wears that blue shirt I like. Damn, he looks hot in that shirt.

I see many women who are married, have kids, and obviously don’t make any attempt to look nice. I mean, no one expects a working mom (and all moms are working moms, job outside the home or not) to look like a supermodel or anything, but these are women who have nice bone structure, figures that look like they have given birth a few times, but so what? Lots of women have crows feet, stretch marks, wide hips, and sagging breasts but they’re still women and they’re still beautiful. If they tried, they could really look it.

I also notice that these women looks kind of sad when I see them at the store, as opposed to the other women who are dressed cute. Women who come in with their diaper bags and screaming kids, but look like they’ve had a nice haircut recently and go for a power walk every now and then.

I remember when I was in high school and my parents became new parents again. My mom had a career, and a tremendously active baby, but she still looked nice. She dressed up for certain occasions, played golf. She didn’t throw her womanhood out of the window just because she was really busy and had kids. She didn’t take her nice looks, and her marriage to an attractive guy for granted. Neither did my Dad. He often told her how great she looked, brought flowers home for no other reason than he wanted to make her feel appreciated.

My husband does that. That’s one of the reasons I like him coming home to a clean house, and a wife wearing a tight tank top and a pair of his boxers (that’s a look he’s a fan of).

Maybe these dowdy beyond their years women don’t have husbands like mine (or like my Dad). Maybe they don’t feel attractive, so they don’t bother to play up their beauty. That sucks.

He's planning a baby shower for me. He’s making the invitations, organizing a caterer, and is planning to spend the day shuttling my friends back and forth from their cars, because the café doesn’t have very good parking.

Any wonder I want him to feel appreciated?

Rant

2005-09-27T23:42:00.000-04:00

I am going to come across as being oh so bitchy after people read this.

Let me explain that I am a friendly person. I chat with strangers on the T. I smile a lot. I like people.

Though I don't really care for people who assume too much based on a working relationship. I have made very good friends out of people I work with, but this is something that happens over longish periods of time, after professional conversation develops into banter, which develops into personal conversation.

Meaning after only working with someone for a couple of weeks, I don't have any real desire to hear about their nights at bars/fights/melodramatic relationship issues with/about people I don't know and will never meet. Especially when I'm expected to give advice.

When I’m working, I like to focus on the task at hand. That way I do a good job, and when my shift ends I can get to my real life knowing I was productive and not a waste of my company's money and my own time. I am good at my retail job. I am organized, efficient, and great with customers.

I do not need the distraction of hearing another story about a bunch of strangers, what was text messaged to whom at what club when I’m trying to reorganize the stockroom or figure out how many jars of arnica massage oil we have left.

Conversations I have with co workers tend to run along the lines of “How are the understocks looking?” “Are we low on Tea Tree oil?” and “What did our district manager say about the offsite storage unit?”. Boring, work related stuff. With a few of them it's small conversations about things I know we already have in common. "Oh, I have been to that restaurant. I love their Stuffed Beef Tenderloin. Have you had their Tiramisu?"

I realize that these people have a need to talk to someone and feel validated, but I have nothing to offer them. We have nothing in common save the place we work, I don’t know their friends, and I barely know them. Also were I actually to give advice, it wouldn’t be well accepted. It would sound like “Talk to him like the 30 year old you are and not like a college freshman, tell him to grow up and be honest, and if he can’t do that, get a new friend.” Or "You really should ask someone who's closer to both of you."

Wow.

I sound pretty cold hearted, huh? I'm really not...ask these guys.

Maybe it’s just been a long day...

I am not working.

2005-09-20T15:28:00.000-04:00

I could be, I guess. The thing about being sick is, if you DO work, if you're so tired that you mess something up, you make yourself/boss/company look dumb. However, if you're not working, just drifting in and out of sleep, playing online games and watching Ellen...you're all set. Can't really mess anything up.

Which is why I went on eLouai and made a Novice Doll. Animé Novice.

Which I can'tget to upload right for some crappy reason.

Lazy and possibly have a cold. Posting pictures.

2005-09-20T15:06:00.000-04:00

My husband is so gorgeous sometimes I can't believe it. I took this at my Godsister's wedding in Maine a month ago. I'm not sure what it is he's looking at.

People look so much better when they don't know their picture is being taken.

Red Spot

2005-09-08T17:30:00.000-04:00

There was this spotting...I called the doctor and she asked if I could leave work and come right in.

I wasn't really worried until then.

My very good friend from college had a miscarriage a few days ago. It started with a few red spots.

I was terrified. I left work. Tried to speak without shaking.

Husband wasn't picking up his cell phone. Called his office, made them get him. He said he wanted to come with me.

Drove to the doctor's office, tears blurring my vision.

I wanted so badly to be able to stop thinking. Of everything I've eaten, every box I've lifted, every awful possibility.

Sam, if you don't die, I'll always let you open your birthday presents before we eat.

Sam, please don't do this to Mommy and Daddy. Please, we love you so much.

Please please please, God, don't take him. Don't take my son. You have so many babies, please don't take mine.

I clutched my Husband's hand as we waited for the doctor.

Apparently some bleeding is common during pregnancy.

Why the FUCK didn't any of the books tell me that?!

She gave me a thorough exam anyway.

Nothing's wrong. Nothing seems to be wrong anyway. His heartbeat is strong. Cervix is closed.

All other parts functioning as they should be.

Husband and I gave massive sighs of relief. Thank you God.

I told Husband that now we have to let him open his birthday presents before he eats, now.

Husband laughed.

York Beach, Day Two Observation

2005-09-04T22:17:00.000-04:00

I think it's funny that I was never confident enough to wear a bikini when I was a svelte college girl, but now that I'm pregnant, I am strutting around the beach in my two piece like a Sportrs Illustrated Swimsuit Model.

No cover up, no beach towel sarong. Check me out, folks, I'm making a baby!

York Beach, Day One

2005-09-04T21:14:00.000-04:00

We've come to Maine every Summer for as long as I can remember. We moved a lot when I was a kid and summers in Maine were constant, like Christmas trips to New York or the monthly trip to Boston with Mom.

The cottage in York Beach. It’s small and adorable with carpet ideal for bare feet. Two double beds in one bedroom, two collegiate twins in the other. Little kitchen. Mismatched pieces of furniture from Mrs. B’s collection. Everything dates from the 30’s to the 60’s, except the little TV which only ever goes on during “Mystery” or a Sox Game.

I’ve been coming with my Beloved for the last six years. Next year we’ll be here with our baby son.

We got here tonight just as it was getting dark. I looked at the porch when we came in. I remarked to my parents that it had been repainted. The planks used to be pale green. You could see the old gray wood underneath the chipped paint. Now it’s a crisp nautical blue. My mom said Mrs. B actually replaced the entire porch this year. Looking closer, I realized the whole porch was almost identical, but brighter white. After a couple of minutes, I noticed that the couch is different, too. The saggy, gray, square couch is now a plump, gray, Queen Anne couch with faded pink brocaded flowers.

You know, I’ve redecorated this cottage a hundred times in my head (add a little yellow, change a lampshade, get rid of the blinds), but seeing anything different about it makes me kind of sad.

That old couch and the mint floor were as familiar as the smell of salt air and the lobster rolls from the fish market.

-------------

Thankfully, the smaller bedroom is still the same. My sister and I had her first and last pillow fight there. She got a nosebleed. I panicked, but she very calmly looked in the mirror, got off of her bed, and told Mommy she was "bleedy".

She told me a little bit later, quite seriously, that she didn't think we should have anymore pillow fights.

Promotional Pens

2005-08-31T10:30:00.000-04:00

Ever wonder about pens? Promotional pens?

Trapped outside my store, waiting for the locksmith (stupid fucking gate) and I’m writing with this pen from the Marshall Environmental Group

Why do I have this pen?

I have no idea when I could have encountered anyone from the Marshall Environmental Group.

I doubt when Mr. Marshall ordered these, a malcontent manager scribbling in a Batman Notebook was the foreseen destiny.

I wonder how many people have pens from companies they know nothing about, and do not care to know anything about?

This is my son.

2005-08-30T00:03:00.000-04:00

His name is Samuel David.

Samuel after this guy, who once saved my husband's life, and David after my father.

God, he's Beautiful.

I wrote this last month, but only got to type it today.

2005-08-26T23:55:00.000-04:00

On the Red Line

I’m back. I almost cried when I saw the Citgo sign.

Where to today? Park, I think. Get the blanket down and people watch. Then lunch. I want to hit Q.Market, check out zoinks! Harvard, maybe? I haven’t been to the North End in a while. Or Newbury Street.

Frog Pond

Every season is my favorite in this city. I picked a good day. It’s hot, but there’s a cool breeze, so lots of people are out. Little kids are everywhere, shrieking as they run around the fountain. They get yelled at by the lifeguards. Not so much yelled at as intercom'd at.

Man, she’s a downer. I love how they always end these long lists of strictness with “and have a nice day.”

I can’t wait to come here with my kids.

I love seeing people who are just sitting. Not reading, not conversing, just taking the Summer in.

Little girl walks by in a sun dress and flip flops. She’s 3 or 4. “This is the best day of the whole summer!” She says, for no particular reason. I turned to smile at her, but she doesn’t notice because she is focusing on walking in a very straight line on a sidewalk crack. “Yup.” her Dad (I assume) says. I catch his eye and he grins. People love it when strangers notice how cute their kids are.

I’m not hungry, but I know I should eat soon. I just don’t want to leave this spot.

I love tourists! I’m not a native to Boston, but I’m not a tourist, either. I guess that’s why I can think they’re so cute as they listen to the guy dressed as

o h c o o l b r e e z e

Paul Revere with rapt attention. Him I pity, though. He must be melting!

Hunh. There is a giant inflatable army man walking through the park. Why didn’t I bring my camera?

Schlepp around Downtown Crossing. Finagle myself a bagel.

Retreat to the air conditioning of Borders for a while.

Read Hot Mama. I like how it used to be thought that we pregnant women were magical, goddess-like, all because of the mystery of our biology. I really wish we could go back to that. I mean, we’re pretty damn sexy with our soft skin, full breasts and curvy bellies. We’re making life, how much does that kick ass!

Quincy Market

zoinks! is gone. Dammit dammit dammit. That was their last store. I so wanted them to make it.

It hasn’t ruined the day, though.

I think I’ll go home now. I may spend more time driving in and out of the city today than actually in it. So do not care. Worth it!

I’m hot and tired and sweaty, but very very content.

Home to a cool shower.

Sitting in my husband's Passat, I had a horrible thought.

2005-08-11T21:26:00.000-04:00

Are we yuppies?

We can't be. We're two cool kids just out of college, newlyweds. We have a headless Kenny doll! How many yuppies have a headless Kenny doll?

My husband pointed out that we are Whole Foods shopping, Mac owning, VW driving adults. We are not "just out of college", we left in 2001, and have been married for four years. We're about to become parents.

I stood in the kitchen with my fingers in my ears, wearing my GeeKISSexy T shirt, yelling "Yuppies are lame, we're cool! Yuppies are lame, we're cool!" over and over. It's not like we're planning to name our kid Connor or Sienna (not that I'm judging).

We're still renting! I work in retail! I read comic books! I have Strong Bad and Teen Girl Squad bumper stickers on my Golf! Half of my friends are covered with piercing and tattoos!

YUPPIES ARE LAME AND I AM COOL!

Hm. Looking at that statement...even if I am not a yuppie, I may still be lame.

Molly

2005-08-05T19:33:00.000-04:00

It happened on Tuesday, but I have hesitated to write about it. Her hips gave out and she couldn't move. Mom said she was shaking in pain, and the vet said there was nothing they could do. It was excruciating for my parents, but there was no way they could let her live paralyzed and in pain.

There are so many people who don't take the death of pets seriously. She had been in my life longer than my sister. Fourteen years. We knew it would happen soon. For some reason (something I must ask God about when I get to heaven) our best friends age seven years faster than we do.

When we got her, I was twelve. My parents took me into a room wriggling with pembroke welsh corgi puppies. Mom pointed out the one she had decided on. She was so small, I could cup her in my two hands. A tiny ball of fuzz (the same color as my hair). I sat down and picked her up. She stuck out her little tongue and gave me a doggie grin. Their tails are docked at birth because of back problems. She couldn't wag her tail, so her entire lower half was wagging. She was so soft, I cuddled her next to my face, and she gave me kisses. Then she peed on my knees.

Two years later, our nine year old cat died. The cat became patient with Molly's constant licking of the top of his head. Towards the end of our cat's life, he looked like Billy Idol. Molly wandered around the house for days, confused, looking for her favorite playmate.

Four years later, we brought my sister home, and Molly seemed to think that she was hers. She licked her face "clean" every time we put the baby on the floor. She paced around her when she was playing on the floor, and sniffed anyone, even me and my parents when we tried to get close to her.

Two and a half years ago, my parents had a lot of guests for Christmas, so my husband and I slept on the pull out couch in the den. Molly came in one morning when I was up watching cartoons with my sister. Husband was still asleep. She hopped up on the couch and squirmed through the sheets and blankets until she was snuggled up next to his head on the pillow. She put her nose right to his, as if she wanted to see how long before he realized a dog was breathing in his face. My sister and I raced for the camera. It's one of my parents' favorite pictures.

When my father was away in Iraq, she was so depressed. She looked up at his recliner every day, then back at us. We tried to explain it to her, but she didn't understand. She was afraid he'd gone the same way as the cat. She was hugely relieved when he came back for ten days leave. She was fine after he left again. She knew he'd come back. He said one day over the phone "If anything happens to her while I'm gone, please don't tell me. I can't handle it."

Her bark was so loud and deep, guests were always shocked every time they entered the house and saw this teeny little dog. She barked every time the phone rang for fourteen years. Corgis are bred to be cattle herders, and she always walked around the perimeter of a room when people were in it. Making sure everyone was accounted for.

She loved us so much. We loved her. I hope she knew how much.

Me, Jack and The Cape

2005-07-24T17:05:00.000-04:00

God, how I do love living somewhere with a porch.

I love how lazy afternoons are in the Summertime. This is a Lazy Sunday Summer Afternoon, so it's even better. Beloved is in the living room, working his way through the most recent Harry Potter (I finished it Friday...totally called the Half Blood Prince from the start).

So now It's me in a cotton summer skirt. Felling the warm breeze. Watching the sun and leaves make strange, pretty patterns on my arms. Jack Johnson is playing...my first full listen through of his new album "In Between Dreams". I dig it. It's good for a summer afternoon.

I was at the shop for a few hours this morning, but really, who wanted to be there? Who wants to go shopping when this day calls for blankets in backyards, or road trips to the Cape?

Speaking of, I was there yesterday. One of my girlfriends from college is due with her first baby in September, and her family threw her a shower. I love her parents' house. It's one of those old gray shingled things so very common on Cape Cod. One of those houses where it's perpetually calm and cool, and you really don't want to leave ever. Even after the party ended (three hours of Heather unwrapping things to a chorus of "Awwwwww") I hung out with one of our closest friends, her husband,parents, brothers, sisters in law, and Abby.

Abby is her two month old niece. It is seriously ridiculous how gorgeous this baby girl is. She's quite content, too. Not much for smiles and laughing, but quite laid back. She got passed around a lot, and tended to look up at everyone with the same "Oh, you're holding me now? S'cool." expression.

It was a good chance to catch up with people I haven't seen in a while. We've gotten in the habit of joking that someone has to get married every six months so we can see each other more than once a year. My old roommate was there, and I hadn't seen her in almost two years.

It was just such a splendid day! Perfect weather, July warm with a breeze. You could sit out in the sun for a while and not get too hot. You felt so lazy, like you had all the time in the world. I had to peel myself off the porch, remembering that I did have to work this morning, and would have to make the two hour trek home.

Definitely a day to savor. A perfect slice of summer.

Today's a decent follow up, though. Me and Jack and a porch.

Yesterday, Part II

2005-07-21T21:09:00.000-04:00

It may not be lavender...

but they're my bare feet
and they are
outdoors!

When I was out yesterday...

2005-07-21T21:00:00.000-04:00

I'm not a terribly patriotic person,
but I liked the Norman Rockwell
feeling this house gave off.

These
are
from
my
neighbor's
garden

Don't waste your Summer. It will be over soon.

2005-07-20T12:51:00.000-04:00

Sitting on my porch right now, I am thinking about how fast time goes. It’s halfway through July already. I remember when I was longing for summer to start, and it’s already gone! I haven’t been to the beach once, haven’t eaten a lobster roll, haven’t gone swimming or camping.

Being a kid was rough, but at least we had summer vacation. Oh, if grown-ups got that! Two and a half whole months for fun! What do we get now? Two weeks, if we’re lucky. On my days off, I typically do laundry, dishes, mop, etc. I don’t want to be seventy and have my last idyllic summer memories be from high school.

Now I feel guilty. I didn’t do any of those things from eleven to noon today. I watched The Price Is Right. That was an hour I could have been outside, even enjoying my neighbor’s flower garden, if not running around in my bathing suit like the three year old next door.

And now I’m typing on my laptop. I rationalize and say that at least I am doing this from my porch, feeling the breeze and listening to the beautiful alto sounds of the wind chime my husband and I got on our honeymoon. I can feel the sun, though I'm safely on a chair, looking at a computer screen.

I’m going to spell check this, put it up, and then slap on a baseball cap and go outside. Maybe I’ll just stroll up and down the street, but I will not waste any more time.

I would like to be in France.

2005-07-19T15:37:00.000-04:00

I want to be in a little cotton dress and bare feet, sitting in a big field of lavender (even though this is the time of year when it's being harvested, so the big fields are nearly empty).

I have no idea why I want this right now, but I do. Provence. Lavender. Bare Feet. Maintenant. This shall have to suffice for maintenant.

The Life After

2005-07-12T00:59:00.000-04:00

Things are returning to a sane pace around here. By "here" I mean my sphere of existence, not just my apartment. Husband is feeling healthy. That's wonderful. He's not having problems, everything is functioning the way it should be...and he and I are both thinking "Now what?".

For a long time I refused to define myself by his illness, as did he, but it ended up being how we did define ourselves. That sentence does not have an elegant structure. It's nearly one am, though, so I give not a shit.

I'm back at work, at a semi-regular schedule. We are 99.9% settled at this new house. My body is growing, yes, but it is no longer making me ill to an extraordinary degree. I actually went to a party in Quincy this past weekend. One of my best girlfriends was having this housewarming sort of thing with her roommates, and I haven't seen her since Christmas. I went even though it was pissing down rain and I was tired. I went and drank soda and ate almost the whole veggie platter and talked about theater and cats and men and the Massachusetts Social Services System and books and movies like a normal 26 year old woman. It felt really good.

I'd been taking it "one day at a time" as everyone told me to do, back when he was so sick. Now we have arrived at a Tomorrow of sorts. I can start planning fun things and working like a normal human and go back to my once weekly attempts at cooking.

This is very refreshing, and a little scary. This weekend we kind of slumped around our apartment. Went out for lunch and a movie ("Mr. and Mrs. Smith" is quite fun, by the way) like ordinary married folks. There were no frantic doctor's calls, no sudden crippling attacks of pain.

My word, we may start to become dull!

This also means my brain can start going back to the "What is it that I am looking for?" reason I started this blog in the first place. Though this little guy in my belly that is the size of my fist has changed so much...everything, really.

I guess the plus is that I don't have to go back to school anytime soon (semi sarcastic ha ha ha).

Chic

2005-07-07T21:31:00.000-04:00

There was a woman in the store Thursday evening who was chic.

She was, 5'5", ash blonde hair that was expertly cut at her shoulders. Subtle, stylish makeup. A very classic looking black dress that could have been bought at Macy's six years ago, or could have been bought last week at BCBG. Same with the shoes. A Louis Vuitton signature bag...a real one.

Nothing outstanding about her, yet everyone (there were several customers and it is not a large shop) noticed her.

Trés Chic.

Is it just me

2005-07-07T11:20:00.000-04:00

or are there other people who get rather depressed by consecutive days of rainy weather?

Once in a while I like rainy days. When they are commas in a sunny sentence, they are refreshing. When you have a whole paragraph of rain though, It's like Joseph Conrad (for me anyway).

I don't know where any of you (all two of you who read this) are geographically, but in Central Massachusetts it has been wet and rainy for the last two days and is expected to stay this way for about another week.

This is summer, when I want to spend my free mornings or evenings out on my new screened in porch with a glass of juice, enjoying the warm breezes. I do not wish to be in my living room, in my bathrobe, glaring outside at the gray sky.

Days like this make me want to sleep and sleep.

Though it does make it a little easier be at my light filled, bright colored store (though it is harder to get the energy to go).

I guess that's something to look forward to?

No, I just want to crawl back to bed. But I can't. I have to do grown up things.

BAH!

Nnng...

2005-07-05T21:30:00.000-04:00

Back to retail.

I haven't worked in a shop in...a month? Longer than that, I think. Since mid-May. Wow, nearly two months. The office job I had was only temporary. Though I missed some parts of customer service, I realize that people who work in offices have it incredibly easy. My knees were killing me by the end of the day, and I fondly remembered being able to go home at 6pm.

It was a good day. I was kind of nervous earlier, before I left for the store. Just silly stuff, afraid I had forgotten everything, afraid that absolutely no one would give me any managerial respect. Afraid that the physical problems I was having in my first trimester would resurface and I would either throw up or pass out in front of a customer buying ylang ylang essential oils. Nothing happened except a slight dizzy spell when I was doing some paperwork, but I was able to go into the back room and sit down.

It's not going to be my permanent store, it's just where I'm being placed for training*. The girls all seem quite nice, and though they are very young, are actually willing to do work, instead of just standing around giggling.

The shop closed at 8, we were out by 8:30, and I was home at a quarter past nine (they're moving me closer to home next week).

Part of me feels really good to be back earning money, and good about a lot of the things that I did remember*.

The other part of me is exhausted and hungry and has a headache.

*I was a manager for a few months, but when my husband starting getting really sick, and the store started tacking on more hours than I had bargained for, I asked to be demoted. I was under too much stress, and wanted to back out before the Christmas season. I've been out of Management since shortly after Halloween, so they're giving me a week of training review.

JONES!!!

2005-06-29T20:44:00.000-04:00

Nothing like this had ever happened to me before today. I've had my share of food cravings, but this was insane!

I was driving home from Boston (husband had final surgery, went excellently well). Halfway to Worcester, out of the blue, I needed...hard core needed...A Burger King Chicken Sandwich and Fries.

Every exit between Boston and Worcester had Stupid Fucking McDonald's*.

Now, I haven't really ever lived in Worcester before. When Husband and I were dating/engaged he lived here, but I only spent every other weekend with him, and when we went out to eat, it was to Boomers or Tortilla Sam's or The Sole.

I spent my first three years of life in this city, but my parents were pretty much health nuts, so fast food was taboo. Occasionally Nana Berg would take me out for McDonald's, which was fine when I was wee. Now my tastebuds have matured, I realize that Burger King Fries are far far superior...they are crispy on the outside and potato-y on the inside. Mmmmmm. McDonald's has soggy, mushy fries. Blech.

Point is, I had never learned where the Burger Kings are in Worcester**. I had to find one. Had to. I do not know if I can truly explain how desperate I was.

So I drove and drove past what felt like about thirty McDonald's and a few Wendy's.

At one point, I realized that I was on the verge of tears. I wanted that sandwich and those fries so badly!

Finally Finally Finally I found one. I literally shreiked with joy and started a stream of

"ThankYouGodthankYouthankYouthankYouthank
YouthankYouthankYouthankYouthankYousomuch!"

I cannot remember the last time I enjoyed food so much.

Now I am sitting in front of my TV, sipping the remains of my Sprite, and I am contented.

Mmmmmmmmmm.

*I should say that I do not hate McDonald's totally. I like their McFlurries and that fruit salad they came out with recently. Everything else sucks, though.

**There were 3 BK's near my place in Providence. Funnily enough, Providence has the fewest fast food restaurants of any city in the country.

I've been meaning to write this for some time.

2005-06-28T14:38:00.000-04:00

I think the whole Tom Cruise/Brooke Shields thing is what has pushed me to talk about it sooner than I would have liked. It's topical. Or at least part of it is.

For those of you who don't watch television or read magazines or talk to people who do, Brooke Shields has written a book called "Down Came The Rain". The book discusses her Postpartum Depression. In it she says:

"I started to experience a sick sensation in my stomach; it was as if a vise was tightening around my chest. Instead of the nervous anxiety that often accompanies panic, a feeling of quiet devastation overcame me. I hardly moved. Sitting on my bed, I let out a deep, slow, guttural wail. I wasn't simply emotional or weepy like I had been told I might be. This was something quite different. When PMS made me introspective or melancholy or when the pressures of life made me gloomy, I knew these feelings wouldn't last forever. But this was sadness of a shockingly different magnitude. It felt as if it would never go away."

That last sentence is what clues in many therapists and psychiatrists to the difference between being depressed (a temporary state of mind) and Depression (an illness).

Making reference to her book, Tom Cruise has said "When you talk about postpartum, you can take people today, women, and what you do is you use vitamins. There is a hormonal thing that is going on, scientifically, you can prove that. But when you talk about emotional, chemical imbalances in people, there is no science behind that. You can use vitamins to help a woman through those things."

I am not going into Scientology here, or into Tom Cruise’s personality. This attitude towards PPD transcends religions, genders...it is a sadly common thought.

I remember when I was diagnosed with Depression. It was in college. I was disgustingly thin. Exhaustion doesn't seem to be a word strong enough to describe what I felt physically...it's more like I was numb...a zombie. I would be either unbearably sad, crying for hours at a time, or venomously angry at myself, so far gone that I would spit insults at a mirror and smack myself in the head when I didn't do something "right".

I bristled at the thought of medication. I firmly believe that too many people today take a pill for their problems when therapy and homeopathic remedies can work just as well. I think that some children with attention deficit disorder can benefit from behavioral therapy and structuring without medication.

I have also learned that sometimes, all the natural world has to offer is just not enough. I tried it all, therapy, changing my diet, vitamins, herbal supplements, exercise, the comfort of my faith. None of it made the raw hopelessness go away, or even get better. Unless you count the hours of prayer that made me realize I was not failing anyone by getting chemical help. I was doing a service to myself and all who loved me.

Some things are not hormonal. They are not moods. All the self searching in the world can not change the fact that some of us have brains that are not making enough of something.

There is tremendous pressure these days on women in general, and mothers in particular. Most of it is totally understandable...it's is the most important responsibility many of us will ever have. There is a different pressure, one that is totally unrealistic, and yet we put it on ourselves. Everyone has an image of a "Perfect Mother" in our heads. It's different for all of us, based on our own mothers or primary caregivers, images of motherhood in the media, literature, and probably a dozen other sources depending on the individual.

This is very choppy, I know. I am going to put this up, and leave it open for anyone’s comments. I will go into this more in the future, I think.

I am feeling good about myself.

2005-06-24T02:31:00.001-04:00

Isn't it funny how accomplishing small things can make us feel wonderful?

I did the dishes, got groceries, cleaned the kitchen, living room, bathroom, our bedroom and the dining room. This is a bigger deal than ordinarily because a. most of the stuff I put away came out of boxes buried on the back porch and b. our new place is three times the size of our old place.

I marched into the office/baby's room and told my Beloved that he had better appreciate me for all I achieved tonight.

Though cleaning house is just an everyday thing, It felt fantastic to have the energy to do it. My husband was in the living room, working on his laptop, and I was cleaning. So sane.

I guess it makes me so happy because it is very normal. This past week I have felt more normal than I have in months. By normal I don't mean "like everyone else" or "the way people should be".

I felt like myself. I felt like a happily married woman who is turning 26 in three days and has an uncertain yet promising future ahead of her.

By the way, I still haven't forgotten about my Motherhood Rant. I just need to get some research done so I have a good argument.

I would like to be able to sleep, though.

Ah, well. Thankful for what I've got!

First Sunday in June.

2005-06-20T17:00:00.000-04:00

I want to be asleep right now, but I’m not, so I have to write about why.

It is so damn hot in this empty third floor apartment. The movers came today and took all the big stuff, now there is only scattered junk. Things I was too weak and too tired to pack. Things that will go into boxes for Sam and I to move later, over the next few days...weeks, probably.

I’m so lonely. I touch my belly. My baby. I saw him (her?) for the first time today at the hospital. The doctor took blessedly cool goo and squirted it on my belly. She ran a small thing that looked like a price scanner over me, and then turned the screen towards me.

A small, peanut shaped thing, floating in a bubble. “That’s my baby?” She turned the sound on and I heard my baby’s heart beating. I started to cry. I wanted my husband to be there. I wanted him to see our baby. I don’t want him to be hooked up to tubes in a hospital room that will always be too far away, no matter how close to his doctors we live.

I haven’t been able to sleep beside my husband for two weeks.

I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in two weeks.

I miss college, where my best friends were in the same building. I could wander to their room on a hot night in my underpants and know that they would make room for me, and let me cry or talk or be silent. Now they live in other cities, states and time zones. They have jobs to get up for tomorrow morning, and anyway, calling would only do so much. I need someone’s arms.

Tonight I am a single mother in a hot apartment with no furniture. I need someone to lie down next to me and let me sob for a few hours, until I get over this gaping loneliness. The only friend I have in the area buttresses, he does not hold.

Tomorrow I will drive to our new house. Maybe unpack a few things. Wander around, figure out where things will go in this big new space. We need everything to find its place, so that when this little peanut gets here there will be room for all of his (her?) things. I’m probably going to just lie on our mattress for a while, though. I’m going to be caught between two cities for a while. I hate that feeling. I hate being so alone and so tired and with so much still to do.

I’m not alone. My baby is here. Does he know I’m his mother?

Does he know I’m scared and lonely? Why am I so sure that he’s a boy?

It’s summer and it’s so damn hot in this third floor apartment. When I was little I used to have to go to bed while it was still light out this time of year. When I was little I would have to take cool baths to get all the dirt and sweat and summer off me before going to sleep, cool and dry and safe with my parents down the hall.

Now I’m hot and damp and so lonely, even though my baby is here.

I wish I was asleep right now.

Frustrating Things

2005-06-20T16:56:00.000-04:00

Husband and I are finally fully moved in to the new place. Sadly, we had no internet access the last few weeks at the old place, and none at the new place until an hour ago. I could have gotten access at work, but I haven't been to work in a month, because of severe morning sickness. Most days I couldn't even get out of bed. My husband has spent the better part of the last month in the hospital, which helped matters none.

So that's where I have been. If anyone is still around.

Something I wrote while moving will go up soon.

Funny that the title of this is "Or Alcoholism" and I can't have any alcohol at all for the next year.

2005-05-30T13:01:00.000-04:00

I promise you this will not turn into a pregnancy blog. Expect pregnancy posting every now and then, because...well...for the past week all I've been able to do is throw up.

"Morning Sickness" is a big fat lie. Mine has lasted all day for quite some time. This is particularly difficult when you're trying to move to another city and your Husband is recovering from surgery. I haven't been to work in a week. Thursday through Saturday I couldn't even get out of bed, except to crawl (yes, crawl...couldn't walk) to the bathroom.

I did some online research and found out that 80% of pregnant women have "Morning Sickness" that lasts all day. I also discovered that 25% of pregnant women have to take their first trimester off of work because their nausea and vomiting get so severe.

I am going to guess that 25% of pregnant women in this country (probably a greater percentage, actually) cannot afford to take three months off of work. My husband is hoping to increase his paycheck, as he's expecting that I won't be able to work until July, things being the way they are. Honestly...there is no possible way I could have gone to work this last week. Even if we were already moved in to the new place and was within walking distance to the office, I could not get out of bed. A quarter of women have it like me? That's too big of a number to not be common knowledge.

I'm going to do some more research on this (when, I do not know). I'm thinking our country's attitude towards pregnant women needs to change.

Something Cool

2005-05-25T19:45:00.000-04:00

My husband found this. I know this guy's cartoons quite well (I think I've put a couple of them here) but this was something I had not seen.

It's about...well...it's basically about creativity, and what we do with our lives, and what we hope to get from our lives. It made me think about stuff.

Check it out.

ac·ci·dent

2005-05-23T15:34:00.000-04:00

1. An unexpected and undesirable event, especially one resulting in damage or harm.
2. An unforeseen incident
3. Lack of intention

This happened weeks ago, back when my laptop was fried and blogger was not being helpful in getting me my password.

One of my best friends has parents who are missionaries in Africa. One day his father (Jon) and a friend were driving down a road, and two little girls just ran right out of the woods and in front of the Jeep.

One second the road was clear, the next, there were two little kids in front of the car.

Jon tried to stop in time. He couldn't.

He was himself injured, but he refused medical attention, wanting to sit with the girls in the ambulance.

They both died.

As soon as Jon was released from the hospital, he was taken to jail. He was utterly devastated. He spent the night on a hard jail cell bench, not worrying about himself, but grieving for the two little girls.

For days everyone who knows and loves Jon was worried about what would happen to him. Would he have to go to prison? As a US citizen could he be extradited to the States?

I was terrified for Jon. He's a sweet man who has dedicated his life to helping the less fortunate. He has four children, and two grandchildren, not to mention a loving wife and friends all over the world.

At one point, I started thinking about how, had I seen on the news "An American man hit two little girls with his Jeep in Africa this week." I would have been so upset. I would have said something about how Americans are so inconsiderate in foreign countries, how the driver was probably drunk...all my sympathy would have been with the families of the children. I would have given no thought to the driver himself.

My heart broke for the families of the girls. It would have made so much sense for them to be filled with rage, to demand some awful punishment for Jon. How can you be gracious and forgiving to the person who took your baby's life away?

Jon was released to go to the funeral. He told their families that he knew he couldn't expect forgiveness, but wanted them to know how truly sorry he was.

They forgave him.

They told him that they heard how he tried to save the girls, how he stayed by the children. They understood that it was a tragic, tragic accident, but it was just that. An accident. They will not press charges.

Jon is home now, but he claims he will never get behind the wheel of a car again.

Every time I hear of something like this, I will think of Jon, and how we never really know what happens unless we are there.

Panic Comes, Panic Subsides.

2005-05-20T11:50:00.000-04:00

Husband came home from the hospital last night. He's doing well, just very very very tired. We discussed our move back to Worcester.

I'm feeling kind of overwhelmed. I can't lift heavy things now that I'm pregnant, I need to get lots of sleep and exercise and I have so much to do!

Other than the everyday laundry, dishes, job responsibilities, I have to schedule the move, pack up the rest of our stuff, move the antique china (I'm not trusting that to movers. One slip and they're powder.).

Oh, and the liquor stores around here are limiting the number of boxes you can have. What is that all about? What do they need a thousand Bacardi boxes for? I have a million books and framed photos and I'm saving them the trouble of recycling them later. They should thank me and let me have all the boxes I can stuff in my car!

I feel so bad for my husband, because he really wants to help, but he physically can't. He has to be extremely careful so the muscles in his abdomen can heal. He's not allowed to do ANYTHING. Even the dishes are dangerous for him because it involves prolonged standing.

You know what, though? I am so freaking happy, amidst all this. My life is going to change forever. It's going to be filled with poopy diapers, getting jerked awake at two am by a small person screaming, sore nipples, sleep deprivation and I am so HAPPY! I feel like throwing up until 3pm every day. I am so so so so tired. I can't drink alcohol or coffee for over a year and I am ECSTATIC!

The size of a sesame seed. That's how big my baby is right now.

I am complaining about all the crap I have to get done soon and I am smiling from ear to ear. I'm having a baby! I am having a baby! I've wanted to be a mother for as long as I can remember, and now I finally will be. I'm in love with an amazing man who will be a great father, I'm going to be raising my child in a beautiful house with a backyard and a porch in a quiet neighborhood.

Nothing else really matters, does it? If we have to move a little later on to get everything done, that's what we'll do. If we have to shell out money for boxes at packing supply stores, we'll do it. If I have to let my boss know that, sorry, this project I'll have to work on at home because I haven't had a lot of sleep lately and I need to make sure I nap today, I'll do it.

My family is what's important right now. Before I know it I'll be in my new house, looking at fabric for my baby's curtains. I am sure there will be a host of new things to stress me and my Beloved out, but so what? They'll pass.

Life's little everyday annoyances will come to pass, and I will be this child's mother for the rest of our lives.

A Note To My Internet Friends Who Are Comic Bloggers:

2005-05-17T09:57:00.000-04:00

You guys will need to help me track down some literature for this baby.

Alan Moore's ABC's (Guess what “V” is for!)

You're Special and Loved...But That Won't Help You In This Heartless City by Frank Miller

Count to Ten with Grant Morrison (nothing witty there, but I figured I needed another guy).

Not to mention all of the actual children's books that Neil Gaiman has written. The Wolves In The Walls is a particular favorite of mine.

YEEEEEEE HAAAHHHHH!

2005-05-17T09:15:00.000-04:00

HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE HEE!

Man, I have never been so happy to feel so horribly sick in my life!

Huh.

2005-05-17T09:11:00.000-04:00

Sooo...haven't been feeling well for a few days...thought the E. Coli was back.

No...I am pregnant.

I am pregnant.

I am pregnant.

I am pregnant.

Friday

2005-05-13T10:15:00.000-04:00

I feel lousy today, but I've gone into work, at least for a few hours. My boss is one of those really cool guys who realizes that it takes a few days to recover from E. Coli, so if he were here he would probably tell me not to worry about it. He is taking a much needed weekend away with his freakin' adorable ladyfriend.

My husband and I are going to move back to Worcester this summer. Though we adore East Providence, it's just too far from work and his doctors.

We have found a gorgeous first floor apartment that is three times the size of the place we have now, massive kitchen, dining room, 2 bedrooms (babies!), laundry in the basement, screened in back porch that spans the length of the house (swoon!), hardwood floors, in a wonderful neighborhood...gotta tell you, people, I was almost in tears. Under a grand a month and best of all it is walking distance to the office.

In a month of the skies raining crap down on us, this is wonderful news. I am having people over on Sunday to help me box up our crud. The only good thing about Beloved being in the hospital is I can throw away a lot of his utterly useless junk without hearing him complain about it.

Though before he went into surgery, he did inform me that he wants to be sure I keep all of his National Geographic magazines from the last seven years. Damn. I was hoping to toss those out before he mentioned anything.

He may not have a full intestinal tract, but he's got a cunning mind, that Love of mine.

His surgery went so well. He'll be in the hospital for another week, and then home on rest for a few weeks after that. There will then be a second (very small) surgery in July. Then...health, we pray.

I feel optimistic and nervous at the same time. Our life looks as though it will be going a smooth course for a while. Everytime I have thought that in the past, though, something has gone wrong.

Ah, well. We shall see. Meantime, I'l be hitting the liquor stores in search of boxes.

AH HA HA HA FINALLY!

2005-05-12T14:00:00.000-04:00

Considering I haven't been able to get into my account in three weeks, I would guess that no one is around anymore.

There has been a LOT happening here, but as I am at work, I will have to go into details at another time.

Take a fun quiz:

Novice's last few weeks have involved the following:

a. E Coli
b. Laptop fried and had to be sent back to Apple
c. Husband had major surgery
d. E Coli AGAIN
e. Found gorgeous apartment 1 mile from office for ridiculously wonderful price.
f. ALL OF THE ABOVE!

Since I still have no computer, my blogging will be restricted to lunch breaks at work for a while. I think it sucks that my last post before this period of antibiotics and plans to move was merely about the trailer for the latest Star Wars movie. It really should have been more profound. Or more poetic. Or funny.

Well...I am back for anyone who cares.

Heartbreaker

2005-04-24T19:47:00.000-04:00

This afternoon, my Beloved and I ventured out. We went to see "Fever Pitch" with our best friend's parents. Very fun.

There was a trailer for "Revenge of The Sith", and damned if it doesn't look really good. I remember though, I thought that about the first two...

I am so, so afraid it's going to suck. Oh, what if it sucks worse than the second one? I don't think I could bear it. I know I'm going to go see it in the theater. I know Husband and I will go, I'll get all goose-bumby as it begins...and I will probably walk out at the end muttering about the two hours I'll never get back again.

Long Story Short...

2005-04-23T15:40:00.000-04:00

Husband's home, having surgery May 11th, and I got sent to the ER Wednesday morning with E. Coli.

My father said that if it wasn't so sad, it would be hilarious.

One of my friends said "Of course! Of course you've got E.Coli! Next your arm will just fall off!"

Maybe locusts (I say with a smile. Realizing that, this too, shall pass).

His surgery has been delayed. Tomorrow they move him to Boston.

2005-04-18T10:28:00.000-04:00

I am so sick of being jerked around. Stupid "System". Stupid "The Man". Stupid "HMO"'s.

Stupid...uh...pen that ran out of ink!

Must maintain some semblance of a sense of humor.

My Parents Are Here, Part 1

2005-04-18T10:26:00.000-04:00

My Dad rode back with me from the hospital. On the way, I asked if he would grab my cell phone out of my purse, in case Mom (who was following us) got lost. He rummages around in my bag for a minute, then says “Ah! Here it is!”

Pulls out my fold up hairbrush.

I almost got us in an accident, I was laughing so hard.

He stared at it for a minute, puzzled...honestly thinking it was my cell phone.

They operate on my husband tomorrow.

2005-04-15T22:40:00.000-04:00

The Angel

2005-04-15T22:38:00.000-04:00

He stands in silence.

She is collapsed. Sobbing with her entire body.

Tearing the air until it bleeds.

She doesn’t hear him.

She doesn’t see him.

She doesn’t know he’s watching her heart break.

He is patient.

He reaches into her.

She waits for his disdain, his resentment, but it never comes.

He only gives her some of his strength.

Enough for her to get up and move through the rest of the day.

He whispers loud enough for the screaming in her head to stop.

He tells her things that she already knows, but cannot find on her own.

She believes only him because he does not love or pity her.

She wants him to go away.

She wants to be able to stand on her own.

She knows she can't.

She loves him and hates it.

I still have not slept.

2005-04-11T18:13:00.000-04:00

Things I have to forgive myself for:

The house is a mess.

The grocery shopping hasn't been done and we have very, very little food.

I cannot heal my husband.

Things I can forgive the hospital for:

The fact that few people seem to know where they are going. The new ER opened less than a week ago, so everyone is still getting lost.

The fact that my husband isn't first in line. There are other people there who are just as sick, or sicker than he is. There are just as many panicked wives/husbands/significant others/parents/children etc. who are scared and feel that their loved one is more important than anyone else. The nurses and doctors are kept busy.

Things I cannot forgive the hospital for:

Sending my husband home from the ER twice in twenty four hours with prescriptions that failed, as he grew progressivly worse. You see his medical history? Do you really think he's going to miraculously get better?

Within two hours of being discharged a second time, I was calling 911 again.

I was crying with rage. I called my mother, who is great at pulling the Warrior Woman out in me and drove to the hospital ready with threats, demands. I was going to mention lawsuits, I was prepared to cause a scene and be arrested (they can't send him out with no one to take him home)!

Thankfully, I didn't have to use that. This third time in his doctors were women.

I hate to sound sexist (I have had wonderful male doctors), but (in my experience) women have a greater capacity for empathy. Maybe some scientist proved it somewhere, whatever. Women are also more likely (and this was proved somewhere) to use their common sense more, while a man reahces around his mind ofr something he learned in a textbook. Not knocking the textbooks...glad we have them. Very, very useful in certain times.

However, a frightened woman with a husband whose ass has been kicked by "The System" does not want to hear about the technical CT scan results. She does not want to hear the test based explanations for why her husband was not admitted.

She want someone to look at the howling, vomitting man who has swallowed a QUART of laxatives (yeah) and taken an enema and is STILL constipated, miserable and has just begun to throw up. She wants that person to say "Hey...that guy's pretty fucking sick!"

Dr. Murphy came up to me (as a nurse was helping my vomiting husband) and said, without my even having to ask "We're going to admit him." Then she hugged me and said "Oh, you haven't slept all night, you must be so drained. Don't worry. We're won't let go of him until we get this taken care of. Have you eaten?"

Thank you. THANK YOU! Thank you Dr. Lisa Murphy and Dr. Molly Bliss of Rhode Island Hospital for acknowledging that I was in pain, that I had done everything I knew how, and that, though nothing was showing up on the fucking CT scan, that something was obviously VERY VERY WRONG.

Thank you.

He's drugged out of his head right now, and hooked up to an IV. Still no change. But he is admitted and they are going to find out what is wrong.

And I am going to sleep.

The Wife Writes

2005-04-07T11:36:00.000-04:00

Sometimes the stupidest little thing can bring back a flood of memories, and reassure you in the strangest way.

My husband’s disease is getting better. This is wonderful. In the time of his illness, we let out marriage slide. This is not wonderful.

That is why I took time off from writing. Not something I will do often, but my nights will be better spent talking to this man that I live with than focusing entirely on my own issues.

My husband believes that techno is the best genre of music and that Babylon 5 is the best television show. He believes that repeating things back to me right after I have said them is not absofuckinglutely annoying. He doesn’t understand my extravagant displays of physical affection (I think it embarrasses him) and he cannot seem to grasp the concept of “laundry hamper”.

He also has one of those chivalrous, old fashioned moral codes. I don’t mean old fashioned in the close minded, conservative way. I mean in the way that he takes tremendous pride in the job that he does, in the impact that his work leaves on the people he interacts with, and society at large. He believes in exercising regularly, eating healthy, well balanced meals, and not letting kids watch too much TV.

He believes that pornography is degrading to women, and cheapens the beautiful act of lovemaking (yes, really...I didn’t believe him at first, either). He believes that there are a lot of assholes out there, but there are people who are basically good to the core, and we should seek those people out, and try to emulate them, because they are the few that are truly happy. The assholes you put up with, and try to do so gracefully. He holds the door open for the people behind him. He never flips anyone off (whilst I use the finger like a handshake...it’s how Sam and I hug). He never honks his car horn, unless it is to warn someone of danger. He believes that children needs discipline, but boundless love above all else. He believes that no matter what, you do anything you can to help your friends and family.

He also believes that I am gorgeous, talented, intelligent, funny and that I will be a wonderful mother.

This morning, on the way to work, we stopped to get gas. He filled the car, I went in to get a donut. When I got back in the car, he had clicked the dial on his iPod back to play the last song again. It is one of the three techno songs that I like, and is actually a song that I love. He knows these little tiny things about me, and nudges them out into our day when he can, causing all of the reasons I love him, all of the proofs that he is indeed, the Love of my Life to flood my mind.

Random things I noticed in the hospital

2005-04-04T17:00:00.000-04:00

In the ER:

1. Ceiling tiles can only be interesting for...that long.

2. Catheters are uncomfortable. Probably more so for guys, still no picnic when you have a vagina.

3. It's really, really hard to see stuff when you have your head in a brace. People are just nostrils and chins.

In Husband's Room:

1. I like Ellen. She seems so nice.

2. I also like Here Comes The Hotstepper. Fun song.

3. Why is everyone making a big deal about Andrew Giessler? He found $9,000 on the ground and returned it. I mean, he seems like a really nice kid, but why are we making such a big deal out of NOT STEALING? I don't steal many times a day.

4. Hospitals make you pay for television. Why do they do that? My husband is to exhausted to hold a book or converse, and he can't get out of bed. What else can he do? Why would you make someone being fed through a tube pay for the one working part of his body to be stimulated?

5. I need to cut my nails. They grow so damn fast. I realize that every other woman in the world wants long nails, and it means I have a good amount of calcium in my diet, but they are inconvenient. Typing, lifting...all harder when you have long nails, but cutting them every week is tedious (much like this paragraph). Nails like these belong to an older woman with big breasts and a tight angora sweater. A pink one.