Okay, I promise I will not lean this blog toward a pregnancy blog... well... no promises actually, but I really will try to mix it up. Today, however, I speak to you about pregnancy.
I am officially ten weeks pregnant. That is 1/4 of the way done. 75% of this pregnancy is still ahead of me. So why do I feel like a giant walrus?
You may remember when I told you about my cravings, that unlike my first pregnancy, this pregnancy has me eating every two hours. Well, as of two days ago, that is over, my friends. Yesterday and today, I have barely been able to eat breakfast and lunch, and I haven't been able to eat dinner at all.
I am not feeling nauseated, really. Let me describe it the best way I can... Picture eating Thanksgiving dinner. Now when I say "eating Thanksgiving dinner," I mean starting with the little olives and pickles and corn cob thingies all the way through the potatoes, stuffing and turkey (for my vegetarian friends... extra helpings of the potatoes will be fine), then CONTINUING IMMEDIATELY on to dessert -- pumpkin pie, apple pie, pecan pie, or any combination you may normally enjoy. You know that feeling you have right after you eat all that? As if you might explode if you simply pointed gently at your belly? Now, imagine feeling like that ALL DAY. You feel that way while you sort books out of boxes onto carts, as you bend down to the bottom shelf to retrieve that title for a patron, and as you walk across the library just to get to the breakroom so you can sit down for a cotton-picking minute. Are you miserable? I thought so.
So at lunch time, I still really wasn't hungry, but since I was scheduled to be on desks all afternoon, I knew I had to eat something -- last chance and all. I had a Chick-fil-a sandwich and then forced down about four waffle fries, simply because I paid for them, dammit... I needed to eat at least a few! And I have been paying for it ever since. All day, I feel like a giant walrus must feel... flopping around on flippers dragging that huge belly across the floor. I have been WADDLING today, and I'm not even showing! I can't wear my pants anymore, though... apparently my belly remembers what it is supposed to do, and it is doing it right now... way before it is necessary.
So I don't have slimy skin, a big moustache, or long pointy tusks... but I am the walrus... koo koo kachoo.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
One Day We'll Wonder When She Will Shut Up
Athena is talking now. It's only a word here and there... Mommy, Daddy, doggie, kitty, see, yes, no, baby, and she does this little Tim Allen grunt for "What?" She isn't constructing sentences yet, but she's right on track for language.
She also cries a lot more frequently than she did. She gets very frustrated very quickly (not unlike her parents, I have to admit). For instance, tonight she was trying to pull her beloved train out of the toy box, and had not quite lifted it past the top of the box. Therefore, it kind of hung up on the thing, and rather than lift it further, she fussed. However, when I said "Lift it up more," she did, and successfully obtained said train and stopped said fussing.
In the spirit of saying a positive, then a negative, then a positive, I must say that she gives the most fantastic hugs now. You can ask, "Can I have a hug?" And she smiles really big and toddles over to you very fast and throws herself into a full body hug. It's quite lovely, I have to say. All those months of thankless nursing are finally paying off a year later.
Her hair is still very long. I have not given in to the urge to cut it. And I think I will be able to hold out until we go to Disney. The ladies at daycare managed to put it up in pigtails the other day. I tried, but couldn't manage it. But then, you know me and hair...
She also cries a lot more frequently than she did. She gets very frustrated very quickly (not unlike her parents, I have to admit). For instance, tonight she was trying to pull her beloved train out of the toy box, and had not quite lifted it past the top of the box. Therefore, it kind of hung up on the thing, and rather than lift it further, she fussed. However, when I said "Lift it up more," she did, and successfully obtained said train and stopped said fussing.
In the spirit of saying a positive, then a negative, then a positive, I must say that she gives the most fantastic hugs now. You can ask, "Can I have a hug?" And she smiles really big and toddles over to you very fast and throws herself into a full body hug. It's quite lovely, I have to say. All those months of thankless nursing are finally paying off a year later.
Her hair is still very long. I have not given in to the urge to cut it. And I think I will be able to hold out until we go to Disney. The ladies at daycare managed to put it up in pigtails the other day. I tried, but couldn't manage it. But then, you know me and hair...
Friday, August 19, 2005
Today, My Sister Nearly Blew Up
Although it has only barely made the national news, there was an explosion in San Francisco today. A transformer under the corner of Post and Kearny blew up, injuring ONE person! Just one! With a big fireball and everything. Linda works one block away and heard/felt the blast. She called us immediately thinking it would be all over the news and that we would freak out... which we would have, had it been all over the news. As it was, I still had to dig around on CNN.com four hours after it happened.
But anyway, she is fine, most of San Francisco is fine (although the woman who was injured was apparently severely injured), and life seems to be puttering on as usual there. I'll be curious when they identify the cause of it. I just imagine some little cockroach walking across a wire and setting off the chain of events...
There is a better, longer story here if you are interested...
But anyway, she is fine, most of San Francisco is fine (although the woman who was injured was apparently severely injured), and life seems to be puttering on as usual there. I'll be curious when they identify the cause of it. I just imagine some little cockroach walking across a wire and setting off the chain of events...
There is a better, longer story here if you are interested...
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
A Tribute to My Husband
The other day, my friend jl (a frequent commenter on this very blog) completely out of the blue, started telling me how great my husband is, mostly as a father, but also as a husband. And she happens to be a lesbian, so in my mind, this is really quite a tribute. She has seen him with me and with Athena, and I was so impressed to hear her say such great things about him. Sometimes I think I'm the only one who notices. And again, tonight, he did something worthy of public praise.
When I was pregnant with Athena, I took great pride in the fact that I had absolutely no unusual cravings. And I really didn't. I certainly craved fried shrimp or Mexican food from time to time, but as anyone who knows me knows... that is completely normal. I also crave a nice red, juicy cheeseburger from time to time, which sucks when I'm pregnant, because I'm only allowed a pinkish, not-really-juicy burger.
Anyway, as you can probably guess, this has not been the case this time around. About three weeks ago, I had to have some green olives or I was simply going to explode. I did, in fact, go to the store and get a jar... ate about five, and haven't touched them since. Still, it did feel good.
Then two weeks ago, I got a MAD craving for chocolate eclairs (with custard... not those cheap Harris Teeter knock offs) at about 9:30 at night. I was sorely tempted to head out to Wellspring to get one, but I wasn't sure they were open past ten, and it would have taken me just about that long to get there, so I talked myself down from the ledge and didn't give in.
Last week, I started craving yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The cake mix kind. Duncan Hines, pudding in the mix. I could have made one, but it seemed downright silly to make a whole cake just so I could have enough to squelch a craving. Finally, after three days of trying to push it out of my mind, I went to the store and got a small cake, but the closest they had to what I wanted was marble cake with that white sugar icing. I had a piece, and hated it. It's still sitting on the counter downstairs. I need to just toss it.
But tonight, I carried out the ultimate stereotypical scenario. Athena was about ready for bed, and all I could think about was a Nutty Buddy. You know the ice cream of which I speak? Those cones coated with chocolate on the inside, then filled with vanilla ice cream, then dipped in chocolate and nuts at the top? And I couldn't put it out of my head. I had already taken a bath, so I was in my robe. I debated... should I get dressed and go out to get one, or should I ask Chris? I have really been trying not to play pregnancy cards with him, as he really doesn't fall for it anyway, and I don't feel an overwhelming need to make him miserable whenever I am miserable. Don't get me wrong... sometimes I do just that, but it isn't intentional, I swear.
Anyway, this is why I sing the praises of my soulmate tonight. Because he put on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and, after explaining to our neighbor why he was heading out (I have to say that if I were him, I would have told someone too... somebody needs to be the martyr in this), he went to the store and bought me a whole box. In fact, he did one better and bought the Klondike brand, which has that pseudo-chocolate-esque stuff down the middle of the vanilla ice cream. YUM!
And to my credit, despite the fact that I was not at all hungry and was, in fact, feeling a bit overfull, I ate a whole cone, and I felt BETTER after doing so. So it really was medicinal... not just some wacky craving that really did not need to be acted upon.
So I've done it. I've sent my husband out at night to get me ice cream. Fortunately, I didn't wait until midnight or anything. It was only 7:30. But all the same, I love the man for doing it. I love him for many reasons, but he HATES to go back out at night for anything... especially to go to the grocery store.
Thank you, honey. You are da' bomb!
When I was pregnant with Athena, I took great pride in the fact that I had absolutely no unusual cravings. And I really didn't. I certainly craved fried shrimp or Mexican food from time to time, but as anyone who knows me knows... that is completely normal. I also crave a nice red, juicy cheeseburger from time to time, which sucks when I'm pregnant, because I'm only allowed a pinkish, not-really-juicy burger.
Anyway, as you can probably guess, this has not been the case this time around. About three weeks ago, I had to have some green olives or I was simply going to explode. I did, in fact, go to the store and get a jar... ate about five, and haven't touched them since. Still, it did feel good.
Then two weeks ago, I got a MAD craving for chocolate eclairs (with custard... not those cheap Harris Teeter knock offs) at about 9:30 at night. I was sorely tempted to head out to Wellspring to get one, but I wasn't sure they were open past ten, and it would have taken me just about that long to get there, so I talked myself down from the ledge and didn't give in.
Last week, I started craving yellow cake with chocolate frosting. The cake mix kind. Duncan Hines, pudding in the mix. I could have made one, but it seemed downright silly to make a whole cake just so I could have enough to squelch a craving. Finally, after three days of trying to push it out of my mind, I went to the store and got a small cake, but the closest they had to what I wanted was marble cake with that white sugar icing. I had a piece, and hated it. It's still sitting on the counter downstairs. I need to just toss it.
But tonight, I carried out the ultimate stereotypical scenario. Athena was about ready for bed, and all I could think about was a Nutty Buddy. You know the ice cream of which I speak? Those cones coated with chocolate on the inside, then filled with vanilla ice cream, then dipped in chocolate and nuts at the top? And I couldn't put it out of my head. I had already taken a bath, so I was in my robe. I debated... should I get dressed and go out to get one, or should I ask Chris? I have really been trying not to play pregnancy cards with him, as he really doesn't fall for it anyway, and I don't feel an overwhelming need to make him miserable whenever I am miserable. Don't get me wrong... sometimes I do just that, but it isn't intentional, I swear.
Anyway, this is why I sing the praises of my soulmate tonight. Because he put on his shoes, grabbed his keys, and, after explaining to our neighbor why he was heading out (I have to say that if I were him, I would have told someone too... somebody needs to be the martyr in this), he went to the store and bought me a whole box. In fact, he did one better and bought the Klondike brand, which has that pseudo-chocolate-esque stuff down the middle of the vanilla ice cream. YUM!
And to my credit, despite the fact that I was not at all hungry and was, in fact, feeling a bit overfull, I ate a whole cone, and I felt BETTER after doing so. So it really was medicinal... not just some wacky craving that really did not need to be acted upon.
So I've done it. I've sent my husband out at night to get me ice cream. Fortunately, I didn't wait until midnight or anything. It was only 7:30. But all the same, I love the man for doing it. I love him for many reasons, but he HATES to go back out at night for anything... especially to go to the grocery store.
Thank you, honey. You are da' bomb!
The Pilot's Wife by Anita Shreve
This is a book that Oprah once chose for her esteemed book club, which would normally make me resist it with every bone in my body. I am not one to want to follow the crowd when it comes to reading...
However, my book club selected this book, and I read it from cover to cover. It was depressing, yes, just as any Oprah book usually is, and just as Anita Shreve usually is, but the style and language were easy to read and really engaging. Through a combination of "here-and-now" chapters and brief flashback chapters, a woman discovers that her recently deceased husband (a pilot) was leading a double life. Worse yet, she never even SUSPECTED a problem. This raises all sorts of philosophical questions about trust and secrecy and sharing in a relationship. It also reminds us how important it is to really communicate.
Maybe I'm sentimental because I'm pregnant, but I would recommend this. It's a good summer read, since it goes so quick, but I wouldn't recommend reading it while on a plane. The pilot dies in an explosion over the Atlantic. Not really something you want to tuck into at 30,000 feet.
However, my book club selected this book, and I read it from cover to cover. It was depressing, yes, just as any Oprah book usually is, and just as Anita Shreve usually is, but the style and language were easy to read and really engaging. Through a combination of "here-and-now" chapters and brief flashback chapters, a woman discovers that her recently deceased husband (a pilot) was leading a double life. Worse yet, she never even SUSPECTED a problem. This raises all sorts of philosophical questions about trust and secrecy and sharing in a relationship. It also reminds us how important it is to really communicate.
Maybe I'm sentimental because I'm pregnant, but I would recommend this. It's a good summer read, since it goes so quick, but I wouldn't recommend reading it while on a plane. The pilot dies in an explosion over the Atlantic. Not really something you want to tuck into at 30,000 feet.
Sunday, August 14, 2005
Sleep
One of the side effects of early pregnancy that I felt last time AND that I am experiencing again this time is sleep. You may ask, do you mean you sleep all the time or do you mean you can't sleep? And to this I say, yes.
Basically, I cannot stay awake very well for more than two hours at a time. Obviously, I do it, because it is generally considered poor form to sleep at the reference desk or while checking in books. However, on a day I don't work, I generally take a nap in the early afternoon (often the same time as Athena) and then on any given day, I generally have trouble staying up past nine pm.
But then, I find myself waking frequently in the middle of the night due to my overactive pregnancy bladder, and then I can't get back to sleep. Like now, as I write this at 4:30 in the morning, munching on Triscuits. The Triscuits are not meant to help me sleep, except for the fact that they will hopefully stop the intense hunger I am suffering, which will, in turn, make it possible for me to return to peaceful slumber.
The insomnia hasn't actually been too much of a problem over the last week, because Athena has been waking around 2pm for no apparent reason (perhaps teething, perhaps nightmares) and wailing uncontrollably until one of us goes in there to comfort her. To get her back to sleep, we have to rock her for hours (usually two to three hours) and we have been switching off in this task some nights. There have been some nights when Chris has just done it himself, bless him, since she seems to calm faster and easier in his arms. But I certainly have done some time in the rocker. Often, after that period of rocking, I am able to sleep through the rest of the night with no incident.
Tonight, however, Athena is sleeping like an angel (do angels sleep?!) and here I am, cramming crackers into my face and wishing I could drift back to dreamland. I am counting the days until the second trimester, when my body will supposedly return to a fairly normal state... unless you count the lump that will form in my abdomen. But I'll take a lumpy tummy over this any day...
Basically, I cannot stay awake very well for more than two hours at a time. Obviously, I do it, because it is generally considered poor form to sleep at the reference desk or while checking in books. However, on a day I don't work, I generally take a nap in the early afternoon (often the same time as Athena) and then on any given day, I generally have trouble staying up past nine pm.
But then, I find myself waking frequently in the middle of the night due to my overactive pregnancy bladder, and then I can't get back to sleep. Like now, as I write this at 4:30 in the morning, munching on Triscuits. The Triscuits are not meant to help me sleep, except for the fact that they will hopefully stop the intense hunger I am suffering, which will, in turn, make it possible for me to return to peaceful slumber.
The insomnia hasn't actually been too much of a problem over the last week, because Athena has been waking around 2pm for no apparent reason (perhaps teething, perhaps nightmares) and wailing uncontrollably until one of us goes in there to comfort her. To get her back to sleep, we have to rock her for hours (usually two to three hours) and we have been switching off in this task some nights. There have been some nights when Chris has just done it himself, bless him, since she seems to calm faster and easier in his arms. But I certainly have done some time in the rocker. Often, after that period of rocking, I am able to sleep through the rest of the night with no incident.
Tonight, however, Athena is sleeping like an angel (do angels sleep?!) and here I am, cramming crackers into my face and wishing I could drift back to dreamland. I am counting the days until the second trimester, when my body will supposedly return to a fairly normal state... unless you count the lump that will form in my abdomen. But I'll take a lumpy tummy over this any day...
Friday, August 12, 2005
The Rabbit is Dead
You may or may not know the old story about how a woman used to know she was pregnant. There are several versions floating around out there, but basically, a woman's urine would be injected into the rabbit. If the rabbit died, she was pregnant. Or, another version of the story says that actually the rabbit HAD to die, because they had to look at her ovaries to see if she had reacted to the pregnant woman's urine. I'm thinking that either way, I'm certainly glad we now have little sticks to pee on. Poor bunnies.
So yes, the proverbial rabbit is dead. We are expecting a wee one round about March 21. Then our family, as far as I'm concerned, will be complete. Chris still makes noise about a third, but I've told him he can have the third one if he wants.
So far, this pregnancy has been more difficult than my first. I started feeling sick at about three weeks, which is before you can technically do a home pregnancy test. I finally took the test a few days before you are really supposed to because if I hadn't seen that little plus sign, I was going to call the doctor to have my head checked. The nausea was really significant.
And last time, I could barely eat. I lost a good ten pounds in the first few weeks of pregnancy. Not true this time, unfortunately. I'm maintaining a steady state of overweightedness. Joy. And I have to eat every two hours or so from waking until midnight! And I'm craving cake. *sigh*
I have included our first ultrasound in this post. When we did this with Athena, we saw a little black and white fuzzy lima bean on the screen with a little E.T. heart lighting up as it beat. So this time, Chris and I were certainly looking forward to seeing our little plantlife, but we weren't going in with high hopes. And, as we started out, everything looked the same as before. The machine seemed newer and fancier, but it was the same black and white blur on the screen. Then, the technician flipped a switch and... what's that? A HEARTBEAT!!! Normally, you can't hear a heartbeat until the 10th or 12th week. And there it was. Strong and regular. And then, just when we were sure the surprises were through, she announced it was a 3-D ultrasound! She flipped another switch and we were presented with images like the one I've posted here. A lima bean no more, our little offspring clearly has a head, little arms, little legs, and a little tail! (That tail does go away... we all had one). This image really doesn't even do the images we saw justice. The still shots are not as clear as the motion. (Oh, and if you are wondering, the little blob toward the bottom left is the yolk sac -- baby food).
So there's the big news! Chris thinks it's a boy, and I have to side with him (even though I really want another girl) because this one has been so different. However, I hear that no two pregnancies are the same... which is really unfortunate. My first pregnancy was a breeze. I was really hoping for a repeat.
Tuesday, August 09, 2005
How Not to Sell Me Something
First, I should apologize for taking so long to post an actual interesting story rather than just book reviews. We are having some issues with our wireless network (again) and I haven't been able to plug in with the laptop. I'm home sick for the morning, so thought I would seize hubby's computer, which is hardwired in, so I could share this little tale with you.
Last Monday afternoon, I called Chris at work and explained that my Mexican Craving Gland had taken over control of my body and the only hope to cure it was to go to La Rancherita for dinner. He agreed, which was odd in itself, since he normally fights going back out to dinner once he is home... and also since we are broke and promised ourselves we wouldn't eat out so much. But, he also knows that once the Mexican Craving Gland takes over, well... all hopes of a normal home life are gone until it is stopped.
So I arrive home Monday night at my normal 6pm-ish (damn commute) and I am pretty much starving. I dart into the house, planning to scoop up the baby and toss her and Chris into the car to head back out. As I turn the corner into my living room... what's this? A twenty-year-old blonde, cute and freckly college kid is in my chair! And she has... what's that? A SALES portfolio.
Muttering a small curse under my breath--part of this curse was dedicated to my husband's endearing weakness for cute sales people--I smile and allow myself to be introduced.
She's selling an "educational kit" designed to help me teach my child at home. Yippee. I'm starved. So I say, none to kindly, "Look, I am starving and need to eat now. Could you possibly come back another time?"
"Oh SUUUUUURE," she purrs... and we set up a time for tomorrow evening. We go get Mexican food. I am happy.
Tuesday evening arrives, and so does she. This time, and this is partially my fault because I actually agreed to the time we arranged, she arrives just as dinner is ready. So she sits at the kitchen table while I stand in the kitchen cutting up the baby's chicken, and she launches in...
"So do you KNOW what I LOVE about APEX?!" she coos. We have already learned that she is from Montana.
"No... what?" I take the bait.
"People here are SOOOOOOOO interested in their kids' eduCAtion!"
Oh brother.
"Did you know that children learn more between the ages of 0 and 5 than at any other time in their LIFE?!" she continues...
I nod. I did know that. I am a parent, and I studied to be a teacher. I've read a book or two.
"Well, is little Athena in daycare?" she asks.
"Yup." I offer, helpfully.
"GREAT!"
Oh, good. I am so relieved that the 20-year-old approves of my choice for child care. Of course, it turns out that she was setting me up.
"You know... most daycares today won't even put the ALPHABET up on the wall, because they don't want to make the kids who are less able feel bad that they can't read..."
Um... what?! "I'm sorry... I don't mean to call you a liar or anything, but I assure you that we pay quite a bit of money for a daycare that we researched pretty thoroughly. And I have seen alphabet flash cards in the room for the two-year-olds. They DO teach children the alphabet, among many other things..." I'm getting pretty annoyed now, and my food is getting cold.
"Oh." She tries another angle... "So have you lived in this neighborhood long?"
I'm thrown a bit. "Three years."
"So you must know..." and she opens up her book and starts rattling off my neighbors' names. I only barely recognize one or two, but apparently, this tactic is designed to make me bow to peer pressure. If ERIC down the street bought this product, then I must buy it too! Steam is coming out of my ears.
"So," she pauses, "are you interested in seeing these books and software products."
Now, I am normally very nice to sales people, as I used to be one. But I NEVER knocked on doors without previously being invited in. And I am watching my egg noodles get cold. There is very little in this world worse than cold egg noodles. So I turn on the mean meter.
"To be perfectly honest," I say, "I am not interested. However, you have come a long way, and I am willing to at least look at what you have. But I will tell you up front that I will probably not be buying."
I have to give her credit. She doesn't take it personally and she plows ahead. "What if I tell you how incredible affordable it is?"
Now, you and I know that I just admitted we really didn't have the money to get Mexican food the night before, so I am tempted to say, "you mean less than $20?" But I refrain. I DO say, "I would like to see the quality of the books..."
She opens her bag and produces a book. I have to admit, the books were nice and colorful, and I certainly see that if I were homeschooling, they would really come in handy. But since I turn over an amount of money equivalent to a second mortgage to pay other people to educate her all day, I am not really thinking we need these, even a little bit.
Then she describes the software. This software (a collection of CDs) is designed to be used when she is in grade school. Like 4th-6th grade. 4th grade is 10 years away for her. Miss Montana called in "an investment in the future." I call it "coasters" since I am fairly certain any application I buy today is not going to work on my computer in 10 years. I mean, 10 years ago, I was using a Mac Performa with a 2X CD-ROM drive. Oh, and did I mention that they are all about science? I'm equally sure that science will change a bit in 10 years. As a librarian, I wouldn't recommend an encyclopedia that was more than 5 years old... So I'm failing to see the value in the "value added" products in this package.
So I ask her the price. She gives us the spiel about how much people would expect to pay for this number of books (citing that picture books cost $25 each, mind you -- I'm a librarian, so I kind of get them for free, at least for a little bit at a time). She comes up with something like $1200, which I imagine is true for the number of books and coasters we would be getting. Then, drum roll please... she announces it can be ours for $450!!! The best part is, I can pay now, and the books will be here by the end of the summer! Whopee!
So I politely decline her offer to take my money, and she looks me square in the eye, opens her own eyes wide, and says, "Don't you want to help your CHILD?!"
I almost threw the cold noodles at her. Fortunately, Chris shuffled her out the door while I muttered to myself about how people are duped into spending way too much on their kids. Then I look around my house and remember that I am one of those people. I may have passed up this one, but I know I won't escape forever...
Last Monday afternoon, I called Chris at work and explained that my Mexican Craving Gland had taken over control of my body and the only hope to cure it was to go to La Rancherita for dinner. He agreed, which was odd in itself, since he normally fights going back out to dinner once he is home... and also since we are broke and promised ourselves we wouldn't eat out so much. But, he also knows that once the Mexican Craving Gland takes over, well... all hopes of a normal home life are gone until it is stopped.
So I arrive home Monday night at my normal 6pm-ish (damn commute) and I am pretty much starving. I dart into the house, planning to scoop up the baby and toss her and Chris into the car to head back out. As I turn the corner into my living room... what's this? A twenty-year-old blonde, cute and freckly college kid is in my chair! And she has... what's that? A SALES portfolio.
Muttering a small curse under my breath--part of this curse was dedicated to my husband's endearing weakness for cute sales people--I smile and allow myself to be introduced.
She's selling an "educational kit" designed to help me teach my child at home. Yippee. I'm starved. So I say, none to kindly, "Look, I am starving and need to eat now. Could you possibly come back another time?"
"Oh SUUUUUURE," she purrs... and we set up a time for tomorrow evening. We go get Mexican food. I am happy.
Tuesday evening arrives, and so does she. This time, and this is partially my fault because I actually agreed to the time we arranged, she arrives just as dinner is ready. So she sits at the kitchen table while I stand in the kitchen cutting up the baby's chicken, and she launches in...
"So do you KNOW what I LOVE about APEX?!" she coos. We have already learned that she is from Montana.
"No... what?" I take the bait.
"People here are SOOOOOOOO interested in their kids' eduCAtion!"
Oh brother.
"Did you know that children learn more between the ages of 0 and 5 than at any other time in their LIFE?!" she continues...
I nod. I did know that. I am a parent, and I studied to be a teacher. I've read a book or two.
"Well, is little Athena in daycare?" she asks.
"Yup." I offer, helpfully.
"GREAT!"
Oh, good. I am so relieved that the 20-year-old approves of my choice for child care. Of course, it turns out that she was setting me up.
"You know... most daycares today won't even put the ALPHABET up on the wall, because they don't want to make the kids who are less able feel bad that they can't read..."
Um... what?! "I'm sorry... I don't mean to call you a liar or anything, but I assure you that we pay quite a bit of money for a daycare that we researched pretty thoroughly. And I have seen alphabet flash cards in the room for the two-year-olds. They DO teach children the alphabet, among many other things..." I'm getting pretty annoyed now, and my food is getting cold.
"Oh." She tries another angle... "So have you lived in this neighborhood long?"
I'm thrown a bit. "Three years."
"So you must know..." and she opens up her book and starts rattling off my neighbors' names. I only barely recognize one or two, but apparently, this tactic is designed to make me bow to peer pressure. If ERIC down the street bought this product, then I must buy it too! Steam is coming out of my ears.
"So," she pauses, "are you interested in seeing these books and software products."
Now, I am normally very nice to sales people, as I used to be one. But I NEVER knocked on doors without previously being invited in. And I am watching my egg noodles get cold. There is very little in this world worse than cold egg noodles. So I turn on the mean meter.
"To be perfectly honest," I say, "I am not interested. However, you have come a long way, and I am willing to at least look at what you have. But I will tell you up front that I will probably not be buying."
I have to give her credit. She doesn't take it personally and she plows ahead. "What if I tell you how incredible affordable it is?"
Now, you and I know that I just admitted we really didn't have the money to get Mexican food the night before, so I am tempted to say, "you mean less than $20?" But I refrain. I DO say, "I would like to see the quality of the books..."
She opens her bag and produces a book. I have to admit, the books were nice and colorful, and I certainly see that if I were homeschooling, they would really come in handy. But since I turn over an amount of money equivalent to a second mortgage to pay other people to educate her all day, I am not really thinking we need these, even a little bit.
Then she describes the software. This software (a collection of CDs) is designed to be used when she is in grade school. Like 4th-6th grade. 4th grade is 10 years away for her. Miss Montana called in "an investment in the future." I call it "coasters" since I am fairly certain any application I buy today is not going to work on my computer in 10 years. I mean, 10 years ago, I was using a Mac Performa with a 2X CD-ROM drive. Oh, and did I mention that they are all about science? I'm equally sure that science will change a bit in 10 years. As a librarian, I wouldn't recommend an encyclopedia that was more than 5 years old... So I'm failing to see the value in the "value added" products in this package.
So I ask her the price. She gives us the spiel about how much people would expect to pay for this number of books (citing that picture books cost $25 each, mind you -- I'm a librarian, so I kind of get them for free, at least for a little bit at a time). She comes up with something like $1200, which I imagine is true for the number of books and coasters we would be getting. Then, drum roll please... she announces it can be ours for $450!!! The best part is, I can pay now, and the books will be here by the end of the summer! Whopee!
So I politely decline her offer to take my money, and she looks me square in the eye, opens her own eyes wide, and says, "Don't you want to help your CHILD?!"
I almost threw the cold noodles at her. Fortunately, Chris shuffled her out the door while I muttered to myself about how people are duped into spending way too much on their kids. Then I look around my house and remember that I am one of those people. I may have passed up this one, but I know I won't escape forever...
Friday, August 05, 2005
The Traveler by John TwelveHawks
Don't you just hate it when you really look forward to a book because you have heard so many wonderful things about it, and then the book turns out to be a total turd? Alas, this is what happened to me with The Traveler.
Basically, The Traveler = The Matrix. There are chosen ones (well, really one, when you get right down to it, but there are several with similar talents) and there is a Vast Machine that gives all the people on Earth an illusion of freedom when it is really all a mock-up. Only the Travelers can see other realms, and therefore reach enlightenment. And the Harlequins have sworn to protect them through all time.
But The Brethren have wiped them all out (except two Travelers and about four Harlequins) and... oh, forget it. You know the rest.
This book is the first in... wait for it... a trilogy... that has already been sold to... wait for it... a major motion picture studio. The only thing that makes this book remotely unique is that the author may actually believe this stuff. He lives "off the grid" (no credit cards, phone numbers, etc.). Apparently, he doesn't want the Vast Machine to know of his whereabouts. Apparently, he doesn't think they will notice all the money spilling over to him from the major motion picture studio. Apparently, he hasn't been taking his meds.
Basically, The Traveler = The Matrix. There are chosen ones (well, really one, when you get right down to it, but there are several with similar talents) and there is a Vast Machine that gives all the people on Earth an illusion of freedom when it is really all a mock-up. Only the Travelers can see other realms, and therefore reach enlightenment. And the Harlequins have sworn to protect them through all time.
But The Brethren have wiped them all out (except two Travelers and about four Harlequins) and... oh, forget it. You know the rest.
This book is the first in... wait for it... a trilogy... that has already been sold to... wait for it... a major motion picture studio. The only thing that makes this book remotely unique is that the author may actually believe this stuff. He lives "off the grid" (no credit cards, phone numbers, etc.). Apparently, he doesn't want the Vast Machine to know of his whereabouts. Apparently, he doesn't think they will notice all the money spilling over to him from the major motion picture studio. Apparently, he hasn't been taking his meds.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Harry!
I shall try not to put any spoilers in my review. However, you may comment all you would like and include spoilers. That said, do not open the comments window unless you wish to read spoilers.
My review...
Harry. Brilliant. Dark. We knew that person had to die eventually, didn't we? Is Malfoy as bad as he wants to be? Is there a more complex character out there than Severus Snape? Harry and the gang hook up. More angst in one chapter than in a whole Sweet Valley High book... oh, but it was GOOOOOOOOD angst.
When did my little Harry grow up to be such a man? *sigh*
When is book seven coming out? Isn't it a shame this has to end one day?
My review...
Harry. Brilliant. Dark. We knew that person had to die eventually, didn't we? Is Malfoy as bad as he wants to be? Is there a more complex character out there than Severus Snape? Harry and the gang hook up. More angst in one chapter than in a whole Sweet Valley High book... oh, but it was GOOOOOOOOD angst.
When did my little Harry grow up to be such a man? *sigh*
When is book seven coming out? Isn't it a shame this has to end one day?
Friday, July 29, 2005
The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke
I know, I know... I'm supposed to be reading adult fiction... but I can't help myself. The Young Adult collection is so great! Some of the best-written fantasy out there is in the YA section... but you probably already knew that.
Cornelia Funke (pronounced foon-keh) is German. Her books have been translated into English. This one is set in Venice, one of my least favorite cities. (I know this is supposed to be a review -- not a story about me -- but it's my blog and I'll talk about me if I want to.) I've been there twice. The first time it wasn't bad, but it was August, and I do remember the smell. The second time, I got there 24 hours before I boarded my first cruise ship, and they lost my luggage somewhere in Chicago. So for 24 hours, I puttered around the narrow, confusing alleys trying to find anything cheap that fit. In Venice, this is an impossible task for me (not for my travelling companion, a svelte dance teacher, who could wear anything... but I digress). So my memories of the city are not pleasant, and as Simon Jones (the talented narrator of this particular audio book) led me into the smelly city, I resisted.
But, oh... now I want to visit again. Runaway orphaned boys trying to escape their evil aunt (who only wants to adopt the younger, cute one), a mysterious older boy who calls himself "The Thief Lord," a detective with two pet turtles, and a magical merry-go-round... you just can't go wrong. Although there is clearly some Dickensian influences, it is not nearly as depressing or trudging as the old master can be. The story is long enough to be satisfying and short enough that you aren't investing more time to it that to, say, a trashy romance novel. And the descriptions of the alleys and canals and bridges and people... *sigh* BRAVA, Cornelia!
Since I listened to the audio, I should comment on the narration. BRILLIANT! *clink* Simon Jones is an accomplished actor, and his voices are really perfect. The unabridged book was 7 CDs and the pace of the storytelling was fantastic. No complaints.
Okay, okay... I know I need to return to adult fiction. The next review you see will probably be for Harry, then The Traveller (yay adult, boo book). I'm also trudging through Disney War, which is fascinating, but loooooooooooooooooong and very, well... well, it was written by a reporter, and it does, indeed, read like one long newspaper article. A 1,000 page newspaper article. Bleh.
In the hopper, I have way too many books... have no idea which one I'll pick up next... although I am looking at my new copy of Dearly Devoted Dexter, and it is calling to me... (see my Coming Soon post from mid June if you don't remember this title.)
Cornelia Funke (pronounced foon-keh) is German. Her books have been translated into English. This one is set in Venice, one of my least favorite cities. (I know this is supposed to be a review -- not a story about me -- but it's my blog and I'll talk about me if I want to.) I've been there twice. The first time it wasn't bad, but it was August, and I do remember the smell. The second time, I got there 24 hours before I boarded my first cruise ship, and they lost my luggage somewhere in Chicago. So for 24 hours, I puttered around the narrow, confusing alleys trying to find anything cheap that fit. In Venice, this is an impossible task for me (not for my travelling companion, a svelte dance teacher, who could wear anything... but I digress). So my memories of the city are not pleasant, and as Simon Jones (the talented narrator of this particular audio book) led me into the smelly city, I resisted.
But, oh... now I want to visit again. Runaway orphaned boys trying to escape their evil aunt (who only wants to adopt the younger, cute one), a mysterious older boy who calls himself "The Thief Lord," a detective with two pet turtles, and a magical merry-go-round... you just can't go wrong. Although there is clearly some Dickensian influences, it is not nearly as depressing or trudging as the old master can be. The story is long enough to be satisfying and short enough that you aren't investing more time to it that to, say, a trashy romance novel. And the descriptions of the alleys and canals and bridges and people... *sigh* BRAVA, Cornelia!
Since I listened to the audio, I should comment on the narration. BRILLIANT! *clink* Simon Jones is an accomplished actor, and his voices are really perfect. The unabridged book was 7 CDs and the pace of the storytelling was fantastic. No complaints.
Okay, okay... I know I need to return to adult fiction. The next review you see will probably be for Harry, then The Traveller (yay adult, boo book). I'm also trudging through Disney War, which is fascinating, but loooooooooooooooooong and very, well... well, it was written by a reporter, and it does, indeed, read like one long newspaper article. A 1,000 page newspaper article. Bleh.
In the hopper, I have way too many books... have no idea which one I'll pick up next... although I am looking at my new copy of Dearly Devoted Dexter, and it is calling to me... (see my Coming Soon post from mid June if you don't remember this title.)
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
I Am SO Underpaid
Okay, first... this is not about my job at the library. Library job = great. Good pay, good benefits, and pretty decent hours, considering it includes nights and weekends. I am NOT complaining about that job.
Next, there is some mention of disgusting body functions in this particular post. I am just giving you fair warning in case that sort of thing offends you or grosses you out. Once you have squeezed a baby out of your nethers, you really become quite hard to gross out.
However, it IS possible...
Chris is playing hockey tonight. He has an 8pm game in Garner, which is really early for him. Normally, an early game is 9:15. So we pounded through dinner (loaded, large baked potatoes), and he quickly did the dishes (bless him) then darted out the door to drive across town. This left Athena and me alone together. And I was pretty darned excited about that.
Chris gets Athena all to himself one night a week - usually Thursdays - because I work. He feeds her, bathes her, diapers her, and dresses her, and then entertains her until she drops off to bed - around 8pm.
So tonight, it's my turn. I've done this a few times before, but it's so rare and I really do enjoy it. It's hard work wrangling her and keeping her on task, but it's so rewarding, and fun too! However, tonight, apparently, the powers that be thought tonight was a good night for some practical jokes.
First, I should start off by saying that I am not feeling well lately. I'm having all sorts of stomach issues, and I generally don't want to move much as it makes me feel sick. That said, when Chris left, it was bath time. I plunked Athena into the tepid water (hey, it's 804 degrees here, tepid felt pretty good...) and we were having a great time hiding behind the washcloth and dumping water out of the tub onto my feet. Normal bath activities. And then, for the fourth time in her life (third with me, mind you), she pooped in the tub. And I'm not talking a little dainty lady-like poop. This would have completely filled even the sturdiest of diapers.
So, I snatch her out of the tepid, filthy water and hastily dry her off. I rush her to the changing table to get a diaper on her as fast as possible in case there was more to come (there wasn't) and I plopped her on the floor of her nursery to play with her books while I cleaned out the tub.
Now, I have changed many a diaper, and that's no pleasant task. But I would gladly take 40 dirty diapers over one pooped-in tub. I have cleaned up dog poop for 13 years, and that cannot compare to cleaning poop out of a tub. It is really, truly, gross. It's watery and it breaks up into little pieces that get everywhere, and you really don't want to hear this, do you?
Now that the tub is disinfected and I have somewhat recovered (still feeling a bit vomity, but I made it through), I go get Athena, who hands me a book to read. We sit on the couch and I start to read. She then realizes that she has handed me a book that she doesn't really like very much (Five Little Monkeys) and she wants to get down. So she leans against my upper arm to let herself down (something we do almost all the time), and I guess she put a little too much pressure on her full little belly. Soon, we were both covered head to toe in baked potato, cheese, and bacon. And it looked surprisingly similar to what it had looked like on her plate only an hour ago.
So I change my shirt and wipe her down, and we play for a while longer and it's time for bed and I am so happy to be able to sit upright and motionless. But I have to go to the bathroom. So I do... and I discover just a little too late that, just to top off my evening, my darling husband used the last of the toilet paper at some point and did not think to replace it. So I am forced to crab-walk over to the cabinet to retrieve a roll. Lovely.
Well, I didn't become a mother for the glamour. That's for sure.
Next, there is some mention of disgusting body functions in this particular post. I am just giving you fair warning in case that sort of thing offends you or grosses you out. Once you have squeezed a baby out of your nethers, you really become quite hard to gross out.
However, it IS possible...
Chris is playing hockey tonight. He has an 8pm game in Garner, which is really early for him. Normally, an early game is 9:15. So we pounded through dinner (loaded, large baked potatoes), and he quickly did the dishes (bless him) then darted out the door to drive across town. This left Athena and me alone together. And I was pretty darned excited about that.
Chris gets Athena all to himself one night a week - usually Thursdays - because I work. He feeds her, bathes her, diapers her, and dresses her, and then entertains her until she drops off to bed - around 8pm.
So tonight, it's my turn. I've done this a few times before, but it's so rare and I really do enjoy it. It's hard work wrangling her and keeping her on task, but it's so rewarding, and fun too! However, tonight, apparently, the powers that be thought tonight was a good night for some practical jokes.
First, I should start off by saying that I am not feeling well lately. I'm having all sorts of stomach issues, and I generally don't want to move much as it makes me feel sick. That said, when Chris left, it was bath time. I plunked Athena into the tepid water (hey, it's 804 degrees here, tepid felt pretty good...) and we were having a great time hiding behind the washcloth and dumping water out of the tub onto my feet. Normal bath activities. And then, for the fourth time in her life (third with me, mind you), she pooped in the tub. And I'm not talking a little dainty lady-like poop. This would have completely filled even the sturdiest of diapers.
So, I snatch her out of the tepid, filthy water and hastily dry her off. I rush her to the changing table to get a diaper on her as fast as possible in case there was more to come (there wasn't) and I plopped her on the floor of her nursery to play with her books while I cleaned out the tub.
Now, I have changed many a diaper, and that's no pleasant task. But I would gladly take 40 dirty diapers over one pooped-in tub. I have cleaned up dog poop for 13 years, and that cannot compare to cleaning poop out of a tub. It is really, truly, gross. It's watery and it breaks up into little pieces that get everywhere, and you really don't want to hear this, do you?
Now that the tub is disinfected and I have somewhat recovered (still feeling a bit vomity, but I made it through), I go get Athena, who hands me a book to read. We sit on the couch and I start to read. She then realizes that she has handed me a book that she doesn't really like very much (Five Little Monkeys) and she wants to get down. So she leans against my upper arm to let herself down (something we do almost all the time), and I guess she put a little too much pressure on her full little belly. Soon, we were both covered head to toe in baked potato, cheese, and bacon. And it looked surprisingly similar to what it had looked like on her plate only an hour ago.
So I change my shirt and wipe her down, and we play for a while longer and it's time for bed and I am so happy to be able to sit upright and motionless. But I have to go to the bathroom. So I do... and I discover just a little too late that, just to top off my evening, my darling husband used the last of the toilet paper at some point and did not think to replace it. So I am forced to crab-walk over to the cabinet to retrieve a roll. Lovely.
Well, I didn't become a mother for the glamour. That's for sure.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
Coincidence or Destiny?
Tonight, we had a lovely date night with our good friends Kristen and Jack. I had to work today, so things were a little rushed when I got home, and we pretty much had to skip dinner (or really, postpone it) so we could catch the 7:10 showing of War of the Worlds. The daughter of a friend/coworker of mine is our regular sitter, and she was very prompt, as always. But lately it is especially hard for us to leave Athena.
For instance, tonight, when our sitter rang the bell, Athena hurried to the door with daddy to see who it was. She recognized Ms. Sitter immediately and clung to daddy's leg, willing him not to leave. Fortunately, I am confident that our sitter is a good person, and this clinging is not for protection, but rather just a little separation anxiety. We were able to distract her with a puzzle long enough for Chris and I to make our getaway.
So before the movie, there were trailers, as always. And I have discovered my destiny...
Let's talk about Orlando Bloom for a moment... (moment of silence to get that picture in your head and say mmmmmmmmmmm, dreamy). Orlando has a new movie coming out, and we saw the trailer for it tonight.
Now, let me back up a little. Mr. Bloom really became famous for portraying Legolas in that little movie... something about jewelry... oh, drat... well, you know the one I mean. THEN, he starred in Pirates of the Caribbean. And that is when my destiny started becoming clear. Throughout the movie, he repeated his love interest's name like a bajillion times... "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth." Yes, I enjoyed the movie, but I REALLY enjoyed hearing Orlando repeat my name over and over and over with such love and tenderness in his voice.
And now, good friends... guess what his new movie is called?! Elizabethtown!!! Oh, yes. The man is clearly obsessed with me... poor thing. He must be heartbroken that I am so happily married. I feel for him, I really do.
So what do you think? Coincidence, or destiny? I do hope Chris doesn't get too jealous...
For instance, tonight, when our sitter rang the bell, Athena hurried to the door with daddy to see who it was. She recognized Ms. Sitter immediately and clung to daddy's leg, willing him not to leave. Fortunately, I am confident that our sitter is a good person, and this clinging is not for protection, but rather just a little separation anxiety. We were able to distract her with a puzzle long enough for Chris and I to make our getaway.
So before the movie, there were trailers, as always. And I have discovered my destiny...
Let's talk about Orlando Bloom for a moment... (moment of silence to get that picture in your head and say mmmmmmmmmmm, dreamy). Orlando has a new movie coming out, and we saw the trailer for it tonight.
Now, let me back up a little. Mr. Bloom really became famous for portraying Legolas in that little movie... something about jewelry... oh, drat... well, you know the one I mean. THEN, he starred in Pirates of the Caribbean. And that is when my destiny started becoming clear. Throughout the movie, he repeated his love interest's name like a bajillion times... "Elizabeth, Elizabeth, Elizabeth." Yes, I enjoyed the movie, but I REALLY enjoyed hearing Orlando repeat my name over and over and over with such love and tenderness in his voice.
And now, good friends... guess what his new movie is called?! Elizabethtown!!! Oh, yes. The man is clearly obsessed with me... poor thing. He must be heartbroken that I am so happily married. I feel for him, I really do.
So what do you think? Coincidence, or destiny? I do hope Chris doesn't get too jealous...
Friday, July 22, 2005
Where's Bam-Bam?
Hello. My name is Elizabeth. And I am a hypocrite. But before you judge me... just be sure your house is not made of glass. Hear me out.
From the age of 16 or so, most girls utter this sentence from time to time:
"Oh my GOD. Do you see what that child is wearing?! I would never subject MY child to THAT!"
or
"What is that woman thinking? I cannot believe she {fill in the blank with something related to how she is handling/dressing/changing/disciplining her child}. I would NEVER do that."
For instance, I remember saying once, "How can people bring BABIES to RESTAURANTS?! What is the point of THAT?! What are they THINKING?!" Now that I actually understand how much energy is consumed by simply getting dinner on and off the table, I take my kid to all kinds of places to eat. Fortunately, most of the time, they are places that serve food. I have even been known to take her into bars. Well... bars that serve food, of course, but bars are bars are bars.
And once, I said "I will NEVER put my baby girl in pink!" Well, gosh darn it... she looks pretty damn good in pink.
And once I said, "I will NEVER take a child under the age of five to DisneyWorld. I mean, what is the POINT?! They don't remember it anyway. I went when I was six and only have the vaguest memory of it." Guess where I am taking my baby (who will then be 18 months) in November? Oh... and get this.... I'm taking her there primarily so she can get her hair cut. Which leads me to my next "never."
"I will never put my child's hair up in a little ponytail on top of her head like Pebbles from the Flintstones." Well, folks... therein lies a conundrum. See, if I continue to refuse to cut her hair until we go to Orlando (when you get your first haircut there, they give you special Mickey Ears and sprinkle pixie dust in your hair), then I have to do something with it to keep it out of her eyes. She is starting to look like a blond McCartney circa 1964. Much longer, and she will look like a blond Slash.
I tried barrettes, but her hair is so thin, they slide right out, and once one is out, she will attempt to dine on the little plastic thing. And then it happened. One day, the ladies at the daycare couldn't take it anymore... and when Chris picked her up that afternoon... there it was... the Pebbles Do. He immediately called me and said, "Wait until you see what they have done with her hair!"
So I walk in from work, and she comes running up to me... ponytail standing at attention directly on top of her head. I was horrified! And then I stepped back and thought... hmmmmm... it's kind of cute. And on the next trip to Target, I found myself in the hair care aisle (somewhere I don't usually visit too often as most of you know) looking for "No Tears" rubber bands.
Now... if they just sold little plastic bones, the look would be complete.
From the age of 16 or so, most girls utter this sentence from time to time:
"Oh my GOD. Do you see what that child is wearing?! I would never subject MY child to THAT!"
or
"What is that woman thinking? I cannot believe she {fill in the blank with something related to how she is handling/dressing/changing/disciplining her child}. I would NEVER do that."
For instance, I remember saying once, "How can people bring BABIES to RESTAURANTS?! What is the point of THAT?! What are they THINKING?!" Now that I actually understand how much energy is consumed by simply getting dinner on and off the table, I take my kid to all kinds of places to eat. Fortunately, most of the time, they are places that serve food. I have even been known to take her into bars. Well... bars that serve food, of course, but bars are bars are bars.
And once, I said "I will NEVER put my baby girl in pink!" Well, gosh darn it... she looks pretty damn good in pink.
And once I said, "I will NEVER take a child under the age of five to DisneyWorld. I mean, what is the POINT?! They don't remember it anyway. I went when I was six and only have the vaguest memory of it." Guess where I am taking my baby (who will then be 18 months) in November? Oh... and get this.... I'm taking her there primarily so she can get her hair cut. Which leads me to my next "never."
"I will never put my child's hair up in a little ponytail on top of her head like Pebbles from the Flintstones." Well, folks... therein lies a conundrum. See, if I continue to refuse to cut her hair until we go to Orlando (when you get your first haircut there, they give you special Mickey Ears and sprinkle pixie dust in your hair), then I have to do something with it to keep it out of her eyes. She is starting to look like a blond McCartney circa 1964. Much longer, and she will look like a blond Slash.
I tried barrettes, but her hair is so thin, they slide right out, and once one is out, she will attempt to dine on the little plastic thing. And then it happened. One day, the ladies at the daycare couldn't take it anymore... and when Chris picked her up that afternoon... there it was... the Pebbles Do. He immediately called me and said, "Wait until you see what they have done with her hair!"
So I walk in from work, and she comes running up to me... ponytail standing at attention directly on top of her head. I was horrified! And then I stepped back and thought... hmmmmm... it's kind of cute. And on the next trip to Target, I found myself in the hair care aisle (somewhere I don't usually visit too often as most of you know) looking for "No Tears" rubber bands.
Now... if they just sold little plastic bones, the look would be complete.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Mommy's Little Helper
Warning: Anyone who is darn sick of hearing how cute and wonderful Athena is... stop reading now. You have been warned.
Athena has entered the "helper" stage. She is so fascinated by what we are doing that she wants to do it too. And here is the cool part... some of it is the stuff we don't even like to do! But she loves it and makes it actually fun! For instance:
The Laundry: Oh, yay. We get to fold the laundry! This ritual occurs pretty much every Sunday night without fail. During the day, Chris does the laundry and piles it on the bed. Then we tackle folding it all after dinner Sunday night. Hey, what can I say? Some people go to church... we fold underwear.
Anyway, Athena LOVES sheets. When Chris and I pull out a sheet to fold, she squeals and runs to help us. Of course, in this case, her help comes in the form of running under the sheet as we fold it, then grabbing it and drooling on it. But let's face it... how long has it been since YOU were delighted by laundry? That's what I thought...
The Dishes: Now, although we affectionately refer to Athena as our "little Amazon princess," she is not actually tall enough to DO the dishes. However, if you need to empty the dishwasher (bottom rack only, of course) she is your girl!
As soon as I open the washer, she comes running to assist me. She hands me each plate and each bowl one by one very carefully. Then I put it in the cabinet. And this activity makes her SO PROUD. I must say that even putting away dishes has become kind of fun.
Of course, I've read all those child development books, and I know that this is just a phase. It's kind of like when you first learn to write your name and you want to do it ALL THE TIME... but then one day you learn that writing your name just seems to get you further and further into debt and it ain't so cool anymore. Just like that, Athena will one day realize that dishes and laundry are, in fact, no fun at all, and she will cross her arms and shake her head and refuse to be any help whatsoever. But until that day, I am going to enjoy having a little help around the house.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Harry's Here!
One of the benefits of working in the library (and there are many, I assure you) is that I got my hands on the new Harry Potter book on Thursday morning. Now, I wasn't permitted to take it out of the building, but I snuck in some reading. I got through about half of the first chapter and decided I had to put it down before I COULDN'T put it down. (Incidentally, I'm glad I did, because Chapter Two is even BETTER than Chapter One.) Then I did something I NEVER do. I flipped to the back of the book.
I didn't want to know how it ended, per se, but I did need to know who died. I NEVER do this. I HATE doing this. It often spoils a perfectly good book. But I did it. And I know who dies. And I've known since Thursday. And it's still a great book.
I've read about six chapters. The baby and I were on our own most of the day, so it left me little time for reading. However, I snuck some pages in while she was napping and many pages after she went to bed.
If you finish it before I do (and most of you will), PLEASE don't talk about it in response posts for a while. We wouldn't want to spoil anything for our slowest readers (like me). I still don't know who the half-blood prince is... Can't wait to find out!
I didn't want to know how it ended, per se, but I did need to know who died. I NEVER do this. I HATE doing this. It often spoils a perfectly good book. But I did it. And I know who dies. And I've known since Thursday. And it's still a great book.
I've read about six chapters. The baby and I were on our own most of the day, so it left me little time for reading. However, I snuck some pages in while she was napping and many pages after she went to bed.
If you finish it before I do (and most of you will), PLEASE don't talk about it in response posts for a while. We wouldn't want to spoil anything for our slowest readers (like me). I still don't know who the half-blood prince is... Can't wait to find out!
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
The Big Fall
Athena fell today. Not just that cute drop to the ground that she does when she's walking. No... she fell down the stairs today. And worse, it was under my watchful (or not) eye. (Let me say right now that she is just fine and is slumbering peacefully in her crib. As I read over the description of her fall, I realized how scary it sounds, and I want you to know up front that there wasn't even any blood... she's fine).
We cannot seem to buy a baby gate for the top of our stairs. The railing goes right to the very top of the stairs, and therefore, unless we can find a rather short gate, we cannot install anything there. The railing gets in the way.
So we have been improvising with the top of my dad's old poker table and my old step stool. Basically, the top of the table is big enough to block the stairway, and the stool holds it upright. When we want to go down the stairs, we have to roll the table top out of the way (it's octagonal) and then move the stool aside.
Tonight, Chris was downstairs with his friends, and Athena and I were upstairs. Now, for those of you who don't live close by, you may not know this, but Athena is Daddy's Girl. Ever since I stopped providing milk, I have been known to her as "the other one." Given the choice between Mommy and Daddy, she will take Daddy any day. Yes, it hurts, but I figure once a second one comes along, she'll suddenly wonder why I never play with her anymore and I only love "the baby."
So anyway, she heard Daddy's voice downstairs and clearly wanted to go down. So I took her hand in my left hand, and I rolled the table top away with my right. Unfortunately, she didn't want to wait. She CAN go down the stairs when you are holding her hand. She often will hold on to the railing with her other hand, even though it's a bit too high for her to really use it. But she didn't have a good footing and I didn't have a good grip. There was a split second of shock on her face as everything went to slow motion.
I quickly grabbed for her, but I was too late. She was leaning too far back for me to catch a hold of her, so I started SCREAMING for Chris to get to the bottom of the stairs, hoping that he could catch her before she hit the hardwood. She fell backwards and rolled once... butt, to head, to stomach. As she hit her tummy on the stairs, her body went fairly rigid, thank goodness. By now, she was midway down the stairs and Chris just caught sight of her. As he moved into position at the bottom, she bounced down about six stairs on her belly, feet first... *BOUNCE* *BOUNCE* *BOUNCE* and she came to a stop about six steps up. Then she started wailing.
Chris scooped her up and held her and soothed her as best he could. We checked for injuries and found nothing but a small scrape on her chin. After quite a bit of comforting and a dose of Tylenol just in case, she was willing to come back to me for some quiet time, and then I put her to bed.
I, in the meantime, am still completely terrified and shocked by what I saw. She was like a doll falling down the stairs. I've never seen anything like it. And I hope I never do again. I hope I can actually go down the stairs MYSELF again. *shiver*
We cannot seem to buy a baby gate for the top of our stairs. The railing goes right to the very top of the stairs, and therefore, unless we can find a rather short gate, we cannot install anything there. The railing gets in the way.
So we have been improvising with the top of my dad's old poker table and my old step stool. Basically, the top of the table is big enough to block the stairway, and the stool holds it upright. When we want to go down the stairs, we have to roll the table top out of the way (it's octagonal) and then move the stool aside.
Tonight, Chris was downstairs with his friends, and Athena and I were upstairs. Now, for those of you who don't live close by, you may not know this, but Athena is Daddy's Girl. Ever since I stopped providing milk, I have been known to her as "the other one." Given the choice between Mommy and Daddy, she will take Daddy any day. Yes, it hurts, but I figure once a second one comes along, she'll suddenly wonder why I never play with her anymore and I only love "the baby."
So anyway, she heard Daddy's voice downstairs and clearly wanted to go down. So I took her hand in my left hand, and I rolled the table top away with my right. Unfortunately, she didn't want to wait. She CAN go down the stairs when you are holding her hand. She often will hold on to the railing with her other hand, even though it's a bit too high for her to really use it. But she didn't have a good footing and I didn't have a good grip. There was a split second of shock on her face as everything went to slow motion.
I quickly grabbed for her, but I was too late. She was leaning too far back for me to catch a hold of her, so I started SCREAMING for Chris to get to the bottom of the stairs, hoping that he could catch her before she hit the hardwood. She fell backwards and rolled once... butt, to head, to stomach. As she hit her tummy on the stairs, her body went fairly rigid, thank goodness. By now, she was midway down the stairs and Chris just caught sight of her. As he moved into position at the bottom, she bounced down about six stairs on her belly, feet first... *BOUNCE* *BOUNCE* *BOUNCE* and she came to a stop about six steps up. Then she started wailing.
Chris scooped her up and held her and soothed her as best he could. We checked for injuries and found nothing but a small scrape on her chin. After quite a bit of comforting and a dose of Tylenol just in case, she was willing to come back to me for some quiet time, and then I put her to bed.
I, in the meantime, am still completely terrified and shocked by what I saw. She was like a doll falling down the stairs. I've never seen anything like it. And I hope I never do again. I hope I can actually go down the stairs MYSELF again. *shiver*
Sunday, July 10, 2005
The Terrible Twos
There are many common myths about parenting and parenthood. Today, I wish to talk about the widespread myth known as “The Terrible Twos.” This myth is quite unusual in that it is mostly true. But the NAME of it is the myth part. The Terrible Twos have very little to do with the Twos. They actually start around 18 months (or in some highly developed youngsters… 14 months). This is the time when toddlers begin to gain more independence, and the result is a series of temper tantrums and battles of will that we refer to as Terrible.
And they are.
We have been seeing more and more independence from our little pumpkin. She has been running around the house opening and closing things (including her diaper pail), sorting and rearranging things (including the contents of her diaper pail), and screaming uncontrollably when she doesn’t get what she wants (like getting to play in her diaper pail).
Today, however, we knew we had officially entered the Terrible Twos. Starting in the early afternoon, we began to see a rash of tantrums, complete with ear piercing screams and head thrashing. It has been exhausting and, when the tantrums occur in public, embarrassing. However, I never cease to be amazed at the patience of my husband and the kindness of strangers. My better half held her and soothed her and made her giggle. And the strangers in the grocery store didn’t seem bothered at all as the baby tossed a peach at the floor with the arm of Roger Clemons.
In fact, I should take this moment to comment on exactly how unfazed the strangers in the grocery store were. I went to the new Harris Teeter that was built just across the street from my old favorite – Lowe’s Foods. I decided today that I would try the new store, as they provide special parking for mothers with young children and I wanted to feel special. (Heaven help you if you are a father with young children. Guess you just have to hoof it.)
However, I felt anything but special once inside. Athena was in the middle of a rollicking temper tantrum when I hit the register. So I had to hold her, to prevent her from gnawing off her own arm in frustration. As the clerk started ringing up my $200 worth of groceries, no one came to bag the stuff, so I headed to the bottom of the counter and started cramming stuff into bags as best I could with one hand. I was thinking that surely once the clerk finished, or hopefully, as soon as someone like a manager noticed that I was struggling, a pimply-faced high school kid would show up with a kind smile and rescue me from my awkward situation. But it didn’t happen. FINALLY, as I paid for my haul, someone DID show up and offer to help me to the car. At which point, Athena was calm, collected, and angel-faced. I accepted the help anyway. Better late than never.
So if you call or come by in the next… oh… year or so… just prepared for a mommy who only knows how to say “NO! Sweetie! NO! Do NOT open the diaper pail!”
And they are.
We have been seeing more and more independence from our little pumpkin. She has been running around the house opening and closing things (including her diaper pail), sorting and rearranging things (including the contents of her diaper pail), and screaming uncontrollably when she doesn’t get what she wants (like getting to play in her diaper pail).
Today, however, we knew we had officially entered the Terrible Twos. Starting in the early afternoon, we began to see a rash of tantrums, complete with ear piercing screams and head thrashing. It has been exhausting and, when the tantrums occur in public, embarrassing. However, I never cease to be amazed at the patience of my husband and the kindness of strangers. My better half held her and soothed her and made her giggle. And the strangers in the grocery store didn’t seem bothered at all as the baby tossed a peach at the floor with the arm of Roger Clemons.
In fact, I should take this moment to comment on exactly how unfazed the strangers in the grocery store were. I went to the new Harris Teeter that was built just across the street from my old favorite – Lowe’s Foods. I decided today that I would try the new store, as they provide special parking for mothers with young children and I wanted to feel special. (Heaven help you if you are a father with young children. Guess you just have to hoof it.)
However, I felt anything but special once inside. Athena was in the middle of a rollicking temper tantrum when I hit the register. So I had to hold her, to prevent her from gnawing off her own arm in frustration. As the clerk started ringing up my $200 worth of groceries, no one came to bag the stuff, so I headed to the bottom of the counter and started cramming stuff into bags as best I could with one hand. I was thinking that surely once the clerk finished, or hopefully, as soon as someone like a manager noticed that I was struggling, a pimply-faced high school kid would show up with a kind smile and rescue me from my awkward situation. But it didn’t happen. FINALLY, as I paid for my haul, someone DID show up and offer to help me to the car. At which point, Athena was calm, collected, and angel-faced. I accepted the help anyway. Better late than never.
So if you call or come by in the next… oh… year or so… just prepared for a mommy who only knows how to say “NO! Sweetie! NO! Do NOT open the diaper pail!”
Thursday, July 07, 2005
Darkness
The world can be a horrible place. I was reminded of this once again this morning when I heard the news from London. I have learned that all of my former coworkers are safe, but I do not know about their friends and family or any of my other friends. I am empty as I mourn the loss of so many random and meaningful lives.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Bald Head Island
This weekend, we spent a lovely three days (including drive time) with two of the loveliest people on earth at the very lovely Bald Head Island. And before you ask, I have no idea why it is called Bald Head. I could look it up, but I'm too lazy. Here is the website... knock yourself out. (Oh, and there is sound at the site, so don't open it at work. Oops... should have told you that before the link, eh? Sorry.)
Anyway, our friends Brian and Sophie invited us to the island last year, but we were unable to go at that time thanks to one of the kajillion hurricanes that blew through the South. So we got a rain check (literally) that we were finally able to cash in on this past weekend.
Brian used to be Chris’ office-mate at The International House of Business Machines. Despite that, we all have become friends. Then they moved from Cary to Charlotte. They say it had nothing to do with Chris or me, but I still have my doubts…
Sophie’s parents own a vacation home at Bald Head and it is where Brian and Sophie got married. Their wedding was the first and only time we had been to Bald Head. Well, it was their unofficial ceremony, actually. They officially got married quickly at the Justice of the Peace several months earlier before Sophie, who is one of them foreigner types, was sent back to Belgium with a “thank you for playing in America, but we wouldn’t want you to live here” handshake from the well-meaning but highly misguided INS. Brian, my hero, fell in love with her and consequently rescued her from that oppressive land of lace and chocolate where she can live here and hang out with me. Yay!
I love Sophie. She is an extraordinary human being. She has “helped” me at the last two annual Caran holiday parties. When I say that, what I mean is, she came to my house both days in the early afternoon and cooked her patootie off with me for 8 hours straight. One year, she even came the night before to help. AND, she cooked for a day with her mom and brought up all this yummy stuff from Charlotte. She has also provided free babysitting for us on several occasions. FREE! Now you see why I was heartbroken when they moved away.
Sophie also speaks French, which is very cool because I keep wondering why I took the damn language for five years when everyone in the world seems to speak Spanish instead. When I hear her chatting on the phone with her relatives, it reassures me that those years weren’t completely wasted. Of course, I don’t actually speak French with her, because all that would do is remind me that I wasted five years pretending to learn French.
So Sophie (who is a regular reader of this blog and who is now probably REALLY sorry she gave me permission to use her name) always tells me that she doesn’t really cook. So I prepare myself for some casual meals with standard stock ingredients. But let me tell you… Sophie CAN cook. When we arrived (two hours late thanks to my excellent navigational skills and the world’s slowest Hardee’s), she had prepared shrimp with homemade tomato sauce (prepared by her mom, but I have a hunch she could have done it) and feta cheese. It was absolutely delicious.
Upon arrival on the island, I purchased Eggos at the grocery store thinking that I would make our lives easier, only to realize later that she (and I, actually) would really have preferred to make them from scratch. It’s not like we had to be anywhere. I was horrified to realize that as I have been rushing through life these last two or three years, I have completely lost touch with my inner gourmet who had a goal to cook as much from scratch as possible and refused to eat almost anything that was prepackaged or considered “convenience food.” I almost cried at this little moment of self-discovery. Sophie, in the meantime, was very polite, let me buy the waffles, and then didn’t eat any. Smart girl.
How was our daughter on this trip? Despite the mouth sores, she did really well. She was quite happy and within hours of our arrival, she was dancing on the table. By Sunday, her blisters were only a minor annoyance, and by Monday, they were more like red patches that hurt only when she chewed on them, which she did more often than you would think.
She did not care for the beach too much. The water was warm and quite calm, but when she reached the water’s edge, she cried pitifully and clung to her father. He sat in the surf with her for a while, holding her and trying to get her to relax, but she hung from his neck like a piece of jewelry with her knees tucked into her chest so they wouldn’t touch the evil water. We did finally get her to play in the sand… but she was only mildly amused, even with all her cool new sand toys. We will try to get her more and more accustomed to the beach and beach-like places since that is the bulk of what we will do on our cruise this year. Just like the water park at her daycare (which she now seems to enjoy), we will force her to like the beach!
Bald Head does not allow cars on the island, with the exception of emergency vehicles. So you have to go everywhere by bike or by foot or by golf cart. The baby totally dug the golf cart. It was better than putting her in the car to get her to go to sleep. We’d just hum along at less than 18 MPH with the wind blowing through our hair and she would either get very drowsy and calm, or she would zonk out completely into a deep sleep. Honestly, I think we could have spent the entire weekend zipping around the island in the cart, and she would have considered it the vacation of a lifetime. Fortunately, she is not old enough to say, “Daddy, I want a golf cart!”
She also made a friend with a Golden Retriever as we were leaving the island. She was sitting with her daddy looking out at the marina, when the dog and her people came up and sat beside them. She immediately pointed to the dog and made her approach. She is not really good at being gentle with animals yet because she loves them so much she just wants to leap at them. However, she was very careful when she approached this one, and she petted him (or her) very gently. Soon, the dog licked her nose and Athena returned the affection by laying her head down on the dog’s big fuzzy thigh. This was remarkably cute… to the point that the folks sitting nearby all issued a collective “awwwwwwwwwwww.” The Cutest Baby in the Whole Wide World ™ strikes again! Fortunately, she is not old enough to say “Daddy, I want a Golden Retriever!”
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