Friday, November 10, 2006

When good people do bad things (they get blogged about)

If 'one' has not yet been shamed humbled enough into presenting 'one's' wife with a birthday present, and - Oh, excuse me, you just tuned in? Well, let me specify it was my fortieth birthday - are you still with me? Good, because the next sentence is going to begin with 'and', and I do want to make sure you are with me.
And...then 'one' is so bold as to brag - to 'one's' said still present-less wife - about what a great deal he found on 'this incredible70's vintage tube stereo! !!! !!!!!' on craigsbigfatfreakinglist, for the cash price of - well, let's just say, the price of a super duper used laptop -

Well, then 'one' cannot really expect his wife to share in his excitement or tolerate his pouting about him not understanding her lack of excitement.

Can one?

Thursday, November 09, 2006

Love Thursday: My Babies LOVE Each Other!

When I was pregnant with Bubbles I went to a hypnotherapist specializing in people like me. That being, I assume: women, whom for whatever reasons, have more-than-average angst about their pregnancy. I am not a very good candidate for hypno-therapy, and I told her as much when making the appointment.
I remember more about the therapist part than the hypno- part. But that's because I really needed to talk to someone who could then put the nasty details into a more mystical conceptualization for me. And that really did help. I think. I am quite sure that it helped just because the woman - who spent hours and hours of time with me in our two 'one-hour' sessions - was so incredibly patient, kind, intuitive, experienced. And I was incredibly wobbly.
One thing I do remember very clearly during our session was when she asked me to imagine my unborn child and Supergirl playing together.
But I couldn't envision my unborn child (Bubbles) playing with Supergirl.
How could I - all I could do was rub that belly and imagine a blank slate. Nothing more.
And when asked to picture my children playing together, all I could picture was Elijah and Supergirl together. Snuggling in Kauai. Snuggling in the bed at home. Snuggling. Swimming. Playing. In a subdued sort of way.
And then that goddamned ~poof~!~ again...oh, he's dead. Kinda blew that hypno-moment.
I tried, I really tried. I wanted so badly to be able to imagine my children - my children, plural, as siblings - playing together. Growing together. Snuggling together. Fighting together. Loving together.
But I could not. I could not do it without the fear.
I am still afraid to have those moments where I glance into the future and I see the two of them playing, romping, growing, snuggling, arguing, loving....
But I do have them.
Because I am living them every day now. Every day, when Supergirl asks when Bubbles will wake up because she misses him. And when they rock out on the instruments while I make dinner. And when she cries because he has gone to bed without a proper kiss goodnight. And when they play 'Boo' in the car. Yes, outrageously ordinary stuff like that.

And I cannot believe my good fortune.

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

Apparently, Daisies have God

Today I went to a meeting for the pre-girl scouts group - the daisies. It was actually a meeting for the parents of the intended daughters of the intended club to hear about the daisies and the daisy mission and when, where, how, etc. The girls all ran around playing in the school playground while we followed our handouts with the intended leader. Very closely. Very, very closely.
Hmmm.
Before I have my little say, I have to say, I have mixed feelings about this. I may have to revisit this issue a few times over and over in our lives.

I had agreed to go, because the woman who is starting this troop is a friend of mine – from a baby group era kind of friend – though our lives could not be different. When I mentioned to dh my reluctance in going to this, starting this whole business already, he said he had absolutely no problem with me bailing completely, because he did have a problem with the whole scouts thing in general. And starting Supergirl in that club. He suggested I tell them that I am gay, and that on principle, we could not participate. I figured the god thing alone would probably cover that, but just in case, it was a good thing to remember.

When I picked Supergirl up from school, I had run there late, after swooping a barely awake baby into the jogger, only to have him poop immediately and then deal with that and then finally barreling down there, I was one of the last mommies. I was still somewhat discombobulated, and just gathered all of her many school items, and turned the stroller back around. But luckily, the leader had come out to check and see where I was, and caught me just in time. So I did go back to the playground for the meeting. And there were many of the moms from my original mommy-babies-mountain group and a few others, so I stayed. But right away I said that dh completely opposed this for Supergirl because he his gay. Of course one mom had to go and point out that one of the Brownies has two moms. Busted.

When I sat down, my friend Diane was next to me (phew) and she confided that she herself had been asked to leave the girls scouts and never come back. I wanted to ask her why, but the meeting was begun. Ahem.

I admit, I was skeptical at first, but after the meeting I was pretty convinced. I thought it could possibly maybe be an opportunity to have fun with friends, make crafts, get exposed to charity on a group level, etc. And maybe all of that is true. But after painstakingly going over the sets of goals, trying to swallow and reinvent the mission statement, glancing at the pages and pages of registration and permission and donation forms, and after hearing at the very least four times (in twenty minutes) that we would need to remind our daughters that this was a meeting and not a playdate (I understand her mission in saying so, but really – four times?!), and then the discussion about the uniform that got a bit out of hand…well, I had to do some thinking. Because I couldn’t just slink out of there – I know everyone.
I am grateful to the mom who sat across from me - the mom I barely know - who said, "Well, this 'promise to serve God and my country' thing is going to present an obvious problem."
I nodded, but it seemed that some of the moms didn't think that the problem was obvious.
She added, "I don't mean to sound subversive here, but couldn't we change some of the words? Like just say 'support my community'?"
Still, a few nods, but nobody said anything.
I said, "I appreciate you bringing that up - I find it an issue as well - and a rather unnecessary one for this age group. What if we had them pledge 'I promise to serve my family and community' if they have to say anything - at least that is relevant!"
Some nods, some squirms, not much else was said.
The leader decided on "I promise to serve my community and my country".
I figured any more I said at that point was a waste of their time, because - Oh! The meeting days were always on my teaching day. Truly.
Then there was a little discussion about the uniforms, one in which most of the moms were wanting to play it very low key, low budget, this is for one year sort of thing, and one or two moms really wanted to go all out on the digs. As part of 'fitting in with a group and a comraderie ' sort of thing, but it smacked of clique-erie to me.
All the while, Supergirl maintained her steady trot and jump-roping pace around the playground, never once stopping to ask what we were doing there today.
Finally there was a lull. Nobody else had any questions when asked, so I finally asked what I had been dying to know.
"I have a question. I want to know what it was Diane did that got her kicked out of girl scouts when she was a little girl?" Was I the only one that wondered?
Turns out that she and her sister talked too much. Their rigid leader asked them to leave. Forever. In one of those ironic funny tangents that I adore, when I was about the same age, I got suspended from ballet for goofing around and talking too much! The ironic part is that Diane is Supergirl's ballet teacher, so it was funny to tell her.
My verdict for now is that I am going to treat this whole thing the same way I treated dicksney princesses and large-breasted plastic dolls: I will pretend I have no idea until she herself shows an interest in such things. And then I will revisit it with her in a real and respectful and investigative way. Because why on earth would I want to sign her up for something that appears to be more for my agenda, but it really isn't my agenda at all?!

Tuesday, November 07, 2006

Grudge Voting Tuesday

Doing my part for NaBloPoMo AND the elections, AND Grudge Tuesday:

This is an easy one. However, this is NOT one of those grudges that will be dissolved by exposing it. Here are just a few of my political grudges (really, I don't have all day):

The Corporate Party
The Oilgarchy
Cronie-ism
Environmental Negligence
Human Rights Violations
Lies, Lies, Lies
Fundamentalism
Uterine Rights Wars
Unconstitutional Invasion of Privacy
Karl Rove Karl Rove Karl Rove
Hypocrisy
The Policy of Victimization
Manipulation=Truthiness
War, War, War


Feel free to add to my list!

I hope you have done your research and know what you are doing before marking your ballot! I will leave you to your own devices, but cannot refrain from making a couple of 'gentle' suggestions here (in CA):
NO NO NO on 85 ~ NONONONONONONONONONO
NO NO NO on 90 ~ NONONONONONONONONONO

Now here is my message of hope:

GO VOTE OUT THE MOFOS!

Monday, November 06, 2006

Play Dates Are Fun

Supergirl's kindergarten class put together a student directory - to make it easier to set up those play dates, you know.
It was very sweet, the way they put it together: Each child said what they liked to play and then drew a picture of that, so each 'index card' says something like, "Call Emma if you like to play dress-up." or, "Call Zack if you like to play on monkey bars." and, "Call Supergirl if you like to play Narnia." (that was predictable)
My favorite is the drawing that was done by the sweet little girl who is the daughter of a veterinarian.
"Call Amy if you like to throw animals up in trees."

Sunday, November 05, 2006

A Birthday Story, or, More About Karma

Dh has had nearly two months to make this right. Since he hasn't - well, he was warned.

Let me begin by saying I am not a material girl. I am not fond of jewelry, I hate bling, and I am pretty resourceful. Don't get me wrong - I love my 500TC sheets. But I only need one set. I would rather explore new places or lie on an old familiar beach in Hawaii than accumulate things.
This good nature and lack of interest in THINGS has been taken advantage of in the past by dh. And you know what I mean.
Dh is not a shopper and he is not a good planner. So of course it has worked out well for him that I am not counting on 'things' around those general gift-giving times.
In the course of our lives together, I have asked him specifically for one gift: the Elph I love and use frequently. That is ONE gift in over SIX YEARS.
I, on the other hand, do enjoy shopping, and have given dh some killer gifts over the years. Someone was lucky enough to get a video Ipod, just after it was unveiled, for his happy christmas!
I knew enough to give ample notice to him to make it really easy when he wondered what on earth to get me for my fortieth birthday.
My two year old computer is about as reliable as a two year old human. Dh has an obsession with acquiring files and files of movies. Never to be deleted. On my computer. By default, 'my computer' has become 'the family entertainment system' because it sits on our kitchen table and I have no private office. This means that there are frequently arguments over who gets to use the computer. For instance, if I go upstairs to put Bubbles down for a nap, dh puts on a movie for Supergirl. On the computer. But when Bubbles falls asleep, that is mama's only time to work. On the computer. So then I interrupt the movie and take back my mouse, and sometimes Supergirl has a fit and Bubbles wakes up. And then I get very very pissed. OR, the sheer volume of files he has loaded down on the hard drive, is constantly shutting the computer down. While I am in the middle of writing or working. You get the picture.
Also, back in July, I asked dh if I might please borrow his laptop for BlogHer. He said NO! No, because it was 'his whole life, and if anything happened to it...' Well, I just don't like being treated like a five year old. Couldn't use his precious laptop? We had one big can-of-whoopass fight that night!
So, although dh is a techie, I am not. I asked for a simple solution to all that forced sharing: get me a very basic, non-flashy, used, cheap laptop/notebook to use when I have time to work, rather than constantly fighting for access to 'my' computer. I suggested the ubiquitous Craigslist, reminded him that nothing fancy was needed, and made my wishes known. And then in August I reminded him again. And again in late August, and then once more in September before we left for Hawaii. I even said, "Don't blow this. You need to get me a present this birthday. I am turning forty."
His sister called him from Pittsburgh to tell him, "Don't blow this. You better get her a nice gift. REALLY."
I would like to point out, that I was not asking for a laptop as a luxury item. I was merely trying to minimize the fights over the computer and streamline my work hours.
SO....around came my birthday, and out to dinner we went. We went to a 'highly recommended for it's child-friendliness AND good food' restaurant. The kids were incredibly well-behaved, and the food was uncharacteristically good for Hawaii dining.
And then dh handed me a card. And was holding in his hand a small plastic bag. I read the card; it was sweet and thoughtful. And then he presented me with the bag. He also provided this disclaimer, "This is not your present - it's just a part of your present."
I opened the bag, and pulled out a cell-phone charger. What?! Yes, a cell phone charger.
I looked at him strangely. Was this a joke?
He then went on to say, "I am going to get you a new phone! One with a camera! But they are cheaper if you get them with a plan. So we will just do that."
I blinked. And again.
I swallowed. Hard.
I said slowly, "Let me get this straight. You just gave me a cell phone charger for a cell phone that I don't want, we don't have cell coverage where we live, I don't have it on 75% of my commute, but you want me to get a PLAN? I don't want a $40 per month plan. I pay per minute and pay only about $15 per month, because I can never even USE the phone!"
He responded, slightly embarrassed since we were, after all, in a restaurant, and I was not exactly whispering. Well, what was he thinking making some presentation out of giving me a fucking unwrapped cell phone charger in public? Did he want a big kiss? "Well, I didn't know you only pay that much."
I was incredulous, as it was all sinking in.
"You just gave me a cell phone charger and the best thing you could come up with for my FORTIETH BIRTHDAY was a present that I HAVE TO PAY FOR EVERY MONTH???"
And here is where it got special:
"Well, I was going to help you pay for it."

Wow. Wow. HELP. me. pay. for. it.
My birthday present.
My fortieth birthday present.
Help me pay for it....

I gave him the charger and said, "That is pathetic. Try again. I cannot believe you would do that to me."
And he mumbled something about going to 'Plan B' but he would have to order it, mumble mumble.
And I said, "No you don't need to order it. You get it on Craigslist like I told you two months ago."
Then we enjoyed the rest of our dinner, cake and all, with the children being lovely and me giving him narrowed-brow looks. And feeling pissed. And materialistic. Because I was so disappointed.

Later that night, dh discovers that a horrible, insidious worm has infected his laptop, locking him out as administrator, and disabling his every necessary action to continue working to his deadline. He spends hours trying to de-worm the patient, to no avail. He tells me this late on my birthday night, the blue light of the pool flickering behind him as he nervously runs his hands over his perspiring head - this is serious, and his job could be on the line.
But timing is everything, and he should know that too.
So I say, "Wow. That totally sucks. Because if you had gotten me what I asked for for my birthday, now we would have a back-up. Because we would have another laptop. And here's the thing: I would probably even have let you use it."

Watching karma in action. That was my birthday present.

Saturday, November 04, 2006

A Foul, Fowl Mood

I am in a foul mood. I am disappointed in the state of men in general and I am very very tired.
I am, however, taking the kiddos and going to visit a friend in the burbs for the night. A college roommate calibre of friend, dig? That might help. That, a handful of halloween candy and a big glass of wine. Maybe three. Or it won't help at all and life might still suck as we know it today.
So, this is what you get when I commit to posting every single day, whether I feel like screaming writing or not.
And this. Pictures of my baby in a chicken costume. Because babies dressed like chickens are funny.


Friday, November 03, 2006

There's a new insult in town

I had a whole lot more to say about this, but one of the tiny little men in my computer hates me.
And ~ ~ ~ poof! ~ ~ ~ the words were gone!


Not too long ago, I was making another absolutely necessary stop at the Trader Joe*s in downtown Santa Cruz. My friend (the Boss of Seattle) was visiting and we were shopping for dinner, extolling the virtues of what a child-friendly town this is, how much there is to do with children here, how lucky (am I) to live here!
We gathered up our mass of children (totalling five) and the groceries and made for the parking lot. Julia had a car there but all the kids wanted to ride in my van (because it is just so cool), so we loaded them in with the groceries. Predictably, the baby started to fuss. Because, as most parents know, the engine must be running and the car must be in motion in order to bribe a baby into being strapped into a restraining bucket.
So I hurriedly began checking the seatbelts, closing the doors. Meanwhile, a car pulled into the space in front of mine and its driver began ranting at me, gesturing, etc. It was difficult to hear him over the ramping up of the baby's fuss and my increasing need to put the key into the ignition immediately. But he solved that by getting in my face.
Apparently he was upset over the shopping cart. The one that was in the (ample) space between my front passenger side bumper and the parking space next to me. He shouted, "What is WRONG with you LADY? You can't put a cart away? JESUS are you so RUDE (!) and insensitive that you can't put a fucking grocery cart away?"
I looked at the cart, and back at him, and said, "Well, I am not going to leave a carload of LIVE CHILDREN here just to put back a grocery cart. Really. Just back off. It is fine there."
And he continued to make me his mission of the day by steadfastly maintaining his diatribe,
"What if someone else wants to park there? You people are so goddam rude!"
I wasn't sure what he meant by that, but a young woman had pulled into the space in question, so I tapped on her window. "Is this cart in your way?"
She was talking on her cell phone - she glanced at the cart, shook her head and smiled.
I looked smugly at Angry Guy and said loudly, "SEE? IT'S FINE, JUST FINE! EVERYTHING IS OKAY!" and started to get into the van. He continued shouting at me.
Finally I just said ,"Listen dude, I don't know where you think you are, but this is SANTA CRUZ! Just CHILL! You need to mellow out!"
Well, this didn't help, because he started shrieking, "I am FROM HERE! YOU PEOPLE are just ruining everyone else's scene! I am FROM HERE! This is MY HOME!"
Wow. It finally dawned on me what he was trying to say. My people and I were somehow wrecking this guy's scene. In the parking lot.
I couldn't stand it any longer, I took the bait.
"WHAT people would you be talking about, angry guy?"

"YOU BREEDERS! YOU FUCKING BREEDERS!"

Well, he's got me there. On both counts.
I am a fucking breeder. That is a well known fact.


Thursday, November 02, 2006

Love Thursday - an easy one

Thank you, Blogger, for your service. Thank you also, for your inadvertent help with Day Two of NaBloPoMo, by not letting me post one single picture yesterday, though I sat and clicked and restarted many many times. You know what I am talking about.

So, the Bubbles turns one: pic version 1



Ready to let go and walk. If only his mama would let him.



Oh yes, I was mentioning about the two-handed drumming:


And did I mention the crazy rocker within my baby?



Let your freak flag fly, baby.


The Birthday.
There were cupcakes. Vanilla cupcakes with vanilla bean buttercream. Yum.

It was Bubbles' first cupcake, but he did quite well. Once he got over the gobs of frosting, he ate the cake like an apple. He actually managed to ingest most of the cupcake, which leads me to believe he has been totally leading us on with his 'small appetite'. Ha.
I am going to start putting everything I give him in muffin or cupcake form. HaHA!


Cherish is the word I use to describe you.

Wednesday, November 01, 2006

Happy Birthday, Sweet Boy!

Dear Bubbles
Remember the day we met? You were looking a bit 'deer in the headlights' and I was about as alert as cooked spaghetti, but then our eyes met and the haze cleared at once as we fell in love. Once I provided you with some instant gratification in the form of breast, you quickly forgave me for making you wait an extra hour while I slept, to make your entrance. Shhh- don't tell Supergirl, but the real reason I stayed in the hospital that extra night? I wanted you all to myself. I wanted to get to know you in private. And now? Now I can' t remember very well what life was like before you joined us.
You are just what our family needed - and how clever of you to know that, since we didn't even know ourselves! You knew that my arms ached for someone to hold; you made sure that I didn't ever have to put you down for the first six months! You knew how important it was for me to be able to feed you, and you have made those breasts your best friends! You knew that our family had lived through too much sadness; you came beaming that big drooly grin of yours! You knew that Supergirl needed to feel like a sister again - bossy, admired, needed; you take care of all of that and throw in a little hair-pulling as well! You knew that there was not one milestone of yours we would ever take for granted, and you expertly expect the proper amount of cheering when one is achieved, encouraging us with your own hearty, "YAY!"
You are so strong, so fun, so excited for life, so perfect.
I love how, when we nurse in bed together, you tuck your body in and I curl around you, and we are interlocked like an Escher print. I love how you crane your big melon around to see me if I am not looking directly at you when you are in my arms. I love how you give me a hug whenever I ask you, "hug?". I love how, when you gleefully reach for your freshly undiapered penis, you watch me until I deliver the usual exclamation, "Access!" and then you crack up. Your pediatrician tells me she has heard many pseudonyms for those parts, but claims that never before has she heard it labeled 'access'.
I love how you have managed to crack your sister up for at least seven months now and you don't even know any knock-knock jokes. I love how you announce yourself when you are about to do something dangerous or forbidden - like climb up the stairs without a spotter, or eat aluminum foil or cat food.
I love how you say ,"ummmmmmmmm" when you taste something yummy, even our strange furry cat, who, although she does not appear to like you very much, oddly lets you taste her.
I am excited to see you grow, and afraid to say it, much in the way I was afraid to expect a live, healthy baby before you were born. But I know in my heart that you are a strong child, physically, emotionally, and willfully, and I know that you will grow, you will flourish, you won't leave us too soon. Just keep in mind that my brain and my heart are not always in agreement, and your old mama will always worry. That is my weakness, not yours.
I know many will disbelieve, but you already mimic imaginative (and anthropomorphic) play. I know you watch your sister play with the animals and dolls. She is capable in fact, of giving voice, character, conflict, and conflict resolution to almost any inamimate object.
But the way that you, after not even a year on this earth, can take a wooden cow in one hand and 'a guy' in the other and make them have a conversation?
Well, that is just awe-inspiring. And probably an off-Broadway play in the making. What do I know about theatre?
The cow says, "Mraaaoowr! Eeaargh! arraapklaraarrrr! GARRRRRRRRR!" and 'the guy' responds to the cow while shaking violently; "Eeeeee. teee, ee-ee-eep-ee! Eeedgh."
Someone would have to be made of stone to not find that completely:
A) Endearing
B) Brilliant
C) or Both

Speaking of your incredible talents, you are quite the musician. You play a keyboard without pounding, you strum a guitar without crashing it over - as you have for months now, because you like to hear what you are playing. You have gotten over your impulse for tasting drumsticks, and consequently have developed the amazing skill (for any 12 month old human I have ever met) of drumming with both hands, both holding drumsticks. This is not as easy as it sounds when balance itself presents its own challenges! You have alway been musically inspired, musically responsive. But you are so into creating music now that I find myself wiping the drool off my chin in amazement - and I am a teacher of musical babies!

Really, you are the most amazing child. Thank you for choosing our family.
I love you.
Love, Mama