Mama is on the move

Come check me out here. I think my archives are on their way to New Jersey, but most of my stuff is where it ought, and I'm getting used to the neighborhood.

Not dead, just resting

Yeah, nothing like going almost a month without posting to drive away any interest whatsoever... Coming up with a ton of justifications for my absence would just sound defensive, but I shall do so anyway, at risk of being blown off by the two of you who are still reading.

• I was wallowing. I had an anniversary in late July that hit me harder than I thought it would, and every post I started to write sounded really self-indulgent and stupid
• I had to get ready for my vacation (July 28-August 4). Posts about packing suitcases and buying bottles of sunscreen by the gross aren't all that interesting
• I went on vacation (see above) and didn't have many chance to drive to the coffee shop that had WiFi, and my dad used up all the dial up minutes that Nic bought so he could shop on eBay
• I have an offsite meeting coming up, smaller scale than my regular quarterly meetings, but not as easy for me to plan because it doesn't follow the typical preparation process.
• I have another big project at work, which involves a lot of Internet time, but is not really bloggable (which is probably not a real word, but I guess I can take liberties with the English language sometimes)
• The problem with knitting baby gifts for people who insist on being due within a couple months of each other is that my fingers are occupied and cannot type
• I'm auditioning for The Peevery this month, and I'm not allowed to cross post, so they get first crack at funny tidbits. And not so funny tidbits, actually. Anyway, the point is, if I have any good stuff, it's being posted there because I have to put my best work forward in order to crush the competition (I mean..."in order to provide the best reading experience for the wonderful Peevery staff and their faithful readers.")
• We are still in the midst of potty training Lil Joe. Lil Joe is very stubborn. It's humiliating to have to admit that I have been reduced to actually cheering about defecation in the appropriate location (the appropriate location for the feces, that is. There is no appropriate location for the celebrating the act of pooping. It's just wrong.)
• Despite having been told that I am a modern day Erma Bombeck (the check is in the mail, by the way, Dr. B), I just haven't written that much lately that I think it any good.

But, I shall rise above this patch of bad posting, and return to my former glory (as much glory as I ever had, which is not much.) Until then, please come read about whatever I am complaining about elsewhere and I'll catch you on the flip side.

Buzz, buzz, buzz

I stopped at the coffee shop on my way into work today, and I ordered a triple grande drink, which is sort of typical for me in the mornings, since I have a high tolerance for caffeine, and when I get espresso drinks I switch over to non-caffeinated stuff for most of the rest of the day, but the barista accidentally hit the double shot instead of single shot when she was giving me my extra, and so I got a quad shot of espresso this morning, and I'm fearing that I may experience a crash pretty soon.

My brain is mush

Lord love a duck, my life feels like a whirlwind right now. I leave for vacation in 10 days. How much planning have I done in terms of what I need to pack and such? Ooooh, let's see. None. Oh, and I am being moved to a new office on August 23. I don't have moving crates yet. I also have an offsite meeting from August 18-20, I'll get home around 6:30 a.m. on the 21st. Oh, and that meeting on the 18-20? Doesn't so much have an agenda yet, because it's not our normal format, and I won't be able to sit down with the facilitator to iron out the details until early next week. But that's OK, because I'm too busy thinking about whether or not there is still a ginormous whole in my basement floor from the pipes being run for the bathroom we are building. Did I mention the bathroom? The one that requires me to keep going to the design center to look at cabinet stains and shower fixtures and tiles and glass doors. I already told Hubby that I like the stuff he had picked out a month ago, but I have to go back to look at it again so that he knows that I still like it. Or to look at the alternate color, because the cabinet we want doesn't come in Cognac, and would I like to substitute Java? Actually, right now I could probably use both a cup of java and a glass of cognac. I'd go sit out on the deck and drink a glass of wine, but we don't have a deck right now. We had to tear it down. It was all dry-rotted, and the support poles were only, like, ten inches into the ground with no cement or anything. It's kind of a wonder that it didn't collapse. So, we have something blocking the door in addition to having it locked up, so that no small people decide to take a header into the backyard. The small people are driving their father nutso, incidentally. He's not so good at this "stay at home parent" gig. How do I know how crazy they are making him? He lets me know. Everytime he calls my office. Many, many times a day. How nice of him to share the crazy, don't you think? Thankfully, Princess has ballet camp next week, and then we have vacation, then it's only a short time until Hubby is back at school and Lil Joe starts preschool. At least I think Lil Joe is starting preschool. We haven't actually gotten him signed up, although I know there are openings at the one near our house (the one Hoss attended.) We just don't know if the teacher with whom I had issues is still in charge of the 4-year old class. Because if she is, we don't want him in that preschool, for fear of the same unrealistic expectations of behavior that we saw in the past. Not to mention that I don't know how much my pay raise will be, so I don't know if it will cover the cost of preschool tuition. But I can't think too hard about that right now, because I am still trying to schedule calls between our CEO and every one of the board members within the next week. Which wouldn't normally be too big of a deal, except that the CEO is offsite for meetings on Monday morning and Tuesday morning, and is scheduled to be on vacation starting on Thursday. So, he may be making these phone calls while in a hotel lobby or an airport. In any case, if you don't hear from me in a reasonable amount of time, you may want to verify that my head is still intact, since it's very close to exploding right now. And I don't want anyone to be stuck with cleaning up that mess.

Mmmmm, doughnuts

I stopped at the doughnut shop in the way to work. Happy Friday, people, we need deep fried dough covered in sugar. My cube neighbor has her daughter at the office today. While Pat declined to eat any, her daughter decided to take advantage of the sweet breakfast-y goodness. "These are the best doughnuts ever made in the entire world," I told her. "Better than Dunkin?!" she asked in amazement. Oh, infinitely better than Dunkin.

Like the Vulcan mind meld, if my sister happened to be Mr. Spock

For a number of years, my sister and I worked in the same division of the company for whom we were both employed. At first, I worked in a cubicle a few doors down the hall from her office. Then, a few months later, we had some office moves that put each of us in a different one of our company's three buildings. If someone left voicemail or email messages for her without getting a response, they would stop by my cube. My cube in the building that was not the one housing her office. As a matter of fact, my building was the one attached to the company's garage, so we wouldn't even be parked in the same area in most circumstances. "Is Nic in today?" folks would ask. Regardless of the fact that she and I do not live together, and do not make a habit of phoning each other upon waking, everyone assumed we would be able to account for each others' whereabouts. It used to frustrate me, the expectation that we had some sort of psychic bond based on our sibling relationship. But today, I had a converastion that made me realize that there may be some validity to that expectation. "I saw Phil at the hotel yesterday," I told her. "I was teasing him about eating nothing but doughnuts for breakfast, and so was...oh, crap, I can't remember her name...that girl from the other building who was friends with that other girl..." And she actually knew who I was referring to. But Nic couldn't remember her name, either.

Oh my God, in four years she will be a teenager!

I was in the powder room curling my hair when Hubby approached. "You look much better than you did at this time nine years ago," he said. "At this time nine years ago, I'd been having contractions for four hours and my water had broken," I replied. "It's not tough to look better than I did at that point." While Hubby was in the shower, Hoss came in. I told him that we were having a little party tonight, and asked him if he knew why. "For Princess' birthday!" he grinned. "Oh, is it her birthday?" I joked. "How old is she anyway?" "Nine," he said, matter-of-factly. "Ninety?! That's old!" I gaped. "No, no! NINE, not nine-TY!" "Oh. Is nine old?" "Well, she's halfway to being an adult," he said, with eyes wide, "so I'd say yeah it's old!" Gone are the pudgy cheeks and the the stubby little fingers that used to grasp mine. Instead, she's all gangly limbs and long fingernails that she wants painted and eyes that roll in irritation instead of gaze in wonder. I hate to tell you this, kiddo, but you're always going to be my baby girl.

The subtext is "Duh, Mom!"

The eye rolling tendencies have spread to the boys. Recent conversations: Hoss: Mom, why is Daddy's school having their picnic on a rainy day?! Me: Well, they didn't know it was going to be a rainy day when they picked the date. And since the food and games and stuff are already at the school, they'll just move it all inside. Hoss: Well, of course they didn't know it was going to be a rainy day! Nobody knows when the rain is coming except God and Mother Nature! *********************************************************************************** Lil Joe had on his cranky pants at bedtime last night. Me: I'm going to start calling you Oscar, 'cause you're just a grouch! Lil Joe: I not Oscar! I not green! Me: No, you're not green. Guess what- Oscar wasn't always green. He used to be orange! Did you know that? Lil Joe: Orange?! Dat's just silly, Mommy! Not orange!

Striving for a medal in the Passive-Aggressive Olympics

When I worked for OldBoss, I often ended up doing support tasks for other people who had assistants of their own. This generally happened because they were trying to "coordinate" their travel or registration with that of OldBoss, so it was just easier all around to dump the whole thing on me to do. When I got tasked with the short term "project detail" supporting OldBoss until the organization firmed up some new high-level staffing, I began the juggle of prioritizing the aspects of my regular job that were part of my job description (i.e., considered when my annual review is done this summer) with the tasks necessary to support OldBoss (i.e., what I will probably not get credit for doing anyway). OldBoss has found a new job. Some of his upcoming trips and responsibilities are being taken over by others within the organization. One of these people is one of the folks who used to dump their administrative tasks on me. Is it so wrong that I go out of my way to make sure that all the email traffic back and forth about what I cannot accomplish for said dumper because it violates the laws of time and space, and all the messages in which I let him know how he will have to do certain things on his own, end with my full signature block (the signature block that has my title, which no longer contains the words "administrative" or "assistant," and my department, which is completely separate from the division in which said dumper works)? Since I can't have the email read "Listen up, whiny-head, the fact that I'm even thinking about helping you is a favor in and of itself, so shut up and make your own secretary do this crap for you!" I can at least remind him that I don't answer to him, and he has to go aaaall the way up the chain of command before the two of find a common boss.

Don't get hot, 'cause girl you've got some hard times ahead

Hubby just finished another one of his rough times of the year, and now does not have to think about rehearsals or concerts or festivals or whatever until Fall. He can start golfing again! And riding his bike on weekends instead of having to work! When he came home on Thursday night, and I said he could breathe a sigh of relief, he said that "the gorilla is off [his] back." To which I told him that I now had the whole barrell of monkeys on mine. "Why?" he asked, proving that he has paid no attention whatsoever when I respond to his questions about what's going on at work, or how my various doctor appointments have gone. Had he been listening to my answers he would know the following:

• The extra boss that I inherited earlier this year isn't exactly low maintenance
• I am in charge of planning an offsite meeting for said boss, which takes place on June 11
• June 11 falls right smack in the middle of my most detail-oriented, high pressure portion of the planning process for my June Board meeting
• The time between meetings is usually about three months, but is compressed this time around
• I don't know how to expand time to allow myself to do a three-month process in only 2 months without going batshit crazy
• The dermatologist has requested that I schedule a biopsy, just in case
• The school counselor has suggested that I make an appointment for Princess with the counselor who helped Hoss
• Princess also needs an eye exam
• And a dentist appointment
• And a haircut
• My pay raise for the new fiscal year will have to cover the cost of Lil Joe's preschool tuition
• I will not know what my raise is until August, so I do not know what I can afford to spend on tuition
• I cannot wait until August to enroll Lil Joe in preschool

And he wonders why I lose my cool.

Dancing fool

The latest bonding experience for my mom and me is...dissing the DWtS judges. We used to talk about books. Sometimes, maybe, current events or an article from my parenting magazines. Now, as soon as I walk into the kitchen on Tuesday mornings, I'm greeted with "Was Apolo not completely robbed?!" (He was, incidentally. I mean, he and Julianne are so cute I want to just tuck them in my pocket, although their cha-cha was racy, but they were remaining true to the song and they weren't nasty or anything, like we've seen from other dancers in the past.)

Driving me crazy

Apparently, if a driver is both clueless about the concept passing another driver who is turning and also not very good at communicating or writing down the appropriate information that is to be exchanged in the event of an accident, said driver is destined to be driving with me. Last night's incident was not really a repeat of my last accident, and the damage is not as severe, but seriously, what did I do to piss off the driving gods? I was in a lane in which either driving straight or turning right is permitted. The lane to my right is a right-turn only lane. So why would I even think to be watching to my right while I made the turn to ensure that the brand new SUV in the far right lane was indeed turning right instead of going straight? And why, once we had both stopped our cars and exchanged information, would I expect that I would be able to call this driver's insurance company and actually get help, as opposed to being told that the policy number and insured name I provided do not correspond to the name for that policy number in the system? Oh, and did I mention that, once again, this happened when I had the kids with me and Hubby was not available? So I was late bringing the kids home from school, and I was trying to report a claim while also attempting to get homework finished and dinner prepared.

And who is buried in Grant's tomb?

Princess approached me yesterday. "Mommy, what day of the week is Mother's Day on this year?" "Mother's Day is always on a Sunday," I replied. "This year it's May 13." The answer seemed to satify her. Later in the evening, after the kids were in bed, I was filling Hubby in on plans for the next few weekends. "Nic is fixing dinner at Mom's house on Mother's Day," I told him, "so I told her we would come." "What day of the week is that?" he asked. Well, at least I know where Princess gets it.

No luggage needed, it's just a day (guilt) trip

Today is Administrative Professionals' Day (the day formerly known as Secretaries' Day). Amusingly enough, because I was promoted a few years ago, and therefore am a professional at a higher level of administrative duties (and on my way to being certified as an administrative professional), I am no longer on anyone's radar for recognition on Administrative Professionals' Day. We are still in the midst of my being on loan to OldBoss, and I stopped into his office a few minutes ago to drop off his expense check from last week's meeting as well as pick up his expense report for the meeting he attended earlier this week. He asked me what day today was ("Only two more days until the weekend! After today, right? Today is Wednesday, isn't it?") and I jokingly reminded him that it was not only Wednesday, but also Acknowledge Your Administrative Support People Day. "That's right," he said, "that is today. But since I don't have a...OH. Oh, God, yes I do!" "Not really," I said. "I'm not yours anymore." "No. I need to take you to lunch or something. Oh, geez, I'm sorry! I honestly remembered and thought about it logically, but my logic was faulty." "You seriously don't need to do anything. I'm just poking fun at how many executives have said that it slipped their minds. You know, since it's their secretaries who always remind them of upcoming important events. But there is no professionally appropriate way to say 'Hey, don't forget to get me a present', is there?" Which explains why the assistant down the hall had to order her own lunch for the department meeting, and why the Executive Assistant at my last company was the one who ordered flower arrangements for all of the support staff who covered the phones.

Getting Hoss ready for first grade

Alternate title: Kindergarten can't handle him anymore! Not true. Yes, it's true that I had Hoss read and do the activities in "Let's Get Ready for First Grade!" from Cedar Valley Publishing. Yes, he does tend to be ahead of the curve when it comes to what a kindergartener is learning (acedemically, that is. Socially, well, that's another story), and the faculty and staff at his school comment on how smart he is. But the real reason we jumped into this book is because I got the chance to participate in a review for Parent Blogger Network, which means free stuff and a chance to express my opinions. You know I'm all about stuff and spouting off. I'm totally behind the whole idea of preparing our children for school, and am totally on board with new ways to do so. Children are like sponges sometimes, so the more you introduce them to before they hit the classroom, the more likely they are to expand their knowledge once they get there. And you cannot rely solely on educational TV and pre-school computer games. Seriously, once you've sent one child off to school, you have seen enough of Blue teaching you how to measure and you are ready to gouge your eyes out with a plastic spoon. Variety is pretty darned important, especially since so much of what Princess was watching or doing when she was in pre-school had already crept into her baby brother's mind. The book is sturdy and has a wipe off surface, and is full of bright pictures on each page to help illustrate each concept (odd and even numbers, vowels and consonants, the food pyramid...) Hoss zoomed through the early pages, since he has already mastered basic phonics (long and short vowel sounds, etc.) He seemed interested when we stumbled upon some new grammar bits, though, such as compound words and contractions. Having terms to apply to both types of "smooshing words together to make new words" perked him up (he loves to let you know when he knows something new). Hoss also made a point to look for Yodie the coyote on each page, like a wild canine version of Waldo. Being from the mid-Atlantic, Hoss isn't overly familiar with cacti, scorpions and cowboys. He seemed to be attracted to the teacher (Ms. Best) and her coyote mascot because it was different than so many of the generic Anytown, USA settings in many books. Many of the illustrations are funny, and many of the pages have good "jumping off" points beyond the questions or quizzes at the end of the page, providing an opportunity for continued use. From a grown-up's point of view, I liked the markings on the edge of each page indicating the concept ("Let's learn about ordinals!") because they help when you want to flip quickly to a particular lesson to reinforce. I also appreciate having wipe-off books for repeated use (both for reviewing the concepts with Hoss, and reusing the book for Lil Joe!) Many books I've found for my children have either left them bored because the concepts were "old hat" or left them frustrated because they were not able to acheive the outcome expected. The difficulty level of the activities and questions in this book varied to allow both challenges and successes. Every school has a different curriculum for teaching the early grades, but I firmly believe that this series of books provides a basis that will be beneficial to any of them. And, if you go to the Parent Blogger Network site and comment about why you need this book for your child, you may find yourself with some free stuff of your own!

Conversation at the cafe

Me: The briefing books came back from the printer. Michelle: So, how do they look? Me: Pretty good. Well, at least the ones with the tabs that start at 'A'. The ones that start with tab 'K', those I'm not so happy with. Michelle: Wow. You are...remarkably calm about this. Me: Here's the thing- I can't change it now, and everyone knows it's not my fault that they are screwed up. Michelle: Yeah, but not being able to change it and not being at fault has never stopped you from freaking out before.

Bizarro world

Yesterday's Easter dinner with Hubby's side of the family thrust me into a world I did not quite recognize. Hubby's Aunt Joyce hosted the holiday, and her dining room does not quite accomodate everyone, so we had two auxilliary tables (the tried and true "kiddy tables" perhaps). Place cards indicated that Princess was at the main table, Hubby and Hoss and one of the subsidiaries, Lil Joe and I at the other. With me were Hubby's cousin Meghan (who I haven't had a chance to see since last summer), BIL and his girlfriend. As dinner progressed, BIL's girlfriend's contributions to the conversation indicated that she was not on the same wavelength as we were, since her non-sequiturs seemed to be in response to comments other than those heard by anyone else at the table. At the end of the meal, Meghan left to exhibit her one last bad habit (smoking, despite the fact that, as a nurse, she should know better), and I quickly followed her out the door. The conversation started with no preamble, despite the fact that this is a family that talks in hushed tones, never letting anyone in on who knows what about whom. "You picked up that I was noticing, right?" Meghan asked. "Yeah," I replied, "She's definately not taking her medication." "It's clear that she's in the mania phase now," she sighed. "She's acting just like the patients at work who are hearing the voices." Observation upon question upon statement- before long, we had cataloged each twitchy behavior, each peculiar anecdote about Julie's latest job (the third or fourth since last Spring). I let out a heavy sigh. "Hubby answered my cell phone the other night, and was suspicious about who this 'Dr. Abby' was on my caller ID. He seemed surprised that I would get a call from my psychiatrist." Meghan rolled her eyes. "It's not his business. Are you having sessions?" "No, just medication management appointments right now," I answered, "but my other counselor is only a speed dial away." Three cigarettes and lord knows how much time later, we had touched on all the things that could have kept a team of mental health professionals occupied for quite some time. How much happier she was dating the current guy, the one with the preschool son, than she had been with the one she lived with briefly while she finished nursing school. The recognition that he had been verbally abusive, and that her self-esteem issues stemmed from all those years of seeing her mom cover up and try to control her father's drinking. My lack of control with money, and how I was working to regain Hubby's trust with the finances by keeping my paycheck in the join account so he could see how much I was spending (both on necessities and on splurges). How worried I was all those years, when the family's objection to the man she was with pushed her further and further away, and I feared it would be too far away to catch her when he eventually hurt her too badly. Somehow, in the midst of all the crap that has happened in the family into which I married, the two flighty, chatty girls who have to depend on Zoloft to get us through the day, have turned out to be the most grounded and sensible ones in the crowd.

Have some drama, courtesy of Mama

That last post was probably a bit over the top, with the vague implications of breakdowns and such. My sister called me just to make sure that I was OK, and we discussed how I should develop a code system for the people who know me, just so I don't panic anyone. So, like the air quality index or the terror alert or whatever, I should note that Monday-Tuesday were code orange, downgrading to yellow as time went on. Without my Zoloft, we may have been looking at a code red- thank goodness for pharmaceutical advances. And while I am still not back to normal, and am not sure when I will be, I can say that things are getting better. I've progressed from being shut out completely (since the yelling that Hubby did on Monday night seemed to have taken away his ability to speak even simple words like "I'm going to bed now," or "I already made sandwiches" to me) to listening to him talk about his day and engaging in small talk. But I am still treating the topic that set him off as Voldemort, since we've already established what we are doing to address the item that needs to be addressed now, and we can't address the other items until later anyway. La la la, I think we will just talk about what I will fix for dinner, and the fact that I am probably crazy to take all three kids to the hockey game (even though I will have additional adult backup), and who will drive Hoss to his little friend's birthday party on Saturday, and the fact that my cousin had a baby. This has been a test of the Psycho Mama Warning network. Had this been a real psychotic breakdown, you would receive a frantic phone call. If I was not able to make a phone call, a call would be made by my officemates. This is only a test.

Again with the stuff

I'm not so good with dealing with stuff. There's a lot of stuff at work. Mostly normal stuff, but I still have to try really hard to motivate myself to do it. And the kids have school stuff, like Princess' teacher wanting to meet with us (most likely because she works as slow as molasses and therefore has to spend an hour finishing up classwork at home in addition to doing her actual homework), and Hoss' continued outbursts (which are improving but are still prominent enough for me worry about). Hubby is having a tough time because of work stuff and worrying about his dad's situation, and the loss of two of his friends on the Transplant Games team (one died a month or so ago, and BIL spoke at the funeral. The other was only 23, and his transplanted heart just gave out last week). And then a big sore issue raised its ugly head again, in the form of the fallout from something I thought I'd taken care of awhile ago, but I hadn't, not really. This is stuff that happened before the mess blew up in my face, before Hubby and I had a blowout of a fight and then got all of our cards on the table and figured out what to do to fix the problem. And he's upset because he thought it was done rearing, but it popped up again. And I'm upset because he's acting as though nothing's changed, even though many things have changed and he is fully aware that they have- that I have. And if he says I'm forgiven, I can't have it thrown back in my face. He can't throw stuff back at me (even though he has a right to be upset when an obstacle pops back up) because it's not an obstacle that popped up because old habits die hard, it's an obstacle that popped up because events don't just wrap up into a neat little bow when they come to light, sometimes they have ripples. And I'm upset because he can't see that the reason the problem grew to the point it did was because I was afraid of him behaving or reacting in a certain way, so I tried to do the right thing without his help so that he wouldn't have to be the one to make sacrifices or take care of it, and instead I found out that I couldn't rectify the stuff on my own and he reacted in the exact manner I feared he would, a manner he said he would not have reacted in if he had been able to help me earlier. Except I don't think he would have reacted differently. Which is a moot point anyway, because I didn't involve him with dealing with the stuff early enough in the process so that he could have reacted differently. And we've taken a step backwards in the grand plan. And it's a small step backwards, but he's acting as though it's a giant step. And there is more stuff coming down the pike. There is stuff about Lil Joe's schooling and the changes necessary to make it happen. And there are details related to those changes that we need to know in order to plan, details that may eliminate some of the obstacles. But if those details cannot eliminate the obstacles, the alternatives must be examined and possibly implemented earlier than is feasible. And if the alternatives are implemented, but the details can eliminate the obstacles, it may not be possible to use the details to their full advantage. And there's no guarantee that the alternatives will work either. They may be better than the original grand plan. But they might not be. And he is looking at the half empty glass of alternatives and is angry at me that I tell him that I don't see a glass to look at yet. In any case, I'm feeling like I'm not very good with dealing with the stuff.

Pretend I'm grunting like Tim Allen

How funny is it that I am the go-to person when someone needs pliers or a tape measure? Yep, if you need to find someone with a toolbox, try the perky chick with the pink high heels over in the second floor cube farm!

Yet another post in which I moan and complain like a self-centered princess

The bullet points of my discontent

• On Tuesday afternoon, one of my co-workers (not my boss, but the next person down the totem pole in my department) approached me. "Darling, we need to talk." I immediately thought I was in trouble. But no, he was trying to soften the blow of telling me that the cubicle next to mine (the one I use for filing and storage of all of the materials that my former boss cleaned out of her office and file cabinet, but I have no space for because I have no file cabinet) was needed for another staff member. He didn't know who was moving in, he only knew that the guy in charge of facilities told him to relay the message to me that I had until Friday to clear it out. Note that the facilities dude did not tell me this information, nor did he tell my boss to tell me this information, but rather told a random co-worker because he couldn't be bothered to look at the org chart and see who I actually report to.
• I cleared out all of my stuff from the cubicle and found other locations for storage by the end of the day Wednesday, but sent the facilities dude a message that there were five boxes of items for shredding as well as random office supplies and such that were in the cube before I had use of the space remaining in the cube. I got no response.
• As of 3:45 today (Friday, if you're keeping track) there has been no indication that anyone is moving into the cube.
• It is rainy and cold today. A few hours ago, the fire alarm went off. Many, many people asked me if we were having a drill. "Let's assume we're not," I replied. Many, many people were standing directly outside of our building, under an overhang, blocking the path to the area in which we are supposed to congregate when we evacuate the building. "Excuse me," I said, "I need to get to the evauation area over by the courtyard." When these many, many people finally joined me in the courtyard, they bitched and bitched and bitched about having to evacuate the building in the rain, and complained "they shouldn't plan drills on such yucky days."
• If we have an actual fire, instead of workers who accidentally set off the alarms, the firefighters will have to risk their own lives to save these morons who deserve to go up in flames.
• Hubby has a band rehearsal tonight, to which he will travel immediately after work. So, I'm on my own to pick up the kids and take care of dinner. This will cause me to get home a bit later than normal.
• Days like these (rainy and nasty) are the ones on which my in-laws like to be on the road as early as possible. As a result, FIL is likely to be in a foul mood by the time I get home, as will MIL (since she will bear the brunt of his constant "why haven't we left yet? We should be on the road by now! We always leave by 4:30!" grumpiness). No matter how many times she assures him that I will be home soon, he will be convinced that I am holding them up, even though they never leave by 4:30 because neither Hubby nor I even leave work until at least 4:30.
• I made an eye doctor appointment for tomorrow afternoon, based on when Hubby is expected to be home from work, and have just found out that it conflicts with a counseling appointment for Hoss, which was not on the calendar.
• My brother gave me a bottle of shiraz as a gift. I opened it last weekend when we had people over for the boys' birthdays, but by the time I got a chance to go back into the kitchen to pour a glass, it was empty. I'll have to ask my mom if it was any good so I know whether to try to find another bottle of it.
• There is a ginormous zit waiting to pop out on my chin. I can feel it under the surface, but it hasn't made an appearance so that I can zap it with salicylic acid. I expect it to make its debut next Monday when I am in the middle of a meeting with the two perfectly poised and immaculately put-together ladies who are helping me plan the consortia meeting from Hell for OldBoss.
• I have to miss my cousin's baby shower in a few weeks because I will be flying to a conference during which my shortest workday is expected to be 14 hours.
• My nail polish chipped within 12 hours of my manicure.

Teach a man to fish, he will eat for a day...

As the phone rang, I saw on my caller ID that Boss was trying to reach me. I picked up with some trepidation. "Good morning, this is Karen." "You say that so...carefully," Boss laughed. "Listen, are you doing my expense reports? Or am I supposed to do them on my own now?" "I can do them if you need me to, I guess," I said. "But they're still pretty straightforward, right?" "Well, I don't know. I can try to do it myself, but I need you to look it over..." I was sort of confused. Expense reports are pretty easy. Then the light dawned. "You've never done an expense report by yourself, have you?" I asked. "No," he said sheepishly. "I've never had to."

I probably should not find this funny. Yet, I do.

On our way to see a minor league hockey game yesterday we passed this establishment I kow it's wrong, but I almost choked on my gum when I saw "Your Second Amendment Connection!"

I need to add "vodka" to my office supply order

What's better than a slushy Monday morning commute? Getting a phone call from the CEO a few minutes after you arrive asking you to join him for the first segment of his call with the Board Chair. And an email a few minutes after his call ends asking you to join him and the Chief Legal Counsel for another meeting so that the three of you can "brainstorm." These two meetings are on top of the meeting you already have scheduled with him to go over the things you need him to approve so that you can go forward with your planning of the conference that has been dumped into your lap because of your "stepping up to the plate" to support Boss, now that he does not have an assistant. And the morning is barely half done...

What's old is new again

In June 2005, I got a promotion and cruelly abandoned my Boss. Because I am a neurotic freak, I had some issues with letting go. Although I have fully embraced my current position, I still keep in touch with Boss, and we interact at conferences and I see him sometimes when he is meeting with BigBoss, and I drop by his office to say hello when I am on his floor. About a month ago, Boss got a new position in the organization. He is at the same level as he was before, but is no longer in a management role and instead is doing a good deal of travelling and meetings and organizational outreach. His assistant was reassigned to assist in other areas of the organization. One might wonder about whether someone whose meeting and travel responsibilies are increasing would need to have a full time assistant. It would seem to make sense that administrative support would help such an executive, would it not? We have a new corporate officer coming on board later this year, and when that is in place, Boss and some other executives will report to this new officer. Until that time, those divisions report to BigBoss. And BigBoss is all about making sure his divisions have support, so he is making sure that Boss has someone to assist him. Guess who? So, I am on loan. And after 20 months, I am back to trying to read Boss' mind, violate the laws of time and space to get his calendar under control, and reassure him that the details (of everything from room set-ups to plane reservations to document control) are under control. And in honor of this return to the past, I've informed Boss that I intend to start visiting my therapist again.

Enjoying this while I can...

The kindergarten class finally had their Valentine's Day party on Friday, and I led the art project. Hoss was very excited to see me, and kept calling me over so he could say he loved me. ***************************************************************************************** It was very cold last night when Lil Joe was leaving the house to go to his grandparents' house for a sleepover. Hubby insisted that he put up his hood, since it was too cold for a bare head. Lil Joe was not happy with this idea, so I looked for his favorite hat. When I placed it on his head, his eyes lit up. "Fank you, Mommy," he exclaimed. "You amazing!" ****************************************************************************************** so, anyone want to place bets on how long it takes before the "I love you" turns to "I can't stand you" and "amazing" turns to "awful"?

Sometimes life gets in the way

Bad Karen, not posting.

• big boss has loaned me out to other execs, and the bunch of them have tasked me with violating the laws of time and space to get some meetings scheduled with visitors
• cold and flu (and sinus infection and sore throat and nasty cough) season
• snow and sleet and ice, oh my! The kids' Valentine's Day party is being rescheduled yet again. At least I think they're still going to have one. It may turn into a Mardi Gras party instead.
• Clogged arteries (not mine). The good news is, the balloon angioplasty worked. The bad news is, Hubby had to drive all over creation to attend to family members who were trapped by the wintry mix and to pick up his parents' car from where they left it just prior to the ambulance ride
• I'm a boring dork who can't come up with anything entertaining to write about.

Insanity is a chemical imbalance

When I was in college, I read one of the best Cynthia Heimel columns I had ever seen. It was about the bad clothing choices she made whilst in the midst of PMS. Daring color combinations, avant garde styles... I, too, need someone to save me from myself during hormonal fluctuations. Yesterday, I cut my own hair. Yes, I should know better, and I should have someone lock up the scissors during certain times of the month, but it's too late now. I was overly frustrated with the hack-job that I got at the discount haircut place at the mall, and how the layering in the back was so much more drastic than that in the front, so I took matters into my own hands. I did some "blending" and some "trimming" and some "touching up". Well. The good news is I'm not using as much shampoo as I did last week, and it doesn't take too long to dry...

Fun with stats and search strings

Sometimes I wonder sometimes about my readership (in a "I wonder who is reading my inane ramblings" not a "I wonder about them because they are not normal" kind of way). My stats show that someone logging in through the Central Intelligence Agency is reading. Which is probably not a big deal, since anyone who was investigating me for the CIA would be more subtle than that. Unless they want to throw me off by making me think that they aren't investigating me. Hmmm... And apparently I'm very big in Scandanavia- I get a fair number of hits from Norway and just recently got one from Denmark. None from Finland yet, despite the fact that I talk about Hubby's band every so often, and they have quite a Finn following. I've also been checking out my search strings. Most of my readership (60 something percent) doesn't come from search engines, and another 8-9% comes from some search related to the eight Polish foods of Christmas Veggie Tales song. For your entertainment, here are some other searches that have led people to my site:

• "i just got my car washed and my airbag light came on" Next time try the touchless car wash, dude.
• "You'll strangle the baby with the umbilical cord" I will not!
• "flat tire karen" Yes, that's me. Some folks go their whole lives without changing a tire, I've changed at least one on every car I've driven.
• "but a few kids in high school told her she was uncool" Actually, more than a few
• "how to keep lint off pants" Let me know when you find out, 'cause God knows I don't know how
• "how to slice bagels" Ditto. I've got the scar to prove it
• "What's in kielbasa?" I don't think you want to know
• "why can't I attract any boys?" How the hell should I know?
• "lean cuisine causes allergic reaction" Is this the new ad campaign for Weight Watchers frozen meals?
• "franzia vs. almaden" Hmm, that's up there with "root canal or corporate retreat for your afternoon plans" as far as decisions go
• "being uninvited to his parents for christmas" For some people, that's a happy holiday
• "lousy mom" Um. Thanks.
• "schmutzy pants" Fine, I'll buy a lint brush
• "gigantic red zit" There's not much for me to add to that
• "parenthood sucks" Not always.
• "night the lights went out in georgia why did the sister shoot" I've been trying to figure that out for years
• "does anyone have sandwiches for thanksgiving" Yeah, my sister does. She can make a sandwich out of any meal
• "hate my in laws" Well, 'hate' is a really strong word...

Oh, if only you knew...

I just got the suggested revisions for my meeting minutes from one of your upper-level people. She had only a few tweaks, but commented that the minutes "seem to be somewhat wordy." My notes are about 6-10 pages long for each meeting. Prior to my doing the job, the minutes tended to be about 20-30 pages.

A week to make me weak

So far this week I have experienced the following:

• 31 hours of clocked worktime, despite the week being less than half over
• Hearing both a guest speaker and a CXO drop the f-bomb
• a tempest in a teapot about electronic access to documents, and who is or is not capable of keeping their darned mouths shut
• a whole lot of examples of how my children only want me around when they are sick or injured
• a three-day headache that is akin to a group of caffeinated squirrels slamming sledgehammers into my temple and eye socket.

And it's only Wednesday...

Good stuff

Further proof that Beth is a really good person. With her encouragement, a whole bunch of us are going to be doing a bunch of small good things that can add up to some big good things. Go check it out.

Shout out!

I am so happy to find people as insane as I am about certain TV shows. From my "Sports Night" message board:

I've been keeping up with this board thanks to my email subscription (I simply haven't had the time to get lost in TWoP anymore), but seeing the posts about today's anniversary made me play a dedication on my radio show this am. I played "Boogie Shoes" and sent it out to "[MamaKaren] over at Television Without Pity, who at the unanimous request of the board of the Jeremy Goodwin Foundation will be downing blue drinks and dancing on the table. Damn, I wish I could be there to see it."

This may be the only time I can say this without irony

Hoss is an angel.

Bittersweet

I know that I've been whining a lot about how much I have left to do for Christmas, and how stressed I am and all that, but the truth is that I really do love the holidays. I like light displays and seeing little children dressed up for the Christmas program (as soon as I get a chance to sit down with my card reader, you will be gifted with photographic evidence that Hoss really can be an angel). I like the smell of pine trees and gingerbread. I love how the kids' faces light up when they see a full stocking on Christmas morning where an empty one had hung at bedtime. But... This year we made beigli for the first time without needing to reserve any for my aunt. And when I made my annual order with Harry and David, I had to remove her name from the address book. And last night I addressed the Christmas cards, and she is still in my PDA. I didn't usually see Mimi at Christmas anyway- she didn't get out to come to our house for dinner with my parents, and it was hard for me to make the time to get out to see her when we had the kids to bring along and all. But I always sent the card and the fruit-of-the-month basket and she would send her thank-you note where she gushed about the delicious pears and such, and that's gone and it sucks. And I've spent so many Christmases so caught up in my own stuff that I didn't go and see her enough and now she's gone and I can't go back and do things right. So instead, I'm sitting at my desk at quarter after 8 trying not to cry because I'm out of tissues and I don't want anyone in the department to see me and ask what's wrong because it all sounds so...whatever.

The final countdown

I have twenty-four hours and thirty-seven minutes until I have to turn the book over to the printer. I have a 124 page business plan with faulty bookmarks (lots of "error! link not valid!") and a printer that only wants to print three pages at a time. I have a report that may or may not be ready to go in the book (which means that the quarterly report, agenda, and Committee attachments will need to be revised to indicate the applicable tab references. Or not.) And I have a CEO who decided to make some more edits last night to the documents he has seen and approved thrice over. Tell me again why I love my job?

Fa, la, la, la, la, blah, blah,blah

In today's procrastination news, I still need to purchase gifts for Nic, MrNic, my brother, my brother's girlfriend, and the stocking stuffers for all three kids and Hubby. My new dining room set is being delivered on Sunday morning. As in Christmas Eve. And we have people coming over for dessert on Christmas Eve as well as dinner on Christmas Day. The house is still a mess, so we have a lot of cleaning to do in the next two days. But, I have good news! I stopped at the liquor store to get the rum and vodka necessary to keep me in the holiday spirit, and I got carded!

Flat out annoying

Do you know what's better than having a flat tire while coming home with a car full of groceries and three slightly cranky kids? Having a blowout while in the Harbor Tunnel on the way to take the little one to his grandparents' house. I swear, Hubby has to try to outdo me at everything.

Adventures in babysitting

I've been on my own with the kids for most of the day while Hubby was out at a football game. Since I got home from my annual holiday pastry extravaganza with Mom and Nic (more on that later...) not long before Hubby had to leave for his Transplant Team Christmas party, I couldn't do the grocery shopping yesterday and I didn't get a chance to get online and put in an order for delivery. Soooo... Grocery shopping with three kids. Yeah. We stopped at the coffee bar and got drinks, but that didn't keep them distracted for long. For some reason, every item I put in the cart offended Lil Joe. He did not want the lettuce or the celery or the orange juice or the iced tea. He screamed for a solid 5 aisles, only to calm down upon reaching the deli and getting a piece of cheese. Princess and Hoss kept running ahead of me down the aisles, much to my embarrassment and chagrin. But we made it out of the store mostly unscathed. As we approached home, the car began riding a bit rough. I eased off of road into the Park and Ride lot with a sense of dread. "Are we running out of gas?!" Hoss asked. "No. I think we have a flat tire," I replied. I was right. Princess and Hoss were very excited, and asked if they could come out for a look. "I've never seen a flat tire in real life!" Princess exclaimed. "I've only seen one on TV." We have AAA, but my card was not in my wallet. Also, I figured that my milk would spoil and the natives would get mightly restless if I waited for someone to come out and do the work for me. Sooo... I unloaded enough of the groceries to access the jack, lug wrench and access to the spare tire. And I got to work. Thankfully, a guy did stop and offer to help, since he had a lot more weight to put behind loosening the lug nuts than I have. One of the bolts was so stripped it broke off. But, between the two of us, we got the tire replaced without much more incident. So, who wants to buy me a new tire for Christmas?

Can't help lovin' that Joe of mine

When Lil Joe arrived home from his grandparents' house, he was very tired. He had just fallen asleep in the car a few minutes earlier and he barely spoke a word as I removed him shoes and socks and tucked him snugly into bed with a hug, kiss and zrrbrt (his nightly routine). Imagine my surprise when I heard the TV on in the living room a few minutes later, and saw Lil Joe on the couch with the remote. I turned off the television, removed the device from his grip, and scooped him up. He protested as I carried him back down the hall back to bed, but climbed in obediently to receive another round of "good night" while Hubby brought my laundry up from the basement to be folded, leaving it in a pile on the couch. As I was in my room hanging some clothes in the closet, I heard noises from the living room. I approached to see Lil Joe in all his glory, remote in hand. My laundry was in less glory, spread all over the floor. I didn't know whether to yell or laugh (both of which are pretty painful anyway, with the sore throat and sinus infection and such). I scolded him for dumping the clothes, and he parrotted my words and tone, as three year olds like to do. I stalked down the stairs to blow off some steam, since laughing at him would only encourage the behavior that had me so conflicted. When I came back up, the laundry was still spread all over the floor, but Lil Joe was no longer on the couch. He was, instead, sprawled on the pile clothes, chin in hand, grinning at me. "Lil Joe! That is not funny!" I said. "Is not funny!" he repeated in a stern tone. Then he giggled. "NO. I am very angry at you!" "I angry at you," he said with a scowl. And I had to walk away so I would not laugh. "Mama, where you going?" he asked, as I headed for the stairs. "I need to go away from you for a minute," I replied. When I returned a few moments later, my giggles having subsided, Lil Joe met me at the top of the steps. "I fixed it, Mama," he said. "Fixed what?" I asked. "The waundry." And indeed he had. All of my clothes were back on the couch, as they had been before his appropriation of the space. Except now they were covered in dog hair, and the couch probably was as well. But seriously, how can anyone look at this chubby little face and be angry?

Today's selection from "Condescension Theater"

I just got a call from one of the VP's in my building. She had me on speakerphone so the Manager-Who-Likes-to-Flaunt-Her-MBA who was in her office could hear me as well. "I just heard the most intriguing thing!" VP gushed. "Is it true that you have an Excel spreadsheet that you have formatted to populate deadline dates for activities based on your meetings dates?" "It's not an Excel spreadsheet," I replied. "I use Microsoft Project. I created a template with the tasks I need to complete so that I can enter an end date and the due dates for each step are calculated for me." "Oh, that sounds like just what we need! Would it be OK if we set up a time for you to show us how you do it?" I agreed to a meeting in mid-December, which I said should only take 30 minutes (not so much because it's that incredibly easy, but because that's as much time as I can reasonably spare whilst smack in the middle of all my deadlines for the preparation for my Board meeting.) Isn't it just super that I've learned how to use a software application to do my job efficiently?! And that the entire administrative support in this woman's area is completely oblivious to the existance of it?! Gosh, teaching them to plan a project will be so much fun, just like a slumber party!

I'm totally out

Well, I lasted for over three weeks on the "post daily" bandwagon, but tanked as of Wednesday. And when I fall off the wagon, I fall all the way off. Thanksgiving was fine, except for the meltdown that Lil Joe had (hinting at the possibility that his ear infection was returning) and Mom being somewhat short tempered at me for bringing a sick child to the party. But, my mother loves me even though she yells at me, and I love her even when she annoys me. By Friday, my sore throat and muscle aches had returned, and I was having trouble swallowing. My fever has risen steadily, peaking at 101.7* and the gunk I've expectorated in the past two days would gross out even a middle school boy. OK, I'm going back to sleep.

This may fall into what some may call "obsessive planning"

Hoss got a birthday party invitation today. The party is from 11:50-2:30. The invitation has a pie chart, which appropriately labeled slices for "pizza time" (11:50-12:30), "clown time" (12:30-1:30), and "pinata time" (1:30-2:30) Thankfully, the invitation did not also include a listing of the proposed outcomes, motions and action items.

In today's news: I am a big geek

My latest knitting designed is called the Mathmatician scarf. It's a moebius loop knit with a Fibbonacci strip pattern. And the fact that actually consider myself clever because of this is sort of lame.

It's a small world, after all

The VP at my office in charge of training programs invited me to a party at his house last night. One of T's hobbies is crafting beers, sodas and wine coolers, and he hosts a huge party each Fall to show off his creations. A few days ago, I stopped into T's office and asked him if his teenage daughter, who he had mentioned on a number of occaisions, ever took on babysitting jobs. I am always searching for more local sitters, since you can never have too many people to call on. T let me know that his daughter does, indeed, babysit and now that marching band season is done, she might actually have time to do so. When we arrived at the party and entered the house, Hubby caught sight of a familiar girl. "Hey, Hoss," he said, "you know her! That's one of the ladies from your KidsGym!" As we approached the girl to say hello, T saw us. "Karen! I see you've met my daughter." Yes, we've answered the question of whether T's daughter might be willing to watch my children, since she apparently already does.

Release the inner fashionista

Let me preface this situation by noting that Hubby is a stereotypical guy. He owns all of half a dozen pairs of shoes. He wouldn't know Ralph Lauren from Ralph Kramden. He rolls his eyes at the idea that I distinguish between rose and fuschia ("It's PINK!") There are no skin or hair care products in his part of the medicine cabinet. I was getting ready for church, having already put on my suit but not having assembled the appropriate accessories. "That jacket looks like it's showing a bit more skin that it should," Hubby noted. "I hope you plan on putting on a camisole or something." "I'm going to wear a scarf," I replied. "It fills up the neckline. By the way, 'camisole'? Way to go, getting the terminology right." Hubby looked embarrassed. Give me time, I'll turn him into a metrosexual yet.

Are you ready for some Yuletide?

Thanksgiving is still a week away. Yet one of the local radio stations has already started the round-the-clock Christmas carols. There was a time when the Christmas season started the day after Thanksgiving. By the time I got to college and worked at a department store during the holiday season, we were putting up decorations in mid-November and taking them down on Christmas Eve. At this rate, though, we will soon start the Christmas preparations as soon as the Independece Day fireworks displays are over.

Uncharitable contributions to the greater good

I have a confession to make. I am a snotty pain in the butt when it comes to charity. There. I've said it. I've owned up. I try to make contributions, money or time or advocacy, for a number of causes. I raise money and participate in charity walks for all sorts of ailments. I donate clothing to shelters. I buy toys to give to the Marines at Christmastime. I add that extra couple dollars to my grocery bill to go to the food bank. Lately, though, I've been almost rude to some requests for charity. Here are some recent phone conversations I have had. [one ringy dingy] Phone Bank Chickie: Good evening, Mrs. H, this is BigNationwideCharity (not Purple Heart, who is always nice to me). We will be in your neighborhood on Saturday and will pick up one bag of clothing or household items, where is the best location for you to leave it? MamaK: I'm sorry, I don't have anything this mo... [click. dial tone] ____________________________________________________________________________________ [one ringy, dingy] Overly Perky Guy Whose Voice I Do Not Recognize: Hi, Karen! How are you this evening? MamaK: um, fine thanks. Perky Dude: Have you been happy with the service you get from your police and fire fighters? MamaK: Sure, I guess so. Perky Dude: Great! We'll be sending a pledge card to you to support your local police and fire fighters! Can I put you down for $50 or would you like to give another amount? MamaK: I really can't give anything right now... Perky Dude: Many of our local officers are killed in the line of duty each year. Don't you want the widows and orphans of our fallen comrades to be cared for? Don't you feel as though you should support the men and women who protect your community and keep you safe? [Isn't that part of why I pay taxes? For public services like the county police and fire departments? Do these police officers and firefighters not have life insurance?] MamaK: Yes. And the police officers in my own family know that I am supportive of the people who protect and serve. They also told me not to give you money that is probably going toward union dues. good-bye.[click] (OK, maybe that was rude. But it's also true.) _____________________________________________________________________________________ [one ringy, dingy] Call center person: Hello, is Hubby'sFullFirstName available? MamaK: No, he's not. Call center person: Is this his wife? MamaK: It is. Call center person: Wonderful, perhaps you can help me. [blah, blah, long winded explanation of the cancer charity that is not the National Cancer Society, and how they think it is important for cancer patients who do not have insurance to be able to get their medical treatment.] MamaK: I'm sorry, we're not in a position to donate anything at this time. Call center person: Oh, you don't have to give me an amount now, we will send you a postcard in the next few weeks for you to send in your donation. What amount works for you? MamaK: We're not in a position to be committing to a contribution right now. Call center person: [Heavy sigh] Well. Thanks. Have a nice evening. _____________________________________________________________________________________ So, basically, because I get my feelings hurt, all the good causes can just suck it. Follow up- OK, I want to point out that it is a complete coincidence that Rude Cactus posted this account of people being obnoxious in the name of charity on the same day I decided to complain about it.

Sometimes, parenthood sucks

Do you know what one of the worst sounds in the world is? The exhausted, agonized screams of a three-year-old with an ear infection. I had to listen to those screams for the entire evening commute last night, because the homeopathic ear drops that might have eased the suffering were at my house, not my mom's, and the pain didn't start until mid-afternoon. The drops kept the pain under control for most of the night. I heard Lil Joe cry out a number of times, but he never woke all the way up (unlike his mama, who stayed awake on hyperalert at the slightest squeak from the angelbaby.) I would subject myself to all sorts of abuse if it meant that my children never had to have ear infections. Fill my cavities with no novocaine, set my hair on fire, anything- if it would save my kids from the searing pain that feels as though it's splitting their brain open, I'd do it in a heartbeat. Any sickness is bad, but I think ear infections are the worst possible scourge to be infliced upon pediatrics. Thankfully, I was able to get an appointment within an hour of the pediatrician's office opening, and we've filled the scrips for the oral and topical antibiotics (the tugging and poking he did at his ear to try to alleviate the pain opened the skin and caused a bit of a scab.) Seriously.

A love that is not to be spoken...

I didn't expect to see you today. I thought you were gone, and that I would have to wait in anticipation of your next visit. I try to be nonchalant about your unexpected presence, since so many people wouldn't understand what you mean to me. My husband, for one, would not be happy if he knew how often I seek you out when you are here. So, I do not talk about you, and I hide the evidence of our interludes. I don't admit to anyone the way my heart quickens with you, and how you warm me up from the inside out. I know our time is fleeting, and I am briefly giddy at that extra stolen moment. And I will wait for the time when you return to me. Oh, limited edition pumpkin spice latte, I wish I knew how to quit you.

I would have been ahead of my time

I went to the library near my office today to apply for a library card (I am not a resident of the county in which I work, although I used to be.) The clerk at the desk asked whether I had ever had a card from this county. "I used to," I replied, "but it's been a very long time." "How long ago?" he asked. "Um...before I was married, so at least eleven years." Upon further thought, I realized it was even longer, more like 20 years. The guy checked the system under my maiden name, and did not find me in the system. Since I was not in the computer, he entered my information and began my process. "What was your PIN?" the clerk asked. "Excuse me?" I responded. "What PIN did you have in the system when you had a card before?" he said, with some exasperation. Yeah, I had an online personal identification number for an electronic library system in the mid-80's. You know, before any of us knew what the Internet was.

Ho ho ho hum

Halloween is over, so that means one thing. It's time to be hit over the head with Christmas preparation. My parents, like many parents, have become hard to shop for. They rarely have any big gift ideas, if they want something, they tend to get it for themselves instead of asking their kids to do so. They aren't even buying gifts for each other, they're just buying themselves what they want and calling it Christmas. So, Merry Christmas, Mom and Dad, you're getting the new flat-top stove you want (but haven't had time to really shop for, and since the ones Nic and I have are part of the reason you started wanting one, we'll get it for you.) My mother called me yesterday while I was at the grocery store. She wanted to know if the kids had lists, what sizes they wear currently so she could buy them some clothes, if there were any books or games I thought would make them especially happy. Needless to say, I haven't had time to compile Christmas lists for everyone, so we're having to wing it for now. The "gold, frankinsince and myrrh" idea (if Jesus only got three gifts, then three should be plenty for my kids) sounds really good right now. The reduced cost, shopping time and wrapping are as appealing as the lesson that we don't need a ton of stuff to have a happy holiday. We are hosting Christmas dinner for my side of the family. Last night, Hubby and I began discussing menu. In past years we've done lasagna, ham, pork roast, cornish game hens. "We should do something really nice this year," Hubby says to me. "We've always kept it simple before." Simple? I guess he sees it that way, since he wasn't the one with his hand up in the body cavity of a small fowl. We did come to a conclusion about our own gifts for each other, though. Every year Hubby asks me what I want, and jokes that he's not getting me anything since I won't give him any ideas (since, you know, being married to me for eleven years shouldn't give him any insight to appropriate gifts if there is not a specific something that I have my heart set on.) This year, I'm getting new engine parts (thanks to the $1400 bill from my mechanic last week) and he's getting new brakes (since, apparently, 24000 miles is all that our pads can handle. Our "cheap" car may be more expensive than I thought.) Merry bleeping Christmas.

Retirement reflections

One of my former bosses retired yesterday. (Well, he sort of retired. He'll be doing consulting work, which means he's not really gone, but now anytime the company asks him to do anything, he can decide to say "no".) Because he was with the company for over 28 years, this was cause for a fair amount of recognition. Dr. F was a respected scientist and public health advocate, not only in our company but with groups we work with. He came here from Romania in the 70's, bringing his young family along and starting a new life. The turnout at the retirement celebration yesterday was huge, including some surprise guests (including former co-workers and all five of Dr. F's grandchildren). Dr. F was my boss for less than two years, but I still worked closely with him for another four, since my leaving his department was only so I could work directly for his boss. As is his nature, Boss decided to pass the microphone to solicit stories and parting messages for Dr. F. Most of the words spoke of Dr. F's mentoring or his contributions to public health programs or other scientific accomplishments. Before I knew it, Boss had handed the mic to me, and I had no grand speech to offer. Instead, I recounted a memory that I only hoped was appropriate for the occaision. As Dr. F's secretary, I was often called upon to help him with many aspects of his computer. He couldn't always open attachments properly, and didn't know the features of many of our software applications. He preferred his paper agenda to the electronic calendar we use company-wide. One day I was passing Dr. F's office and he flagged me down. "Karen," he said with a bit of indignation in his voice, "I need you to look at something on my computer." I entered his office expecting to deal with an attachment to his email, or a template that needed to be filled out in Word or Excel. Instead, the screen was filled with an electronic photo of an adorable two-month old baby dressed as a pepper for Halloween. His voice was a mixture of fury and pride as he exclaimed, "Look at what they did to my granddaughter!" As the party came to a close, some of my co-workers approached to tell me that the story I told, unlike the ones that others shared about the brilliant scientist he was, provided a perfect example of the calibar of man he was.

The post of no posts

Post 1: involves some possible changes to the scope of my job (except, not really, because it's more like the actual job stays exactly the same but how people interact with me will change somewhat.) Except it's not a done deal, and if the outcome of some related job changes don't pan out the way we all envision, we're going right back to the way things are on paper. So, no post. Post 2: involves how we can stop Hoss from being so Jekyll and Hyde. Except we have no idea yet, and are in pretty much the same holding pattern we have been in for a couple months. so, no post. Post 3: relates to a scathing email I got from someone. Except it's related to an activity that at least one of my readers is familiar with, so it would be out of line for me to talk about the email and my reaction to it. So, no post. so, um, Happy Friday, y'all. Maybe I'll have something that I can talk about by the end of the day.

Back among the living

Still sick. But improving. I ventured out into real life today, taking Hoss for psych testing to determine whether he really is an explosive child, or whether he's just a typical five-year-old boy. I went back to work, since I'm no longer contagious (although my throat is still on fire and one of my glands is so swollen it is actually painful to hold my phone propped against my shoulder). And I am ready to go to bed now, even though it's not even my kids' bedtime yet. I committed to blogging every day. I didn't commit to having material worth reading.

Ugh

Very sore throat. Muscle aches. Low grade fever. A note from the school office regarding strep throat going around. Yep, I've got myself the makin's. I'm going to go crawl back to my deathsofa and wait for the antibiotics to kick in.

She's totally a bad influence. As am I.

So, Nic babysat my kids on Saturday. And, following a long standing tradition of lazy moms nationwide, I left her some cash and the take menu from the local pizza place. Hoss only ate one piece of his pizza before going to bed (there was a saga involved with dinner's arrival that I'm not even going to try to document), so Nic stuck the leftovers in the fridge. Sunday morning, I woke to hear Hoss in a heated discussion with his father. "But Aunt Nic said I could have my leftover pizza today!" "Not for breakfast," Hubby retorted. "You can have a granola bar or some cereal or some toast..." "But I want my pizza!" he insisted. "Why can't I have my pizza for breakfast?" Hubby came into our room, rolling his eyes. "What is your sister teaching them?!" he asked me. "Don't worry," I told him, "I'll smooth things over." As soon as Hubby left for church, I sat down with Hoss to discuss the breakfast situation. He ate an organic toaster pastry as I explained his father's stand on what to eat early in the day and what to save for later. He seemed satisfied with my explanation, and didn't ask for any more pizza. What he didn't realize was that the problem with the situation was not that he asked for pizza at 7:00 a.m., but that he asked the wrong parent. When will my children learn that Mommy's food rules are much more open than Daddy's, and it's OK to keep what we eat a secret when he's not around?!

There are some gnarled limbs on this family tree

My grandmother turned 84 over the weekend, and we had a party at my aunt and uncle's house. My mom is the oldest of five children, all of whom have at least two children of their own, so there's a pretty decent number of relatives. When I was growing up, we had a family party every month or two to celebrate the various children's birthdays or gather when an out of town relative was in town. As time went on, and the grandchildren grew up and started families of our own, the parties became less frequent, and many of the cousins need crib notes to identify each other ("OK, I know that one is one of Jeff's daughters, but I always forget which one is which...") Memories were dredged up, sometimes with background added for people who joined the family after the stories had originally taken place. Some of these events were things I had only heard about, others were part of my memory as well (although seen through a very different filter). The story of the renovation of my parents' basement, including the installation of a powder room, came up. My uncle Ned was the unlucky main character in that scene, complete with cut pipe and a child who had not been told not to flush the upstairs toilet. "Karen stuck up for me, though," Ned told the group. "She was sitting on the stairs saying to her dad, 'I don't think that's very funny at all' while the rest of these idiots were falling over in hysterics." "I didn't think it was very funny," I replied. As the family began to rib me about not having a sense of humor, I clarified. "I was six years old and he's my godfather! At the time, I didn't think it was funny. Now, on the other hand, I think it's a riot."

the post in which I try to pretend I'm hip and/or classy (and probably fail miserably)

Being the middle-aged mother of three young children, I do not have many opporunities to eat in fancy restaurants with valet parking. Nor do I have many opportunities to mingle with members of the local indie-music scene. This weekend I did both! The singer in Hubby's band got married this weekend, and she asked Hubby's brass quintent to play at the wedding. As part of the wedding, we were invited to the rehearsal dinner. I've met the groom a number of times, but never really talked with him about his family (who was hosting the dinner), and when I asked Hubby about the groom's parents, he didn't have much information for me. "Well, they're local, and his dad works at a car dealership or something," he told me. "I heard the restaurant we're going to is pretty nice." So, being the web diva that I am, I decided to Google both the restaurant and the host. Mr. S does indeed "work at a car dealership." In fact, he is the Executive Vice President of said dealership, a very well respected Mercedes place in a wealthy area of the county. The rehearsal dinner was at a swanky Italian place near the dealership. We mingled a bit, and as one of the passing waiters handed me a nice glass of Cabernet, he very nicely directed all of us to our appropriate tables. Upon overhearing Hubby mention that I couldn't eat any of the appetizers becuase of my allergies (there was a shrimp cocktail and a calamari), said waiter slipped away to put together a little prosciutto plate. This waiter was very solicitous (not to mention pretty flirty, in that "stereotypically gay guy is over-the-top flirty with the women" kind of way) through the entire evening, which is his job but I decided to ignore that it was his job and pretend like I was actually getting special treatment. The pasta course was delicious, and the entree (I went for the filet mignon instead of the rockfish or chicken) was perfect and the tiramisu was to die for. And I made conversation and mingled and generally managed to have fun without spilling anything on myself or being a total dork. I even made a joke during the slide show prepared by the mom and brother of the groom that I was thankful that my family had not compiled photos of me through the years for my rehearsal dinner, given that I didn't need a restaurant full of folks to see me all chubby with bad hair. One of the other guests reacted in shock, saying there was no way I was either chubby or had bad hair. Obviously, she was drunk. Then the wedding- we had to be at the church an hour early so that Hubby could set up music stands, etc. and warm up before guests started arriving. One of the other guys from the band was an usher, so when he arrived he came over to talk to me and one of the other early-bird musician appendages. "This just seems so wierd..." he said, "You both look great!" "It's weird that we both look great?" I asked with a smirk (so witty! Or lame. You be the judge.) Anyway, we bantered, and I said I was going to wait until more people had arrived, then blend in with the crowd waiting to be ushed. The wedding was very nice, the guys played well (although Hubby was not happy with his performance. Damned perfectionist musicians), and the whole wedding party seemed very relaxed and happy, looking as though they were about to burst into laughter at any moment. There was some time to kill after the wedding was over, though, because the reception didn't start until 5:30. Hubby had to go back to work to oversee the marching band in the pre-football game parade (yesterday was the game against the school's biggest rival), so we headed to his office where he changed out of his tux and unlocked the equipment closet for anyone who arrived after he left to drop me back off at the historic mansion where the reception would be held. He drove me back to the reception site, but it was still a full hour before the party was scheduled to begin. Luckily for me, the bride and groom and their families was very happy to invite me to hang with them. The staff of the mansion led us to an upstairs conference room, where some wine and sodas were available, and returned to the rooms downstairs to finish setting up. The nieces and nephews of the wedding couple were taking turns at the head of the conference table shouting orders and hiring and firing people as the adults observed. By the time it was time to go back to start the reception, the ushers and I had be hired, fired, and hired again in a bidding war that brought us each a few billion dollars a day in pay (for doing no actual work), two jacuzzis each, and a gold plated helicopter to take us whereever we felt like going. Not a bad deal, I must say. Hubby missed the wandering hor d'oerves (including a plethora of mini quiches- I was so loving this reception), but arrived just in time for dinner. We were seated with a few of his bandmates and a couple members of other local bands, one of whom was also serving as the DJ. She had arranged for a CD compiled by the groom to be played while we ate, and when one of the songs from one of the guys at the table next to us started playing, she gave him the wireless mic so he could table hop through the reception lip-syncing. It was much more amusing in person that it seems on screen. After dinner, the dance floor was crowded and the wedding cake was chocolate, so it was an awesome reception. We stayed longer than we should have, probably, since my poor sister was stuck babysitting for us. It didn't take long after we arrived home for me to be dead asleep. Unfortunately, reality reared its ugly head this morning, and I was right back to being awakened by Lil Joe asking for milk while Hoss screamed about Princess pushing him off the couch and changing the channel, and I hauled myself out of bed and ran to the grocery in my ripped jeans and baggy sweatshirt before Hubby left for the stadium for his regular football game with his family. Oh, well, sooner or later I knew I had to go back to being the geeky-mom...

Another first!

A drunk post is a blogger's rite of passage. And now I'm passing! If the wandering waitrons at hte wedding reception keeping filling your wine glass before you've finished it, can you say that you only had one glass of wine? 'Cause I don't think I ever actually emptied a glass. I'll post more coherantly (did I spell that right? I am not such a good speller most of the time and my judgement is slightly empaired now anyway) tomorrow about the rehearsal dinner on FRiday and the wedding and how i crashed the wedding party because Hubby had to drop me off at the reception site an hour before the thing started so he could go back to work, and so I hung out with people who actually had a purpose at the wedding.

In other shocking news, the sky is blue

Hey, guess what? When mothers travel for business, sometimes we enjoy ourselves. Do I enjoy spending hours on a plane, or sitting in an airport when my plane is delayed? No, of course not. But I do like reading a book or doing my knitting without Lil Joe trying to pull things out of my hands so that I can pour him some milk. Do I miss Hubby and the kids when I am away? Absolutely. But I also enjoy having a bed to myself in which no one is fighting me for the covers, and I like being able to have someone else make the bed when I leave the room in the morning. I like being able to change into my pajamas and order room service and relax for a night when I know that the following day is going to be 14 straight hours of notetaking and setting up panel discussions and directing meeting attendees to their appropriate track sessions. Hubby has taken a lot of small trips (both work related and personal) over the years since Princess was born, ranging from an overnight excursion to a five-day trek. No one has ever asked him who was taking care of the kids, since it's a pretty simple assumption that I am. Yet, every time I've gone to a conference (three, if you're keeping score) someone brings the question up to me. Before I leave for my trips, I make sure the grocery shopping is done and I leave a list of reminders and tips stuck to the fridge ("Chicken casserole is in the freezer- thaw it overnight and cook for 20 minutes at 350*", "Thursday: ballet class- leotard and tights are in bag hanging on the closet doorknob") but I get to leave it in Hubby's hands beyond that. If I decide to get a massage at the hotel spa after my meetings are over, it's not an indication that I'm a lousy mom who wants to be away from her kids, it's an indication that I'm good enough at managing my time to recognize when I can take advantage of the amenties available to me. That seems like something that men who travel for business learned a long time ago.

Sports Night Thursday 13

I have mentioned in the past that I am a rabid fan of Sports Night. So, in honor of my repeated viewings of the entire series (thank God for DVD's!) here are thirteen of my favorite quotes/scenes from SN (in somewhat random order, not in order of preference or anything).

• Isaac: "Casey is on a date with Pixley? Could they be any more white?"
• Casey: "A jabby right hook. And he did it with his left hand." Chuck "Cutman" Kimmel: "This fighter's got remarkable skills. He's not to be trifled with."
• Dana: "Isaac had a stroke. And someone tried to blow up the building. We're not having our best week, are we?"
• Dan: "I gotta tell you, at this point the length of this conversation is way out of proportion to my interest in it." I find many, many opportunties to use this line myself.
• Jeremy (regarding a hunting segment): "What we did wasn't food and it wasn't shelter and it sure as hell wasn't sports." This whole speech was good, but this line just summed it up.
• Isaac: "Because I love you, Danny, I can say this. No rich, young white guy has ever gotten anywhere with me comparing himself to Rosa Parks."
• Dan: "You got married at 23 to a woman you met at 19!" Casey: "I know, I was there."
• Sam Donovan: "Don't assume that just because I'm looking at you when are talking that I'm paying any attention to what you are saying."
• Calvin Trager: "Anyone who can't make money off of Sports Night needs to get out of the money making business."
• Dan: "I've got the intellectual property cops up my butt."
• Casey: "Gordon, you're wearing my shirt." The line is good because it's a perfect underlining of the scene itself, when Casey realizes that Gordon cheated on Dana. It's so much more subtle than an outright accusation, but both the characters and the viewers know exactly what it all means.
• Dan (in response to Casey asking how he can be cool again): "First I have to disabuse you of the notion that you were cool in the first place.
• Dana: "I have seen enough to know that I have seen enough! And now I want something good to happen. I want just one good thing to happen before the day is over and I will be the judge of what is good! One. good. thing before the day is over, that is all I ask!" And then you hear Isaac's voice off-screen, and you see him with his cane, moving all slowly because he just got released from the hospital that day and he has a lot of recovery still ahead of him because of the stroke, and the scene is all that much more poignant because it's the first episode that Robert Guillame was able to film after his real-life stroke, and...excuse me, I need to get a tissue.

Bring some cheese, I've got plenty of whine

So, I decided that I was going to try to post more often and I took advantage of NaBloPoMo (National Blog Posting Month). And then November started off in the middle of a crappy week. A week that began with Lil Joe puking all over the floor first thing Sunday morning. And Hubby being off on the golf course for longer than planned, so I had pukey-boy and his bickering siblings by myself for an extra hour or so, delaying my trip to the grocery store. (But my being trapped in the house was no big deal, since I didn't want to drive the minivan once the "check engine" light came on on Saturday evening.) A week that continued with me getting a call at work on Monday telling me that Hoss had thrown up during gym class. After which he felt fine, so I spent the rest of the day trying to make him understand why he wasn't allowed to be at school or eat whatever he wanted. And I got another call on Tuesday telling me that Hoss had a meltdown during class, hitting and kicking and trying to bite, so he needed to be removed. So, instead of leaving work at lunchtime to go watch the Halloween parade and help out in the kindergarten classroom for the party, I stayed at work while my mom picked Hoss up and I took the boys home. I thought about making my post a picture of Princess and Hoss in their costumes from last night, but started getting nervous about posting a picture of my children in light of recently debated kerfuluffles in the mommy-blogging world. I am just not in a place right now to have a thick skin if someone decided to make fun of how my kids looked in their costumes. Or if someone look the pictures for something worse. But, by tonight I may have changed my mind and posted the photo, since I took the time to make the damned costumes and therefore I ought to show them off. You know I waffle like that. I thought about posting about all of the projects I am working on for my booth at the Christmas thing at the kids' school. But those of you that give a hoot about what is on my needles are probably reading my other blog. So, my auspcious beginning to my daily posting attempts is...a post about how I don't have a decent post. Let's hope I can shake this off soon, or I will alienate the few readers I have instead of attracting any new ones.

You would think...

You would think that a committee of only three people should be able to find an hour during the week of December 18 during which everyone was available for a conference call. You would think that a caterer coming to a 400 person company would have made note of who asked him to show up "right away" with a new urn of coffee, as opposed to having to grab a random employee in the kitchen to figure out which conference room needed it. You would think that having an in-box with a label that says "IN BOX" as the first thing visible when entering a cubicle would mean that mail was not left piled on my chair. You would think that someone who made a big point of needing completed drafts of documents by a certain time on Friday would be in the office to read them on Friday, or would at least open her e-mail before Sunday night. You would think that a grown man whose radio is set to start playing the all news station when he wakes up would have an idea what the weather was going to be like instead of asking his wife while she is trying to get lunch made. And you would think that he would also have an idea that the field trip to the farm would require jean and boots, regardless of whether the specific activities of the day included anything more than just a tromp through the pumpkin patch, without needing input from the wife. You would think these things, but you would be wrong.

My name is Roseanne Rosannadanna

My mobile phone is sitting on the kitchen counter, where I dropped it when I came home from the grocery last night. Since I am not at my home, it's not of much use to me right now. I got scheduled for a last minute conference call which ends 30 minutes after I typically leave work for the day. I forgot to verify that the sleeves on my blouse are loose enough to roll up far enough for a flu shot. They aren't. Luckily, only about half a dozen people had to be cleared from the room long enough for me to partially disrobe and expose my upper arm. The school nurse just called to let me know that Hoss fell in gym class and hit his head. He's doing OK neurologically (BTW, that is not a phrase one likes to have to hear. I mean, it's better than "He's not OK neurologically" but still...) but he's got a big lump on his head and needs to be observed. Honestly, it's always somthin'.

Still preoccupied with 19-19-1985

I went to Hubby's high school reunion with weekend. He went to a private, all boys school with a graduating class of around 300 guys. The 20 year reunion is the first one where the grads bring dates, so this was the first reunion I attended with him. Many of Hubby's high school friends stayed in his close circle of friends for awhile, but have now fallen into "acquaintance" status (Christmas cards are exchanged, maybe they bump into each other at the football game, but no other contact.) None of the guys we were so close to when we got married were at the reunion, so I spent most of the evening doing the "Nice to meet you!" gig. The invitation for the reunion boasted at 80's band including alumni from Class of '86, which I suspected meant "Kenny on sax." Kenny plays with the alumni jazz band with Hubby, and also sometimes calls on Hubby to sub with his swing band. Also at the reunion were Mark, who became a Christian brother and is now working as Hubby's music department assistant, and Rick, who was ordained as a priest not long after Hubby and I got married. Other than that, I knew nobody. The band was pretty good, and I was having a lot of fun but no one- seriously, not a single person- was dancing. Mark and Rick and I kept "woo hoo"ing after each song, getting a couple shout-outs from the band, but I couldn't convince anyone to come on the dance floor with me. I finally convinced Rick to dance at the end of the night. Me and the priest, having a good old time singing along with the band. So, to sum up, just like in high school, I was the geeky girl at the back of the gym who couldn't find anyone to dance with until someone totally unattainable took pity on me and danced along.

I like to refer to it as "networking"

After my third straight day of meetings last week, after I felt as though my fingers were ready to fall off from the notetaking, I gathered with some of my colleagues at the hotel bar. As the evening progressed, the group grew. A new VP sat across from me, and since the hour was a bit late, all talk of the conference and the exhibitors had been exhausted. Conversation at that point was more geared toward things outside of the office. During a discussion of homebrewing supplies (or maybe the discussion of bike trails, or the discussion of what drink it is that is a mixture of peach juice and champagne) the VP and I realized that we live about ten minutes away from each other. Wow, what a small world. And also, we realized that we both eat the same kind of energy bar. Imagine my surprise when I saw VP in the hallway a few minutes ago, and he stopped me. "I was looking for you!" he said. "You saved me ten minutes on my commute this morning, because I tried one of the routes you mentioned when we were talking." And he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a Nutz Over Chocolate Luna Bar. See, even when I'm blowing off steam and kicking back, I am helping out upper management.

I'll be updating my resume now, thanks

After almost six straight hours of meetings, I met the Board in the hotel lobby to go to dinner. You know how when you go to a Mexican restaurant and everyone says it's your birthday they bring out the big sombrero and sing to you? Well, at this place, it's not a sombrero, it's more like a Loyal Order of the Water Buffalo hat, and it doesn't have to be your birthday, you could just be the CEO/Grand Poobah.

I may be a dork, but I'm a validated dork now

I am posting this from the staff office at the hotel in Denver where my conference is taking place. It's currently a smidge before 7:00 a.m. local time, and since the meetings don't get underway until noon, I'm the only one dumb enough to be up and about yet. There will be many days of wake up calls and early room set-ups, so everyone else is taking advantage of the time to sleep in. This is my first meeting without my boss, Beth, as a safety net, so I was freaking out a bit about it before I left town yesterday. Anything that goes wrong is on my head this time. On the other hand, anything that goes right shows everyone that I am competant at my job, not just an employee who is managed well. My friend Lee is the assistant to our CEO, and she is on the trip this time to help me out with the running around and small stuff that comes up during the course of the week. She shared a cab from the airport with the Big Boss yesterday, and they made small talk about the conference, and Beth's absence, and how things were flowing. Lee said that she felt as though everything was running quite well even though my boss was gone, and BigBoss shocked the hell out of us and agreed with her. BigBoss thinks that Beth walks on water, so he has been known, all too often, to credit her with the success of those of us that work for her. Good work from people is often to the credit of a good manager, but BigBoss tends to only see the people right in front of him, so his direct reports get the praise (and in all fairness, they also get the brunt of his displeasure when employees below them don't measure up.) It seems that, unsolicited, BigBoss told Lee that he was very pleased with my meeting preparation- that the briefing materials were wonderful. I have to confess that when Lee relayed this compliment to me, I literally jumped up and down in a little happy dance in the hotel lobby. Now I just need to move beyond "pat on the head" and on to "fancy title and more money."

All our life's a circle

So, we are back on the roller coaster. I went to a family wedding this weekend. We hiked with the groom as some of his friends on Saturday morning, and the wedding on Saturday night was a beautiful ceremnoy under a canopy in the woods next to a waterfall. The reception at the Museum of Civilization lasted until the wee hours of the morning. Sunday consisted of more sightseeing, sampling of the local cuisine (specifically, Tim Horton's coffee and poutine-not at the same time, of course) and visits with family. Coming back yesterday, I faced last minute preparations for next week's Board meeting, and an early afternoon conference with school officials (teacher, aftercare director, school counselor and principal) to discus Hoss' meltdowns, defiance and inappropriate socialization. Surprisingly, I made it though almost the whole conference before needing a tissue. The school staff admired by ability to hold the tears back for as long as I did. Last night was also Back to School Night, so I has to rush out the door to go back to the school as soon as Hubby returned from his doctor appointment. I came home to a broken sink (the replacement part for which was not available at Home Depot) and a call from one of my credit cards saying they had not received the $2,023 payment I scheduled online last week to pay off the account in full, and I was therefore about to be reported to the credit bureau. I managed to do a masterful job of rearranging the schedule tomorrow to create a space for a conference call without have to create any conflicts for any of the senior mangagement level staff necessary. It was like one of those tile puzzles, where you slide everything around until you manipulate it into the right place. Then I got an email from one of the assistants telling me that she was really impressed with how smoothly I have run the meeting preparations on my own, even noting that it seemed that I have done a better job without my boss around! I got an email from the school with the sad news that the 15 month old niece of our assistant principal died in her sleep. Which, I have to say, make all of my downs seem quite minor. It's turning out to be a hell of a ride.

Pass the Torch Tuesday

I am not always proud of how I handle death. I can get very self-centered, finding reminders of my loss at every turn. That's to be expected, to an extent, but I often wish I could be stronger, and provide better support to people who have more of a reason to fall apart than I do. During my final year of teaching, the year that showed me that teaching was not my calling, I had a student with cystic fibrosis. By the time she reached sixth grade, the disease had progressed to the point that it was very clear that she was living on borrowed time. Michelle was a frail child, but during the limited time that she was well enough to attend school, she was the heart of her class. This was a parochial school with one class at each grade level, so most of these students had been together since kindergarten. The year I taught them was my first year at this particular school, so the sounds of Michelle's barking cough were not as familiar to me as they were to her classmates. My heart broke a little every time I thought of how helpless I was to relieve her pain and struggles for air. In previous years, before her lungs were so full of mucous and her weight began to drop so much, Michelle had participated in all of the events the other kids did- her smile lit up the pictures of the softball games, Christmas plays and field trips. The year she was my student, she fought and fought to regain enough strength to be allowed to come to school for our Christmas program. The doctor gave her clearance, but it was only for one day, a Friday. The following Monday, she was back in bed. She never returned to class. Michelle was too weak to open her Christmas presents. She returned to Children's Hospital on December 26. She slipped away during Christmas break, and her funeral was scheduled for the day we returned to school in January. At the funeral home, her casket was surrounded by pictures of Michelle in happier and healthier times. The room where she was laid out was crowded, and although the students I saw were sad and reserved, I saw few tears. "Shelly made the most of when she was around," they told me, "and now at least we know she doesn't have to fight to breathe." The faculty and staff were on guard for any signs that the students needed help to deal with their loss. But, it seems that they had already gotten help- as she prepared herself for the end of her very short life, Michelle was also preparing her classmates. And I cannot express how proud I was of the maturity and dignity that this group of middle school students showed as they witnessed all too closely the circle of life.

5 years ago

I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge what happened on September 11, 2001. But, I will let the majority of the reflection and recognition be provided by writers with significantly more talent than I have. Tomorrow I can go back to complaining about the traffic or laughing at something my children have said. Today, there are more substantial things to think about. 2,996 Martha's personal perspective Please take the time to read some or all of these tributes.

I'm like Sally Field now

Wow, August was a heck of a month! I started the month by resting and relaxing (allegedly), only to jump on the roller coaster of life again a week later. My musings on Hoss' reaction to his dad's surgery earned me a vote of Perfect Post. I don't think I've ever been "perfect" at anything, but it sure feels good to be recognized for reaching. I read a lot of blogs, mostly by people whose writing is, in my opinion, much better than my own is. I've been flattered by the comments, visits, and emails I've gotten indicating that people whose opinions I feel I can respect have respect for what I put on the screen each week. When I post about my feelings of inadequacy and craziness, I'm usually doing it to vent. So it is still a surprise when I get an email from a pediatrician who reads my blog (the fact that he's a doctor has nothing to do with him reading, but that's not the point) praising me for my courage in articulating how out of control I felt. So anyway, thanks, y'all. You like me! You really like me!

Stat surfing

I was checking my Site Meter stats today, and I have to tell you that I am amazed by how many people are searching for the lyrics to the Veggie Tales song "The Eight Polish Foods of Christmas." I am the eighth hit on the google search "veggie tales the 8 polish food lyrics", but the first for "the eight polish foods of christmas lyrics". I am the fifth hit if you search on "eight polish dishes," because you have to get past the legitimate recipe sites. The latest search was yesterday. So, since searching for Polish foods leads folks to my site, I should start padding my entries. I may have to conduct a conference call tomorrow(kielbasa!) from my car before I take Hoss to kindergarten orientation (chruschiki!) Wouldn't you know that (gwumpkies!)the one day I have a school-related thing for the kids (golabki!), I also have a time sensitive work thing. In closing, I just want to say (makowiec) poppies, poppies, poppies! Tzarlotka update: I do not need to (pierogies)take notes in the (kopytka)call tomorrow. Yeah! (Piernik!)

Growing older, growing up

Princess and I were in the car, her first day of third grade over and done with. We had covered the basic information- the teacher seemed nice, despite Princess' fears to the contrary; there is a new girl in class, and she sits right next to Princess; her friend Julia is in the row behind; gym class is on Thursday; this year she gets a kindergarten buddy. Because there was no homework on the first day, Princess had the rest of the evening free. We talked about some game she is learning to play, mostly ones that have been in storage in my mom's basement since I was a child. Princess is old enough now to play Uno, Go Fish, Monopoly. And last week, Gramma taught her to play Clue. We need to buy a new game, though, because the version at my parents' house is missing some of the suspects and weapons, and I suspect that the cards have seen better days. "The one at Gramma's house was old even when I played it!" I said. "When did you play it, Mommy?" Princess asked. "When I was your age, or maybe a little older," I told her. "Wow," she exclaimed, "then it's really old!" Not exactly what I wanted to hear, as I faced an impending birthday (one of the dreaded ones that pushes me to the latter end of a decade) and the need to color the grey hairs that were peeking through. But she made me feel a bit better today. I'm growing older, and so are my children, whether I like it or not. But instead of regretting how I've passed into what some consider "middle age" I am working to appreciate how the passage of time has turned my baby girl into a person with whom I can joke and play board games, who can help me bake cookies instead of just sticking her fingers in the dough, who can choose what toys to donate to the charity campaign. And I can be proud to watch her grow up.

Back to the moping and the sad

I got an email from Harry and David, my go-to site for gift baskets and such. Although I do not need anything right now, the message sparked my memory about how we decided that those Fruit of the Month deals would be good gifts for the elder generation ("we" meaning I suggested, Nic agreed, and we informed by brother that we were implementing the idea). I ordered one for my great-aunt and one for my grandmother. Mimi's cancer treatments were making her lose weight so a gift of food might be good. Nanna wasn't watching her diet as she should and the doctor wanted her to lose some weight, so fresh fruit (good fresh fruit, I might add- have you ever gotten a H&D basket? they are awesome!) would be beneficial. The following year, long about Halloween, I got a mailing from Harry and David with a list of people to whom I sent gifts the previous Christmas. I had the option to check off each recipient and send them the same deal with a greeting. Nic and I were happy that our shopping was done so quickly, the relatives were happy because, seriously- this fruit is good. One of the health care workers told me how excited Mimi got everytime the package was delivered, and how she loved to share each month's selections. I called Harry and David to try to remove Mimi's name from my gift list, and I explained my reason. The problem is, the only way the customer service representative can't just remove the listing on a gift list unless I am placing a new gift order- the computer won't give her that option. So much for avoiding the awkward reminder come holiday time...

Somebody call CPS!

To any of you in the mid-Atlantic area who felt that sonic boom at about 6:00 a.m., I apologize. Those agonizing screams cut through the air, paralyzing everyone for miles and miles! Lil Joe wailed and wailed, barely catching his breath long enough to bellow my name "Maaaaahm-meeee! NOOOO, dat's not riiiiight!" What exactly did I do to cause such torment? I put his blue shorts on him. I had first tried to put the tan shorts on, and he pushed them away vehemently and repeatedly. I gave him a choice between the two pairs of shorts, and he threw himself on the bed and refused to look at me. He batted away the blue shorts, but threw the tan, they offended him so. As we were already running late, I exercised my parental prerogative and and wrestled him into the blue shorts. And then Hubby and I witnessed a meltdown the likes of which has not been seen since the Three Mile Island incident. Lil Joe was so furious with me he was barely coherant. So Hubby took over the clothing duty. And what ultimately calmed the savage beast? The tan shorts.

Enough with the depression and mourning and worry!

Gah! I need to be funny and entertaining again! (although to be funny and entertaining again, I would have had to be funny and entertaining before. OK, strike the "again.") Submitted for your approval- Mama, I in e'evator! Lil Joe loves this blue laundry basket. He tilts it up on its side and repeatedly tells us that it is an elevator. (He loves elevators, especially the part when he gets to push buttons.) Why he thinks the basket is an elevator is beyond me. He doesn't turn the white laundry basket into his elevator. He doesn't turn boxes into elevators. But this basket, this is his elevator. He was playing with his basket on Saturday, happy as can be. "Oh, are you having fun in your elevator, Lil Joe?" I asked. "Siwwy Mommy!" he replied, "Is not a e'evator, is jus' a waundry basket!"

I am not alone. Yet, somehow, I wish I were

It's been almost a year and a half since I admitted that I needed help. That my lapses in concentration, my worry over seemingly small things, my lack of motivation were not OK. I've seen a fair number of posts lately about post-partum (and post-post-partum) depression. And, sadly, so many of these women are feeling or have felt the same thing I did. Every one of us was staying quiet because of the way we judged ourselves as bad mothers, or just plain bad people because of the dark and ugly thoughts that some imbalance of chemicals pushed through our minds. Dawn took four years to get help. I felt a familiarity, as though she was in my head, when I read her list of everyone she couldn't talk to, and the reasons why. I did that same bargaining with myself- As soon as my cold goes away, I'll be fine. If I don't bounce back in X timeframe; no, make that Y timeframe; no, now's not a good time to get into this, and I'm just under some stress now... And don't even get me started at how hard I cried inside when I read Meghan's story. I remember walking Princess in her stroller in those first weeks of life. I tried to walk her every day, to get myself out of the house, to get her some fresh air, to attempt to lose the baby weight. We had a path near our house that looped through the neighborhood and around the local middle school. One section of the path sloped down toward the small shopping center with the grocery store, CVS, skating rink, etc. I can almost feel the tension in my knuckles now from the grip I held on that stroller handle, so convinced that I was about to let go and allow my infant to speed down the hill into the street. I didn't feel as isolated when Hoss was born, because I had the additional outlet of my online friends. The ladies on the message board were in the same boat I was, since all of our babies were born within a month or so of each other. I talked everyone else through their nursing troubles and colic and "failure to thrive". Hoss was healthy. He slept. So why the hell did I feel so empty about him? God knows I couldn't type how ambivelent I felt- I was blessed, and it was ignorant and selfish of me to talk about my health, happy baby with anything other than kind words. So, I kept it to myself. But Lil Joe set me over the edge. I nursed him, which I had not done with the first two. It wasn't easy. He didn't gain weight as he should have at first, which I saw as totally my fault, since I was obviously starving him. He was the baby I hadn't planned for, so every bump in the road made me angry and resentful. And the guilt I had at looking at that perfect little face, and feeling so evil ate at me. There were even times when I was alone in the house with him and I hid from his cries. His diaper was dry, he had just eaten, so I left him in his bassinet or his bouncy seat and I went to a room where I couldn't hear him and I cried. When I returned to work, I thought I'd be OK. I thought that getting back into my routine would help, that being useful (since I felt pretty useless as a parent) would perk me up, something. Instead, I dropped the ball at work to the point that my boss worried about me, in a way that had my addled mind convinced I was about to be fired. And I couldn't seem to shake my fog, but I kept making excuses. I continued to make excuses for a couple years, until I admitted that I needed help. What is sad and perhaps a bit scary is that so many of our stories, all of us who are clawing our way back to normal and those who have been in the darkness and found their way back out, are the same. So, if a few people, even just one person, can read these posts and realize that she needs help- and more importantly, if she actually gets help before she sinks deeper into the muck- then putting ourselves out there is worth the shame of admitting what we didn't want to admit.

Passing the Torch

In honor of Hoss' show of wonderfulness toward his father., I've entered this weekend's post in Pass the Torch Tuesday. It's all too easy to complain about our kids, and I am trying hard not to do so, because the more I recognize what good people they really are, the better people they will continue to be.

Post operative post

Twenty-two years, 24 days ago a nineteen year old guy did something that none of us should ever be in a position to have to do. His fifteen year old brother, pale and wan and weighing all of 55 pounds, had been on dialysis for months after the removal of his diseased kidneys. The kidney he donated lasted a good long time, considering how many diseases ravaged my brother-in-law's body because the anti-rejection drugs made his immune system incapable of fighting them off. He lost in finger in 1994 to a strain of TB that probably would have shown almost no symptoms in the rest of us. But this post isn't about either of my brothers-in-law. Six days, twelve hours ago, my husband was being wheeled into surgery to begin the process of rerouting everything connected to his left kidney so it could be taken out. The surgery went as it should, and the kidney started working right away when it found its new home next to the one that been transplanted all those years ago. Hubby and BIL have both come home from the hospital and are on their way to recovery. But this post isn't really about my husband, either. It makes me sad when children have to learn about hospitals and intensive care units and major surgery before their ages reach double digits. I saw more crib-gurneys pass through the hallways outside of the GOR waiting room last Monday than I ever want to see. I saw children with IV poles next to their strollers. And it made me so very thankful that everything that has hit my children has been controlled with ibuprofen, cold compresses, and an occasional nebulizer treatment. But the thing that choked me up the most about the pediatric view of the past week was seeing Hoss, run to his father but stop short. "Can I hug you, Daddy?" he asked. "A hug around the neck would be great," Hubby replied. So Hoss advanced, and threw his arms around his dad, and said, in that serious voice he sometimes gets, "I promise I'll be gentle. You've got some BIG boo-boos." And then he sat on the floor next to his father's chair and listened attentively as his father answered every question he could come up with about the organs pictured on Daddy's t-shirt, and what they did, and where they were located in his body. "And now Uncle B has your extra kidney, right?" Hoss asked, "And you made him all better? That was nice of you. You're a good daddy." All I can say is that he's a good Hoss.

The best metaphor I've read in ages

From a TWoP recap. "...I'm about as punchy as a ten-year-old at an eight-year-old brother convention..."

Whole or skim in that latte?

I'm PMSing, I massively overslept, my son got sick as we were about to leave the house, Hubby and BIL had their last pre-op consultation yesterday, and I am helping to plan a funeral. Whole milk, and whipped cream, please. A a rum muffin. Or twelve.

Epilogue

When I pulled up to my parents' house, neither my father's car nor my mother's was in the driveway. And as much as I love my sister, seeing her waiting for me on the front porch caused my stomach to clench. "I have bad news," she said. "I'm too late." It was a statement, not a question. So, Nic and I walked the dog, not knowing how long it would be before my parents would be home to take care of her. We grabbed the list of people from church who would need to be called. Nic drove to Mimi's apartment, and I talked in disjointed bits. I told myself that even if I had come first thing in the morning, it wouldn't have made much difference, that Mimi would not have realized I was there. I talked about Mimi's old car, which she named Gus, but that I couldn't remember what Gus was. "A Chevelle," Nic told me. And she relayed a story that Mimi had told her a few weeks ago, a day so many years ago in which she was showing the power that Gus had by racing with the man in the car next to her at the intersection. Mimi had a gift of gab, and told us so many stories over the years, of my grandfather and the rest of his siblings, of my dad and uncles as young boys (she used to tell me that my dad could be an "imp of Satan"), of her time as secretary to a bank president. We spent the next few hours at the apartment. The hospice worker came, disposed of the medicines, told us the next steps, offered bereavement services if we needed them. Representatives from the funeral home came, arranged some details with my father. A neighbor came by to tell us what a wonderful lady Mimi was, how friendly and open and funny she was. The home healthcare worker told me how Mimi was always so happy when her monthly fruit basket came, the baskets that Nic and Brian and I sent as part of her Christmas gift. We also laughed about "the look" that Mimi had. How she would tighten her jaw and shoot you a sideways glance that would wither you, should you be so foolish as to tick her off. My dad was the recipient of the look more often than not. And we talked about how she took care of everyone, and never wanted to have anyone worry about taking care of her. She was apologizing to the everyone, not wanting to be a burden. Mimi never married, so her nieces and nephews were like children to her. And she always did look out for everyone. I can't speak of how Mimi was before she retired, but the affection and respect that Mr. H had for her over the years gives me an idea of what she was like as a secretary, and how she took care of him (the care and feeding of executives can be tough). She was a strong lady, right up to the end. Nic found a family Bible. It had belonged to one of my other great-aunts, and after her death, Mimi had continued to record the dates of everyone's death. There was one line left. My father filled it in.

Prologue

The phone rang on Saturday evening, and when I answered, I heard my sister's voice. "Hey," she said, slightly hesitantly. "I need to let you know that Mimi is really fading." Mimi is our great-aunt, the youngest sister of my paternal grandfather. She's the last one left from that branch of the family. At eighty-eight, and no longer fighting against the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with a few years ago, the fact that the end was near was not a surprise to anyone. But I'd been managing to not make myself think about it. Mimi had called my parents' house on Friday night, in a lot of pain and somewhat disoriented. My mom went over, and contacted my sister, who got hold of my dad (he had turned off his cell phone while playing poker with his grammar school buddies). He spent the night at Mimi's, and at all times she had someone with her- my parents, my sister, a hospice worker. I asked Nic to call me later, or early on Sunday morning, to let me know the status. When she called, she told me that the literature from the hospice indicated that Mimi was firmly in the midst of the "one to two weeks" timeframe. "One to two weeks..." I said, feeling like a jerk for what was going through my head. "It's OK," she said. "Mom thinking about it, too." When my grandmother died in 1999, we had prepared ourselves for the end more times than I can count. Each mini-stroke, or trip to the hospital for one infection or another, every time her diabetes caused a complication to something that a stronger body would have bounced back from, I steeled myself for the loss. The last time I saw her, in her home, during a normal weekend visit instead of a crisis, she didn't know who I was. She looked at the blond haired toddler in her living room, and smiled. "Is that Andy's baby?" she asked. "No, Mom," my father answered her. He pointed to me. "This is my daughter, Karen. That's Karen's baby." She looked confused. She played a bit with Princess, but she never acknowledged me again. During the last hospital stay, I did not visit. My father said he understood, yet I somehow felt as though I'd failed him somehow. But I wanted the memories of my grandmother from my childhood, the sound of her whistling as she cooked dinner or relating the interactions she had with people as she volunteered at the hospital gift shop to be what was prominent in my mind. That was who I needed her to be. "I'll try to come see her tomorrow," I told my sister. "I don't know what time it will be, but I'll figure it out with Hubby." "You don't have to come," she told me. "Dad doesn't want you to feel like you need to do this." "I do need to do this. I didn't see her enough, didn't make enough effort to visit her and bring her pictures of the kids and all. I have to do this." And I said I would call before I left the house on Sunday, so everyone knew when I planned to arrive. And I prepared myself to say good-bye.

Thursday Thirteen

I got a mailing from Publishers Clearinghouse this week. Someone with the intials MK is a confirmed winner! So, MamaKaren, send in your winner form now!! It just might be you!!! And if you follow our script and say the inane line below, we'll give you an extra FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS!!!! So I give you...
Thirteen Things I'll do with the Big! Money! Jackpot!

1. Put an expansion on the house to... 2. expand the kitchen to a size that will allow two adults to move without bumping into each other, 3. create extra space in the basement for playrooms (one for the kids' toys, one for my yarn!) 4. and build another bathroom. One shower for five people? Not gonna work for too much longer... 5. Good-bye Payless, hello Ferragamo 6. Regular trips back to Monterey to restock our favorites from here and and here, and here, and especially here, since we can't get wine shipped to our house. 7. Hire a regular cleaning service. As God is my witness, I'll never scrub toilets again! 8. Splurge for the power doors, 6-disk CD player, flat folding rear seats and DVD player in the next minivan. (Hey, I still have to transport three kids, so a minivan makes sense!) 9. Princess wants to go to ballet camp? No problem! Hoss wants a baseball clinic? Go ahead! 10. Hey, Nic, is the blue Mustang OK, or do you want a silver one? 11. Orchestra, center, anything in the first 12 rows is fine 12. Happy hour. In Waikiki. 13. Oh, let's be real. I'd better save the whole thing to pay for 3 kids in college and two sets of aged parents.



Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
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Because I'm just that punchy

Jenny and Jenn, funny mamas that they are issued a challenge. A haiku smackdown! Five, seven, five to write your witty lines. You can comment here, or write some 'kus for your blog. Get your mind going.

Thursday Thirteen

OK, I'm at it again.

Thirteen Things That Freak Me Out 1…. I have to pay a preschool tuition bill (for the current school) and a kindergarten tuition bill (applied to next school year) at the same time. 2. Princess is now considered a "tween." Her crush on Zack from The Suite Life should have been a dead giveaway that she was growing up. 3. There are some really ginormous spiders right next to my front door. 4. My boss is leaving within the next month for maternity leave. 5. Right after my husband has surgery. Cut open and an organ sucked out of his midsection, y'all! 6. And then I turn 35. Which means I'm not in my early 30's anymore. 7. But first I have a performance review. I hate performance reviews. 8. There is a mole on my back that looks funny to me. 9. I've had funny looking moles before. 10. Unlike this one, they usually go back to normal looking in a week or so. 11. I have every risk factor for skin cancer that exists, including but not limited to: pale skin, at least one blistering sunburn during youth, a boatload of moles of varying sizes and colors. Oh, yeah, and my dad had skin cancer afew years ago. 12. I don't want my doctor to think I am hypochondriac. But I'm afraid of not doing anything about it and it getting worse and my doctor thinking that I'm an idiot for waiting for treatment. 13. Let's recap- performance review, a trip to the beach during which I will probably have to do a conference call despite being on a family vacation, Hubby has surgery, I am doing caregiver duty while boss is within nanoseconds of her due date, school starts, I'm getting old, I might have skin cancer, and I'm afraid of my doctor's opinion. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Cheeky 2. The Tempest 3. Trish 4. Kontan 5. Carmen 6. Christen 7. Knitting Maniac 8. Lil Duck

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here! The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted! View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Maybe he can sing his way through school

As we were watching the 4th of July celebration on PBS last night, Hoss got excited. "Look, Mommy!" he said, "It's the place where Bill is just a bill!" At first I was confused, then I realized that the camera had pulled back and the Capitol was visible. See, those Schoolhouse Rock videos are already doing their job.

Since I can't think of 100 things

...not 100 of any interest, anyway

Thirteen (totally random) Things aboutMamaKaren 1…. For someone who loves to talk, I am lousy at coming up with things to say about myself. 2. When I did not color my hair, everyone thought it was dyed. Now that I do color it, everyone assumes it is my natural color. 3. My favorite TV show is "Sports Night". I enjoy this show, some would say, to a psychotic extent. 4. I am afraid of falling. 5. This is not the same thing as being afraid of heights. I am totally fine on a 75th floor balcony, if it has a good railing to protect me, but become almost ill at being on a wobbly footstool. 6. I have low blood sugar. 7. This is a convenient excuse to eat frequently. 8. Because I eat almost constantly, my portions tend to be small. 9. I'm not very good at all-you-can-eat restaurants anymore. 10. Except breakfast buffets. I can probably eat twice my weight in breakfast food. 11. I am addicted to coffee and chocolate. 12. And shoe shopping. 13. I had to miss my uncle's wedding in 1991 because I was doing sound and light for a Worldwide Marriage Encounter conference. Links to other Thursday Thirteens! 1. Zoot, who needs a vacation from her vacation preparation 2. Sarah's cat 3. Susan, whose guacamole recipe I need to try. 4. Kailani, as she looks at the sunny side of life (which is probably easy to do in Hawaii) 5. Trina, who on the soggy side of life 6. Carmen, who is also soggy, but is looking forward to the weekend. 7. Summer Girl, a fellow first time TT'er. 8. Stacy, including some awesome pictures of the garden 9. Kandis, showing how life doesn't always turn out as expected

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!
View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

And then I heard him say "A guy walk into a bar..."

I have probably mentioned that Lil Joe's diction is less than perfect. He does, however, say an awful lot, so we can generally get his point through the context of the few words we can make out. I'm on the phone with Hubby earlier today, and I hear Lil Joe's voice in the background:

Lil Joe: Knock, knock! Hubby: Who's there? Lil Joe: Anana Hubby: Banana who? Lil Joe: Knock, knock! Hubby: Who's there? Lil Joe: Anana Hubby: Banana who? Lil Joe: Knock, knock! Hubby: Who's there? Lil Joe: Aunj Hubby: Orange who? Lil Joe: Aunju gadda [mumble, mumble] anana?

And of course, he laughed and laughed at his own delivery. Why should he waste his time learning how to convey things like what he wants to eat for lunch or that he needs a fresh diaper when he could be cracking jokes.

This isn't a laser show

Dear Fellow Motorists, Those flashing lights and loud, variable pitched sounds? They are not for entertainment purposes. Stop your damned car and let them get though the intersection. Signed, Woman who actually pays attention to emergency vehicles

Food for thought

Food issues. Lots of us have them in varying degrees. Zoot's recent post about her own struggles hit home with me. I was a fat baby, but a skinny kid. But quitting my 4-dance-classes-per-week schedule right around the time puberty hit shot that "skinny" image right out of the water. Somewhere along the line, my perception became skewed even more than my physique. I can barely stand to look at my high school year book pictures, yet the friends with whom I shared clothing were in perfectly good shape in my eyes. Show me a picture of a woman with the same height, weight, and body type as I have and she'll look OK to me. But the woman in the mirror? She's short and flat chested and has too much of a tummy pooch and her butt is fat. I like food. I like ice-cream and chocolate and cheese and bread and chips and pasta. And when I am upset, I sometimes eat a good deal of those things without even tasting them. When I was in college, I would hate myself for the amount I would eat during those moments of not thinking, and I would try to compensate by barely eating at all, or by wearing myself out doing workout tapes, or every so often by sticking my finger down my throat. One summer I worked on campus, providing A/V support for the various meetings and conferences that were held in the break between semesters. One weekend included an OA convention. As I was setting stuff up for this event and the other events going on in the building, I offhandedly mentioned to a co-worker the difficulty involved with working meetings and conventions- the temptation of food tables set up all over the place, and the hurried pace of providing support meaning that we often ate on the run and at odd hours. Later in the day, one of the meeting organizers saw me and asked me if I was on program. I hastily replied that I was not, and extricated myself from the conversation as quickly as I could. I mean, I was fine. Everyone overeats sometimes, and getting all obsessive about how I eat would do me any good, would it? But here I am, sixteen years later, realizing that I did have a problem. I've gotten past where I was then, and I recognize when I am getting careless about what I am eating, or more importantly, why I am eating. I try not to deprive myself of food for any reason, and try to use the way my clothes fit as an indication of whether I need to watch my portions, or forgo the ginormous muffin in favor of a bowl of cereal for breakfast. But I still need to have other people look at my clothing purchases to verify whether they are flattering, and tough times in my life sometimes send me into the arms of my boyfriends Ben and Jerry. My biggest goal now is to move forward and to ensure that I don't pass these issues on to my kids. Because it would break my heart to see Princess doing the stupid things I did to myself for those years.

I need a vacation

You Are a Mai Tai

You aren't a big drinker, but you'll drink if the atmosphere is festive. And when you're drunk, watch out! You're easily carried away.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

It's a small world after all

Hubby is in Kentucky this week, being an observer and cheerleader for the local representatives to the National Transplant Games. During a break in the events on Monday, he and Princess stopped into the McDonald's on campus for a bite to eat. Hubby saw a man he recognized from an event he had watched earlier.

"You're from Team Philadelphia, right? Congratulations on your medal," Hubby said. "Thanks," the man responded. "Are you competing, too?" "No, I'm here to watch my brother and the rest of Team Nations Capital. We're from Baltimore actually, not DC." "When did he have his transplant?" the man asked. "Well," Hubby replied, "his first one was over 20 years ago, but he needs another one. I'll be the donor this time, and the surgery will be in about 3 weeks." "Are you going to be at Hopkins?" the man asked. "Yes. The first transplant was there, too." "My brother is Dr. Transplant. He's the one who developed the laproscopic method they use for the transplant surgeries now."

The conversation continued a bit, and Hubby and Mr. Philly Transplant went their separate ways. Later, Hubby asked BIL which doctor was being assigned to their upcoming surgery. "Dr. Transplant," BIL replied. "My nephrologist says he's very good." And now I wonder, was Dr. Transplant driven by his brother's illness, or did some peculiar twist of fate cause Philly to need the kind of expertise his brother was already involved with?

Damned marital unity

My cousin is getting married in September, in Quebec. Growing up, I was pretty close to my cousin, even though she lived in another country. She's only a year younger than I am, and her family visited fairly often and we were pen pals in the interim. I was concerned about the timing of the wedding because one of my out of town Board meetings is in late September and I wasn't sure whether I could afford to take time off so close to the meeting. Well, the planets aligned, and the two days I would need to take off to attend the wedding happen to be two of the (few) days during September when I am not scheduled to be a complete stresswad. (Yes, I schedule my emotional upheaval, don't you? My next big breakdown is on the calendar for late August, after Hubby's transplant surgery and my boss going into labor.) And I was looking forward to a trip with Nic and my parents, just being able to have the nuclear family dynamic of years gone by... Not so much. Hubby is excited about going to the wedding, even though it means driving for 9+ hours to go see the union of two people he's met a total of twice in his entire life. Now, it's wonderful that he embraces that my family became his family when we got married. And it's wonderful that he is supportive of my desire to see my cousin start a happy married life. BUT... We will be travelling on a Friday and a Monday, days during which Princess and Hoss will be in school. Which means whoever is caring for our children in our absence will need to stay at our house and transport said children to school and ensure that they do their homework and such. Who do you think will be responsible for making sure that whoever is taking on this task knows where the school uniforms are and when the kids need to be dropped off and how to contact the pediatrician in case of emergency? Take a wild guess. It also means that I will not be able to ride with Nic and my folks because while 4 people can comfortably manage a road trip in my dad's car, 5 cannot. So, instead of one vehicle with 4 people splitting the driving, I will be in a vehicle where I am likely to be responsible for 50% of the time behind the wheel. And in all honesty, Hubby's not the best passenger ("KarenKarenKaren! There's a stop sign coming up!" "Yes, honey, that would explain why I am decelerating until the car is motionless.") Because my husband does not really know this portion of my extended family well, I will spend a healthy chunk of the weekend either explaining in-jokes and family stories or making myself neurotic about the possibility of Hubby feeling left out and ignored. Gah, stupid husband, being all nice to my family and wanting to spend time with us during happy occasions!

And this is why I am the grocery shopper

Hubby has begun his summer vacation, and is doing the grocery shopping in exchange for me letting him do a bike ride yesterday afternoon. So, when I made the shopping list this week, I wrote down items that I would not normally write down for my own purposes (i.e., the stuff we need every week, like milk and bread) as well as whatever we had run low on.

Setting: MamaKaren's desk, Cubeland. [phone rings] MamaKaren: Good morning, this is Karen. Hubby: Hey. Where's the grocery list? MK: On the fridge, under one of the fruit magnets. H: Ok, here it is. Bread...milk...lunch meat...cereal...lemonade...iced tea...crackers...juice boxes... MK: Anything else you need, or can I go back to typing the quarterly report? H: Do I need to get anything else? MK: If they have anything we want on sale, like the kids' yogurt or your razor blades or whatever, get that. Otherwise, no. H: Alright, I'll...[muffled] Here, talk to Mommy. Lil Joe: hawu[urqv pigjur Mama: Oh, did you draw a picture? Lil Joe: No. cbzncvbz bickinaus Mama: You're having bacon?! Lil Joe: No. yurgwdyq widdel Mama: It's little? Lil Joe: Yes. t verqt yq keythen Bye! Hubby: He has a Mickey Mouse picture on his shirt. Lil Joe: Pretzel! Hubby: You want a pretzel? OK, here's a pretzel. MK: How are we fixed for pretzels? You may need to buy some of them, too. And if you want chips or anything. H: OK, I'm going to the grocery store. Bye.

I return to editing the report ("Department is being managed by VP pending conclusion of a search for a new staffer, now in progress, is concluded"? Do people read their submissions before sending them to me?). Oh, how nice, we have dueling edits from the powers-that-be about when to include names and when to use generic staff language. This is fun.

[phone rings] MamaKaren: Good morning, this is Karen. Hubby: Hi. Do we need eggs? MK: Ummm...I don't know. H: I forgot the list. MK: Well, buy a small package of eggs, and I'll hard cook them if we have plenty at home. H: I don't see the small package...let's see...here they are. Grade A, large, package of 8? Is that right? MK: Yeah, that's fine. H: Ok...we'll get milk. June 25th? Is that OK? MK: That's fine. H: What should I get at the deli? Lil Joe: CHEESE! Hubby: No, we don't need cheese. Princess, go get a number. What should I get? MamaKaren: When we all need lunches all week, I would get three-quarters of ham and three-quarters of turkey, so get a little less than that. Lil Joe: I wuv cheese. H: We have ham at home, but I don't know if it's any good. How about chicken salad? MK: Get chicken salad if you want. You should probably get some cheese. Hoss eats a cheese sandwich every day, and Lil Joe eats a lot, too. Lil Joe (singing): Cheese, cheese MK: What's your schedule like this week? Use that as a guide for how much to buy, you know, depending on whether you're fixing lunches at home. Hubby: I'm at home with two kids, that's my schedule for the week. We have a lot of cheese at home. MK: OK, your call. But ask the deli person to give him a slice of cheese, or he'll probably be upset. I don't think he's ever seen me go to the deli and not buy cheese. H: OK, that's all I needed. Bye.

Anyone want to place bets on how quickly we run out of cheese this week, or how many bags of jalepeno potato chips he comes home with?

I am a lousy mom, example #4,872

I think I broke my baby. Yesterday was Hubby's company picnic, and Lil Joe was loving the moon bounce. "Mama, come in!" he called. So I joined him. "Mama, I jumpin'! You jump! Mama I fall! You fall!" And we jumped, and we flopped on the ground, and we got back up and jumped some more, fell some more. Over and over and over. "You wanna bounce some more?" I asked Lil Joe and the other children in the moon bounce. "YEAH!" they shouted. So I jumped high and they all bounced high in return. But when Lil Joe landed, his foot slipped in the indentation, and turned a little. And he cried and cried. I grabbed him up, and cradled him in the corner, and tried to make out whether he was hurting or just scared. And he cried some more. I looked at his foot and ankle, and poked and prodded and squeezed. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, and he did not react to being touched as I progressed from instep, to sole, to heel, to ankle. He held his foot out to be kissed, as he has done so many times before, but instead of returning to playing, he curled his face into my chest and cried some more. We exited the bounce and went inside to eat. He sat in his chair as I brought him some ice-cream and a sippy cup of milk. He ate and he drank and was merry. And then we stood up. And he took two steps and lifted his foot, crying out. So I carried and cuddled him as we gathered our things at the end of the picnic. He fell asleep in the car and I tucked him into bed. He did not want to wake up this morning, so very early, so Hubby carried him to the car. "Do you want to walk?" Hubby asked our little man, who is usually so insistent on being self-propelled. "No," he said sadly, "You carry." I broke my baby boy.

Just my speed

I was at my parents' house on Friday night because my cousin and her fiance were in town for his brother's wedding. We all went to dinner and the two of them were getting ready to leave at the same time I was. Trevor asked my dad for directions to the highway, just to ensure that he knew where he was going. Since I was heading the same way, I offered to lead them. "Don't lose them," Dad said, "You need to go slow enough for them to follow." "I don't drive that fast!" I protested, "Not like you do." "Oh, really?" he replied. "And who was my kid who got a reckless driving ticket for driving 76?" "Um, that'd be Nic," I said. "No, it was you. On New Year's Eve that time," he argued. "OH! You mean the time that I was driving in the far right lane on Route 70 because everyone was whizzing past me so fast? And the cop in the unmarked car behind me said I was going 80, but also wrote down my driver's license number wrong and wrote 'M' in the box for 'Gender'? He couldn't tell I was a girl, but we're supposed to believe that he read the speedometer correctly? Seriously, if I was going 80, everyone else was going warp speed." "Doesn't matter. Just watch it, lead foot." So, I watched my speed and stayed within 5 miles of the speed limit until we got to the highway so I wouldn't lose Trev and Sarah. Last night when I picked Lil Joe up from my parents' house, my dad was home because he and Mom were going to the ball game. I pulled out of the driveway ahead of them, so Dad ended up following me all the way through the neighborhood until he got to the highway. And I could see him seething and riding my bumper as I maintained a consistent 25 miles per hour so as not to exceed the posted speed limit.

She's an angel straight from Heaven, yes she is

Oh, yeah, in amongst the bleeding and the fainting and such, we had a celebration of a religious milestone in our family on Saturday. Our new church was dedicated a few weeks ago, and here is Princess in front of the statue of our patron saint, Saint Louis. OK, you can't see the statue, but that's because I wanted you to see Princess. Hubby insisted on taking a picture of the two of us together (which I can't seem to make small enough to post on the site without screwing up my sidebar). Notice that the white first aid tape on my thumb coordinates nicely with Princess' dress. The weather forecast called for clouds and rain, but that's not what we had. This was the weekend for the annual plant sale to benefit the school. Another huge picture, but a cool one because Princess' glasses turn purple in the sun and coordinate nicely with her dress. It was a beautiful service, and Princess was very excited and proud. And I'm facing the fact that my baby is growing up.

Weekly lesson #2: A big slice of life

Saturday was Princess' First Communion, and we were having people over to the house for a celebration after the service. As I was slicing bagels for the brunch, I slipped with the knife and gashed open the knuckle on my left hand. Now, please don't give me the lecture about the right way to slice bagels, because I've already gotten it. Repeatedly. I let out a gasp of pain, dropped the bagel and knife in the sink, and started running cold water over my hand. The sight of the flap of thumb was not pretty. Hubby heard my cry out and came in to investigate. The room was starting to spin a bit, and I was feeling pretty nauseated, so I leaned over and concentrated on breathing slowly and deeply. Hubby went to get a bandage. Then he heard me hit the floor. I don't think I completely lost consciousness, but I couldn't sit up straight either. The dizziness subsided and Hubby helped me walk to the couch and brought me a bucket in case my heaving produced anything (they didn't, except for some noises that made Hoss the burp champion green with envy). After a few minutes, my stomach settled and I stopped sweating, so I returned to the kitchen, cleaned the knife, and sliced the remaining bagels. I changed the bandage before we left for church, and changed it again when we returned from the service. Since the cut didn't seem to be closing on its own, I figured I'd better get it stitched up. I fixed a quick plate of food, since I had no idea how long I'd be waiting to get my thumb fixed. Not wanting to be bother, I figured I'd drive myself to the ER. My dad saw me get in the car and asked where I was going. "I'm going to get some stitches in my thumb," I told him. "Why? You really think you need stitches?! Let me see it," he said. So I unwrapped the bandage, and he looked at the wound. And he paused for a fraction of a second and replied, "OK, then. Why don't you have someone drive you." I drove to the hospital, but did take Nic with me for company and a ride home (in case my hand was too numb for me to drive myself.) We waited a few hours at the ER, they stitched me up (only 5 stitches- I expected more) and we came home. I expect that I will be getting at least seven bagel slicers for my birthday this year.

Weekly lesson #1: the keys to success

I learned two valuable things this week about how to deal with locks. The first things I learned is that I should lock my car with the remote thing instead of by hitting the lock button, because when I arrive at work in the morning and have not yet had any coffee, I may find myself tucking my keys in my jacket pocket and then tossing the jacket on the front seat of the car as I close the door. The second thing I learned, just a few hours after realizing that my keys were locked in my car, is that when I am having problems with the bolt lock sticking, I should take my husband's key to said lock away from him. Otherwise, he will find a way to get the bolt locked, but no one else will be able to get it to unlock and he will be at a nightime school event (unable to leave because he is running the thing) and I will be sitting on my front steps with three kids, one parent, and two in-laws waiting for a locksmith to arrive.

Ellos no son muy listo, verdad?

I just overheard the following conversation- "What are you doing for lunch?" "I'm not sure. I was going to go out for Mexican food because it's Cinco de Mayo, but all the Mexican restaurants in town are full!" Both parties in the conversation seemed surprised that the restaurants were crowded. Yeah, who would have thought that at 12:30 on a sunny Cinco de Mayo there might be a lot of people eating at the Mexican restaurants?!

When bathroom fixtures attack

No Mama likes to see her children get hurt. I take no pleasure in the misfortune sometimes suffered by my offspring. But there are moments during which offering comfort instead of laughter is very, very difficult. I woke Hoss up and told him to go potty and get ready for school. A few moments later, some very loud crying. When I ran to the bathroom to see what had happened, I saw him standing in front of the toilet, sort of leaning on the tank (as he sometimes does when he is pretending that he is too tired to stand up and pee properly) but the seat was down. "What's wrong?!" I asked frantically. "The toilet hit me on the nose!" he cried. It seems that as he leaned on the tank, he managed to hit the seat and it clunked his nose as it fell. I checked for bleeding or bruising (of which there was none) and calmed him back down. But now we're all afraid of the plumbing. You can never be sure when it'll just snap and issue a beat down.

I should start sucking up now

I was just on the phone with my mother, talking about my grandmother and the possible logistics for Princess' First Communion in a few weeks. I sent Nanna an email earlier this week to make sure that she had the service and reception on her calendar, figuring that she and my mom would iron out the details of transportation and such. Mom told Nanna that we are keeping the guest list kind of small (i.e., only inviting the extended family members who actually interact with Princess throughout the year and know what's going on in her life), and warned me to be prepared for snarkiness ("Why did Karen invite Hubby's aunts and uncles and not her own godfather[my uncle Ned, the former altar boy and all around golden child]?") "Tell her that I invited everyone who sent Princess a birthday card last year," I joked. "If they weren't aware that she was the right age to have her First Communion, they aren't involved." "I'm not getting in the middle," Mom replied, "I've been telling Nanna fairly frequently not to talk to me about her complaints when I have no control over them. I hope you all aren't counting on your share of my share of the inheritence, because I think I'm getting dropped from the will." "What she gonna do, give it all to Uncle Ned?" I asked. "No, he's been ticking her off too," Mom told me. "He's in almost as much trouble with her as the rest of my brothers." "Maybe she's going to just skip all of you and give it to the grandkids," I said, "expect that we don't write thank-you notes in a timely manner." "How's she going to know if you write a thank-you notes once she's dead?" "She's been fussing about the thank-you notes for years, even when we do write them. I think I should get extra points for having the kids do their own thank-you notes, even if it takes a month or more to get them done. I'm sure she thinks it's cute." "You and your cousin Jen have already earned your points, you're the only ones who've given her great-grandchildren." It's nice to know that the swollen ankles and morning sickness were good for something.

Signs of the times

Indications that technology is taking over my life:

• I react to an amusing story told at dinner after my Board meeting by exclaiming "You are so ending up on my blog!" (OK, I didn't really end up relaying it, because it sort of loses something as the weeks pass, but after three days of meetings, an impacted weiner dog is really damned funny).
• My sister and I make plans by sending Google calendar invitations to each other.
• I make lunch plans with the provision "If I have to bail, I'll text you."
• Friends check on my health and emotional state by posting "MK, if you're lurking, post so we know you're OK" on a message board.

New developments...

The latest on the kidney transplant front- It seems that those of us who are a zero antigen match are as qualified as to donate as those with a three or four antigen match. Which means that any of us who were the same blood type and a negative antibody cross match with BIL (i.e., me, Hubby, MIL and one of his cousins) are on equal footing. which means that Hubby is now going to the next step of testing (as is MIL). So, we are back in the waiting game.

Tell me what you really think...

I should not be secretly happy that one of our directors just remarked about one of our corporate officers being "pissy" about not being included in some recent meetings. I should be disappointed at the director's lack of professionalism and her disrespect toward an important member of the organization. But sometimes the chief officers can be really pissy, and this director has enough clout around here (since she's been on the staff longer than all of the corporate officers combined) to say things like that in conversation. Heh.

Bear with me, folks

That last post? Where I sprained my arm patting myself on the back? Was sort of compensation for feeling like crap and trying to convince myself that it's all OK. But, I am trying to cling to the small successes and the doctor upped my meds (I should know in a few weeks whether they need to increase further) and I figure that eventually I'll come out of the tunnel relatively unscathed. I just hope I still have some readers by the time I manage to do so.

Go, me.

Well, I made it to Jackson Hole with no issues. My supplies had arrived as scheduled, so I did not have to make a last minute run into town to use the Staples printing service. I managed to hold my own in a table-side conversation with one of our meeting attendees, to the point that she included me in a follow up email (along with two VP's and our top lawyer) when she sent a newsletter from a professional organization that had an article related to what we had discussed. The first meeting I had set up for my Board members did not have a speaker phone set up as it should, but I managed to get it in place in time to avoid being a disruption. The meetings went about as expected, except for two last minute cancellations, resulting in the addition of some more phone participation and a late night stop in the staff office to fax 40+ pages of handouts. I managed to take notes, despite the introduction of a motion that, I swear to God I am not exaggerating here, was three paragraphs long and took up almost a quarter of the page. I got through the entire week without doing anything stupid like cursing in front of a Board member or walking into the wrong bathroom or spilling coffee on my shirt. And I got my draft notes done today, a mere three business days following the meeting (the target in my yearly objectives is 5-7 business days- you better believe that this is being marked on the calendar so I remember that I did it). But, oh my damn, I am wiped out.

Travel related randomness

I leave tomorrow for my Board meeting in Jackson Hole. When my father heard I was going to Jackson Hole, his response was "Take a warm coat." Duh. Because it never would occur to me to take a coat to Wyoming in March. It is a balmy 16*F at my destination. Fabulous! Tomorrow's forecast- cloudy with snow showers in the morning giving way to a mixture of snow and rain by afternoon. Even more fabulous! Hubby called to ask me to make a list of what is available in the freezer to fix for dinner on the nights while I am gone. I said I would take a few things out and thaw them in the fridge. Which is fine with him, but is still "missing the point." The point being...opening the refrigerator door to look at the food is too taxing? A list of the dishes is more helpful than the printed cooking instructions on the food itself? Whatever. So I am off to lovely Wyoming for five days, during which I will be in a conference room, not on the ski slope or sightseeing in the Grand Tetons. And the kids will not miss me a bit, if my last trip is any indication. Cross your fingers that I don't get snowed in.

What am I talking about?

I found this site thanks to The Peevery's Joanne. The frequency with which words are mentioned is indicated by the size of the text. Should I be concerned about the prominence of "plaid pants"?

Lil Joe

Happy third birthday, baby boy. Now I guess I should call him "big Joe".

So, uh...yeah.

So. Hi. I've been, uh, a bit absent lately. I would say that it's because there hasn't been anything interesting going on to write about, but that would be sort of a lie because I don't really write about stuff that's all that interesting anyway. Or I could say that it's because I've been so busy with getting ready for my meeting later this month, and I haven't had time to write a good post, but that would be a lie too because I've found time to go online and read other people's blogs and I could have posted. The truth of it is that I've been in another one of my moods, but this time I finally have done something about it and last week I went to a psychiatrist for a medication evaluation. And she took family medical history and got some background for my life, and when it's all laid out in front of me like that, I kind of think I was stupid for waiting so long ("I have a full time job and three kids...Oh, and my father-in-law have Alzheimers Disease...My brother-in-law is going to have another kidney transplant this summer, and my husband will probably be the donor...I have a huge meeting in a few weeks so I am going to have to be out of town for almost a week...my boss will be going on maternity leave this summer, so I will be running the September meeting on my own...") She gave me a prescription for Zoloft, which is supposed to help my anxiety and my depression, but right now it's just making me sleepy and thirsty and making my palms sweat. So, there it is.

Care for some cheese with that whine?

This is going to me a self-indulgent, immature post. But, it's my blog and I'll cry if I want to. I bought this granola with blueberries and raspberries in it. It sounded really good to me when I bought it, but the berries taste nasty, so I have been picked them out before I can eat the granola and it's a pain in the butt. I spent a ton of time on the phone yesterday pinning down schedules for one of my committees so I could schedule a telephone call that could coordinate with our CEO's travel schedule (he'll be in Brussels and London) and I got it all scheduled, only to find out that there is an internal meeting tomorrow during which staff may decide not to have the call, at which point I will have to crawl back to the committee with my tail between my legs and admit that I jumped the gun on getting the call scheduled. Hubby just came back from a golf trip with his father. As cruel as it sounds, I wanted FIL to have some days where he was very frustrating, just so Hubby would get an idea of what MIL is dealing with on a regular basis. Hubby said it was not as tough as he had feared, though, so he still maintains that MIL is too impatient and needs to adjust her reactions better. (Which is true, to an extent, but I've been talking to her for the past week about how frustrated she gets because no one understands how hard it is to face it day after day after day after day.) Hubby maintains that FIL is not belligerent to most people, which implies that part of the belligerence is that MIL is too harsh with him. Except that isn't true. He jumped down my throat on Friday night, when I answered a question he asked (for the 4th or 5th time) and he didn't like the answer- he was looking for his housekeys and I told him that MIL had taken them, since he wouldn't need them during the trip. Hubby claims that FIL did not jump down my throat, since his anger at the situation was at MIL for taking the keys. Well, I was the one who was snapped at, so I think I'm the one whose throat was jumped down. Phht. I got in a fight with Hubby this morning because he is all irked at what a mess the house is and how the kids and I obviously take him for granted for the cleaning he does and he's tired of being the only one who bothers to take care of the dishes or putting things away. Even though I did have the kids pick up their toys and such every night before they went to bed (although I didn't know they had trashed the den, which he was upset about when he saw it this morning) and I only left dishes in the sink last night because I had run the dishwasher and not had a chance to unload it, and Hoss' coat was on the floor because it had fallen off the chair (where Hubby leaves it, too, so it's not like it's only out of the closet on my watch) not because I let the kids just drop their clothes on the floor when they walk in. So I reminded him that I would help him with getting the kids to help clean the house if he helped me with attending to making sure the kids' homework is done and put away, permission slips are signed, bags are packed for afterschool activities and all the other stuff he expects me to just take care of even when I am in the midst of a Board meeting. MIL called me yesterday to tell me that she has to take BIL to some meeting about his transplant, and they rescheduled it to tomorrow morning, so she needs me to find someone to watch Lil Joe for the morning, and could I just ask my mom to do it? Except that my mom has a standing meeting every Friday at noon and has to take my grandmother to her physical therapy appointment, so she is only available until about 11:00 a.m. and MIL isn't sure whether she can be at my mom's house to pick Lil Joe back up by then. And because Hubby has already missed three days of school this week, he can't take the morning off. And I have a doctor appointment in the afternoon, so I can't come in late. So I'm jumping through hoops and manipulating schedules and asking for favors in order to have my son cared for. And Hubby is trying to guilt me into not having his mother have to drive the "at least an hour" it takes to get from the doctor's office to my mom's house because MIL has such a lousy sense of direction and has never driven to my mom's house before (For God's sack! You've been driving for almost 50 years! Deal with new places, especially when the directions are to take the highway to a particular exit, turn left at the seventh traffic light, take the second left on a clearly marked street, and take the second left down the clearly marked court my parents live on! My folks do not live in a labyrinth.) Hubby used expired suncreen and got a nasty burn on his neck and ears. And now it itches, and he was all "waah, waah, do we have any antihistimines to stop the itching?" NO, fool, put some aloe or Noxema on it and deal with the itching until your skin heals. And next time, listen to your pale-faced wife's input about sun protection, since she is way more of an expert than you are. He's also pissy because he feels like no one cared that he was gone (I didn't jump up to welcome him home or something, and he claims that I didn't even ask him about the trip or say I was glad he was home. phht.) I reminded him that when I went to San Diego last year, the kids' reaction when we picked them up from IL's house was "Yeah, Daddy's here!" and Mama was chopped liver. and he called every day, I didn't need to ask him how the trip had gone, I had already gotten a blow by blow (or, since it was a golf trip, a stoke by stroke) account. and my head has hurt for three straight days and I ran out of good coffee so I will either have to drink the swill from the vending machine or walk next door in the rain.

Five years ago this minute...

somebody was pulled, kicking and screaming, into the world

A post in which I talk more about the pants

I picked up Princess' ugly plaid pants today. Again, I will admit that as plaids go, they are not horrible. (How is that for damning with faint praise?) But, seriously. Pleated, big plaid pants. I had told one of my co-workers about my distress at my daughter's fashion sense. She made me promise that I would either show her the pants or take a picture of said trousers. So, I brought the pants to her desk. "Oh, they're cute!" she exclaimed. "I wouldn't wear it, though. Would you? But they are cute. Kind of. And they look well made." "Yeah, as plaid goes, this isn't bad," I replied, "but that's a whole lot of plaid for a little person." "Well, she wouldn't want them if they weren't her uniform, right?" she asked, "I mean, she wouldn't choose a big plaid if you were just shopping? It's just because the other girls at school are wearing them?" "Probably not," I said. "It's not like we go to the mall and she says 'Mom, those plaid pants are way cool!' [yes, my daughter says 'Way cool.' What of it?] I think she's tired of wearing a dress and tights all the time. But the fabric is a bit..." I searched for the right word. She took hold of the pants to examine them more closely. And her face fell slightly. "Wow. They're...durable," she said. What a nice euphamism for "polyester".

You know what's frustrating? Friday edition

The girls at Princess' school have the option of wearing pants instead of a jumper or skirt. She never opted to do so, until recently. I suppose she is tired of having to wear tights to keep her legs warm. In any case, I went to the uniform store near my office earlier this week to buy her some new uniform pieces (a larger jumper, since the ones we have at home are getting too short, a new school-logoed sweatshirt to replace the one that disappeared in the laundry, and the dreaded school pants.) The pants were not in stock in her size. Despite wanting to take this as a sign that she should not be wearing big plaid pants, I ordered them and said I would come to the store to pick them up instead of having them shipped. There was a message on the machine last night that the pants were in. What was not included in the message was the fact that the uniform store is closed on Fridays. I have resigned myself to the fact that someone genetically related to me is choosing to wear butt-ugly, big plaid pants. I have choked back my upset at paying $28.75 a pair for said ugly pants. But I was sent over the edge by the fact that I fought my way through the parking garage of co-workers who insist on driving down the middle of the lane and movers bringing boxes up to transitional office only to arrive at the shopping center to find the store closed. Thank goodness the deli next to the uniform store had Diet Coke with Lime and White Cheddar Pringles, or I might have killed somebody.

Karen, with a side of chips and a pickle

All of my children have colds. This is not surprising, since both of thier parents have colds. My ILs arrived this morning expecting to watch Lil Joe, and instead ended up with all three kids (MIL said she didn't need me to take a day off to stay home with them, so I'm not just dumping them.) Hoss' cold is resulting in him having watery, slightly gunky eyes. I don't think it's conjunctivitis, nor is he having any problems with his ears (the last time he had the eye goop, it was in early indicator of an ear infection.) But, I didn't want to get a call from the school telling me to bring him home because they feared pink-eye. The Princess was complaining this morning of a stomachache, and did not want to eat her breakfast. She has a nasty case of post-nasal drip, which I think is causing the tummy issues, and she is running a low grade fever. So, she crawled back into bed and was fast asleep when I left for work. Lil Joe is just snotty and a bit cranky. But mostly he's just the same as always. While I was getting ready for work, Lil Joe popped a tape into the VCR. It was the opening ceremonies of the Olympics; he and Princess were watching the Parade of Nations. FIL sat down on the couch and began to watch as well. He continued watching as I gave Lil Joe his breakfast and tucked the Princess back into bed and called the preschool to report that Hoss would be out sick. "Come in and watch this," FIL said to MIL, "You're missing the good program." "I saw it already," she replied. "What do you mean?" "It's the opening ceremonies of the Olympics," she said. "Yes," he said, "we always like to watch the Olympics!" He continued to encourage her to watch the program. Finally she said "It's a repeat. I saw it the first time." He looked confused, but stopped the conversation. I worry about the generation behind mine because I am supposed to take care of them and keep them from getting infections and tummy bugs, and I am on my own this weekend if emergencies come up. I worry about the generation ahead of mine because I'm seeing a man who doesn't realize that he's watching something that happened two weeks ago. Yeah, I think that's the very definition of "sandwich generation".

You know what's frustrating?

Suppose you were sending an email to a group of pretty important people, and the email included an attachment with an agenda for an upcoming meeting. And on said agenda, two of the recipients of the email were identified by name. It would be kind of embarrassing if you misspelled the name of one of those people. But what would be very frustrating would be the question of whether the person would be likely to even notice the typo, since it was only one teeny, tiny part of the document as a whole. And you would ponder, should you resend the document? Or would that draw attention to your error? Should you just correct the error so that it was correct on the final agenda or would you look as though you don't know the proper names of the people for whom you work? Should you just lay low, and if anyone notices, you will explain that you saw the error and have already corrected it? And have you already given the topic way more thought than is necessary? Not that this happened to me or anything.

My pregnancies and births don't seem so tough after all...

I saw this story on Good Morning America last week, and it just blew me away. This lady is about the size of Lil Joe, and she managed to have a healthy baby! It makes all the "uncomfortable" I felt seem pretty darned minor.

Get up!

Dear Co-worker, Your cubicle is right next to mine. You do not have to call me to ask me a question. I can hear you out of the phone and over the wall at the same time, and it's a bit creepy. Best regards, Karen

My Internet is broken

I have a confession to make. I am still functioning with a dial-up connection. Most of my web surfing takes place at the office, so I've been too cheap and lazy to upgrade. But, I have decided that I need to get a DSL connection- the kids are using the computer more, and on the rare occasions when I do connect at home I am very frustrated with my connection. But I am also clueless, so I needed the idiot version of what it takes to get connected. Anyway, I ordered DSL service from my local phone company, and my kit arrived last week, and I began the installation on Saturday. I got all my filters installed on all the phone lines, just the like the instruction told me to. I took out the modem and checked off the appropriate box on the checklist. I got an error message that said that the modem could not find my ethernet connection. I called tech support and went through about 5 rounds of voice prompts before I got a human being.

Tech Support Lady: Thank you for calling. What can I help you with? Clueless Karen: I'm trying to install my DSL, and I'm getting an error message about not having an ethernet connection. TSL: OK, look at the back of your computer. Do you see a connection for a cable, it looks sort of like a phone line but with a wider plug? CK: Nope. don't have that. TSL: OK. You'll need to connect with a USB connection. Do you have a USB port? CK: Yes. TSL: OK. Put the yellow cable back into the box and take out the blue cable. CK: I don't have a blue cable. TSL: You need the blue USB cable. CK: There isn't a USB cable. I have a yellow network cable and a phone cable. No USB cable. TSL: What kind of modem do you have? CK: It's a TechieSoundingName 327W. TSL: Alright, there's our problem- that modem doesn't have a USB connection. You have two choices- you can either get an ethernet card and install it yourself, or you can call back on Monday and get a different modem shipped to you. The card is only about $20 at Wal-Mart or Staples or whatever, you can just pop it right in the slot and you'll have a network connection and you'll be fine.

So I stopped the installation process and planned to purchase and install an ethernet card. I left our regular modem unhooked, figuring that we could survive one day without our dial-up connection in place. Hubby was going to Best Buy yesterday anyway, so I asked him to get one. He called from the store.

Hubby: I'm in the computer department, and I've asked three people for an ethernet card and they aren't sure what I'm talking about. Me: It's the card that goes in the computer so I can hook up a network. Our modem won't connect with USB, so we need the ethernet...thing. [Muffled sound of hubby talking to Geek Squad guy] Hubby: He asked if it's for a notebook? Me: No, it's for our desktop. I need the network card. [More muffled conversation] Hubby: He says that you just need to connect the modem to the port with a network cable. Are you sure the tech lady said "card" not "cord"? Me: We don't have a port. that's why I need to install it. [More muffled conversation.] Hubby: He just handed me a...PCI adapter? For a desktop computer? Me: Just bring it home. If it's not the right thing, I'll take it back.

So he brought it home and it looked like the right thing. So, after the kids went to bed, I disconnected all the stuff from my CPU and took the cover off so I could install the ethernet thingy and I followed the directions that came with the card and everything seemed fine. And I resumed my installation, and it went past the screen where it had gotten hung up before and I was happy. Until the installation abruptly stopped and closed down. No error message or anything. It just disappeared from my screen. I uninstalled and reinstalled the driver for the ethernet thingy, since rebooting or starting over from scratch is my first plan of attack when something goes wrong with my computer. And I tried to resume the installation and the same thing happened again. "What the hell?!" I exclaimed. Hubby asked what was wrong, and I told him. And I called tech support again. And a nice Tech Support Dude named Clarence listened to my tale of woe. Clarence talked me into a DOS prompt and had me type in some stuff that was supposed to give him some insight to my IP address or something (I told you I was clueless- I just kept typing in whatever he told me to type.) The bottom line is, I no longer have an IP address. DSL can't connect because it can't find an address. I did all sorts of "ipconfig /whatever" stuff and it did not give the information we needed to have to connect. So, in addition to not having fancy-schmany high speed service, I'm pretty sure that I don't have crappy-ass slow dial up service either. I broke my Internet. I am such a loser.

Change is not always good

I just opened a roll of 5-flavor Life Savers, which is advertising "New Flavors!" The green ones used to be my favorite, but now they are sour apple flavor instead of lime. Yuck.

I have a drinking problem

The ice in my cup got all stuck together, and when it unstuck it splashed water into my lap and on my lapel.

This fits right in with me being "cute"

found at Nic's site

Your Candy Heart Says "Hug Me"

A total sweetheart, you always have a lot of love to give out. Your heart is open to where ever love takes you! Your ideal Valentine's Day date: a surprise romantic evening that you've planned out Your flirting style: lots of listening and talking What turns you off: fighting and conflict Why you're hot: you're fearless about falling in love

What Does Your Candy Heart Say?

Is there any justice in the world?

How come I never get called for cases like this when I have jury duty?

Today's lesson: compose e-mails in Word

I had just finished a carefully crafted email to the Board regarding an upcoming conference call, despite the shaking and distractions from the piledriving happening outside of my building, when my email abruptly shut down. Just for the record, I hate both my email and the construction, so I don't know which to bitch about.

Some messages are loud and clear

I worry sometimes that Lil Joe's verbal development is not where it ought to be. He is almost three, but doesn't have nearly as many recognizable words as his brother and sister did at his age, and still depends highly on physical communication instead of speaking. It seems as though he's getting the most important points across, though. Exhibit A: Setting- Gramma's kitchen. Lil Joe has climbed into his booster seat, indicating that we wants sustenance. Gramma offers him some breakfast.

Gramma: Would you like a fruit bar? Lil Joe: Noooo. Gramma: How about some Cheerios? Lil Joe: Noooo. Gramma: Toast? Lil Joe: Noooo. Gramma: Well, what do you want? Lil Joe: Muffins. Gramma: We don't have any muffins. Lil Joe: Muffins! [points across table toward Grandy's seat, gesturing toward the Dunkin Donuts bag.]

Incidentally, the bag did not contain muffins, but he was perfectly OK with eating his grandfather's coffee roll instead. And he toddled off happily to watch TV once his belly was full. Exhibit B: Setting- kitchen, a few minutes later. Mama and Gramma are chatting. Lil Joe enters.

Lil Joe: Want say "bye-bye" a Mama.
Me: Bye, sweetie, give Mama a kiss.
Lil Joe: [dodging]No. [waves in my face] Bye-bye, Mama!
[Mama finishes sentence in conversation]
Lil Joe: Bye-bye, Mama! [waves more forcefully] Bye-bye![tugs on my sleeve] BYE-BYE!

Gramma was surprised that Lil Joe spoke a complete sentence that she could understand. I was just glad he hadn't actually learned to say "Get your butt moving and go to work."

Family resemblence, take 2

When I was little, we had a very close relationship with my grandparents (both sets, but the following bit of rambling is regarding my dad's side of the family.) We often went to their house for dinner on a Sunday, and they would babysit for us so that my parents could go out. One of my vivid memories is of my grandfather's geode on top of the TV, complete with a lighted magnifying glass. Pop-pop used to spoil us rotten, as is the tendencies of grandfathers. Even if dinner was being served within 10 minutes, he didn't see a problem with giving me a piece of candy. Bedtimes were far from rigid- if I wanted another story, I would have another story, even though my eyes could barely stay open. It probably drove my parents crazy. This morning, Lil Joe came toddling out of the TV room as I was leaving my parents' house. Spying the package my father had left on the table, he pointed and exclaimed, "Cookie!" Mom and I told him he did not need a cookie, and tried to convince him to eat some cereal or graham crackers. "NoNoNoNoNo! Want cookie!" he said with big, pleading eyes. "Of course he can have a cookie," said his Grandy (amazing how that fat little finger can have a grown man wrapped around it.) And Dad opened up the package and handed Lil Joe a chocolate chip cookie. "Dad," I sputtered, "we can barely get him to eat proper foods as it is! Don't be giving him cookies for breakfast!" "One cookie won't make a difference," he said forcefully. "If a cookie makes him happy, why shouldn't I give him a cookie?" "OK, Pop-pop," I sighed, "do you want to slip him some money, too?" "Maybe I will," Dad smiled, "I don't see anything wrong with that." "You did thirty years ago," I replied as I headed to the car. Let's face it, we all become our parents, no matter how we may deny that we aren't going to.

As though there aren't enough valid things to irritate me...

Some things should not annoy me, but do anyway. I try to rationalize that they are minor, and not worthy of my worry, but they still pick at me.

• I cut my knee while shaving today. I've been doing at least three times a month since I was in high school, so I'm used to it by now. But this morning, I could not find any normal bandages to keep the blood from running down my leg. No one can see my knee because I am wearing trousers, so it doesn't matter that all I could find were VeggieTales and Disney Princess bandages. But why is it that when the kids need a bandage, the cartoon bandages are nowhere to be found, yet they they are the only available options when I need one?!
• My cubicle is next to a network printer. Every night, when the cleaning crew comes through, they move my trashcan from inside my cube and set it next to the printer stand. It's only a couple feet, just enough distance that I cannot reach it from my desk chair. They never move my recycle bin (which could actually be useful next to a printer), just my trash can.
• The departmental secretary who sits near me has a very loud voice. I mostly tune it out, but if I have to hear her tell one more person that some of her bills came back because she did not realize that the cost of stamps went up, I will shove a postal scale down her throat.
• Everytime the coffee machine malfunctions, there is someone who puts a sign on it that says "Machine is BROKE!" Even if it were grammatically correct to say that the machine is broke instead of broken, I see no need for the caps and exclamation point.

See, if I use my energy to be irritated by stupid stuff, maybe I won't be able to think about my Board member whose wife's cancer came back, or my brother-in-law's organ rejection symptoms, or my impending car repairs, or...

Oh. Guess that's not working.

The family formerly known as...

It occurs to me that my method of referring to my family is a bit strange when I write about them. I call my sister by her name, and my parents and grandmother by their appropriate titles, but use the same old "D-" for the dear/damned people in my house. And, while those abbreviations are easily understood by all the ladies from my old message board, they also lend themselves to my mis-typing (since "S" and "D" are next to each other on the keyboard, it's easy to create some peculiar stories about my son at ballet class or my daughter learning to pee standing up.) So, I am changing the cast of characters, and shall keep a program on the sidebar. And I promise that I will not use any unpronouncable symbols for anyone.

Circle of life

Just a few hours after learning about B's pregnancy, I got word that my boss' dad passed away. I didn't need that vivid illustration of the balance of the population, thanks anyway.

The overbearing voice of experience

One of my close co-workers told me today that she is pregnant with her first child. I'm very excited for her, but am working very hard to quench the urge to talk about every aspect of pregnancy and birth. We did talk about a few things (she told me about which symptoms had already hit her, and I gave a few hints about dealing with them and when she could anticipate relief) but I don't want to be one of those moms. You know those moms. The ones who tell you about how they gave up all alcohol, caffeine, refined sugar, chocolate, aspartame and cold cuts as soon as they saw the pink line. Or the ones who tell you about how they started each day with a quad-Venti, Nutrasweeted cup of French Roast and ended each day with a martini, but their babies were just as healthy as can be, so that just goes to prove that everyone is paranoid. The moms who ask how you are doing, and when you honestly respond that you are retaining some water, proceed to assail you with how they puffed up so badly that they could only wear bedroom slipper for their entire third trimester. Or the ones who let you know how long and painful thier labors were. Or, worse yet, the ones who try to convince you that labor doesn't hurt a bit, and how could you even think of endangering your child by considering an epidural?! I try not to be a know-it-all, but by the time you have three kids, you've learned a lot about pregnancy and birth. We stuck with discussing the important stuff:

• The books are a good reference, but they can be damned heavy handed too. What to Expect When You are Expecting encourages you to bring your own whole grain rolls or a vial of wheat germ to sprinkle on your food if you must eat out. (My co-worker rolled her eyes at this idea- "Yeah, that's going to make for a fun lunch for me!" she laughed)
• Maternity clothes are much cuter now than they were when I had DD. Thank God. Separates that you can mix and match are the best way to go- by the end of the nine months, you will be sick of wearing the same darned outfits, but it's silly to spend a lot of money to buy tons of stuff you wear for such a short time.
• Everything in moderation- the baby will be just fine, even if you eat a hot dog. Or drink a Diet Coke. Or have some ice-cream (it's dairy! The baby needs calcium!)
• No matter how good of a guy he is, the baby's dad will never completely understand what is happening to you. (She's already learned this- she had a craving for Indian food on Friday and planned to go out for dinner. By the end of the work day, she was too tired to do anything, so the dinner plans were tossed. Her husband did not understand why she didn't want him to make Indian food on Monday night. "But you said you were craving Indian food!" he said.)
• No matter how much you plan, there is always something to throw you off. So, try your best to go with the flow.
• The best way to deal with the lectures ("Don't reach up on that shelf! You'll strangle the baby with its umbilical cord!", You are going to use cloth diapers, aren't you?!") is to nod and grunt noncommitally.

I've already given her permission to smack my hand if I reach for her belly and to throw something at me if I refer to her as "Mommy."

Family resemblence

I had a job for a few years at the same company at which my mom worked. We used to eat lunch together, and she often passed my workstation at the front desk when on her way to her boss' office, so we got a lot of chances to talk. My grandmother used to drive her nuts by calling in the middle of the work day for no particular reason, or with a reason that seemed way too trivial to merit a workplace call. Then she would want to chat, as though Mom were at home on the couch instead of behind a desk surrounded by financial statements and bank reconciliations. I used to hear about how my retired grandmother had obviously forgotten about what it meant to have deadlines and a boss and work-related responsibilities. I also heard about how Nanna would impart information in passing (about a life event of a family member, or about an upcoming appointment), but be offended when Mom didn't remember have heard the news. I would listen to Mom rant about Nanna, and her vows to not be the same way. Now my grandmother is having health problems (as people in their 80's tend to) and my semi-retired mother is being sandwiched. She cares for my son three days a week, and shuttles the elder generation (Nanna and my great-aunt) to doctor appointments and such on the other two. Nanna can't get around the way she used to, and her children are trying to make her understand that she may need to move out of her house. She is also not eating the way she should, and her children are doing their best not to enable her candy and cookie habit. Eighty-plus year old people can be cranky when they feel that they are being displaced, and sometimes they take it out on their children. After one of my many phone calls from Mom, in which she called to tell me something I needed to know about DS2's day, but the call turned into a litany of what was going on in the outside world ("...and I talked to Jean about the tree that fell. Someone is going to come tomorrow to take it away, but I think we need to look at getting the other ones cut down as well...There's a new dog at the dog park, but the owners need to take it back to obedience class. He's just so hyper- even worse than your dog...Your father's plane was delayed for almost 2 additional hours, so he was exhausted by the time he got home..."), I called Nic to blow off steam. Once I hung up the phone, after we joked about which one of us was going to be kicking Mom out of her own house and which one of us was going to refuse to buy her the cookies she wanted, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The words that came out of my mouth for most of the phone call echoed in my head. But it was my mother's voice, as we sat in the company lunch room together, that I heard. I've already turned into my mother.

Some kind of help is the kind of help that helping's all about...

Most days when my in-laws come to the house to watch my son, they take him out shopping. Sometimes, though, they stay at the house for the whole day. And my mother-in-law gets bored. So she may do some laundry or clean the dishes in the sink. Which is nice, since I don't have a lot of free time and having the housework done by someone else leaves me more time to do what I need or want to do. I don't want to be ungrateful... On the other hand, I realize that I am spending almost as much time compensating for what she does as I would spend doing the cleaning myself. I was going crazy trying to find DS1's track pants for his ice skating lesson, only to find them later in DD's dresser drawer. She also has most of his socks. But that's OK, because he's got her blue sweatpants (from her gym uniform) and her jean skirt is mixed in with his jeans. I removed all of the shirts from both of the boys' drawers and re-sorted them appropriately, since each of them has each other's stuff. I can't find the cheese grater or any of the snack cups that were in the dish drainer before she last did the dishes, and most of the stuff she put in the drainer needed to go in the dishwasher again anyway. DH just shakes his head and tells me that she means well, it makes her happy to feel like she's helping out. ..and some kind of help is the kind of help we all can do without.

Marketing brilliance

One of the local pizza chains has introduced desserts to their menu. As a promotion to get people to try the gooey monstrosities, you can get a free dessert when you buy a two-topping large pizza for $11.99. DH was in charge of dinner one night because I was not going to be home until later, so he and DD decided to order pizza. "Thank you for calling MegaPizzaChain! Would you like to take advantage of our $11.99 pizza and sweet treat offer? You get a large pizza with two toppings and a yummy dessert!" said the perky pizza chick. "Um...well, how much is the large pizza if I don't get the dessert thing?" DH asked. "A large would be $14.99," she replied. I love a place that essentially pays us to get additional food. so, if anyone else out there would like to pay me to eat, or to bring home desserts that I may or may not choose to eat, let me know.

Vehicular news

My car, she is fixed! And, after 27 days of assholery by the driver who hit me and his esteemed insurance company (first he didn't give them my contact information, then he wouldn't return calls when they tried to get a statement...), the adjuster has authorized funds to be released to pay for the repairs! And released they have been- the appraiser confirmed the payee information with me yesterday and put it in the mail. Woo hoo! In other news, I had my first meeting last night for the car raffle committee at DD's school. Somehow, I became the chair of the committee. The bad news is, I've never done a car raffle in my life and have never chaired a fundraiser before. The good news is, the HSA has done all the legwork (secured a car, set a drawing date) and being chair means that we are automatically credited the full 30 service hours required of each family for the school year. So, my internet friends, get your PayPal accounts ready so you can take a chance on a lovely, 2006 Vista Blue Ford Mustang! Only $30 a ticket, or 4 for $100! You know you want it...

The fourth circle of insurance Hell

All agents are busy. If you would like to leave a message for an agent, please press "two." If you would like to continue holding, please stay on the line... All agents are busy. If you would like to leave a message for an agent, please press "two." If you would like to continue holding, please stay on the line... [ring, ring] "Good afternoon, Marginally Helpful Insurance, this is Annoylingly Perky Customer Service Representative, how may I help you?" "I'm calling to follow up on claim number [nineteen digit claim number, which I have now committed to memory because of how many times I've had to repeat it since December 13.] I need to find out the status of the report from your insured." "According to the computer, we are still waiting to get a statement from the policyholder." "OK, what can we do to move the process along? I got my appraisal yesterday, so I took the car to the body shop this morning so they could order the parts they need to do the repair. I need to get a rental car." "Alrighty, I can call him right now and try to get a statement from him. Would you like me to do that?" Sigh. Yeah, that might be good. What button do I push on the automated system for "if you would like to give somebody a size 8 spectator pump to the ass"?

The post I should probably delete before DS2 learns to use the computer

A friend at work is thinking about having another baby. Her son is just over a year old, and she and her husband knew before parenthood began that they wanted more than one child. Sometimes, though, she thinks that she cannot handle another baby, that one is hard enough to provide for when you work full time. Will she shortchange the older one by introducing a sibling? Will the second one be quite as special, since he never got to be the sole recipient of all parental attention? Will having another child safety seat leave any room in the car for anyone else? "I don't know how you do it with three!" she exclaimed one day. She asked me when I had decided that I wanted three kids. "I didn't," I told her. These days, most parents don't decide to have three. They decide to have a big family, which is usually 4 or more children, or decide to have two, but get surprised. Almost everyone I know with three children is either planning for more, or had planned for fewer. Two children made for a nice, balanced little family. One girl, one boy, each with a parent to hold onto when we crossed parking lots. When errands needed to be run on the weekends, the kids could often accompany us. The third one changed the dynamics. I had to buy a new car, because there was no way to fit a baby seat into the back of my station wagon with the existing seats. Our house has three bedrooms, so the idea of each child having a room of his or her own was no longer an option. And having another child meant that they were going to outnumber us. When they all run in separate directions in the park, only two can be chased. Two siblings can gang up on the third. Someone is the odd one out. The time will come, altogether too soon, when all three will have evening and weekend activities (dance class, scouting, sports) and DH and I will be torn limb from limb juggling the logistical aspects. I cried when I found out I was going to have my first baby. I cried tears of joy at the step I was taking, the new identity of "Mom" that lay before me. I cried in fear of the unknown aspect of it all- how could I take care of a new human being, be solely responsible for keeping this person safe and fed and warm? But I learned, and it got easier to recognize what to do. I cried when I found out that I was going to have another baby. My daughter would have a companion, someone with a bond that couldn't be fully duplicated by any friend she would meet for the rest of her life. I may not have always gotten along with my sister and brother growing up, but they are the ones I know will understand the shorthand of "Mom's turning into Nanna" and give me the words to make me feel better. And I sort of knew what I was doing with the whole "parenthood" gig, I was ready to not make the same mistakes the second time around. I cried when I found out I was pregnant the third time. I cried because I thought I was ready to take a new step, to focus on looking forward to school for my children and whether I could advance at work. I thought I could sleep through the night, and not worry about how to take care of a toddler while I was recovering from giving birth. And I felt like I was an awful mother for resenting my baby before he'd even had a chance to become a person. (Not that I'd be any better of a mother if I resented him after he became a person.) Sometimes I feel like I've let him down. Almost everything he's ever had is either shared or some else's leftovers. He got less personal time with me than his sister and brother did, because I hardly ever got to be with just him during my maternity leave. He was a good baby, so he got left to his own devices as I dealt with the Princess and the Hulk. But maybe- hopefully- he got the best mom, the mom who had it (somewhat) together. I've faced all of the normal milestones now, so I knew how to deal with them. Introducing new foods? Done it. Choosing the right developmentally-appropriate toys and activities? No sweat. The fevers, colds, and when he can't keep food down? I've faced it, and we've all come out of it unscathed. With him, I know what I'm doing. At least for now.

It just wouldn't be Christmas if...

I was supposed to go out to dinner last Thursday with my parents and sister to celebrate Mom's birthday. DS2 was sick, though, all snotty and clingy and not able to be take out of the house, so I told everyone I'd have to bail, using sick baby as my reason. "Yeah, it wouldn't be Christmas if someone wasn't sick," Nic said. For once, I wish she could have been wrong. The baby was fine, he slept a lot, but it meant that DH couldn't do any of the errands he has scheduled for the day, and he did them after I got home. Early Friday morning, I realized that we were not out of the woods yet. My stomach was letting me know that my plans for the day (this cool cooking thing with Nic, the final gift wrapping, and dinner out with the in-laws) was not an option. My retching was sufficiently loud to wake DH, and he called Nic (at a decent hour, of course) to let her know that I was not going to be in any condition, much less have any desire, to deal with food. I only passed out once or twice(that's a good day for me, since I have trouble staying conscious when I heave violently) and by mid-afternoon was able to progress from juice to graham crackers. The rest of the family went out to the steakhouse as planned, and they decided to take their chances with being in the room with me to exchange gifts. And life was good... ...until 3:22 Saturday morning. That's when I awoke to the sound of DH getting sick. His bout didn't last as long as mine did, and he felt OK enough to stay alone, allowing the kids and me to go to my Nanna's house as planned. It did spark some interesting conversation, though, about the illnesses of Christmas past. "This wasn't as bad as that Martian death flu," I said, "Remember that one?" "Oh, yeah, in '99" he replied, "That's the sickest I can ever remember being." That one had hit all of us together, more or less- Nic and I both started feeling sick at work on a Monday afternoon the week of Christmas, and were bedridden by dinnertime. DH was suffering alongside me within 4 hours, and MrNic was sick a day or so later. Needless to say, none of us was willing to face the huevos rancheros at Christmas brunch. "Two years ago was that nasty cold," he reminded me. That was the illness that provided the most pathetic Kodak moment in our family's history- my feverish self curled up on the couch nursing a feverish DS2, with DS1 (also feverish) slumped sleepily on my other side. It was the day of DD's Chistmas program; it was the only day during that week when she was well enough to go to school. Somehow, DH dodged that one completely. "I wasn't really sick in '02," I told him. "No, just pregnant," he replied. "You were retaining so much water, no one wanted to let you be on your feet for more than 10 minutes at a time." "One of the kids was fighting something, though," I remembered. "I served as a pillow whenever I sat down on the couch." Now we've gone almost 72 hours with everyone's systems being stable, and I consider it a Christmas miracle!

I take it all back, he's a freaking angel!

Everytime I've complained about DS1, and said he was tough to handle? I take it back, because I don't have to write things like this

just...GAH

The body shop that the insurance company suggested to me for the appraisal/repair work for my car has not called me at work as they were supposed to be asked to do (to make an appointment for Monday, when I am off) but instead called and left a message at my house in which they asked for my husband (by using a last name similar to, but not actually the same as, our name) and indicating that they had limited openings on Friday, but none on Thursday.) I plan to call the insurance company back to tell them that I will have the work done at my dealership, regardless of whether it is part of their "network". blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah DH decided that he wanted to invite his staff over for a holiday dinner party, and the date he discussed with me weeks ago did not work for his staff. Yesterday, mentions to me that he's decided he wants to do it next Thursday (Dec. 22) and asks if anything in on the calendar. I tell him that it is my Mom's birthday, and that I need to check with Dad and Nic about whether we are doing anything. We have sort of vague "Yeah, we should do something" plans about it, but nothing firmed up in stone. DH then got all pissy about how I had not mentioned anything about doing something for Mom's birthday, and when else can this party work, since Thursday is the only day before Xmas that he and his staff can do it! Because I should be able to drop everything to get a dinner party (albeit a very casual one with a small number of people) planned on a week's notice?! So he calls me today and says he rescheduled it for Dec. 29, and "there's no way [I] am backing out of it!" Even though he said it in jest, it grated. blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah The holiday party from last Friday has been rescheduled for January, on the same day when we are scheduled to have our quarterly all-employee update meeting and our annual tenure awards. It's supposed to start at 10:00 for the meeting stuff, followed by lunch and a "free" afternoon. So, I will come to work for about an hour before I need to leave for the meeting. Then the rest of the day is shot. Good use of my commute there... blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah We have an option at the end of the year to cash in some leave if we have more than what can be carried over into the following year. I filled out my form and sent it over two weeks before the due date, and waited anxiously for the money to be in today's paycheck as promised. When my check did not include any extra money, and my leave balance did not show the hours being deducted, I emailed the woman who coordinates the process to inquire. Apparently, my form did not make it to her desk, so I filled it out again and faxed it to her this time (so I have proof that I completed the form) and she is going to find out of Payroll and Accounts Payable will process it for me. So, DH's Christmas present might be me taking a day and a half off, since I planned to use the money to purchase some electronics for him. blahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblahblah My brother, in an email today, proposed that "Good luck with the mayhem" replace "Merry Christmas" and "Happy Holidays" as the phrase of the season. Smart boy my parents raised, don't you think?

But wait! There's more!

If someone insists upon passing on the left instead of waiting for me to make my turn, I wish to hell that it wouldn't be when I'm making a left-hand turn. I'm just saying, standing out in the sub-freezing evening with small children in the car waiting for a police officer to come take a report is not my idea of fun.

OK, Murphy, now you're just running up the score

Everyone is familiar with Murphy's Law- anything that can go wrong, will. A common response to something going awry is that Murphy is alive and well. I think Murphy earned overtime for his interactions with me as I prepared for my Board meetings this week (Sunday and Monday). Thursday- picked up my loaner laptop. Was it ready in the morning as promised? It was not. When I got it after lunch, did it have a battery (which I specifically asked the help desk to confirm, since the laptop they loaned me for my last meeting did not have one, and I found that out by having someone turn off the power strip into which the computer was plugged while I was taking notes)? It did not. I did gain back some points from Murphy by checking the computer myself, which allowed the IT guys to have time to find me a battery. Thursday, later- After having saved almost all of the presentations and committee support documents to my thumb drive, I planned to transfer them all to the hard drive of the laptop for back-up. Since snow was predicted for Thursday night, I figured I would take everything I needed for the meeting home with me, just in case I had to work from home on Friday. That would have been a very good plan, except for me leaving my thumb drive in the USB port of my computer at the office. I had not copied the files to the laptop. Friday morning- DH's alarm went off, and the snow was falling quite steadily. "Turn your alarm off," he told me, "we are not going in today." A couple hours later, the snow had stopped. He did not have work, DD did not have school, DS1's preschool was opening late and having a non acedemic day. Was my office open late? It was not. So, after cleaning off my car and shoveling the driveway so I could leave, I dropped DS1 at daycare and went to work (2.5 hours late.) As I drove down the highway, I noticed my windshield wiper looked odd. Then I noticed it was not really attached, it was merely dangling. I pulled over to remove it before it flew across three lanes of traffic and I continued on my way to work, pulling over periodically to manually squeegee my windshield. Friday later- Those final documents? Not so final. Changes! Updates! Email to Board members! Can the members open the documents? No! Convert them to pdf and send them again! Print copies of all of the documents, make copies for the members, in case they didn't bring them along. Will the copier cooperate? What do you think? More points to Murphy. Friday, mid-afternoon- The phone rings, it is DS1's school. He's having a bad day, and was sent to the office during rest time for being so disruptive. He needs to be picked up within an hour, and DH's cell phone is going directly to voicemail. So what do I do? I leave a sobbing message on DH's voicemail and on our answering machine at home. Murphy, again. Friday, one hour past my normal quitting time- get a voicemail from a Board member who cannot properly print the documents I emailed earlier. Can I fax them, or overnight them to the hotel she is at for the meeting she has to attend before our meeting? Points to me for being able to get back in touch with her and her being able to get her support staff to get the stuff printed. Friday, after dinner- I want to decorate the tree, because that usually makes me happy. About 30 seconds after we get the tree situated, there is a knock on the door. It's BIL- did we know he was coming? No, we did not. He, as he so often does, decided to just show up at our house. So, instead of having time to myself to hang the ornaments I want, where I want, I had "help." DH and BIL start taking ornaments out and handing them to the kids (or to me, for the glass ones) while making jokes and comments about the ones they unloaded. Saturday morning- call from car dealership to get specifics for service to be performed. who is my service technician? Why, it's the sexist one who attributed the alignment problems with DH's old SUV to "Maybe the wife borrowed it without you knowing and ran over a curb or something." He promised that the car will be done by the end of the day. Took DS1 to ice skating lessons, and on the way home, he suddenly heaved all over the backseat. (A couple points to me for his coat being all zipped up and him still wearing his track pants over his regular sweats- at least he puked onto waterproof gear.) Yippee, I'm scrubbing upholstery in 30 degree weather! One more upchuck after lunch, and he was fine for the rest of the weekend, thankfully. Saturday, later- it's almost time for me to go to church, I have not heard from the car dealership. DH calls, they tell him it will be done within the hour. It is physically impossible for us to make it to the dealership to pick it up before closing. DH does not think to pay them over the phone so we can pick it up later. Sunday, time for the first round of meetings- The room is set. Not with A/V, as requested. The food is set in the wrong area, and we have no sideboard table. Sunday, after dinner- I have a sudden realization that my security badge for work, which I need in order to get into the building on Monday morning (two hours before our lobby opens) is in my car. At the dealership. Frantic call to a co-worker who is close enough to lend me a badge. Monday, really early- Grab laptop and purse, head to friend's house to pick up borrowed badge (which she will retrieve from me when she arrives at work at decent hour.) Get to work and notice that laptop case seems awfully light. Unzip case to see, not my laptop with all of the pertinenent Board stuff, but DH's laptop which he cannot function without. Monday, still sort of early- arrange with DH to meet in a parking lot along his route to work, call badgeless friend to explain situation (she agrees to do without badge for the day, since someone will be at the office to let her in.) Monday night, rapidly approaching closing time for car dealer- call to pay for car. Get cut off multiple times. Finally manage to give them money. DH comes home, we load all kids into the car and he drives me to the dealership to retrieve my car. We cannot find my car. We ask for help from service employee, who takes 25 minutes to locate my car. DH informs me that he forgot to tell me that my sporadically-opening window was not fixed because he told service technician not to do it at this time (because the cost of the motor was more than he thinks I want to spend at this time.) DH says he figures that, with the weather being so cold and all, I don't open my window much anyway. OK. I surrender.

People who need a swift kick; Exhibit A

We were scheduled to have our office holiday party on Friday. On Thursday afternoon, because of reports of impending snow, the party was called off, with an apology and a promise of something being scheduled after the holidays (so that we don't miss out an a free meal and a few hours of administrative leave.) The snow was not as bad as feared, and the office opened on time on Friday. One of my office mates was complaining on Friday to one of the party planners about the party being canceled. She fussed that it was unfair and rude that the company expected us to drive into work, but thought it was too dangerous to have the party. The party planner explained that the decision to have or not have the party had to be made before the snow fell, since calling it off on Friday morning (or having only 50 people show up when we had committed to 350) would result in a decent loss of money. It seems like a reasonable explanation to me, and I don't mind getting an afternoon off in January instead of December. Officemate didn't seem overly appeased, but seemed willing to drop it. Today is Tuesday. She is still bitching about the weather having made the party a no-go, but not closing the office.

Stick some cloves in him and glaze him with honey

My son, in that typical four-year-old boy kind of way, was bugging his sister. Despite being told to leave her alone and go get ready for bed, he persisted. So I picked him up and carried him to his room. And the tears started. Oh, the wailing! The gnashing of teeth! The injustice of it all! The horror! How could I be so, so cruel?! Sensing that he was working really hard to force the sobs out, I began to imitate him as I changed him into his pajamas. He tried not to laugh, but the giggles escaped anyway. The louder he "cried" (he didn't have any tears anymore), the more I contorted my face in response. "Go to bed, you big ham," I told him. "Silly Mommy!" he laughed. "I'm silly?!" I asked, "What do you mean I'm silly?" "I not a ham," he replied, "I a boy!"

Yeah, yeah, goodwill and happy holidays. Whatever.

I have a love-hate relationship with this holiday season. I love the holidays. I love my family, because I love my husband I love his family (albeit in small doses.) I like pretty lights, and I like my children's reactions to pretty lights. Decorating a Christmas tree is like a trip down memory lane, because I still have all of the ornaments my parents gave me every year as I was growing up ("Look, here are the gazillion ballet themed ornaments from before I stopped dancing and ballooned up like something from the Macy's parade. And here are the gazillion chocolate themed ornaments that remind me of how I became a float.") I have an ornament of a pregnant lady, and it's got the dates of the three Christmases I spent pregnant. My church is beautiful during Advent, and I get totally choked up when I watch the kids to the Nativity play. Thanks to cable TV, I get see the Grinch, Rudolph, George Bailey, the Meisterburger Burgermeister and Tiny Tim multiple times. I get to see Flick get his tongue stuck to a pole, and Randy Parker tip over from the layers of sweaters and coats, and hear Mr. Parker exclaim "Fra-ge-lay! It must be Italian!" I hate the holidays. I vow every year that I am going to get my shopping, or at least a decent portion of it, done before Thanksgiving. Then time gets away from me, and it's suddenly Black Friday and I have bought close to nothing, and I am trying to determine how I am going to find time to finish it all. I shop for the kids, DH, my nuclear family, stocking stuffers, the kids' teachers, and a grab bag (I decided a few years ago to make DH shop for his side of the family.) It's time to do Christmas cards, but it become harder each year to get all three children looking at the camera and making appropriate facial expressions at the same time. I have a Board meeting in December, so at least one week of the holiday prep season is filled with me becoming neurotic about briefing books, hotel arrangements, catering and trying to capture motions and resolutions. DH has two Christmas concerts, one the day before DD's and one the day after. Oh, and I'm hosting Christmas dinner, even though DH is going to a football game (he's decided not to leave for the game until 7:30, putting me back on the hook for entertaining.) Ah, the peace of the Christmas season, broken by me shooing my two year old away from the Little People Nativity scene and telling him to get Baby Jesus off of the roof...

OK, I can be honestly thankful

I know I sounded really bitchy in my last post, which is totally not how I should be at the holidays. Anyway, to update- MIL has asked me to bring some red wine, having realized that the jug they have on hand might not be enough. She (read: FIL) had a better day yesterday and is not nearly so stressed as she was earlier in the week, but I still think I may grab a small hostess gift (B&BW shower gel and lotion) in a meager attempt at giving her a bit of pampering. She also asked us to bring some folding chairs, so I assume that FIL's sister (who had a stroke in September, and who normally goes to her daughter's house for Thanksgiving, but said daughter is in Italy taking care of her laboring DIL) and DH's uncle will, indeed, be coming to dinner. She is the only sibling FIL has, so DH has been worried about their family as age and disease take their toll. I'm glad they won't be alone. DH had the day off work today, and DD was off school, so they called me from the diner to let me know what a wonderful, huge pancake breakfast they were enjoying at 9:00 this morning. The are currently at the movies (Chicken Little, since Wallace and Grommit is no longer playing anywhere near us.) So, they got a bit of Daddy-daughter bonding time. There was a huge accident on the highway this morning, shutting down traffic for many hours. A tanker full of gasoline caught fire, but no one was hurt. The driver smelled the fumes, pulled off the road, and stopped traffic to make sure no one was near the truck before it exploded. All of a sudden my concerns yesterday, and my memories of my own car accident on the day before Thanksgiving five years ago, seem like small potatoes. As quirky and screwed up as it may sometimes seem, my life is still pretty darned good. Happy turky day, y'all.

My family is thankful to not have to see me this year

We are going to my in-laws' house for Thanksgiving this year. DH requested that we go there, since he doesn't know how many more years his parents will be able to host Thanksgiving, what with a house full of people making a dinner that disrupts normal routine being...less than optimal for Alzheimers patients. I don't hate my in-laws. I don't even dislike my in-laws. But, I'm a selfish pain in the ass, so I don't like to spend my days off from work with people who lack the social filter necessary to refrain from discussions of right-wing politics, surgeries (thank God my MIL's hysterectomy is years in the past), or the inappropriate dating choices of the younger generation (DH's cousin the nurse has ditched the mentally abusive boyfriend, but has to work on Thursday, so she won't be at dinner to tell her mother not to discuss the lack of a more suitable man to date). I'm also a bit of a snob. I don't consider the french fried onion/cream of mushroom soup green bean casserole to be the yummiest side dish known to man, and I can't participate in a wine conversation that rates the merits of Franzia vs. Almaden (which DH's aunt pronounces "All Madden"). Actually, I'm being a bit harsh with the wine slam- they do go all out for Thanksgiving, the wine is always in a bottle and it's the "pricey" stuff ($8 a bottle.) I offered to bring the wine, hoping that I might be saved from the limited choice of merlot or chardonnay (I like merlot, just not with Thanksgiving dinner). No, MIL assured us, they already have plenty of wine. If I'm lucky, Kendall Jackson was on sale. Hopefully I will not be seated close to the kitchen door, otherwise I will end up being jostled as BIL goes to retrieve the white bread and mayo to bring it to the table. I have no issue with making a sandwich of the Thanksgiving dinner, but most people wait until there are leftovers before doing so. So, gentle readers, would anyone like to join me in the holiday dinner bingo? Customize your card as you wish ("homophobic remark" isn't a given square, but I can always depend on "relative who contradicts my parenting" and "reference to how 'lucky' Karen is to be so skinny, whilst helping oneself to another helping of pie".)

This wouldn't happen if I had a private office. With a kitchenette.

I brought a glass measuring cup into work and put it in the kitchen, next to my coffee maker (the company does not give us coffee, so every available kitchen-like space has people's private coffeepots and stashes of java.) It's gone. Like so many other things that go into the kitchen, it has sprouted legs and walked away. Well, some items don't walk away, then only partially disappear. The last time I put a bottle of sparkling water in the fridge, half of it had been consumed by the kitchen gremlins when I removed it at lunch. People can leave their purses and wallets unattended without issue, but leave a sandwich in the fridge and you could be in for a bad shock. The flavor balance of my chai latte is off because I had to eye-ball the amounts of chai and milk. I drink decaf chai tea because it's supposed to keep me less strung than my coffee, but if my jerk-hole coworkers don't stop taking my stuff from the kitchen, I will go postal, "soothing red tea and honey" or not.

I've been overtaken

Harry Potter has sucked me in. I know I'm not the only one by a long shot, and I'm behind the curve, but I am all in now. No turning back. I was sort of mildly amused by Zoot's countdown to the release of Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, but now that I've read the first five books, I can just about understand it. Kalish is in the same boat. Buy them for the kids, read them to be up to date for the movie release, and it was all over. I've been reading to DD and DS1, a chapter per night, but realized that I didn't have the patience to space the stories out that long. I figured I could just finish each book on my own pace as I read it to the kids, so I was on the same story as they were. That lasted for the first book. Then when I finished Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, I didn't want to wait until I had finished reading it to them, I just had to jump ahead. I had only gotten a few chapters in, for gosh sakes, I didn't want to wait weeks to start book 3! So I read the next one. And I couldn't stop. I think it was last Wednesday, maybe Thursday, when I opened book 4. On Friday night, I kept saying I would go to bed as soon as I finished the next chapter. Then I read one more. And one more. At 1:00 a.m., I stopped. The fifth book is huge. I finished it in two days. I need help.

Note to self

Dear Pillsbury Dough-girl, Four days post Halloween, especially when it coincides with a hormone surge, is not the appropriate time to be on a diet. Mari Windsor, the treadmill, low fat salad dressing, and cottage cheese will wait for another week.

Nah, I should go ahead and be petty

I just sent a rant to my sister about someone at my office, and in my rant I said "...it is only because you outrank me that I am not letting drop to everyone I can find that you ..." and she replied "you should let that drop." I thought she was telling me to take the high road (or, just to get over myself) but I just realized that she's encouraging me to let everyone know about the slightly stupid thing that this high level person did. I love it when the people close to me support me acting like I'm in middle school.

Hi, brick wall, let's chat

I got a call from OldBoss's new assistant. "Karen, when you scheduled the [Professional Organization for Which Boss Is President] meeting at [Big Industry Conference], did you have any trouble getting a meeting room?" she asked. "No, I just called the hotel and reserved a room for the meeting," I replied. "Well, the hotel said that since POWBIP is separate from BIC, I need to get approval for a room, because they have all the rooms reserved for the whole time." "Oh. Well, the hotel I dealt with didn't require me to do anything like that." "Well, how to I get approval from BIC?" "I don't know. I didn't have to do it." "I guess I could say it's part of BIC...except I already said it wasn't...how did you reserve the room, since it was separate from BIC?" "OK, I admit it," I said, "I offered special perks to the people in charge, if you know what I mean. I can be very persuasive!" (OK, I didn't really say that. Or say anything else, for that matter. After 5 seconds or so of silence, she thanked me and rang off.)

Does anyone really know what time it is?

No one at my office needs to wear a watch. We have clocks on our computers, our telephones, in each conference room and on the microwaves in the kitchens. Unfortunately, none of the clocks agree. There is currently a 7 minute difference between the time on the computer and the one on the phone. As a result, I am either too early or too late for every meeting, and attempting to catch the shuttle has been a challenge.

This totally beats a bake sale

Every school needs to have fundraisers. I'm sure you that, even if you have no children, you are painfully aware of the school fundraiser phenomenon. Chocolate bars, wrapping paper, car washes. And heaven help you if your kid is also a scout or plays on a team. Well, somebody at my daughter's school has come up with the best one ever. Tomorrow night, we are having a wine tasting. This is the second time we've done this, actually. The first "Grape Expectations" fundraiser was in Spring 2003, and the people planning it were nervous about whether it would be successful. Duh. I guess the combination of the amount of money raised and the barrage of questions last year about whether we would have the event again eased their worries. A local wine store is sponsoring the event, which includes 80 or so wine and beer selections. The father of one of the lower school students just happens to be a caterer (so the food is promising) and all of the wines is be available for order at a discounted price with a portion of the proceeds going to the school. So if I get drunk tomorrow night, we knows it's for a good cause.

Commence "aaawww"ing

NikkiZ has arrived. And she's adorable. Zoot didn't get to have the drug free delivery she was hoping for, I assume (unless she did a c-section without anesthesia, and ain't nobody that anti-epidural), but I'm guessing that everyone's OK with that. So, big congrats to all the Zoots!

Working to save our souls

Recently, Beth, Martha and Elizabeth have made the big jump from office life to stay-at-home parenting. I applaud them all, since I believe that the phrase "soul sucking" may have applied to some aspects of their professional lives. I've never had the ovum to quit a job without another one lined up. I've never been able to tell myself that my abilities being underused, that the subtle digs from bosses or co-workers about my worth were enough to walk away from a bi-monthly direct deposit and paid health insurance. Sometime I wish I could. I had a soul sucking job once. When I left for my first maternity leave, I had a job that split my time between being an accounting clerk and being a secretary/receptionist. I came back to a lateral transfer into a position so unpopular that the temp agency we contracted with refused to fill it anymore. The only saving grace was that I got to continue being stationed at the front desk for half of the day, even if I had to bring work from my new department with me while I handled the switchboard. My new department was small, just two staff people other than me reported to the director. The director (we'll call him "A")was habitually late, did not think highly of women, doused himself with half a bottle of cologne at a time (possible to cover the times when he didn't have time to shower,) and like to drop names. Because our department was able to operate independently of the remainder of the organization (our program was sort of an add-on, not really part of the organization's main business function,) A did not see the need for our department to have network access, or the same version of the software that everyone else had (we had WordPerfect 6.0 while everyone on the network had recently upgraded to 8.0) His was the only computer in the department with email and Internet access. If his printer ran out of toner, he would tell me to call IT to replace it, and stand over my desk until I did. When I needed to type a letter for him to send to a prospective client, he would pull copies of old letters we had sent, crossing out what he wanted to delete and cutting sentences that he wanted to use from other letters, stapling the strips to the edges of the copy. Those things made him annoying. The other women I worked with were as annoyed, if not more so, as I was. D was the senior person on staff, and she kept the department running despite A's ineptitude. C did mainly data entry work, and was too shy to cross A. About 8 months after I started working for A, I started looking for a new job. D had also started looking around the same time, although we hadn't discussed with each other that it was time to move on. One of our functions included needing to send out checks to employees at our client companies. The fees charged to our client companies were based in part on what was sent out. If we did not recieve payment of the invoices we sent, A would tell us to hold the checks. If an employee called to ask about not having received a check, A instructed us to tell them the check date, but we were not allowed to say that the check was being held. If they called again, he would sometimes allow us to pull the check and send it. We had a branch office in another state. Some of our clients worked with the branch office. One of the non-paying clients was worked with the staff in the branch office. Toward the end of my tenure at this job, I got a very angry call from the manager at the branch office because of complaints about employees not receving checks. I explained why the checks had not been sent out, and how D and I had spoken to A about the complaint calls. D and I were tired of being told to lie, so we wouldn't do it any more. A few days later, everything hit the fan and upper management blasted A for the held checks and the lies to clients. A claimed that he had never told D or me to lie about anything. D and I were each called into the VP's office and asked a number of questions to determine what was going on in the department. After a good deal of fact finding, head honchos determined just how much of an A-hole my boss A really was. The following Tuesday morning, I got a call from the company with whom I had interviewed a few weeks before. They offered me the position, which was approximately $4,000 more per year than I made working for A, required a shorter work week, more vacation time, and better health insurance. A had not shown up for work my the time I left for the front desk that day, so I took great pleasure in dropping my resignation memo on his chair and hand delivering a copy to our HR department. That afternoon, D got offered the job she had interviewed for a few days before the branch manager had called me. She told A she was leaving as she handed her resignation to him a soon as he walked in the door the following morning. That was six years ago today.

Boys are stupid

With apologies to MrNic and ChrisCactus. You guys are the exceptions, of course. I was in my friend's office earlier. It was her husband's turn to stay home with the sick child, because she couldn't reschedule her morning meeting. The phone rang, and she rolled her eyes slightly as she answered it. Husband was calling (again) to ask a question that (a) he should have been able to figure out on his own, since he's been a parent for almost eight years, and (b)actually could have waited until the end of the work day, when Mommy came home. I am signing DS1 up for ice skating lessons, and his classes will be on Saturday mornings, starting on November 5. I have a dentist appointment on the morning of November 19, so DH has Daddy duty. "But that means I'll have to take DS2 with me, and have him at the rink for the whole lesson time! Do you know how tough it's going to be to keep him occupied and out of trouble?" Hmmm. Gee, can I figure out how much of a hassle it is to take the younger siblings to the skate rink during a lesson? Maybe the fact that I did it five times during the 12 weeks that DD took lessons might provide me a frame of reference! The difference is, I did it with two little boys, not just one. We had a planning meeting after work for an upcoming event. One of my cohorts told her fiance that she wasn't sure when it would end, but probably around 7:00, so she wouldn't get home until well after they normally ate dinner. When the meeting ended, we all grabbed a quick bite at a nearby sandwich shop before heading home. Fiance called to ask for an arrival status, and got really pissy that she got dinner with us instead of coming home. "Well," he said in a put-upon voice, "I guess I can go out and get myself something." Since, you know, all the groceries she had just bought weren't sufficient for him to make himself something to eat. I was discussing holiday plans with my mom. I tried to get an idea from DH about what his side of the family has in place, since Christmas falls on a weekend this year and our regular schedule may have changed. Also, he has a football game to go to on Christmas night (8:30 kickoff). And I'm starting to ask him for a Chirstmas list so we can start shopping. "Why do you have to ask me about this now?" he asked me, "I've got a lot going on at work for the next few weeks. We don't need to worry about this for another month!" I relayed each of these situations to some friends and co-workers. The ladies all nodded in sympathy, the guys all wondered what the issues were.

Disease of the week

Yeah, it's that time of year again. Nic and I are putting on our sneakers and trying to save the world, one charity walk at a time. We arrive early, in hopes of finding some new information in the pamphlets and booths set up at the registration area. Maybe, if we attend enough of these events, we'll be given the magic bullet to keep our lives disease-free. Last week it was Alzheimers Disease. I saw some familiar faces, mostly at the Creative Memories table. I also found my new favorite t-shirt. Every so often with this walk, I see a slightly glazed look in someone's eyes, or hear a walker having to speak a certain way to a companion, and I get a glimpse of my future. Tomorrow is the Walk for Diabetes. One difference between that walk and many of the others is the absence of Krispy Kremes at the finish line. TheHeart Walk is in November. Heart disease is the leading killer of women in America, but is largely unrecognized. Cardiac problems in women will often manifest themselves in the form of nausea, back pain, shortness of breath. And how often do we really pay attention when we feel like that? In short, I'm trying to put myself out there to raise awareness and support the various causes that mean something to me or to somebody I care about. And if I follow the instructions from every one of these causes (eat a balanced diet, exercise regularly, stay socially active) then maybe I've got a chance to beat some of it. So, if any of these causes mean something to you, or if you've got another cause that touches you, make a donation or send me an email. I may add it to my list of steps to take.

My bubble, it is burst

When we enrolled DS1 in preschool this year, I was nervous. Not nervous in that "oh, my baby boy is off to school, will he do well?" kind of way, but more in a "will he behave and not get himself kicked out?" kind of way. The first few weeks were tough. He wandered away during the field trip, he tried to go out the backdoor of the classroom onto the playground an inappropriate times. We sat him down, discussed following directions and staying