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February 2006
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April 2006

Spelunking for Lurkers

I’m having one of those brain-deficient days. I’ve got a couple different posts started but I haven’t finished anything.  As well as a whole other list of things to get through. Maybe it’s more a time-deficient day, but… I don’t know, lack of brain plus lack of time equals a whole lotta nothin’. *cough*

Instead I’d like to invite any lurkers to come out and say hi. (I love the interaction aspect of a blog).  Also, it’s about time to update the Things They Don’t Tell You in Lamaze list (see link directly left) and I’ve only got ONE addition!  So if any of you would like to take a gander and leave any suggestions I’d love to hear from you!

Until my brain returns, take care.     – the weirdgirl


And just how sick I had become…

You know, being a SAHM has been an adjustment - as anyone who’s done it can tell you.  No matter what preparation you do or what you might have been doing before, it’s still a bit of a shock to the system. There have been ups and there have been downs, but all in all I’d gotten pretty comfortable with the SAH gig.  However, now that I’m moving into the 13th month (pause for creepy foreshadowing) I find I’m grappling with… unexpected jealousy.  Despite that I’m very happy being at home, I admit… I’m a little jealous of those who go to a job every day. 

I’m not jealous of the hours, the commute, or the endless meetings.  I’m not jealous of the consistent adult conversation or having some place to go every day in clean, grown-up clothes.  And I’m certainly not jealous of (horror) the office politics.  No. 

I’m jealous of the blog time.   

See, I’ve been working from home part time for the last few months. And it’s been tough, I gotta tell you.  The nature of being at home with a baby/toddler, whether you are working, hobbying, domestically engineering or otherwise, is the definition of interruption.  Every moment is mutable; chaos is like that annoying playmate who just won’t leave.  The parenting doesn’t change – the time, the attention – those are fixed.  So the few bloody hours (usually in 15 minute increments) I squeeze from the stone of parenthood are divvied up between whatever personal pursuits I got going.  And in my house, this has developed as a direct inverse proportion between work and blogging.  (Luckily, eating, bathing, sleeping, and TV are necessities so those are also fixed occurrences.  Sex… ain’t so lucky lately.)  If I’m working on a project, blog time goes down.  If work is light, blog time goes up.  Sure I’m getting money, but I still lose time reading my people, damnit!

The way I figure it, working in an office not only gives you unlimited access to the internet, it also gives you a certain amount of quiet time (meetings are always good for tuning people out); time for thoughtful reflection on a post, time to find your words… i.e. no little person hanging on your leg just as you’re scrambling to leave a blog comment!  And let’s face it, when I worked in an office, probably about ten minutes of every hour was spent in the bathroom, getting coffee, chatting over the cube wall, or other “break-like” activities… and that could be ten minutes of blogging, my friends!  (And those of you blogging at work, don’t pretend you’re not doing it.  I see the comments popping up 9-5.)

So yes, I’m a little jealous.  I miss my blog buddies.  I hate the guilt that accumulates when I’ve neglected my reading.  I hate missing out on visiting all the great new blogs ‘cause of time constraints.  Oh and, you know how there’s always that one person who pops up in your stat counter and apparently stayed on your blog for, like, FIVE HOURS before making a comment, throwing your stats all off?  Yeah, that’s probably me.  (sorry)

There you have it.  That’s when I knew how addicted I had become, the moment I considered* going back to an (shudder) office… for the blogging.      

               – the weirdgirl

(*It ain’t happening.)


Have any of you tried doing a zaba search?  It’s pretty crazy.  My name came up 48 times in the US and only some of them were me; a small sum, I might add (pun intended).  Keen’s name came up only five times and all of them were him.  Obviously, he has a rather unique name.  I won’t tell you what it is, but I can tell you it rhymes with an appendage. 

You all should try a search, it’s rather educational.  Or try sticking in made-up names.  I tried “Moonbeam”. I now know that there is a Countess Moonbean living in the United States.  See?  You learn stuff everyday!  Who says I’m not growing?  

Plus, it’s just cool to say “zaba”.  Yaba zaba doo!         - wg


In Which An Intellectual Conversation Dissolves

ME:  What’s with American media and ducks?

KEEN:  What?

ME:  They all have speech impediments.   

KEEN:   Um…

ME:  Donald has a speech impediment.  Daffy has a speech impediment.  Do you think there’s  a reason our culture has a deep-seated hatred of fowl?

KEEN:  I think you’re reading a little too much into cartoons again.

ME:  Hey, you never know, maybe some early president was attacked by a bird or something.  Maybe there’s an unconscious prejudice coloring the entertainment industry.

KEEN:  So… what brought this up?Wonder_pets

ME:  Oh, there’s a new kid show on called Wonder Pets. You know, the one I had on the other day?

KEEN:  Oh, yeah, yeah.  With the celery.

ME:  Um… O-Kay.  Anyway, the little baby duck ALSO has a speech impediment.  Ming Ming can’t say his Rs.  At least, I think he’s a boy.  Anyway, he always says, ‘This is sewious!’… [pause] …It’s really frickin’ cute, actually.

KEEN:   Uh-huh.

ME:  So, do we just automatically make all ducks sound funny?

KEEN:  I don’t know, babe.

ME:  Can you think of any other ducks with speech problems?

KEEN:  Hmmm

ME:  There’s Howard the Duck. You know that movie?  He was just scary.

KEEN:  There’s the Aflac duck.

ME:  Oh, good one!  Yeah, I think he definitely has Tourettes.  Who else?

KEEN:  There’s… Disco Duck!Daffy_duck

ME:  Who’s that?

KEEN:  It’s not a who, it’s a song.  A disco song.  You know, Disco Duck.

ME:  It is?  I’ve… never heard of Disco Duck.

KEEN:  You’ve never heard the song Disco Duck?!

ME:  Um…

KEEN:  How could you not have heard Disco Duck?

ME:  Well, you know, because of my mom… disco was banned from our house.

KEEN:  Really?!  But you’re mom’s a musician…

ME:  So?  She still hates disco.  Why do you think I didn’t know any of the songs when disco came back?

At this point the conversation went downhill until we started singing Macho Man.  So help a girl out… any other speech impeded ducks out there?       

                - the weirdgirl


What the Internet Has Told Me Lately

Hi…my name is the weirdgirl and I’m thin.  I’m not allowed to have an opinion, and I don’t have much intelligence, or understanding of other people and their problems, or of life in general.  If I do express an opinion, I am justifiably punished.  Because I am thin I, under no circumstances, am allowed to begin or participate in an intellectual discussion about differing societal views.  I only have superficial relationships and have never experienced real love.  Besides what the Internet tells me, I’ve also been told that I’m not capable or efficient, that my apparent work ethic is all a scam, and in fact I’ve only ever been hired because I must be sleeping with the boss.  The upside to being thin is that it blocks pain or getting my feelings hurt… and even, I’ve been told, if I did feel pain it would only be “just desserts”. 


Poetry… or lack thereof

Inspired by and following the tradition of the following lovely ladies:

Reluctant Housewife

Mrs. Fortune

Motherhood Uncensored

Girls Gone Child

Mom 101

I am also carting out a childhood poem for your awe and amusement.  I’m sure you’ll all agree I was quite the child prodigy… yeah, RIGHT!  Try not to snicker too hard.  If I could get to the teenage angst poetry I would have posted that as well, but unfortunately they are buried in a trunk… somewhere.  But courtesy to my mom I have some childhood poems on hand.  Enjoy (or groan, it’s up to you).       

The nest!

The nest was full of glory,

The nest was full of eggs,

The nest was full of baby birds who twitter away,

The baby birds were waiting for their mother to come,

To feed her little babys on a sunny day like this one.

Love is…

Love is people picking flowers,

And washing clothes through the hour,

If you wish to wash the dishes,

Go and eat all those fishes,

And if you like something here is love from me.

Me, age 9.  I think we must have started learning about poetry that year.  And I think, horror of horrors, I was writing poems and mailing them to relatives!  Worse even than re-reading an old poem is learning that your grandmother saved it for you. That last poem conveniently ended when I ran out of room on the page to write, LOL.  Funny, the domestic themes running through these; obviously I was much more traditional then than I am now!       - wg 


Holy crapmonkeys!

The kid escaped from his exersaucer!  I don’t even know how he did it.  This is one of my mini “safe zones”, you know places I can lock up secure my son so I can get other things done around the house.  I knew he wasn’t happy about it but… One minute I could hear him rattling around in the thing and the next I heard what sounded like a car being pushed around on the floor.  I walk back in… and he’s pushing a car around on the floor!   With a big ass smile on his mug, I might add.   

To tell you the truth, I’m a little shaken.  And even though I am very very VERY glad he did not hurt himself or do a faceplant on the floor maneuvering his Houdini routine, another part of me realizes… this does not bode well for my “safe zones”.

This does not bode well at all.          - wg


My Picks

For American Idol’s top three: Paris, Katharine, Chris.  Not that there isn’t an overload of vocal talent this season, but those three just have fire.  I think one of my favorite things about American Idol is that, even though there can only be one winner and the winner will probably end up singing a genre of pop that I don’t listen to (unless it’s Chris – rock on, dude), it’s such a great venue for new vocalists to be seen.  I love seeing new talent get a jump start.  I have yet to buy an album from anyone who has ever been on the show (or to vote), but I have no doubt many of this season’s contestants will go on to have lucrative careers.  (And I hope Taylor Hicks hooks up with a band because he would be a great front man.)

I’d also like to share a bit of Keen wisdom, who turned to me in the middle of Kevin Covais’ performance tonight and said, “I finally figured out who he reminds me of… Sherman.”  As in Mr. Peabody’s Sherman.  I know everyone is calling him Chicken Little, but seriously take a look…

Kevin_covais

Sherman_mrpeabody_1

Hush you!  (snicker)

In other TV scenes, is it just me or has Jack’s character become awfully two-dimensional?  “You have my word.”  Psshh!            - the weirdgirl

 


A Different Kind of Scared

Today I went on my third playgroup outing.  Anyone keeping track?  In roughly two + months I’ve made it to three group walks.  Ironically, I felt tremendous pressure to make it to as many events as possible (not that I managed that) while I was doing the free “trial” period.  You know, meet people, learn the ropes, decide if this is the “right” playgroup for me (kind of like college campus visits… OK, not really).  But I started feeling increasing pressure and guilt as my trial month stretched into two (not that anybody was hunting me down for the money or anything – even though I was supposed to be contacted at some point – but still) so I finally just shelled out my group fee (which resulted in a shower of spam playgroup-related emails).  And I have to say now that I’ve kicked down my $50 bucks I’m a lot more relaxed.  I feel free to slack if I want to.  (This is the great thing about America, here you can pay for the privilege to not do anything at all.  And it sure beats the prices of Gymboree; is that a racket or what?!)  However, my tentative plan is to try to make it to a least one event a week, most likely the walks. 

Ahem. I WAS invited to Bunko Night this week, which I declined for the time being.  I think I need to get to know these ladies a little better before I show up with a bottle of wine or other alcoholic beverage and try to make it into a drinking game.  I assume Bunko can be made into a drinking game, right?  Still have no idea how it’s played… but I’m sure drinks can be worked in there.  Otherwise, I’m leaving my child at home for the evening for what?

One thing I’ve noted over the last couple of playgroup walks… wait, you need background first.  We’ve all been meeting at a local mall instead of an outside trail because it’s been raining.  At the end of our “walks”, i.e. several circuits around the mall, punctuated with exercises that are only partly hidden by the escalator shadows (and of said exercises, I usually slink towards the back of the group and perform them half-heartedly – just like in highschool gym! oh, the horrible flashbacks), after our circuits we stop and let the kids go to town in this play yard the mall has set up.  I haven’t had much opportunity to see my son with kids his own age.  All the kids he’s been with have been older, so of course, he looks slow next to them.  Here’s what I notice when I see him next to other one-year-olds… most children that age play but kind of stick close to their parents.  They’re toddling or crawling around, maybe a little uncertainly, they’re having fun but they don’t roam too far away.  My kid, on the other hand, is tearing around the play yard like a madman.  He’s off like a shot and he’ll go quite a distance.  He also enthusiastically goes after other peoples’ strollers (he loves the wheels).  He climbs up other peoples’ legs (I’m not sure what he’s trying to accomplish here).  And he’s almost as fast as the three year olds... and he’s still crawling!  Chance will turn around quite often and look for me, but he’s even gone so far a couple of times that he couldn’t find me immediately – I could see him but he couldn’t see me.  More often, I’m just running after him to keep him out of trouble (or getting trampled).  Now I knew Chance crawled fast, he can keep up with Keen’s normal walking pace and he just hops along beside him like a little puppy (which we’ve laughed about quite a bit) but it wasn’t until I saw him next to other kids that I really started to appreciate his… um… energy. 

Oy… I’m not laughing so much now.  I think I’m in for a handful.  Maybe if he walks soon he’ll slow down (temporarily)?  I can hope, right?            - the weirdgirl


I Didn’t Realize It Was Such an Issue…

I have guests over.  Chance is playing one of his favorite games, pulling all the DVD movies down from a shelf under our TV in the front room.  He studies each of the DVD covers intently; some he smiles at (he particularly likes Dave Chappelle), some he just joyfully flings to the floor.  Once he has a good pile going he slides them around on the rug like cars, scattering them everywhere.  He plays this game at least once a day. 

My guests are looking at me with that look.  Finally one of them ventures, “Do you really want him to do that?”   

“Yeah,” I say, “he’s having fun and there’s nothing that’s gonna hurt him.” 

“Buuuuuut,” they say back with incredulous googly eyes, “he’s making a mess.”  Capital M on mess implied.  Doesn’t that drive you crazy, their looks seem to say, it’s messy and how will you ever keep up?  What kind of unclean mother are you?

I consider explaining that I left the shelf that way on purpose when I babyproofed.  I think about mentioning the stage of development he’s at; you know, exploring, pulling objects off shelves and out of boxes. Getting into things.  Healthy stuff.

Finally, I shrug, “I don’t mind.”  I watch quietly as their brains explode.  Googly eyes roll along the carpet. 

Seriously.  I may be a little anal but if I was going to stress every time I had to pick up something I might as well go catatonic now, because the way I figure it, life is about 1/3rd cleaning up stuff.  Or, at least, it seems that way lately. 

I’ll sweep up the brain bits and eyeballs later, when I get around to the DVDs.    

                  – the weirdgirl

"The silicon chip inside her head gets switched to overload..."