Kids are real (annoying) people, too

I know this is breaking the mommy blogging rules but I need to take a moment to bitch about my child.  Yes, I know!  We're only supposed to talk about how much we love our kids, and the cute and great things they do, or, barring that, how misunderstood they are because they are actually secretly wonderful even when they are misbehaving.

But come on, my son is a person, just like anyone else and that means he has strengths and weaknesses.  Potentially annoying ones.

I LOVE my son.  To pieces.  And I will get all mama bear up in someone's ass if they try to mess with him. Chance is smart and super creative and I love that.  The creativity is one of my favorite things about him.  I love that he can whip out a story at a moments notice, that he is always thinking, that he looks at things in different ways, and says the unexpected thing.  But sometimes?  Those smarts and creativity?

Kill me. KILL ME!

Chance doesn't understand what "fast" is.  Or at least he doesn't understand the difference between fast and slow.  He doesn't understand the word "focus".  And god forbid he actually does one thing at a time.

This morning we're trying to get ready to leave and we were ON TIME! and he insisted he wanted to do another homework sheet before school.  So I, like a big dummy, said, "OK, if you go fast as we get ready we'll have time. So go fast."  But the fast never happens. 

When Chance finishes his homework sheet (which was punctuated by numerous unrelated questions), and I say "OK, write your name," he launches into a story.  "What if Abraham Lincoln and the Mario Bros..."

When he actually writes his name he decides he must do each letter in a different color.  Which is fine.  As long as you do it quickly!  Nope, he tries to start a discussion about the coolness of different colors. (Which I nip in the bud, to speed things up. I do a lot of bud nipping.)  

If I say "come here, it's time to put on your shoes", Chance lays flat on the ground, points out that he's lying down, sits up, grabs a toy, and then spins around on his butt three times.  By that time, I've snagged an ankle to haul him over. 

This happens for EV-ERY-THING!

I try to give him useful definitions for what I'm talking about.  Such as, "going fast" means only doing the things that need to be done, no extras.  And then I point out what the extras are: telling a story, playing with toys, jumping up and down when I say "come here", trying to do two things at once.  "Listening" means stop, looking at a person's face, not talking/interrupting, etc.  But ARGH!  This is not meant to be a "secretly wonderful even when he's misbehaving" post because seriously?  Seriously?  He's driving me nuts!!  Some of it is the SPD, some of it is just his nature, and some of the time he really is just misbehaving because he thinks it's funny.  (So NOT funny.)

I can usually repress the frustration.  I'm very good at repression.  But this morning I lost it and slammed my hands on the floor and now my wrist hurts.

Because I'm not perfect either!

             - the weirdgirl


It's not you, it's me (no really, it's you... I hope)

Remember back in the day when my dryer smelled like poo?  (Which is a completely different incident from when I turned the dryer purple.)  Well, thanks to you lovely internets I managed to get the dryer not to smell like shit.  However, we had lugged around that washer/dryer set through a few years and households and it was pretty much on its last legs.  We managed to make do with it a while longer, the nugget scent came back once or twice to visit (what a dear), and the actual drying became less and less... dry... until we gave up and bought a new set.

A shiny, sexy new set!  In RED!  Be still my fricking heart.

So we've had our new set for just about a year (which I figure puts the dryer at the mentality of a seven-year-old (you know, dryer and dog years being somewhat equivalent)) and guess fucking what?!

There is... oh how do I describe it?  The wafting essence of hot-brewed piss, fruity and full-bodied, vigorously imbuing the air (and my clothes) with its not-so-delicate aroma.

For the record, every single one of us in this household wash.  We are all completely potty-trained.  There are no secret fetishes.

I can't figure out if the appliances just have it in for us (like maybe I kicked one while it was young and word has gotten around?) or...

...we're actually a completely putrescent family AND NO ONE HAS TOLD US!!

(Maybe that's the real reason that damn playgroup would never come to my house.)

Weird_Science_1384_570

           - the weirdgirl


screw natural

I must be the only person on the planet that doesn't like Bare Minerals!  (It's that swirl, tap, buff, all mineral looks like bare skin makeup so pure you can sleep in it stuff, for those of you who don't know.)  I've been using it about a month because I wanted to try it out (and sometimes your skin needs a while to settle into a new product) but I'm Just. Not. Happy. 

First, I break out.  I am cursed with cyclical zits.  And Mother Nature in her great vindictiveness has decided that I, in peri-menopausal glory, will not only break out right before my period but I will also break out right after I ovulate.  It's her little way of saying, "Hi, how ya doing? By the way, your eggs are getting old and if you don't get knocked up soon I WILL PUNISH YOU!"  So I need a makeup that covers.  Bare Minerals is not covering anything.  

So I go back to the makeup counter and explain the issue and after they've stopped giving me the unbelieving googly eyes they give me another powder that should cover up the "problem areas".  BTW, some of the women using this stuff at the counter looked great, and some of the other ladies, who had obvious acne or other skin issues, looked like they were wearing heavy makeup.  I guess you CAN get it to cover... if you put enough on that it totally shows.  And you're willing to buy it every month.

Then I go home with this other concealing powder and put it on and end up with my zits sort of covered... by blotches of makeup that are a different color from the rest of my face.

But wait, there's more!  It flies everywhere, really messy, and every time a puff of powder migrates away I think "Fly free, money! Fly free!"  It also, as part of the migration, gets in my hair and makes it feel funny.  (My hair has sensitive feelings, you know.  It doesn't like being in uncomfortable social situations.)  But my favorite thing, besides the not covering, is the fact that if I do manage to cover up, say, a healing blemish this powder turns it into a dry, flaky sahara-like blemish that looks as if it might start spontaneously dandruffing on the spot.

I feel SO pretty! 

On top of that, the whole marketing campaign has always kind of worked my nerves.  It being SOOOOO natural and the other makeups as a bunch of chemicals is total spin.  Not that Bare Minerals isn't minerals.  It is.  But most other makeups are also full of the same minerals.  Chemicals in general are made from nature.  Because we can't make up shit out of nothing, you know.  When they say something is "natural", they really mean it's "not processed".  Sometimes.  Sometimes it's still totally processed but they call it natural anyway.   And yes, chemicals are processed but that doesn't necessarily make them bad.  Just like all natural products aren't always good for us.  Give me some of that 100% natural arsenic!  Yeah!

Interestingly, when I asked the ladies at the counter what the ingredients were they had no idea.  Except for titanium.  They knew it had titanium.  (Yeah, you and every other makeup out there.)  They also could not find the marketing materials that listed the ingredients.  When I asked "Isn't it legally required that the ingredients be listed on the bottle?" again I got the unbelieving googly eyes. 

I wonder what they're going to do when I return it?

OK, I'm done bitching.  I'll go buy my old powder now. 

           - the weird needed to rant girl


Just a minor educational rant

So I was going to try to do a Mother's Day post yesterday (Happy Mother's Day!) which I didn't get around to, partly because I read this instead and it left me more disturbed than I thought should be appropriately transferred to the Day of All Moms.  (Please stay tuned for a general spewing of personal and possibly incendiary opinions.)

Basically, this article details a local PUBLIC school who has been discouraging disabled students from attending because the school has high test scores and didn't want them compromised.   

I mean, seriously, what the fuck?!

First off, it's a public school.  It's your job to educate the public.  That means all of the public.  Second, why the fuck are you beating on the disabled kids?!  Because, in general, that's considered pretty low.  And if you're OK with that you're certainly not going to have a problem beating on any other kids that don't fit your standard either, at least eventually.  (Start with the extreme cases and then start whittling down, right?  What's this civil rights thing you keep talking about?) 

Third, (and I know this is the one people will get mad about because it should be the least disturbing point made) I'm not convinced that solely "teaching to the test" is a long term benefit for our kids. There!  I said it!  This is an opinion formed completely from personal experiences and anecdotal sources but I still believe it's true.  Sources such as hearing my husband bitch year after year of interviewing kids out of school who've got great grades but rudimentary-to-zero social skills or common sense.  Basically, kids he won't hire!  I've seen situations where schools/teachers seem more concerned with teaching the academics than with the children learning those academics.  I've heard (though I haven't read any yet) there are studies out now showing the to the test method isn't exactly providing students with other often deemed necessary life skills.  And frankly, seeing the stress put on kids to pass all those tests - especially considering that they may not get hired after all their work - I think that stress is rather unfair to the children.

Yes, I think education is important (and if you knew me in person you would know how passionate I am about continuous learning and education) but I'm more an advocate for a happy, well-rounded child with great self esteem than I am for pushing extreme academics. 

And I know that opinion is not going to give me an in with the legions of parents who are on preschool waiting lists because they think that's the right road for their child to get to Stanford.

I am seriously concerned about a mindset, be it from a teacher, a school, or other parents, that is so concerned with test scores they are willing to push other children out.  I mean, yeah, I kind of expect that from some private schools, but if this is trickling over into the culture of the public system?   

It just brings me right back to this.

I feel compelled to research what it takes to get a charter proposal together.  I just cannot sit around and be at the mercy of this crap without trying to do something.             

             - the weird (yeah, I got some fucking opinions) girl

P.S. I never took the SATs and yet I not only went on to college but also to graduate school.  (Didn't take the GREs either.) 


And also?

I'm having one of those days.

I am swamped with work.

I've got a toxic frog running around the house. (Chance left the "feed" door open (a.k.a where we drop the bugs) and the creature got out. I think he was waiting for that to happen. I mean, the frog.  Those suckers are smarter than they look. (Did you know fire-bellied toads can live 20 - 30 YEARS?  Maybe I should thank Chance?))  So now I'm searching for a frog and watching the cats in case of frog-poisoning. While trying to work.

My son - whom I love to pieces - is being entirely unreasonable and contrary about mommy really just needing to read email for a sec (or anything else for that matter) undisturbed.  Like peeing.  Or sitting to change channels for said child.  Without being poked (objects of which are promptly taken away - sorry, lightsaber, you are banished) or climbed upon.  And then, son, really?  The delighting in irritating mommy?  Not cool.

I think my period is starting.

The Internet, whom, yes, I was avoiding there for a while, is still full of sad and scary.

Every time I try to work There. Are. Delays!  And about a million emails.  And changes to spec that I find on my own.  (So I'm working but it's completely unproductive work.  Which I find irritating.  Also.)

I still seem to have this going on 10+ days cold.

I haven't gotten to blog about the loudest place on earth yet.  (It starts with a "D".)  Or about the project that I'm all excited about and have yet to start.

I'm thinking about bagging it all, going to bed, and getting up at 4:00 tomorrow to start over.  I know, I know.  4:00 am?  Couldn't you possibly, wg, just maybe, perhaps a little become even more of a bitch, after waking up at so ungodly an hour?

I don't think so.         - wg


Ah, venting... you dirty ambrosial slut of the mind. 


Happenstance (for shits and giggles)

Holy crapmonkeys, is it Wednesday already?!  Well, in the basic breakdown of my days it seems like I work and drive Chance around to places he "needs to be".  That seems like it should be highly ironic, somehow.  hmmm  However, here are a few other moments in my action-packed, compelling life.

            
I'm on the Waiting List (da da DUM!) for BlogHer... which pretty much means I'm not going.  (Damn tickets go faster every year.)  Keen suggested we book a nice spa day instead.  (Ya gotta love that guy.)

Apparently, for my 20th high school reunion there's only, like, 100 tickets available or some such crap.  Out of a class of 600.  Does that make sense to you?  So I'm kind of figuring on not going to that either.  SPA!

A moment to bitch... color will not stay in my hair.  I mean, it's ridiculous.  This has actually always been an issue for me but I swear it's getting worse.  As you all know (and the above cartoon version of me will attest), I like a lot of the bright punk reds but my real hair is actually a lot lighter.  It's a light brown, with a lot of blonde/red highlights, so what happens is a lot of the true reds quickly fade to an orange-y brown.  So... I recently had my hairdresser (which costs $$$ but I didn't want to screw it up (and, you gotta figure, amortized over several months, right?)) put on a permanent color in a rich, dark auburn with the plan to use that as my base and then just throw whatever punk color I felt like on top of it - red, purple, true orange, etc.  The damn permanent lasted a month!   These things are supposed to grow out!  I mean, I gave up on the semi-permanents last year because they were fading so damn fast, and, of course, I don't expect the deposit-only colors to last very long, but crap on a stick!  I'm basically re-doing my hair color every two weeks

But don't worry it's all vegan and non-chemical and stuff.  At least it's cheap.

Oh, I also tried dyeing my hair jet black a few days ago just to see what it looked like.  Did it stick?  No, no it did not.

A little confusion

Chance: "OK..." (blocking me with a pillow) "you're in prison now." (Pronounced "prism".)
Me: "I am?  Oh no!  What did I do?"
Chance:  "You broke the law."
Me: "How?  I don't remember that!  How did I break the law?"
Chance: "You slammed the law... like this..." (swinging his leg) "and it broke."
Me: "Oh."
Chance: "Yeah, you're in jail now. Here's your ticket to get in."


The real conspiracy

My damn modem went down last Thursday.  Actually, I could tell it was about to go down - because, you know, it would work but I had to reset it about a million times a day, (started with that rain, btw), it kept dropping connections, it was an older machine, blah blah blah - so I was proactive and bought a new modem.

That new modem, apparently, had software unlike any other modem AT&T dealt with.  I found this out after a call to help support and a technician came out to the house.  Also despite the fact that it was a brand recommended and used by AT&T, and in fact had the words AT&T all over the box.  (Somebody in marketing/product training totally dropped the ball. (Motorola))

Oh yeah, and my laptop's power adapter is going out.

I really have just not been having good tech karma lately.  I don't know what it is.  I'm good to my machines; I don't curse at them or dribble coffee on them or anything.  I clean off all the sticky fingerprints that *ahem* other people leave. 

I personally suspect that all the tech companies' super secret planned obsolescence is kicking in at the same time for every component we own.  (And don't say that companies don't design in obsolescence because I know they do. Which... hello!... is not very environmental!)  I wonder if they have secret meetings at conferences to plan out that sort of thing?  Probably planned years in advance, because you just know they also have super secret market forecasting way beyond the rest of us.  I can just see all the tech bigwigs in a clandestine press room at CES '98... "All right now, lets plan the next major shut down. I propose November 08 - February 09.  That's supposed to be a lousy holiday season anyway so let's give the industry a boost.  All in favor?"

But I'm not bitter.        - wg

P.S. Either that or my boss jinxed me with his connection problems.  Dude.


I'm shocked, shocked...

So we found out who taught the oh-so-lovely "pleeeeeeease" to our son... 

It was his GRANDFATHER! 

I know previously on this blog I have refrained from calling out by name the indiscretions of certain elderly relations (hence the acronym UOR (unnamed older relative)) but DUDE!  You're in your 60s!  And you're a dude!

I mean really.  Not to mention that what you taught our child is completely and thoroughly annoying. 

But don't worry... Keen totally kicked the UOR's ass about it. 

              - the weirdgirl

P.S. Is it really only Tuesday?  Why does it feel like it's been a long week already?

"Your winnings, sir."


Breaking News

My dryer smells like poo. That’s right, you heard me. I opened it to put in a new load (snick) and got a big whiff of burnt shit. Not that I’m some pervy secret burnt nugget sniffer, I’ve never actually breathed deep of the essence of burning poop per se, but I have smelled things that are burning and I know what shit smells like and, trust me, the combination is distinctive.

This is kinda chappin’ my hide.

Because either:

1) the universe is laughing its ass off by replacing poop filled pants with a poop smelling dryer; (just to fuck with me. Because the universe says it’s all fine but I know it’s still mad about that ham delivery incident when we were roommates in college. Hello, I didn’t know it would be a live pig! Get OVER it!) (By the way, the universe snores. And steals pop tarts.)

2) we need a new dryer (which I just hadn’t planned on purchasing for Christmas); or

3) the dryer has gained sentience and is eating my clothes (because feces = food intake), and it will probably soon start slouching around the house, being all sullen and mouthy, farting up the place, refusing to use enough deodorant, and using all my minutes texting its no good appliance friends.

But whatever!

So. Back to the important question… are the clothes going to smell like shit, too?

I mean, it’s OK right now because it’s not my clothes in there. It’s the kid’s clothes. And you know, toddlers, they all smell a little stinky eventually. It’s not like anyone is going to notice the fart-smelling one in a cloud of preschool kids. Anyway, that’s why they look so cute… to make up for the shitty smells. (I’ll refrain from making a good pain/motrin joke here.)

But I WILL have to do laundry soon.

Help!               - wg


Update: My dryer no longer smells like poop!  After taking some of the fine advice left here (thank you!) and running a few loads of hot water/bleach/cold water, etc. the smell has dissipated.  I think my lovely commenters were right and there might have been some ancient nuggets stuck in the washer.  My other theory, because our dryer vents to our basement - the unfinished basement that probably has animals passing through - is that a stray cat or possum took a massive dump near the venting and that's what I was smelling.  I don't care either way because somehow the metaphorical match got burnt!  Just in time for me to wash some jeans.

I know you all were dying to hear what happened.  heh


Prop 8 is the New Schoolyard

(I don’t usually get political on this blog, but we are living in some charged times, and this issue is close to my heart. At first I thought there was no way this prop would pass but I’ve been hearing it’s ahead in the polls. Time to do something. Mad mad mad props to LesbianDad for setting this up.)

When I was growing up my parents had gay friends. It was a never a big deal; my parents never sat down with me and had “the Marriage Talk” or tried to define relationships. It was just a given. Their friends were their friends and whatever relationship any of them were in was matter-of-fact. So and so are married, so and so are boyfriends, etc. One couple in particular were these really great guys who… well, they had an impact. I remember them, and I wasn’t all that old, maybe 7 or 8. They were great guys and very committed. Some couples are just “married”, (and when you’re a kid you just kind of know it) whether on paper or not.

Well, years went on and I, being both a bit naïve and a little clueless of mainstream culture, wandered onto the high school scene not realizing that some people really get emotionally up in arms about homosexuality. I mean, in theory, I knew there were people who had a problem with it, and I had always heard the term “fag” thrown around the schoolyard but it was meaningless; I hadn’t personally come into contact with anyone who really let it personally upset them. (There was one neighbor, but he was such a bigot about everybody he was generally dismissed as a goddamn son of bitch.)

So of course in high school (semi-)adult conversations start taking place and I began running into people who were absolutely appalled by anything (capital G) Gay. At this point, I’m still clueless. I remember clearly having a conversation where I responded to someone’s argument with, “It’s just two people who love each other.” I just didn’t get what the big deal was.

Suddenly, some of those people had a problem with me because I didn’t have a problem with homosexuality. The impression was that there was something wrong with me because I didn’t share the same opinion as the masses. Not only were these kids who would have harassed anyone gay in a split second (not that anyone ever came out in high school back then), but I was also getting flack for my personal viewpoint.

And that’s what Proposition 8 reminds me of.

For those of you who don’t live in California we’ve got this proposition that wants to define marriage as only between a man and a woman. Right now, same-sex couples can marry in the state of California. A law like Prop 8 did pass, sadly, in 2000 and was overturned as being unconstitutional according to the equality stipulations in our state constitution. (Because you know, that’s the job of the state Supreme Court… to look at laws and make sure they are lawful according to our constitution.) This new proposition wants to change the California Constitution.

And I’m not OK with that.

I’m not OK with lobbyists trying to change our constitution willy nilly. I’m not OK with one group of people trying to dictate their viewpoint on everyone else. It reminds me of the schoolyard and the bully tactics that are used. As if I’m going to change my mind because you keep shouting at me. I definitely don’t want anyone trying to legally bind me to their viewpoint either. (For the record, if a gay activist group (or any group for that matter) tried to impose blanket definitions in our constitution about groups of individuals and their behaviors… I’d have a problem with that, too.)

But it’s not me I’m so worried about, because I know I’m not going to change my mind. I obviously support gay marriage. However, this is a complicated issue – it’s not just about whether you’re comfortable with homosexuality, you have to consider the rights that are protected under legal marriage; such as being granted access to your spouse if he/she ends up in the hospital. I’m worried about those folks who wander into the symbolic high school who have never really thought about the issue. By changing our constitution you’re basically saying one group is better than the other. And for you, Joe, who hasn’t really thought about it… hey, it’s in the Constitution!

That’s a great endorsement, isn’t it? Why really think about it at all? It could even excuse all sorts of things.

Such as what other changes this would open the way for…?

Sixty-one percent of Californians agree that the mother is the best possible care-giver. Not dads, not aunts, not grandparents, or foster parents… just moms. Moms are THE best. Everyone always turns to the mothers anyway. We’re just making it official, because we don’t want our schools to accidentally misinform children that other caregivers might be of the same quality.

Also, according to history Californians have blonde, brown, or black hair and we just want that on permanent record. We won’t be taking away the rights of any redheads but just so you know, according to our new constitution, you’re not really as good as the real Californians.

And if you’re not as good as the rest of us who cares if other benefits, over time, start to slide a little?

(If you think Prop 8 isn’t step one in a larger plan then I’m not the only one who is/was naïve.)

Right now, I’m pretty happy that we have a constitution that protects equality for everyone. Vote No on Prop 8.

If you want to help, write a post about what marriage equality means to you, and/or grab the very cool fundraising thermometer for your sidebar (email for the code), and then tell LesbianDad about it.
              - the weirdgirl


P.S. I want to hear YOUR story about that fifth-grade rite of passage… Marriage Ed! You know, where you had to have a signed permission slip, and they filed the boys into one room and the girls into another, and you had to watch that embarrassing movie?! That's one of Prop 8's big arguments, you know; no teaching it in schools. 

Wait, you say you never had Marriage Ed?

Oh that’s right, they don’t teach a course like that in California.  Must be too busy teaching math and English.


More Trials with My Twat (damnit!)

OK, here’s the deal.  We are about to hit cycle number 14 of this baby-making venture.  Clearly, attempts 1 – 13 were a no go.  We’ve been in this process for almost a year.  (Yes, I know that’s an awful lot of periods in a year.  Yay fricking me.  My ovaries are obviously in final overtime.)

Sooooo… this month we decided to try the turkey baster o’ sperm (that’s IUI for you scientific folks).  Keen and I have both done all the testing and for all extents and purposes we’re fine.  My hormones are all in place, the eggs aren’t totally rotten yet, and Keen has a nice high count and some good swimmers.  However, with age – on both sides – the chances of conception do decrease.  Eggs get a little old and overall sperm volume goes does.  (Sorry guys, you know it’s true.  At least your boobs don’t sag to your knees.)  Volume can be important because it’s like Indiana Jones, right?  You know that scene where the natives are dying off left and right, from spear traps and poison darts and falling rocks, until only Indy is left (or at least way ahead of everyone else)?  That’s pretty much the same scenario for sperm traveling the ol’ vag.  (Those vaginal traps are just brutal.)  Dr. Jones obviously hasn’t been making it, so we figure let’s try shooting some of the boys directly to the gold idol and bypass the Tunnel of Doom completely.

But no Clomid, man.  Clomid scares the crap out of me.

(True real life conversation:

ME:  I’m not sure I want to do Clomid with the IUI.  Would that affect the chances of conception?

OB-GYN:  Hmmm… well… I’ve never done it without Clomid before.

ME:  I mean, I know I’m ovulating.  And I just want one more kid, not twins.

OB-GYN:  Mmmm…

ME:  How many twins have you gotten from using Clomid?

OB-GYN:  I haven’t gotten… any.  (He sounds surprised.)  And that’s in ten years!

Long pause

ME: So you’re due… and chances are that would be me…

OB-GYN: With multiples!

And then he starts laughing.)

Anyway.  Me and Keen have been preparing for this to be the cycle where we rush down to the OB's office for some plastic loving.  (Which, really, doesn’t take all that much preparation except for counting days, peeing on sticks, and pondering important questions like should I wax?  (BTW, peeing on sticks?  Completely overrated.))  I figured I would hit ovulation around Monday or Tuesday.  Guess what I wake up with Saturday morning?!  A fricking bladder infection trying to start, that’s what!  I haven’t had a bladder infection in, like, two years!  All I can think is that I gotta get rid of it before I ovulate ‘cause I’m pretty sure IUI with a bladder infection is not a good thing.

So first thing I grab a bunch of cranberry pills to kill the infection.  This is my usual method of dealing with a bladder infection.  Sometimes if you catch it early enough (and it was early) you really can nip it in the bud with cranberry pills.  I slosh ‘em all down with water and then I realize… fuck! if I take too many I’m going to raise my acidity levels… and I’ll once again kill off Indy!

Damnit!

Then I start scrounging through the cupboard to see if I have any spare antibiotics.  I find a recent sample bottle, check the Internet to see if it can be used for bladder infections, and (score!) it can.  Slosh that down, too.  Then I start wondering if it’s OK to take antibiotics before an IUI.  (Hi, I’m the weirdgirl and I’m freaking out.)  Will that kill off sperm?  Will it affect ovulation?!  I sure as hell don’t know; I’ve never done this before!  I look up more crap on the web… find nothing helpful.  Finally I decide, because of course, I’m dying every time I have to pee at this point, which is every 3 ½ minutes by the way, that I’ll take the antibiotics for one day and hope it’s all out of my system before the IUI.

Then I think about yeast infections… and I swill down some acidophilus, too.

(No temples here; my body is a walking chem lab.  If my hoo-hoo starts producing meth will someone let me know?)

At this point, I’ve been chugging down water all day today hoping to equalize the entire environment.  Just in case that works.  And this whole thing is totally our fault because we tried cramming in a little (too much) extra fun before the “cut-off date” for the old build up of sperm.

Yes, I am blaming the sex.  Why you being so mean to me, intercourse?  Why?

              - the weirdgirl

 



Month Number Six

So this is month six of the great child number two attempt and my period just started again. Part of me thinks I shouldn’t blog about the process because it’s… well, so far it hasn’t been going well. But for my own sanity I need to talk it through. (Plus, I sort of secretly hope someone out there will say, “I had that exact same thing! It was such and such.”) The thing is that for four out of these past six months I’ve had early pregnancy symptoms. Sore boobs, fatigue, what feels like a hormone surge seen in the onset of skin and hair changes, increased mucus (sorry guys), gas. I don’t know why gas has to always make its appearance but, trust me, normally I’m a very ungassy girl. In general, it’s just different goings on than what usually happens in my cycle. So the hope goes up a bit, I start being careful about what I eat, carrying stuff and so on. Then, suddenly, the boobs stop hurting, I get cramping, severe gas (what the fuck?)… and then my period starts. And by suddenly I mean this usually all occurs within a day. Normally I can tell when my period is about to start, a day or two ahead of time; there are certain signs, ones not involving any cramping. This is different. Four times this has happened. 

I’d think (and have thought, occasionally) that I was just being psychosomatically preggo.  But last month was one of two months where I didn’t feel any symptoms… and what a frickin’ difference! No weird hormone surges. No mucus showing up, no fatigue, no gas. My hair and skin were predictable. My boobs hurt – because they do every month – but it was at the normal time and it wasn’t ongoing and increasingly. I felt “normal”. Enough so that I even thought to myself, “OK, I’m not imagining things.” 

As I’m sure you can guess, this has been rough emotionally. I think I’m a pretty tough, down to earth chick – I try to be honest to myself about what I’m feeling and weigh it against, you know, reality (i.e. there is nothing I can personally do about whether a fetus sticks or not) – I try to stay positive and avoid mindfucking myself… but weathering the hormone surges is hard. I tend to crawl into my head and stay there awhile. 

Anyway, Monday I’m going to call my OB-GYN for testing and scraping my hoo-hoo and whatever else we need to do in the oh-so-fun world of women’s health. I probably should have called after the third time this happened but I wasn’t sure it would be taken seriously since I’ve never gotten to the point of a positive pregnancy test. I’m still not sure it will be taken seriously, but I’m almost 37. I can’t dick around with “trying” for another year before looking at testing. My thyroid thing is a factor… except I’ve been steady for months and it’s even been getting better.

I just… I just hate the idea that I might be able to get pregnant but not stay pregnant. It’s like I’m at the mercy of defective forces.

Man, this blog just feels like all I’m doing lately is venting or worrying and I’m so tired of it!  I'll stop now before the hormonal ranting gets worse.                 - wg


Ya wanna talk old?

The clock says 10:18.  We just did the daylight savings switch so it should feel like 9:18, and yet all I can think about is going to bed.  Me, the chick who is usually up to midnight.  Ish.  Yes, I have been slammed the last few days... Chance was having some "emotional moments" (repetitively and loudly), and then we had a family party on Saturday, soon to be followed by Chance's kid birthday party tomorrow so yeah, a lot going on but still...

I shouldn't be so damn tired at 9:00 in the pm.  This offends me to the core of my night owl soul. 

MOST of the time I don't feel my age.  Really.  I feel pretty hip and young and cool (in a nerdy way) and usually energetic.  But there are those certain nights, man...

...well, let's just say I'm missing the copious amounts of caffeine and sudafed I used to consume on my less than perky days.  (And no, I'm not pregnant. I'm just trying to cut down.)

BTW - Once again I'm watching The Millionaire Matchmaker; the latest episode.  Am I the only the one who thinks a guy proposing on the first date is just freaky and idiotic?  And the chick said she'd "consider it"?!  And then Patty (sp? Patti? whatever) got all teary-eyed like it was a miracle and not a sign of the high divorce rate or anything

AND, I'm not saying this has anything to do with it, but I must say that guy had THE most muppet-esque eyebrows I've seen in my life.  They could have been drawn on with markers. 

           - the weirdgirl      


Granny Panties… in a Bunch

OK, I got a little beef to pick. (Wait, is that beef or bone? Probably bone, right? Who picks on cows?) I’ve written in the past about my issues with undergarments. Well since then (it’s been almost a year) I managed to find a couple new brands of undies. Yay! One style in particular that I absolutely love!

They are heavenly.  No ride up factor, fits perfectly. Beautiful, soft material. Like cloth spun from ripped-off angel wings on my butt. They have become the new favorites in my knicker rotation.

However, this style also happens to look a little granny-like. Not exactly billowing-in-the-breeze briefs but definitely NOT Brazilian cut bikinis or sexy thongs. (I still hate thongs.) When I first found them I distinctly remember thinking, “Hmmm, I’m not sure Keen is going to like these,” but they were So… Damn... Comfy!  And given the usual torture that is underwear shopping I knew, granny panties or not, these were keepers.

(Because, let’s face it, if anything is going to trump sexy it’s usually comfort. Sorry guys (as you sit on the couch in your boxers with a stained tee halfway up your stomach).)

So imagine my surprise when the following exchange occurred…

Keen, watching me change one day, “Your ass looks SO HOT in those!”

Ding ding ding! “Really?” Me, craning around to look at my undies, “I thought they looked like granny panties. I mean, they cover up a lot.”

“Whatever. They’re still hot, baby.”

(Welcome to what passes as foreplay in my house.)

I was ecstatic! Underwear that was incredibly comfortable and didn’t make me look geriatric! Or did in a really sexy way. Or… wait, that’s just wrong. Anyway, these suckers rocked!!

So of course, I go to order more… even at the whopping $7 dollars a pop (yeah, I know that’s a good price for underwear but I only pay $6 for my t-shirts and those have WAY more material!) and…

…they’ve been discontinued.

My sexy granny panties. Gone. Because why would anyone keep making something that was so damn comfortable?!

(No one should feel this much heartbreak so close to Valentine’s Day.)

         - wg


I just spent the last hour writing a post, an amusing anecdote of being locked in the shower, only for MS Word to freeze on me to the point that not even End Task is working.

I'm never buying a Dell again. 

Goddamn it, I'm cranky.


We Interrupt this Programming to Bitch

OK, I need to take a brief break from the commenter-inspired posts to vent a little,  'cause I got nowhere else to bitch about this crap and Keen is tired of listening to me.

They have now called for a voluntary recall of infant cold medicines.  Why?  Because people can't fucking follow directions.  Please don't get me wrong, I'm all for protecting our children.  There have been cases of medication misuse and overdose that have resulted in hospitalization and, tragically, even death.  However, it says right there on the box to not use without a pediatrician's guidance for children under two!

Here's how it works... you go to the doctor with your sick under-two infant, the doctor gives you prescription medication if needed, tells you to give your child lots of liquids, use a humidifier, AND explicit instructions for over-the-counter meds, with cautions to not overdose.  That doctor may even give you these handy charts with dosages by weight (mine did), which you keep for reference.  You weigh your child and then give them the appropriate dose.  If in doubt, give them the next lower dosage or even... just one dose a day!  I know!  It's all so fucking radical!

I've been pissed off in general because there is now ONE decongestant available over-the-counter (for everyone) and they keep threatening to pull that too.  I'm talking Sudafed (pseudoephedrine), the stuff meth-amphetamines are made with.  I have allergies, usually with bad head congestion, and as much as I like Claritin, it doesn't help worth beans when your head is already stuffed up with snot.  The medical community has admitted that cough suppressants don't work very well.  Antihistamines and expectorants work sometimes.  Decongestants are the only ones that work consistently.  All other decongestants besides Sudafed have been pulled off the market over the years. (Except for that Sudafed PE crap which does NOT work!)  To buy any product with Sudafed in it, I have to ask for it at the pharmacy counter (I'm surprised that don't wrap it in a paper bag before handing it over), then turn over my ID to be entered into a database to make sure I don't go over my monthly quota!  (Is that only in California or is it everywhere now?)  If everyone in our household is sick Keen and I have to keep track of who went to the pharmacy last so that neither of us tap out our limit.

I'm not one to say we should stuff our kids full of drugs the moment they get a sniffle, but yes, I'd like some over-the-counter meds available to relieve their symptoms when their suffering is at its worst.  And if any of you have ever had a sinus infection or a really bad head cold, you know sometimes you just need decongestant.

There is so much effort in our country towards protecting ourselves from being idiots.  How about this?  How about we work on teaching people to read and follow instructions?  Maybe use some common sense?  Don't give your child medication when they're not sick.  Don't give it to them only to help them sleep.  Don't just grab the dropper and start shoving medicine down your kid's throat without READING the box! 

If you have made the occasional slip-up (hopefully with yourself) and accidentally double-dosed (honest mistakes do happen) learn from your mistake...   next time write down the dosage and time you gave medicine to your child on a handy piece of paper.  (That's what I do.)

I don't know if I'm more annoyed at the idiots that make it hard for the rest of us or the industry that panders to our idiocy.

I'm going to be really pissed if I have to start reading those spam emails to buy meds from overseas.

      - the weirdgirl


The Forecast - Rain

It doesn’t look like rain to me.

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Keen has this theory that California gets all the bottom of the barrel weather people. Because, you know, the ones who are at the top of their class at weather school (or whatever) go to the Midwest to study tornadoes, Florida to study hurricanes, ice storms…um, somewhere up north… you know they go where the really juicy weather is. Our weather here is not so interesting. Keen figures us Californians get the slackers… the kids who preferred partying over going to class, maybe a pothead weather guy or two. I can just picture that kid… “Yeah man,” takes a drag off his joint, “I’m totally gonna go study meteorology, man. It’s like the perfect job, dude! You just step outside and take a look around.”

Well, weathermen aside we had our own little flash flood here anyway.

Me and the kiddo are sick with headcolds.  Colds suck. Wednesday morning we felt fine and by that night… well, we weren’t pretty. It especially sucks because we both also just had a touch of the flu last weekend. (I didn’t mention it earlier because it occurred at roughly the same time as my little drunken soiree. And no, it was not the drinking “flu”. I could explain the difference in detail but Keen asked me not to write any more stories about poop.) Is it any coincidence that roughly a week after everyone goes back to school a bout of viruses sweep the Bay Area? I think not.

Thursdays are normally my one day of the week in the office while Chance is at preschool. “Aw, too bad,” everyone says while rolling their eyes, “You have to stay home. I’m hurting for you.” Well, for your edification (and entertainment) here is a slice of a “relaxing” sick day at home.

7:00ish Wake up, coughing on phlegm

7:00 – 8:00 Get kiddo changed, fed, changed again, and settled watching morning shows. Get myself fed, let out cats, sort of kind of half-heartedly straighten up house amid sniffles and coughing. Wipe mine and Chances noses numerous times within this hour.

8:00 – 9:00 Give up being productive, read paper. Notice that Chance has way more energy than I do, given that he is also sick. However, he seems content to hang out and watch his shows.

9:05 Since Chance is so happily involved in his show, I decide to go up and take a quick shower.

9:15 I’m through the primary washing and am moving on to the secondary washing (i.e. exfoliate face, wash hair, etc.). Chance comes into the bathroom and starts chatting me up through the shower door.

9:16 “Hey kiddo, don’t you want to go back downstairs and watch your show?” hint hint hint

9:17 Banging occurs. I stick my head out to see Chance soaking wet all down the front of his clothes. “Chance! Were you playing with the faucet?! Hey, there’s no playing with the faucet! Are you cold? Well, you’re just going to have to wait until I’m done…” Mean mommy!

9:18  Perceive (through lovely opaque bathroom glass) vague shuffling and movement near toilet. “Chance! No playing with the toilet either!” Stick out head…

…time slows… see: empty toilet paper roll, rapidly overflowing toilet, wads of paper swirling in bowl, Chance looking on with intense interest as he becomes, if possible, even more wet…

“Chance NO!” I jump out of shower, plunge hands into toilet and pull out wads of paper. Water stops rising. Crisis averted, or at least shortened. I shut off shower, sort of towel myself off, strip Chance’s sopping clothes off and march him downstairs.

9:19 See drips of water in the living room… splashes in the dining room… large pool in hall gushing from the bathroom and the overflowing sink whose faucet is still on! At this point, for almost the first time ever, Chance’s face assumes a look of guilt and trepidation. Yelling begins.

9:20 Chance is changed into clean clothes and banished to sit in one spot - quietly and do not move! - while I clean up… oh, everything!

10:00 Everything is finally cleaned up. I am dressed. I collapse on the couch near Chance’s quiet sitting spot and grab a tissue for my endlessly dripping nose. Chance runs over, throws his arms wide open, “Big hugs, Mommy!” and wipes his nose across the front of my shirt.   

Because when it rains it pours. (But I’m not bitter.)

I never did get to wash my hair.  – the weirdgirl


Something Smells Like a Piece of Crap

I’m getting awfully close to potty training but we’re not there quite yet. I was waiting for 1) the move to be over and 2) for Chance’s communication skills to improve just a tiny bit more so it was a little easier. Oh, and I’ve been getting him addicted to M&Ms. That part is going well. But I’ve had a slight glitch in my plans. Our old diaper pail brand was discontinued along with the bag refills. Oh, you can still find the refills… they’re just outrageously expensive. So we thought, in the meantime, to go with a tried and true brand.

I just bought the Diaper Genie II. I HATE this thing with the passion of a thousand burning suns! I never use the term “hate” lightly, inanimate objects or not. It, frankly, smells. And not just smells a little or when the bag is almost full. No, it smells A LOT… ALL THE FUCKING TIME! (Seriously, I’m trying to cut down on the swearing now that Chance is talking more but there are moments where it is absolutely appropriate! And therapeutic.) It also has the most ridiculously small canister for diapers I’ve ever seen. Like, I need to empty this piece of shit every other day. Our old diaper pail? I changed it every 4-5 days and WE NEVER SMELLED IT!!

I’ve been feeling a little fuzzy lately. I figure it’s due to getting settled into a routine in a new place. But there have been certain things, certain times, that come into sharp focus. Walking into my son’s room and smelling that blasted diaper pail has been so sharp I think I’m about to be impaled. 

My poor son has to sleep in there. I think it’s time to shop for another one, potty training or not. Any suggestions?

 - the weirdgirl


A Rant for Happy Moms

Let me preface this with a little story… when I was a kid and teen there was a certain group of other kids whom I was thrown in with because we belonged to the same church. The kind of “friends” you have to hang out with because of your parents’ social circle. We also went to the same schools, lived in the same town, etc. I, essentially, grew up with these kids… and they weren’t always very nice to me. They were cool and I wasn’t. They knew what was “in” and I didn’t. They were nice when it was one of them and myself, one on one, but as soon as other kids showed up they would tease me, bait me, blah blah blah. (Anyone who has been through this knows what I’m talking about.) I did continue to hang out with them (something I would not do as an adult) because, one on one, they were perfectly OK kids and we had fun. I never baited, teased, or was snarky back. Usually when they started up I got quiet or I wandered off to be with other people.

I think, in their minds, they thought I was trying to be cool and was just hopelessly failing. That I hung out with them, tolerated their behavior, because I wanted to be like them, and that’s also why I was never snarky back... to stay in their "cool" good graces.

They didn’t get it.

I wasn’t snarky to them because I had no interest in falling to their level.   I wasn't even particularly interested in being "cool".  Regardless of what they thought of me, I liked myself.  Part of what I liked about myself was not being a mean person. I wasn’t going to compromise who I was to fit into their standards of the popular crowd. I gave them credit for their good qualities and the times we did have fun, and blew off the rest (or tried – at 12 it’s hard). I certainly wasn’t going to emulate the behavior that I didn’t like.

But I did, often, feel left out.   

Sometimes I feel there is a popular parenting crowd online.  And I’m not a part of that either.

Rebecca hit a major nerve for me in her recent post, “Good Parent”… she identified an aspect of parenting, and of the blogosphere in particular, that has always bugged me. It is the proliferation of “I’m a bad mom” posts; the posts that not just explore parenting insecurities (which we all have at times) but almost seem to insist that they are crappy parents and wallow in it. And the blogosphere responds, with many supporters flocking to those who write about unhappiness, vulnerability, insecurity… sharing their stories, insisting that they are bad parents too, wallowing some more in a lovely cycle.  These posts, these bloggers, are very, very popular. You’d almost think that there are no happy, confident parents out there.

But there is an unhappy in-crowd.

I don’t begrudge anyone support in their time of need. (And I’m not saying that some of the issues floating out there aren’t very serious and real.) Parenting IS hard. But that doesn’t mean some of us are unworthy of support because we are, in general, happy in our lives and with our parenting ability. Sometimes it is invalidating for me as a parent and as a writer to visit someone’s posts, day after day, all written about their fears of being a bad parent or how awful they feel for yelling at their kids the other day or the latest parenting power struggle with their spouse, and see the ten million comments and supporters they have all the time.

And for me personally (and I know this is completely selfish), I get frustrated with that aspect of the blogosphere that also rewards painful, heart-wrenching, or sentimental posts. There are the Perfect Posts awards, there are the Thinking Bloggers, there are numerous blog awards, and general love-ins, and topic circles about how being a mom is terribly difficult, and more. At times I think these awards and nominations are completely valid for commendable and inspiring writing, and some of my favorite writers have received them for very good reason. But there are a lot of times where they seem to be given as a badge of misery, a celebration of “hey, you’re insecure, just like me,” a popularity contest in the we-suck-as-parents-club.

Parenting is still hard for the rest of us, too. It is a tough fucking job and it is hard to get through a day dealing with children, regardless of your circumstances.  We all have crappy days and moments when we need help.  And writing like this, putting yourself out there every day in a blog is hard and takes a bit of bravery. I like who I am as a mom. I have no interest in changing myself or my writing to fit into some standard of mommy blogging (which currently involves insisting that one is a bad parent) that’s popular, to solicit more comments or readers, to fit in with the (apparent) majority. Yet, I still want to vent occasionally without feeling guilty. Like I’m whining. Because other moms feel so much worse.  Because my mommy blog doesn’t measure up. Because for the most part I feel pretty damn good about the job I’m doing.

I don’t write about the deep, dark and painful on this blog (and I have my share, just like everyone else). I write satirically about some of the fun or funny aspects of parenting, or I just talk about what’s going on in my life at the moment. Occasionally I take some pot shots at pop culture. I have written my “bad mommy” posts but I think it’s obvious I use that term tongue in cheek. I consciously chose to make this blog a light, fun (for me), and goofy place because that helps ME deal with the two-year-old tantrums and I hope it brings a respite to other people as well. I AM a good mom. I feel pretty confident in my abilities so far. We all have challenges as parents but I don’t see mine as being any more unusual or difficult than anyone else’s. I’m pretty happy with my life and I’m sure it comes through in my writing. I also think that’s one of the reasons I don’t have a huge fan base and get a ton of comments. I have never been nominated for anything. Misery loves company and I’m not miserable. And I also see a lot of other mom bloggers (see blogroll stage right) who are happy, GOOD moms who don’t get a lot of comments, visitors, support either. I have, more than once, visited a happy mom blog, read awhile, commented, and then heard back from that blogger who said, “Wow, thanks, I didn’t think anyone read me!”

And that just sucks.

I often find myself relating a lot more to the blogging dads (and the other obviously happy moms) because they do not get caught up in the good/bad parenting debates.  They don’t get caught up in cycles of perpetuating misery and sanctimommy guilt.  Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass about the latest arguments on breastfeeding/preschooling/co-sleeping/Libby Lu (or whatever the hell that makeover place is called) and how that makes me “feel as a parent”. I’m going to do what’s right for MY kid and I feel confident that I can figure that out.

And you know what? Chance is happy. That more than anything makes me feel like I’m doing great as a mom.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t still sometimes feel left out.

It is a brave thing, to blog. We all deserve some accolades sometimes. For just ourselves. Even when we are happy. - wg


5-Second Soapbox

I wasn’t even going to touch the whole Britney thing because, you know, ew, but then I ran across this quote:

"This girl is out of control," Joy Behar, a co-host on ABC's "The View," said Monday. "And, she's in a lot of trouble. A lot of people feel this is self-mutilation."

Has the whole world gone mad? Seriously.  It’s HAIR! I’m not saying she doesn’t need some help, especially considering the partying while she has kids at home, but it’s still… just… hair. 

There are more important issues, people. 

(Re-commencing my life now.)         - wg