Monday, February 28, 2011

Threw Off My Groove

I can usually write about nearly anything.

Sure, I might be talking out my ass making it up as I go some times, but I can still come up with reasonable (ish...) sentences pertaining to the topic at hand.

Except, of course, when I can't.

I recently applied for a job with a nonprofit that works with the Denver Public Schools to increase independent reading (aka reading for fun) in the student body.

And they wanted the cover letter to address the question: "What is the value of independent reading in the Denver Public Schools?"

Well that should be simple enough, right?

Except that it wasn't.

I had nothing. A few fragmented ideas about it making them do better at academics and reading to the girls were all I had. And I couldn't even make those into something resembling a coherent paragraph!

Me reading to Kristina ~3mos
But, sometimes the best way to think of things is not to think of them at all, and then the perfect piece will pop into your head in the middle of a shower or at 3am when you were supposed to be sleeping and not writing blog posts about how you cannot think of what to write for a ridiculously easy question to save your bloody life.


So I waited.

And days passed.


And I still didn't have anything more intellectually grounded or less resembling incoherent babbling by a pot smoking monkey.

(For the record, I wasn't smoking pot.)

(Perhaps it would have helped......)

(Did you know marijuana is totally legal here in Colorado and that there are dispensaries all over the place? Also, the local newspaper likes to put articles about removing illegal national forest grow patches next to ones outlining where new legal growing sites for the licensed clinics will be, which seems both ironic and rather counter productive to me.)

So I decided it was time to buckle down and get this shit done. It's not like I haven't had to complete papers and exams without the perfect inspiration before, I can totally iron this out if I just really focus and work at it.


Ummm..... well, gee.... uh.........reading.... is, uh, good...I think.........


Ok, perhaps it is time to resort to desperate measures of last resort.

And go ask my mommy what I should write.

(It's a good thing mommies don't ever stop knowing everything.)

Sunday, February 27, 2011

Lost Baby

How long does it take to lose a baby?

I managed it in about 5 seconds at Target the other day.

The girls and I were chilling in the toy section (it's what we do for fun), and in the time it took me to pick up toy that had been left on the floor and put it back on the shelf Adrianna managed to go from a few feet away from me to out of sight.

Absolute panic floods your brain in that split second you realize your child isn't right where she should be, and all the worst scenarios play out simultaneously.

She's been abducted. She's climbing up the shelves in the next aisle and about to fall off and split her head open. She ran across the store to the household cleaners and is about to drink wood polish. I'll need to have the Target employs put out an emergency lost child page. They'll have to call the police. I'll be charged by the police for negligence and the girls will be taken away.

And then, as I called out "Adrianna? Sweetheart? Where are you!?!" (like I'm totally expecting the 13 month old to chime out "I'm right over here Mother" in response) I heard her giggle.

But I still couldn't see her anywhere! After a few moments of frantic checking around the aisle end-caps and mentally cursing at myself for not having gotten her an ID bracelet yet, I found her.

Squatted down behind the cart, giggling impishly at me.

Thanks kiddo, I totally needed to get my heart rate up like that.

Now stop being so endearingly cute so I can be cross and scold you for that stunt!

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Yoga Face

I have never done yoga.

Mostly because I prefer non-cultish high energy workouts set to music.

(Dear Aikido, why are you not set to music? Capoeira is totally kicking your butt on that one.)

And I have no patience for breath training.

(Not even for music.)

But Adrianna recently pulled out a vintage (from the 80s!) yoga book that had been hiding itself away on my parents bookcase, and I (lacking anything else to do) was flipping through it the other afternoon.

The first thing I did was get stuck in the lotus position after going "hey, I can do that!"

(Do, yes. Undo, no.)

Then I came across the lion position. For those unfamiliar with yoga like myself (until two days ago, when I instantly became a master by reading an outdated book for 15 minutes and doing three positions), the lion position involves sticking your tongue out in such a manner that assures maximum ridiculousness in the doers appearance. And probably some funky breathing/counting dealio. And maybe metamorphose into a wildabeast chasing large feline.

(Actually, that last part would be pretty cool. By the powers of our yoga combined, transformerize!)

Which cemented my conviction to never ever take a yoga class, as I would (a) refuse to do that, (b) point and laugh hysterically at my classmates and (c) take pictures with my cellphone to post on facebook.

Next in my detailed study of randomly flipping pages was the shoulder stand,  which again elicited the "hey, I can do that!" response.

Except that this time I actually could! See, I did stuff like that all the time as a kid, and despite it having been a few years, I was fully convinced that I absolutely could hold it the required minute for mastery.

So I scooted on over to the rug and sprung right on up into a beautifully formed shoulder stand, absolutely convinced of my innate yoga superiority. And approximately three seconds later Adrianna toddled over and sat her squishy diapered little bottom right down on my face.

And that was the end of yoga practice.

Friday, February 25, 2011

The Age of Technology

When we were accepting an offer on the house, I had to have forms faxed to me to sign and then I had to fax them back to the realtor's office.

The whole incident took several phone calls and about 15 minutes.

And I couldn't believe how ridiculous I think faxing is. The entire time I was absolutely convinced that I should be able to do it online in under two minutes.

(Or better yet, on my cellphone. With my thumbprint. In thirty seconds or less.)

And then a few days ago my parents were suggesting I go to a job fair (which turned out to only be for UNC students and alum. And not me.) and bring along copies of my resume.

On paper.

Specifically, on embossed paper.

And, once I figured out what on earth they were talking about (it's the really thick paper with a funny seal thingy in the middle that I got in trouble for using for printing off God only knows what when I was a kid), I pointed out that I can email potential employers my resume from my cellphone.

XKCD #864 "Flying Car"
(From my cellphone!!)

My parents did not seem duly impressed by this claim, and continued to recommend the fancy schmancy paper.

(Can I use something as normal as a stapler on it? Or should I tie the pages together with pretty ribbon?)

However, my father did put forth the great logic of "it'll impress the old farts like us and they're the ones that would be hiring you."

Hmmm... he may have a point. In fact, I may want to dig out that typewriting I'm sure must be somewhere in the basement and/or garage and use it to write up my resume.

After all, nothing says "hire me" like ability to use archaic outdated technology with flare.

What's that you say? Typewriters don't have spellcheck? Or backspace??

On second though, perhaps I should go brush up on my pen and ink calligraphy skills....

Thursday, February 24, 2011

Row Rawring Sisters


The girls were going on a boxboat ride. Kristina is singing a slightly mumbled second verse to Row Row Row Your Boat that we picked up at a baby story time library group waaaaaay back in the day (and far away in Iowa).

When Kristina was a baby, I would rock her sitting on the floor forwards and back for the first verse and then side to side for the second, with a big rawr at the end of course.

And I used it with Adrianna for doing Mommy/Baby exercises from when she was itty bitty by putting her on my legs while I was laying on my back (think doing crunches position) and moving legs forwards and back, then side to side, and pulling up to kiss her instead of rawring.

Row row row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily merrily merrily
life is but a dream

Rock rock rock your boat
All along the shore
If you see a lion
Don't forget to RAWR

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Get Out

My parents think I need to get out more.

However, as they're also volunteering to provide childcare at no cost and maximum convenience, it's really hard to object.

But I don't really know where to start... my usual reasons for leaving the house are entirely centered around entertaining the children and obtaining necessities like chocolate milk and diapers.

Now I do actually claim to know people in this state (you know, "friends"), and actually had substantial expectations of regular "hanging out" with them when I came out here.

But the ones I've contacted have been a little flaky and vague on getting together (and admittedly, I haven't tried particularly hard either), and have their own lives full of work and travel and significant others and friends that just don't involve me at this point in time.

The common base has been lost over time.

And I have no idea how to find it again.

But then, I've never shown particularly strongly in the social scene (betcha couldn't guess that by me blogging), and was always much more successful being friends with the strong outgoing personalities who would just bring me along for the ride and not require any initiating (or thought) on my part.

Or so I seem to recall from back when I attempted any social interaction whatsoever.

At this point I'm so far out in left field I don't even know where to start on the social scene.

I often find other the mothers at public attractions mildly distasteful (not to mention, like, old....), I haven't manage to secure employment yet, made a faint attempt by attending to church only to discover that there's exactly 3 members under the age of fifty in the congregation, and am seriously lacking anyone willing to just bring me along to whatever social endeavors they find themselves in.

(Not to mention the never ending complications from having kids.)

So, I'm supposed to get out of the house more. And do stuff besides the internet.

(Oh my internets, how I love you so.....)

Which I'll get right on right after I finish writing some blog posts, checking facebook, and spamming another dozen law firms begging for employment.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Like Mother, Like Daughter: Fancy Dresses

The other day the girls and I went into Macy's on a quest for warm fuzzy sleepers for Adrianna.

It is a rare occasion that the girls ever actually NEED clothing items as we have gotten quite the motherloads of hand-me-downs. From multiple people. For each of them.

(Dear World, I greatly appreciate it. Love, Me.)

However, pajamas in general do seem to have a rather limited life span, as they are most definitely reaching the end of their natural fabric life by the time the third child is wearing them. And in this particular instance, we simply were not given any quantity of warm sleepers in this size (although we have about a dozen pink fuzzies that Adrianna just out grew) and the seasons and locations lined up so Kristina had no need for them.

So Adrianna actually needed some bigger sleepers.

We had been to Target a few days before searching for them, but were greeted with the surprising discovery of them having switched over their entire clothing stock to summer already and there wasn't a single 18month size sleeper to be found in the entire store.

So that evening I searched online, and found quite the deficit of warm sleepers in the needed size (or like, any at all....), and was absolutely flabbergasted by this.

I know it's a little out of season, but it's only February for crying out loud! Half the country is just as cold! Why are sundresses the only things available?!

Stupid retailers screwing with the seasons. I'd probably have no trouble finding the stupid blanket sleepers in July.

But I digress.... 

As I lamented our sleeper predicament to my mother, she suggested I check out the Macy's clearance racks, which is how we ended up neck deep in fancy (read: EXPENSIVE) dresses on Saturday.

And Kristina was positively drooling over the pastel tulle creations.

I indulged her enough to look at the price tag of her favorite pink frock, at which point I desperately starting searching the few remaining Christmas leftovers looking something that might appease her that also would fall somewhere near the "affordable" price range. 

But Macy's was highly disappointing, and I couldn't find a single clearance dress in her size, much less something that could compete with the Easter frufru going on next door.

Kristina dramatically flung herself down on the floor underneath a rack of fluffiness to fully convey her inner angst in being denied a new fancy dress.

In an attempt to get her out of the store without a full on screaming tantrum (at least the flopping on the floor was quiet, and rather an improvement), I suggested we go look for a dress for her at the conveniently-located-just-down-the-mall Gymboree store.

And she was surprisingly agreeable to this proposal.

I'm not sure whether it's a sign of her getting older and more mature (and, maybe? pretty pretty please?? beyond the tantrums?) or whether she's just get smarter about how to get stuff and realizing it was this or nothing.

And since Gymboree stores have a tv in them (best marketing move ever), the girls were actually occupied for the few needed minutes for me to search out a selection of Kristina sized dresses at Mommy sized prices.

(Thank you, President's Day super sale on top of usual Gymboree markdowns.)

Kristina happily chose a light pink sweater jumper which happily rang up at $7.99 and again made the world a good place to be.

However, upon coming home and regaling my mother with the tale (as the first thing Kristina did after getting back to the house was to put the jumper on), Grandma started to voice some objections.

Mostly because for the substantial part of my childhood I deeply pined for those exact same fancy tulle dresses every Easter season.

(Although I do not recall any stories involving my dramatic collapse under the dress racks.)

So, the circle of life continues. I like to think that had money been no object I would have been more than willing to get Kristina the dress she wanted (and a matching one for Adrianna, no doubt), even fully aware of how impractical (not to mention very quickly destroyable through one spilled cup of chocolate milk) they are. But it's hard to know for sure...

Actually, I still really like the fancy Easter dresses. I could totally go for some vicarious living here, given a different financial life situation.

Oh, and we did manage to find a few (if rather blue and football print covered) sleepers for Adrianna somewhere in all that. Woot!

Monday, February 21, 2011

Pacification Reform

Adrianna is a Certified Pacifier Addict.

Which is totally cool with me at the moment as I'm fairly certain that it is helping the weaning process.

(It also usually makes her stop making loud annoying squawking noises, which makes me wonder why so many are opposed to older children having them. I'm sure there's more than one parent of a teenager that wishes they could just pop a pastel plastic blob into their child's mouth and make the whining instantly stop.)

((Yes, I'm fully aware of my bad parenting in letting her still have it whenever she wants. I promise to care sometime soon and work on breaking her of the habit. It's just not going to be today.))

But with our heavy pacifier usage, I've had a few ideas for improvement in the market.

Glow-in-the-Dark Paci:
Adrianna regularly wakes up during the night and needs her pacifier reinserted. However, she also has the nasty habit of yanking it out of her mouth and throwing it (and she has quite the little arm) should she decide she wants to nurse (or be subjected to her poor, probably tooth rotting juice substituted that Mommy has been forcing upon her this last week). The infamous suckysuck also come out when she rolls over, yawns, coughs, sneezes, or was sleeping so soundly it dropped out of her mouth as a result of the heavy drool.

Did I mention her room (and mine, for the nights she's in bed with me) is dark at night? I don't know about you, but my frantic fumbling around the bed and covers and on the nearby floor would be dramatically lessened if the little boogers glowed in the dark.

And why is it, despite tracking down and conveniently stashing at least four every evening before bedtime, by midnight we are down to one little precious and it's worth more to you than those leftover Valentine's cupcakes because the baby will -not- go back to sleep without one in her mouth?

I alternatively considered pacifiers being equipped with flashing lights that operate by remote control, but those get complicated with running out of batteries and Mommy loosing the remote.

Magnetic Pacifier:
This is needed for the retrieval process. The pacifiers would have a metal strip in them with would cause them to pop right on up to your super duper magnetic pacifier retrieval device when activated. It would be especially handy when driving in the car and baby dropped pacifier just out of your reach. Or for that matter, when the little stinker tossed it into the
crack between your bed and the wall which requires substantial furniture rearrangement to access them.

With luck older children would also be amused by it, and spend their days enjoyably tracking down the lost pacifiers.  

Size Transitional Pacifiers:
Adrianna is 13 months old. And still using the little tiny 0-6 month Nuks. Because she hates the bigger ones and will not tolerate them. At all. And admittedly, there is quite the noticeable size difference just from looking at the two, I'm sure the different size does seem strange and awkward in her little mouth.

But I'm also starting to get concerned about prolonged pacifier usage and teeth development from her only using the baby ones (although I'm totally just assuming that they're no longer 'orthodontic' if they're for a much younger child, so don't start quoting me on that). If they came in more intermediate sizes, I might totally have a chance of slowly changing them up to her current should-be size without her noticing.

Or she can just keep using the itty bitty baby ones all the time until she's three and I have to cut her off to get her into preschool. That could work too.

Shape Standardization:
Adrianna started out using Mams, and then decided at three months to only tolerate Nuks. And you know what? They're different shapes!

Recently, my parents took the girls out for the day so I could sleep and attempt to recover from my bought of the plague flu, but they had managed to leave the house without a pacifier. And Adrianna was not happy about the absence of her beloved plastic addiction. So my folks stopped by Target to get a set for her. Except that they got the wrong ones, as I had not properly briefed them of her particular brand and size preference (sorry about that). And Adrianna still wasn't happy.

Although she was kinda funny as she kept turning it over convinced that it was upside down. And then she
threw it down and started screeching again.

How many different pacifier shape options are really necessary in the world? Some standardization and clearer labeling really could help all involved.

(Especially the grandparents.)

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Story Time: The Dinosaur Egg

A tale I told to Kristina when she asked me for a story about dinosaurs.

One day, two little girls decided that they needed a new pet. So they set out to go get a dinosaur.

(Dinosaurs are well known for making excellent pets.)

They figured that all they needed to do was find some dinosaur tracks, and then follow them to the dinosaur.

So they looked and looked and looked and looked, and then they looked some more, but they still couldn't find any dinosaur tracks anywhere!

They were starting to despair about ever finding themselves a dinosaur, when they stumbled across the biggest egg they had ever seen.

The egg was so huge, they knew immediately that it simply must be a dinosaur egg. So they gingerly brought it home and made a nice nest for it with some blankets.

And then they waited for the egg to hatch. And waited and waited and waited and waited and waited. And then, just as they were absolutely positive that they couldn't wait any more, the egg started to move.

It bobbled around a bit, and finally cracked itself open.

And it was the weirdest looking dinosaur the girls had ever seen!

It had this loooooong neck, and these looooooong legs. And a surprisingly large amount of feathers.

And the weird looking dinosaur was hungry.

So the girls went to get it a snack. As they were raiding the pantry for some chocolate doughnuts, as it's a well known fact that dinosaurs like chocolate doughnuts almost as much as little girls, Mama asked what they had been doing all morning. The girls were very excited to tell her about their new dinosaur, and brought her right over to meet it.

And then their Mama started to laugh. And laugh and laugh and laugh and laugh. And just when the girls were contemplating mutiny on the grounds of parental insanity, she calmed down enough to say:

"That's not a dinosaur! It's a baby ostrich!"

The girls were slightly devastated by this news, as they had really wanted to bring home a dinosaur.

But after some deliberation, they decided to keep the baby ostrich as a pet after all.

An ostrich wasn't quite as cool of a pet as a dinosaur would have been, but it turned out to be a pretty awesome pet anyways.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

Fertility Guilt

At times I feel almost guilty about the ease in which Peter and I conceived the girls.

It was almost too easy.

We didn't do anything special, beyond (apparently) having exceptionally compatible (and might I just add, perfect and adorable) DNA chromosomes.

We certainly didn't work for it, nor were we particularly well prepared for it.

And yet, we got our babies in the blink of an eye. And have every indication that we could have gotten all the more, should we have had the slightest wanting or inclination to whatsoever.

While there are other families, other couples, who spend years wanting and wishing and hoping and praying for that little tiny baby.

Good people, ones with nice stable jobs and homes and relationships who could give a child a perfect life. And they spend years and countless hours and dollars trying to achieve that simple goal that came to us far to easily.

I so often have wondered why....

And almost feel as though I should be running out to be a surrogate, to give to others that most amazing gift to all the wonderful baby deserving people out there.

Because I can.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .But I don't really want to.

I'm far too aware of the toll pregnancy takes on the body. Of the pains an aches and stretchmarks that come part and parcel to that little sweet parasite. Of the fatigue and exhaustion and hormones that rage as part of the package. Of the weight gained and doctors visits and total body mauling that comes about during birth.

Asking another person to take that on, for money or love, is asking a lot.

And right this moment in time, I'm feeling selfish.

I have paid my time and my dues in pregnancy and breastfeeding, and I'm SO ready to be done with babies.

There are big plans being implemented to wean Adrianna, and even bigger plans for what I'm going to go do afterwards.

(Tattoos? A night spent not waking to be milked every couple hours? Such crazytalk!)

But I still feel a little guilty in a tiny corner of my brain... luckily, I'm fairly certain I can subdue that corner with sufficient quantities of alcohol, which (incidentally) I can drink in much greater amounts once fully unmilkable.

Friday, February 18, 2011

Snow Castles

Most of the time we've been here in Colorado it's been pretty bitterly cold, especially when wind chill is factored in, so the girls haven't gotten a whole lot of time to play outside in the snow.

But we did get out long enough to make a few miniature snow castles a few weeks back. Because that's what you do with sand toys in climates which don't allow for sand play 70% of the year.

The snow wasn't the most agreeable of stuff, and neither was Adrianna with her insistence of shedding articles of clothing. However, the baby was relocatable back inside the house with Grandma (she was not running around outside without her boots on, regardless of what the pictures might lead one to think). And for the snow we'll just have to wait on until the spring dumpings start, around Easter or so. 

Thursday, February 17, 2011

For the Love of Jeans

Rachel at Grasping for Objectivity recently posted about the unfortunate demise of her favorite pair of jeans, which reminded me of several of my more memorable jean failing stories.

Going through the middle school and high school years had several distinctive periods of body awkwardness for me.

Most notably, the hip growth spurts.

(To my chagrin the boobs never did decide to hope onto the "random periods of excessive growth" bandwagon despite my best efforts to encourage such.)

All of a sudden I wouldn't be able to fasten pants and skirts were sitting two inches high up than they had before. And I sure didn't understand why when I was 12.

(Bodies are weird. Just saying.....)

And then it happened a couple more times during those unfortunate teenage years. And I wasn't always the best about immediately declaring pants as too small and discarding them. No no, I took the "if I can get that blasted button fastened, they still fit" approach. Even when it really wasn't in my best interest to do so.

Which is probably how I managed to split the seat of my jeans clear out one day.

However, there was some slight grace in the world as it happened as I bent over to pick up my backpack before leaving the house that morning, and NOT at school.

(My sincerest thanks to the powers that be for that one.)

But the horror of bending over and hearing the terrifying riiiiiiib stayed with me, and was by far my biggest teenage paranoia of something going horribly, horribly wrong for the next 6 months at least.

And then there were the metaphorical growing pains of coming into adulthood in fashion sense. Peter and I got into quite the spat one time when I was going to go to the commissary (Army base grocery store) in jeans with a holes in the knees, a cartoon character t shirt, and Birkenstocks, and he thought I needed to change first.

(Not quite as epic as our argument over whether or not I had to wear a skirt to attend a Southern Baptist Church, but still a pretty heated fashion fight.)

Now admittedly, he was totally right about the whole "you're supposed to be an adult now and an officer's wife and you shouldn't be wearing destroyed jeans in public" part. But in my defense, I had just spent the summer in hippie central where my outfit was actually considered perfectly reasonable and what I'd been wearing on a daily basis for the last 4 months. It's not like I was wearing Crocs and pajama pants. Or better yet, pajama jeans.

(And I was totally right about the "I don't know a single person in this stupid state besides you and nobody is going to care anyways" part, but we won't go into that right now.)

I think we compromised to me wearing non-holey jeans and flip flops.

(Embellished flip flops.)

And I reserved my holey jean wearing to the weeks he was out in the field and for shopping at Walmart.

Because I like to keep it classy.

Most certainly unrelated but never-the-less cool, I have a guest blog post up as of last night over at always awesome Rants From Mommyland blog which I'm rather proud of. You should go read it too, because it's nothing short of pure awesomeness if I do say so myself. Then you should come back here and tell me how awesome it is, my ego needs the stroking. And maybe you could bring some chocolate chip cookies too?? My ego always needs chocolate chip cookies....

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

How To Wean Your Baby

  1. Decide that it is time to wean.
  2. Move weaning event back three times on account of:
    1. Illness of yourself (the you're so sick and tired and desperate for sleep you would have left your baby with a crack whore with a pet rat named Bernice if you thought it would get you 4 or 5 hours of uninterrupted sleep level of illness).
    2. Illness of baby (and refusal to eat or drink anything besides breast milk for a week).
    3. Forgetting that you were supposed to be weaning.
  3. Spontaneously decide in the middle of the night that now is THE time to wean.
  4. Re-evaluate decision and personal level of sanity at 4:30am when baby won't go back to sleep. 
  5. Stick to your weaning guns.
  6. Give yourself a pep talk in the bathroom.
  7. Promise yourself large quantities of chocolate for breakfast if you don't nurse the baby the rest of the night.
  8. Spend the rest of night sitting in rocking chair with less-than-happy baby.
  9. Eat chocolate frosted doughnuts. 
  10. Attempt to convince baby that cow milk is also good. 
  11. Attempt to convince baby that yogurt is also good.
  12. Attempt to convince baby that orange juice is also good.
  13. Let baby eat chocolate frosted doughnuts.
  14. Fail at hiding chocolate frosted doughnuts from preschooler.
  15. Let preschooler eat chocolate frosted doughnuts.
  16. Decide you need more doughnuts. 
  17. Go to Target. 
  18. Buy additional pacifiers, chocolate doughnuts, and large quantities of jarred baby food. 
  19. Almost forget the diapers. 
  20. Thank baby for taking large poopie while waiting in the checkout line.
  21. Change baby's diaper. 
  22. Go home.
  23. Attempt to convince baby to nap without nursing.
  24. Decide that napping babies are overrated. 
  25. Ignore achy feeling in breasts. 
  26. Attempt to convince baby that new baby food is also good.
  27. Attempt to convince baby that water is also good.
  28. Let baby eat old goldfish crackers she found on the floor. 
  29. Let baby drink your lemonade.
  30. Eyeball half eaten goldfish cracker now floating in your glass.  
  31. Decide you didn't really want lemonade anyways. 
  32. Attempt to play with tired and cranky baby. 
  33. Finally succeed in putting baby down for a nap without nursing.
  34. Breathe. 
  35. Check email.
  36. Baby wakes up from ridiculously short nap, still cranky. 
  37. Attempt to convince baby to eat something, anything, from the fridge.
  38. Do not let baby eat coffee beans. 
    1. Not even if she really wants to.
  39. Attempt to make tired cranky baby happy.
  40. Attempt to feed tired cranky hungry baby. Again. 
  41. Put baby to bed. 
  42. Ignore guilt caused by baby wanting to nurse. 
  43. Eat/Clean/Internet/Shower yourself. 
  44. Go to bed.
  45. Realize the only position you can lie in is flat on your back due to painful swollen breasts. 
  46. Decide wearing a sports bra will help.
  47. Put on sports bra. 
  48. Realize that the only position you can lie in is still flat on your back. 
  49. Attempt to sleep. 
  50. Attempt to put cranky baby back to bed. 
  51. Ignore increasingly aching breasts.
  52. And guilt. 
  53. Spend rest of night with baby in bed with you. 
  54. Get woken up by baby "accidentally" kicking you in your now hugely swollen right mammary.
  55. Ponder what level of concern passive aggressive traits in a one year old should be given.
  56. Go to get dressed.
  57. Get distracted by your now porn star worthy cleavage. 
  58. Decide sports bra is a good thing to keep on. 
  59. Add breast pads in case of leaking, as you appear ready to explode at any moment.
    1. Realize most of your breast pads are on the other side of the country. 
    2. Debate about buying more.
    3. Decide to "improvise, adapt, and overcome", and to use menstrual pads if things get really wet.
  60. Attempt to feed cranky hungry baby yogurt. Again.
  61. Compromise with baby on chocolate milk. 
  62. Play with baby. 
  63. Attempt to put cranky baby down for nap. 
  64. Baby is not amused by juice offering, and voices opinion with loud squawking noises. 
  65. Finally succeed in putting baby down for nap.
  66. Remind self repeatedly that you just have to make it through the first 48 hours and then it will get better.
  67. Take Tylenol for painful boobies. 
  68. Sigh deeply as baby takes ridiculously short nap for second day in a row.
  69. Make slight progress on baby tolerating food offerings. 
  70. Baby still refuses to eat yogurt.
  71. Give baby a bath at bedtime. 
  72. Baby takes a poopie in the bathtub. 
  73. Continue to ponder suspiciously passive aggressive behaviors suddenly appearing.
  74. Baby loudly objects to bedtime without nursing. 
  75. Feel highly successful when baby goes to sleep in less than forty five minutes.
  76. Feeling quickly fads when baby wakes up an hour later.
  77. Realize that despite being (probably rightfully) royally pissed at you, she'd still rather be royally pissed and held in your arms than royally pissed and left alone.
  78. Contemplate what that says about love.
  79. Wish that "in your arms" didn't put her gremlin tendencies quite so close to your titanically tender titties. 
  80. Finally manage sneak out of baby's room with her still sleeping. 
  81. Go to take a shower. 
  82. Realize that you're now stuck in the sports bra thanks to unbelievable amounts of swelling. 
  83. Contemplate cutting it off.
  84. Have horror vision of scissors going very, very wrong and necessitating large quantities of Hello Kitty bandaids. 
  85. Decide you WILL get bra off without scissors.
  86. Succeed. 
    1. But painfully.
  87. Take shower. 
  88. Accidentally spray most of bathroom with breast milk while getting out. 
  89. Hope nobody black lights the room or swabs for bodily fluids any time soon. 
  90. Baby wakes up. Again.
  91. Bring baby into bed with you for the rest of the night. Again. 
  92. Sleep poorly as result of personal physical discomfort and baby hogging the pillows. 
  93. Get woken up in the morning by baby smacking the sore lactationals with her now empty sippy cup. 
  94. Grumble about passive aggressive stinkerbutt babies.
  95. Have trouble finding a bra/shirt combo you can squeeze into without looking like you should be on a street corner with a pet rat named Bernice.
  96. Baby seems cheerfuller this morning. 
  97. Baby goes down for nap without fuss. 
  98. Feel a glimmer of hope.
  99. Wonder when your breasts will catch up to the weaning plan and decide to not be the shape, size, and consistency of unripe musk melons.
  100. Decide to (possibly preemptively) declare weaning a success!

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

The Good, Bad, and Ugly of Valentine's Day

Once upon a time I had big plans of doing something large and memorable for the girls for Valentine's Day, but then as I priced out just how much those adorably dressed up Build-A-Bear love themed stuffed animals would be for the two of them, and decided to opt for a lower key (and much cheaper) chocolate and card holiday.

I did mean to get balloons as well (as you can never go wrong with balloons and small children), but then rather forgot about it until I was in bed the night before and was lame and opted for sleep instead.

However, as they are my daughters, the little box of chocolates for each went over just smashingly. And it was really fun to get to see their adorable chocolate inhaling tendencies! Kristina thought it was so cool that each one had something different in the middle (and once she realized that, it also led to each of her chocolates having one bite out of them so she could compare and make the proper selection), and Adrianna was beyond precious in her response once she picked up on the presence of chocolate (and her loud insistence that some be bestowed onto her).

Plus my parents got me some simply delectable Godiva bars, so it really was a good morning.  

Then I got to spend the afternoon taking the Legal Secretary test for the District Attorney's Office in Denver, after it took 40 minutes for me to manage to successfully park in downtown (uptown? Capital Hill?? Whatever the area with the Capital Building and Denver Mint is called......) thanks to heavy traffic, one way streets, road construction, and me having no idea in the slightest where I was trying to go (but at least the weather was beautiful and the walk from the parking garage was actually quite pleasant).

(And in my defense, I knew exactly where I wanted to go and had no problem whatsoever finding that particular building I just didn't know where I was trying to go for parking.)

I had to sign a written statement saying I wouldn't discuss the contents of the test with anyone (which I'm assuming also covers blogging about the contents of the test....), and I certainly don't think I preformed the worst out of the 35 or so people testing for it.

But I also know I was bullshitting out my ass in several parts, and timed rather poorly on the typing portion.

(It took me a few moments to figure out how to type sitting at a desk......... I think I need to stop lying on my bed to write blog posts.)

((Note to self: why are you lounging on your bed while writing this blog post?!?))

Also, there was an entire section of 67 question devoted solely to my all time "favorite" subject in school *cough-armadillos-cough*, and which was just so delightful I started wanting to stab my pencil into my eye to get out of the room for a medical emergency somewhere around question number twenty. 

So it wasn't the most encouraging afternoon. And it also put me in a slightly downhearted mood about the job search in general, as I feel more and more as though I'm only qualified to work at Target and have totally just been kidding myself about being able to get something else. At all. Ever.

Then it was evening, and the girls decided to be stubborn little stinkers about going to bed (which wasn't helped in the slightest by me being really hungry right then) and fully used up whatever tiny amount of patience for humanity I had left. But I wasn't going to be deterred by that! I had big plans of buttered pasta and watching Julie&Julia ahead of me! I've been wanting to see that movie since it came out! And I love pasta!!!

So I (eventually) managed to get the girls asleep and some dinner made, which I then ate extra helpings of on account of the whole bloody movie centering entirely around food and making me need to be eating for most of it. And THEN I started to get bummed about my blog being a bit on the pathetic side (not to mention rather rambly and unfocused) and bitter about husbands, and somehow managed to eat all of the chocolate my parents had been so kind as to give me. On top of the three servings of dinner. So then my movie was done and I was feeling more than a little sick to my stomach, and decided to get onto the internets where everyone was either bitching about how much Valentine's Day sucks or how all the people bitching about how Valentine's Day sucks need to shut their traps and go eat some heart shaped chocolates, and all I can think about is the friend whose little brother was hit by a car and killed the day before and how she is the only one who is actually justified about saying how much this Valentine's Day sucks and how the rest of the world seems even shallower than before.

(So so so sorry Johanna *hugs*)

So another Valentine's Day has come and gone. But we can't forget the really important messages.... such as the importance of telling others "I love you" and when, exactly, the left over boxes of chocolate will go on super sale (which I will care much more about right after I stop feeling like I'm about to be sick......)

Monday, February 14, 2011

A Little Bit of Heart

So, Valentine's Day is one of those holidays which on the one hand you're pretty much guaranteed to get specialty chocolates (even if you have to buy it yourself), and on the other brings about strange and lofty expectations of others which are almost never fulfilled.

So I'm going to ramble about other things entirely.

(And then go get me a big heart of chocolate covered cherries. And maybe one of truffles too, you can never go wrong with truffles.)

One of the things I REALLY want to do is go to more concerts.

I've been to exceptionally few in my life, which is both surprising and disappointing considering how much I adore music.

Cornell College had Better than Ezra for homecoming my freshman year, and I thought it was unbelievably cool since I actually had heard of the band and knew (at least one of) their songs.

Now, the concert itself left a little to be desired as the set up in the gym was not remarkable at all. But the video of them in concert on youtube reminded me of, and made me want to go see them again.

I also briefly investigated going to the Decemberist's show that was last week, but between factors of not having anyone to go with (nor being confident enough in my old friendships to be positive about convincing someone to go with me) and waiting until the last minute to look into it at all and discovering it was sold out, it just didn't happen.

I did get out to a Montgomery Gentry show at a county fair in Iowa back before life Kristina, and I keep meaning to make to others which just don't seem to happen. Small town Midwest county fairs can get some big country stars sometimes.

(Note to self: remember to bring ear plugs.)

And I did go to a fair number of more classically oriented performances put on by Cornell for my music minor requirement (had to attend a certain number each semester) and from involvement in the music program.

(Yeah, they actually make you show up for your own performances.)

But then I still want to go to The Nutcracker every Christmastime and never make it....

But I'm going to change that.

I'm going to take Kristina to The Nutcracker this coming holiday season if it kills me.

(Because really, considering the tantrum over her getting apple juice while wanting orange this evening, it just might.)

And I'm dragging a friend or two to the county fair this summer, where we will dress ridiculously country, ride the (almost certainly) unsafe rides, eat cotton candy (and probably get sick), and then spend the evening drinking cheep beer in those plastic cups that I've never drank from while watching the country legends tear it up onstage at (and I mean this most literally) deafening volumes.

Because I want to.

And I haven't been doing nearly enough of the things I want to in life.

So I'm going to go to more concerts (and plays and musicals and shows...), and thoroughly enjoy them.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

A Weighty License

After hearing horror stories about the Boulder DMV from multiple sources, I thought I'd trek it on down to the Jefferson County office in Golden to get a Colorado Drivers License last week.

Granted, we'd had a pretty good storm the night before and the roads were icy and schools were all closed, so it may not have been the most objective of days.

But I was in and out in twenty minutes and the only complaint possible was that the machine to sign was a little fickle about not liking my signature and I had to redo it a couple of times!

However, while I was there they asked for my weight during the questioning process, which took me by surprise. Iowa had stopped putting weight on their licenses back before I got mine changed over with getting married, and it simply didn't occur to me that Colorado would be different.

(Mostly just because I'm really stupid, as I had actually just had a conversation with a friend about her getting her license renewed and she specifically mentioned telling them her weight as part of a whole involved story about how the process went and the guy arguing with her about everything.)

As a rule of thumb I usually drop it 10 pounds, because I am absolutely convinced I don't look nearly as heavy as I am due to high muscle concentration (my biceps are huge!) and big bones.

(Stop giving me that look, big bones are real.)

But not having my personal bathroom scale to obsessively stand on 12 times a day like I did in New York and not having thought to check ahead of time, I really didn't know how much I weighed.

So I guessed.

And then promptly sought out my mother's scale once back at the house.

And I weighed in at half a pound LESS than I told the DMV I did!

So on the one hand I'm totally stoked about having dropped the last of the baby weight without even knowing it, while on the other hand I'm rather annoyed that my license is going to read that weight for the next 5 years.

And then I have that reality check of "when, exactly, am I going to be ID'd for stuff anyways?" and that feeling fades into the distant "well, someday, life will be different...." strain of thought.

And then I go eat some thin mint ice cream to feel better, which should also help take care of that license weight being wrong in no time!

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Geek Girls is Launching!

Well, sorta.

I made a blog for it, but Blogger has been having issues all day so I haven't been able to make it pretty or edit it hardly at all.

And I'm being completely lame in the "writing" department these days. I need content from somebody else to put up there!

(Pretty please with sugar on top and extra sprinkles??)

I would absolutely love to get a nice base of staff writers who regularly contribute articles (once a month, perhaps?) and who would get bio stuff listed for them and everything, along with whatever random contributions other passerbys (passerbies? passerbiers?) might like to make.

We could also use some serious custom HTML and graphic design help to make the site look as bad ass as totally is. 

And maybe someone to spell check stuff.....

(And to scold me for making up words.)

But if I can't get helpers, the site will DIE a horrible death worse than the Wal Mart customers at the Zombie Apocalypse.

And we can't let that happen! It's such a great idea conceived by such a great genius!

Geeky topics written by geeky girls? Sheer brilliance!!

So if you're feeling the writing bug at all, please (please please please please!) email me! I'm not picky, rambles about your favorite LARP session, cheesy Magic the Gathering as life analogies, a guide for making custom HTML supported picture backgrounds, your kick ass lightsaber video, or zombie doodles are all good and would most likely be used.

Like, immediately.

Because it's pretty despicable right now.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Playing Telephone

We lost power during one of the storm fronts a few weeks back, and my parents pulled out an older corded telephone which they keep around for precisely these moments.

(So they can call the power company and whine about being out of power.)

The girls found it just fascinating, and after power was restored the phone was demoted down to "plaything" for the afternoon.

Adrianna was thrilled just to bang away on the always forbidden buttons and thought the cord made a stylish necklace, while Kristina happily pretended to chat away to various relatives, friends, and Sesame Street muppets.

And then, after studying the buttons a moment, Kristina asked (in all seriousness) how to turn it off.

She had no idea how a traditional phone works. Because in her little mind, the telephone is turned on and off with on and off buttons. And is nearly always cordless. And she would probably be hard pressed to identify what a payphone is at all.

Which brings up some very important questions.

Like where will her generation's superheros will have costume changes???

Thursday, February 10, 2011

Tool Kit for Baby

When a baby is on the way, the expectant often receive many thoughtful gifts, hand-me-downs, and for-the-love-of-Christ-please-get-this-baby-crap-out-of-my-house-now offerings.

Except that these things don't always cover the really important stuff.

Sure there's no such thing as too many diapers or rattles, but there are some much more handy offerings to be made.

The first thing every new parent needs is a nicely stocked tool kit.

No really, I'd recommend running out to stock up on hammers the day after you have a positive pee stick. Plus they're really good to have on hand while all crazy-hormone and pregnant and wanting to threaten the sperm provider in a particularly menacing way.

Half a dozen screw drivers in assorted sizes and shapes (don't forget an itty bitty one, they're a favorite on toys), needle nose pliers, tape measurer, hammer, and some duct tape are absolute musts, and an electric drill alongside some gorilla glue sure wouldn't hurt.

Because every single item you will buy for that baby will need assembly. And have 5 million screws, so it's also time consuming and a major pain just to manage something simple like putting together a small dresser for the little parasite.

You will also want to pre-stock on batteries (there is no such thing as too many AA's), and keep the batteries with the itty bitty screwdriver since ever battery compartment on children's stuff comes screwed shut.

And it isn't just toys! The baby monitor will be like this too! I've even seen diaper pails that involve battery installation with a screw driver!! Crazy world!

You'll also want that drill for baby-proofing the house, when you make all of your cabinets nearly impossible to open with adult sized fingers. Or for when your toddler finds your hammer stash and takes apart the cheap Walmart particle board bookcase himself and you get to be the lucky one needing to reassemble it.

Actually, in that particular example, you'll probably need the duct tape too. And maybe a staple gun.....

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

The Joys of Tonsils

Kristina has had a long and sordid history with complications in the Ear Nose and Throat Department.

Getting tubes, Feb. 2009
Chronic ear infections led to ear tubes being put in, which led to tubes being put in again (correctly, by a non-crappy ENT) and adenoids removed, which has led us to getting her tonsils out and tubes to be put in yet again.

(Her current set of ear tubes have turned scabby. I was asked if I wanted them just to take the presently ineffective tubes out and see what happens, to which I replied "oh hells no". Or something like that. Because I am so so so so so done with having that poor child in surgery for the same bloody problem every damn year of her little life.)

She was originally scheduled for the surgery in January out in New York, but with the move it has been rescheduled with a local doctor here in Colorado for March.

(BIG props to the Boulder Valley ENT waiting room for being well stocked with toys and children's books and free drink coupons.)

But as the new ENT doctor was was going over the procedure, I was just a little bit horrified.

Because he wants to keep her in the hospital overnight.

My baby? My darling sunshine angel? In the hospital?? OVERNIGHT?!?

Just for observation, he says. Just to make sure there aren't any bleeding complications. She can go home first thing in the morning.

But she's my little princess pumpkinhead! She's only three! She's temperamental! She'll totally freak out about being abandoned in the hospital!

All the rooms in the Pediatrics Ward have couches in them, and parents are welcome to spend the night with their child.



Ok then.

But what about my littlest precious terrorbaby!? You expect me just to ditch her on... the..... grandparents......... I couldn't.... possibly............... oh all right, if Grandma insists. 

Hospital rooms come with wifi right? After all, Kristina's going to be pretty wiped out after surgery (and maybe really doped up on painkillers??), she's probably going to be zoning or sleeping most of the time. I'll need something to keep myself occupied....

Do you suppose they deliver Chinese food to hospital rooms? I could totally go some lo mein. And maybe some sesame chicken and those yummy doughnut ball things.

Or, um.... some books to read together in her half coma state. Those could be good too.

Actually, if she comes out of it ANYTHING like she did the last time (she wanted to stop at McDonald's on our drive home after getting her adenoids out), she'd totally be down for some Chinese food with me. Yep, like mother like daughter. 

Mmmm... lo mein and and the ice cream we she can eat.........

And it was about this point I relized the ENT was still talking to me.

(And it wasn't about the probablility of Kristina wanting Chinese food after surgery.)

Tuesday, February 8, 2011


We got an offer on the house!

Monday, February 7, 2011

Coming Home to Preschool

Kristina's new preschool, Over the Rainbow, has a very homey feel about it.

Which is probably at least partially due to it being in a only slightly renovated small house. 

But I also worked there for the summer of '08. Which means I know all the super secret, staff-member-only stuff.

Like the fact that running the dishwasher and the microwave at the same time shorts out the circuit breaker and you have to go outside to reset it.

(Hey, I never claimed the super secret staff-member-only stuff was very glamorous.)

Additionally, the staff there do things like invite you to sit down and have a cup of coffee with them in the morning when you're dropping your little monkey off. Very cool, even if I don't drink coffee.

I've also been noticing differences in the newsletters. I'm still getting the ones from Kristina's old Army base preschool (apparently they're a little slow on updating the emailing list), and I am amazed by the contrast. The new ones are almost entirely pictures of the kids, with a few short snippets about what they've been doing. The old ones have no pictures at all save a small (and slightly cheesy) seasonal cartoon graphic. The text includes reiterations about rules, like that birthday treats may only be brought in on one specific day for all the kids for the month and must be store bought, sealed, with nutritional information clearly displayed on the packaging. Or a list of all the shoes that are NOT allowed at school and threats that your child will be sent home if they do have appropriate foot wear.

(Granted, I actually agree with the shoe thing, since kids are much more likely to nearly kill themselves trying to climb on playground equipment in flip flops or crocs, but it's still a good example of the tone the preschool takes.)

In contrast, Kristina's winter boots are too small so she hasn't been bringing them and the staff dug up some extra ones for her to wear outside and haven't even bitched to me yet about her lack of needed footwear AND they make cupcakes for the kids every time someone has a birthday.

OTR also wants me to come sub for them some more. Which, although certainly not the direction I was trying to go in that whole "lets get a career going!" thing, does enable me to hang out there without being just the super lame mother who has absolutely nothing else to do.

(Not that I've done that on several occasions or anything. Ahem...)

And doing it requires absolutely no job searching effort at all. I kinda like that part, as I'd been ever so slightly pondering whether or not to consider trying to get a little part time local deal while continuing the hunt for something big (read: pays a living wage and doesn't require asking "would you like fries with that?"), while lacking any motivation at all to search out something for the sole purpose of being temporary time fulfillment.

(I'm totally not in a "temporary" stage in life right now.)

And what does Kristina think of her new preschool? Pure and simple love for the place.

(And she comes home REALLY tired from her mornings there.)

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Oh, The Irony: Flu Edition

A few weeks ago Adrianna had her one year well-baby shots (Ah yes, your child is happy and healthy? Lets stab her full of needles containing low doses of illness and see how she reacts!), and the Doc also gave her a flue shot as well.

(Since three needle pokes just wouldn't have been as good as four.)

And when mentioning that to my father, he asked whether I had gotten a flu shot as well.

Pssh, no, I don't DO flu shots.

Well, as you have probably gathered from my completely lame and whiny blogging the last few days, I have contracted an illness of plague-like proportions and been pretty laid up the last few days.

(And by laid up, I mean doing just about nothing besides sleeping.)

My ever supportive father conjectured as to whether I had the flu since nobody else was sick and everybody else had gotten flu shots.

Pssh, no, I don't GET the flu.

That would totally be like life smacking me upside the head with a 2x4 for being dumb and refusing to get a flu shot.

Well, smack life did, and I have a confirmed case of the flu.

(At least it's better than a confirmed case of the kids, which is what I thought of when eyeballing the flu test strip thingy with the double line that appears just like a pregnancy test.)

And to make life just all the better, Adrianna appears to have gotten it too. 


The flu sucks. Flu shots are still questionable. And the doctor assured me that I only feel like I'm dieing, and should start showing improvement eventually with lots of rest and some drowning in fluids.

('Drowning in fluids' is his term, not mine.)

Some of the more observant readers (thank you Daddy) might have noticed that a blog post didn't appear yesterday. Apparently dieing from the bubonic plague having the flu can make one's motivation to blog go right down the toilet. Flush.....

Friday, February 4, 2011

Office Envy

Still sick, quite possibly dieing, but found this little gem that was written a week ago and not published yet. You should be thrilled, because otherwise today was going to be another post solely about me whining about being ill. Instead I'm just whining about job searching, which I'm sure is a much more exciting and blog-worthy topic.

I have some serious office envy going on right now.

I want to work at a nice little desk in a nice little cubicle in a nice little office for the next 5 years.

And I don't think for entirely crazy reasons.

Now, the reasons themselves have absolutely nothing to do with the office itself, but rather I see the 'working in the office' as a means to achieve them.

First up, I want coworkers. I want there to be other human beings who I interact with on a daily basis. A lot of them. With a range of ages, genders, social backgrounds, etc. I want there to be comradeship and social dynamics and occasional cube warfare.

(Motherhood is incredibly isolating. Do you know how many days in a row I have actually gone without seeing another human besides my children? A full week. The driveway was snowed in, Kristina and I never left the house.)

Second, I want a lunch break. Even if it's only 15 minutes and I spend it eating a PB&J sandwich sitting in my car listening to the radio. I want to KNOW that I will get those few minutes to breathe, to chill, to de-stress, and to regroup my soul. I also really like knowing that I will get that time to eat food, regardless of the woes of the world or stubborn babies.

Third, I want a reason to wear nice clothes. I like clothes, and the whole beautifying process. But jewelry is a safety hazard with babies and it's just stupid to put on anything besides jeans when I'm going to be spending the day crawling around on the floor being somebody's tiger.

(Kristina's version of "horsie ride" involves exotic animals. Skills I lack: elephant, giraffe, and llama.)

Forth, I want structure. I want my day to begin and to end and to have a recognized weekend beyond the whims of my children.

Fifth, I want to be un-bored. I need stuff to do, stuff to think about, stuff beyond changing the next poopy diaper and involved discussions of the personal moral motivations of animated characters.

People ask me what type of job I am looking for. I am looking for one that has those things, and that uses what meager skills and education I posses.

(Ok, it also has to pay a living wage and have hours for which I can find childcare, but those are minor details.)

It doesn't seem like it should be that hard to find. And yet, it is....

And as a side note, although this will probably negate the whole entire previous blog post, I could totally go for one of these.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

Little Dancers, Lazy Mama

I have quite a few blog posts in some level of completion (including now a second guest one I volunteered to do, on top of that whole "lets make a blogging revolution website" idea from yesterday), but am also on the verge of really quite possibly dieing from some more nasty congestion cough sickness probably gifted to me by Kristina's preschool class.

*hack hack hack cough gasp pant weez*

So instead of diligently working to get some decent writing done, I was just going to cop out with a video of the girls dancing to (a probably vintage tape of) Dan Crow I took last week.

And then go take a hot mucus clearing shower and go to bed.

Of course, the video wouldn't upload for me, and after spending half an hour retrying it, I gave up and went to bed anyways. 

Sorry world, it sucks to be human.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

The Age of Intimidation

For a long time I was totally intimidated by most of the other mothers I would encounter in baby classes or at the museum.

These women were all at least 10, if not 20, years my senior, gave up some great career to be home with their children, have savings accounts with money in them, live in pristine neighborhoods and have designer couch's, decorated nurseries, and overpriced strollers.

Because nearly broke just out of college punks don't take their baby to Kindermusik. Apparently. Actually, most of them don't have babies at all. But that's besides the point.

I've gotten a little more self confidence, as I continue through motherhood successfully (Children still alive? Check!). And I've managed to avoid any horrible happenstances with those mothers, which I think helps to reinforce the vague notion that perhaps they're not evil incarnate and poised to kill me at any moment.

(Those would be high school girls. These ladies are just old.)

So as I'm getting a little more of the hang of being a mama, I've noticed that the "age intimidation" has moved to a new genera.


Yep, there's a whole slew (well, maybe about 3 or 4) of blogs that I read regularly and really like and want to hang out with the authors and be all blogging cool together....

Except that they're old. Like, past 40 even.

And the agegender discrimination isn't just in my head even!

They hang out at the 30+ bloggers club and on Dadcentric. Not to mention have like, a whole second life time that I haven't lived yet under their belts which they draw from material to blog about.

I'm also fairly certain they're not too lazy to use capital letters on emails. Or facebook comments.

(I thought about making a wisecrack about them being too old to use facebook, except that since they're blogging they are totally internet savvy enough to handle a simple social networking site. And facebook has totally reformed from it's origin of college punks in the first place. Since now all the college punks' parents are on it too.)

And when they write stories about their dumb punk college students being dumb punk college students, I'm totally identifying with them. The dumb punk college students, that is.

But then I see them all interblogging and intercommenting and having a totally cool blogger support system with their shared awesomeness, and I want in on that too.

So, I took a good look around the blogging world (well, the blogs I already follow, at least) and figured out my best bets at this.

And sweet talked Brandy (she was the one that gave me the irresistibly sweet blog award) into letting me guest blog for her. Except that I've been lazy and not finished writing it yet.

(It's hard to be epic. Plus I want to make a good impression, and not just ramble like I normally do and call it blogging.)

((And to Brandy: I swear it's almost done!!))

And I have been brainstorming a new website. One which features posts by geek girls under 35. Because lets face it, if any class is going to take over the world, it would totally be them. I mean us. Technically I'm a little low on the geek scale, but I'm working on it.

(I think it's because I find vampires creepy. And never took computer science.)

((I totally should have majored in computer science instead of taking fun classes. Then I could get a job...))

Except that I can't possibly generate enough material for the website by my lonesome self. It's about all I can do to keep up with the daily blogging HERE! Plus, like I said, I'm just not geeky enough. I'd write for a week about the awesomeness of Star Trek, do a Princess Leia impersonation, and be completely out of material.

But then I think about the people I know.... I know a LOT of geek girls under 35. Could I talk them into this? Would other people read it? Could it be successful? Am I remotely popular and charismatic enough to pull a stunt like this off?

(Side note, of course people would read and it would be successful. We'd just have to host weekly "best Princess Leia in a gold bikini" contests.)

Well, probably not. Plus my internal motivation for accomplishing much of anything is registering kinda low these days. Life, and all. But I still think it's a really awesome idea, and would love any input (or like, contributing writing volunteers) that you might have.

(Also, anyone have a gold bikini I could borrow??)

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Writing Gig

I am moving up in the world, and have an actual writing job!

Ok, so it's an unpaid position. 

For one of the local churches in town.

That I got because nobody else volunteered for it.

To write a short article incorporating the church's history with stuff happening in the coming week.

For the once-a-week little local town paper.

Which isn't the most inspiring publication I've ever read.


I'm totally going to be published! In a real newspaper!

Because I am nothing short of awesome!!