Working girl

Today was the second day at my new/old job, and the second day of being in that new-job limbo state. I’m ready to go out and get started doing interviews for articles and junk, but nobody’s ready to be interviewed yet. It doesn’t help that I’ve been extremely jittery while trying to sit still at my desk because I’m all hopped up on Diet Coke and hypothermia. (I’d forgotten how high they keep the air conditioning turned up there.)

Oh, I guess I should explain why I’m calling it my new/old job. It’s a new job, in that I just started there yesterday. It’s an old job in that it’s at the same place I worked two years ago, before I got laid off, doing much the same work.

It’s weird going back into an office environment after two years of hanging out at home in crusty jeans and zombie t-shirts. Before I started, I bought a bunch of new clothes in an effort to remember how to make myself presentable, and I’ve spent the last two days dressed in grown-up outfits. But either I totally forgot this, or they’ve changed how grown-up clothes work in the past two years, because I learned today that I don’t know how to work my pants.

I sort of thought pants were pants were pants, but then I got to work today and really, really needed to pee, but when I got to the bathroom I found that I couldn’t unbutton my pants. Seriously. I was trapped in my nice, new pants.

They were lovely pants, really, but I was pretty sure no one would notice how nice they were if they were covered in a giant pee stain. It took a good three minutes of struggling, contemplating the discreet use of scissors, and wondering whether I could go all day without peeing (remember the Diet Coke mentioned above) before I finally managed to get them unbuttoned. But every single time I went to the bathroom – which I do a lot, because, you know, Diet Coke addiction – I had the same scare. Because apparently I do not learn very quickly.

I was sooooo cold yesterday that I thought ahead and brought a hoodie to wear over my nice, non-warm clothes today. Unfortunately I forgot to check for stray pieces of candy stuck to the front. And I continued to forget to check for several hours after I put it on today.

I attended my first team meeting today, too, during which my new boss talked about strategies and new business models and some deep philosophical stuff about the direction the industry is headed. The whole time, I was mostly just hoping this wasn’t the sort of meeting where I might be randomly called on to contribute to the conversation, because all I could think to say was, “Um, I don’t have a trash can at my desk? Could I have one? I don’t have a place to throw my Diet Coke cans.” At which point everyone would glare at me angrily because everyone knows Diet Coke cans go in the recycle bin in the break room.

So anyway, the new job is going all right, but I won’t really have a feel for it until things get moving at the end of this week and the start of next week. I hope it’s at least moderately fun.

I’m sure things will be great once I get that trash can situation sorted out.

01

09 2010

We drove to Texas, then we saw Dora and then we zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It would be a tremendous understatement to say we’ve been busy lately.  Here’s a short list of things that have happened in the past week.

  • I gave up my car for an indefinite period of time so it can be repaired.
  • We drove to Texas (in my mother-in-law’s car).
  • We ate a lot, played a lot, and nobody went to bed before 10 p.m., which wouldn’t be remarkable if one of us wasn’t a 7-month-old baby.
  • We took Kaylee to see a traveling Nickelodeon show starring Dora, The Backyardigans, Wonder Pets and some cartoon girl whose name I can never remember.  Kaylee was absolutely mesmerized and spent the rest of the day pretending she was Dora The Explorer.
  • We got back yesterday evening.  I started a new job today, waking up at the crack of dawn so I could get to a rental car agency before work since my car is still in the shop.
  • Kaylee started preschool today.  She’ll be going two days a week, and she is ecstatic.
  • Robbie learned to be a little speed-demon crawler in our hotel room in Dallas.  He can no longer be contained.

The point here is that I’m sleepy, hence the lack of real updates lately.  One of these days, when I get my bearings again, I’ll try to say something more interesting.

31

08 2010

Notes from a road trip

  • Robbie has learned to make fart noises by blowing on my arm.  For some reason, people were steering very clear of me at Half Price Books today.
  • The tap water in Texas comes in two temperatures: pretty warm and very hot.
  • It is actual, physical torture for me to be across the street from Six Flags Over Texas and not be able to go ride a roller coaster.
  • Kaylee has declared that she is Dora The Explorer, as long as she’s wearing her new Dora T-shirt. If Robbie grabs a fistful of her shirt and tries to eat it, she’s not Dora anymore. That is why it’s ok for her to scream her head off any time he gets within a few inches of her.
  • A lightbulb has come on, and Robbie totally gets this crawling thing now.  Before he’d managed to cover a little distance a couple times, but now he can go.  He’s already destroyed the hotel’s comment card and found wires to chew on.  He reminds me of my old rabbit, who we rarely let out of its cage because it was always chewing up papers, biting through lamp cords and pooping on the couch.  Robbie better watch himself.

28

08 2010

ACK! times two (err, make that three)

I never realized how much crap babies need until just now, as it’s about time to pack up all that crap for a road trip to Texas.  A fourteen-hour road trip.  With a three-year-old and a seven-month-old.  Because we are crazy.

While I’m a bit concerned about the possibility of hours upon hours of screaming (mine) in an enclosed vehicle, right now I have more immediate worries.  What if I forget bottles?  Sheets for the hotel Pack N’ Play?  Baby food?  Diapers?  Extra formula?  What if I forget to pack two pairs of pajamas for every night we’re there, because Robbie’s diaper ALWAYS leaks all over his jammies?  Will I have enough blankets?  Maybe we should rent a U-Haul to make sure there’s enough room for all of Robbie’s stuff.

I’m trying not to be immobilized by the enormity of the task of packing, and maintain forward momentum.  I am, of course, doing that by writing a blog post and watching television.

Speaking of television, that brings me to my second and more alarming problem. As has been well documented, we are working our way through all six seasons of “Lost,” via Netflix’s instant streaming. We finished season two tonight and looked ahead to season three, to find that it will no longer be available as of September 1.  WTF Netflix???

….  Aaaaand, I was going to go into some rambling about Hulu Plus and how it’s about to have to earn its keep, but Kaylee just woke up and puked blue Kool-Aid all over her bedroom floor, then asked to sleep in my bed.  So, um, I’m out.

25

08 2010

Two scenes

Scene 1: We are at the park, and I am spinning Kaylee on a … spinny thing.  She is going rather fast, as per her request.

KAYLEE: Stop!!!!

(I stop her.)

KAYLEE: I can’t waaaaalk.

ME: (Obviously not thinking at all.) Sure you can.

(Kaylee attempts to get off the spinny thing, and immediately falls over, hugging the spinny thing and shrieking.)

KAYLEE: The park is falling!  Help me!

(After I calm her down and explain that she’s just dizzy, she’s ready to leave.)

KAYLEE: I don’t want to come to the park anymore.

*     *     *

Scene 2: We are at home, and Robbie is using his newfound mobility by exploring the living room and messing with Kaylee’s stuff.  She is annoyed about this, but ignoring him and watching TV.  The obnoxious music of a hard plastic baby toy fills the room every time Robbie slams his hand down on its scene of forest serenity.  It’s followed by a loud thunk.

ROBBIE: Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!  (He has hit his head.  Again.)

ME: Maybe you should play with something else.  Why don’t you move over here?

(Five minutes later, the music fills the room again, followed by another thunk.)

ROBBIE: Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

ME: Why don’t you play over here?

(Five minutes later …)

ROBBIE: Waaaaaaaahhhhhhh!

Repeat ad infinitum.

23

08 2010

Photo Friday: Leave Spoilers in the Comments and I’ll Cut You edition

My birthday was on Monday, but things being as busy as they were, my mom and I didn’t get around to making a cake until yesterday.  (Although, my mother-in-law did get me a Care Bears cake on Sunday.  Why Care Bears?  Because Care Bears are awesome, duh.)

Rob and I have been moderately obsessed with “Lost” lately, and are coming up on the end of season 2 in the instant Netflix queue.  THAT IS ALL WE’VE SEEN, SO IF ANYONE MENTIONS SOMETHING THAT HAPPENS BEYOND EPISODE 21 OF SEASON 2, WE WILL NO LONGER BE FRIENDS.  Ahem, so.  I chose a “Lost” themed birthday cake.  I wanted to play with fondant, which I haven’t done much of, so we decided to recreate the main Dharma logo.  Here’s how it came out:

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The lottery numbers are around the sides:

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It’s not worthy of Duff Goldman, perhaps, but definitely good enough to devour with the family on Saturday.

20

08 2010

Dear Robbie, at 7 months

Dear Robbie,

I had a bit of a rude awakening this morning.  I babysat a one-year-old for a friend, and that boy was perfectly capable of walking right over to the coffee table – otherwise known as The Place I Store Tiny Things So You Can’t Choke On Them – and popping things into his mouth.  I suddenly realized that we have a long way to go before our house is actually baby-proofed.  No matter, though, because you’re a long way from being really mobile, right?  Oh wait!  The other thing that happened today was that you decided to sit up and crawl for the first time.  Honest to god, I caught you crawling right across the living room floor.  On one hand: Yay, congrats, kid!  On the other hand: Shit.

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When I was pregnant with you, I often wondered how you’d be different from your sister once you were here.  Would you be harder to please?  Happier?  More likely to claw and bite my face?  (The answers to those questions are no, about the same, and oh my god, my face hurts.)  One arena in which I was convinced you’d have her beat was in food consumption.  Because, come on, your sister can survive a day on half a chicken nugget and a Cheerio.  Surely, surely, you would be a voracious eater.  The joke, of course, is on me.  Not only do you not eat voraciously, but you are worse than your sister.  How is that even possible?  All this month, whenever we’d put baby food in your mouth, you would make faces suggesting we were trying to feed you carrot-infused dog poo.  I even emailed Awesome Doctor to ask for advice, which I never do because I don’t want to bug her outside of her work hours, and all of her suggestions were ones I’d already tried.  (Except for saying, “[Awesome Doctor] says you must eat this.”  But that didn’t work either.)

So, here I was, at my wit’s end, thinking you were going to have to survive on formula for the rest of your life – which would be WAY expensive in the teenage years, oh my god – and then we had a breakthrough.  I never would have guessed the thing to get you interested in food would be miso soup.  I’d only tried it myself once before.  We were sitting in a sushi restaurant, and you were again refusing your pureed bananas when we decided to give the soup a shot.  For the first time, you were desperate for me to return that spoon to your mouth, and you started fussing when I didn’t do it fast enough.

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Last week, Gram, Papa and I took you, Kaylee and your cousins to the zoo, and paused for lunch to eat sandwiches.  Gram held you in her lap while she tried to eat her lunch – with limited success, because every time she raised her sandwich to her mouth, there would be an infant attached to the other end of it.  You got it into your head that you wanted to eat that sandwich, and nothing was going to stop you.  Since then, you’ve also tried soft pretzels, freeze dried apples and icing off a birthday cake, and thought they were all several kinds of awesome.  I guess the lesson here is that you’re not against food – you’re just against that flavorless shit that comes in baby food jars.  So I’ve been adding a little salt and pepper to your meals, and now I can get you to swallow a couple of spoonfuls at each meal.  It’s not much, but it’s progress.  I’m just hoping that, by the time you’re three, you’ll be able to pack away two chicken nuggets in the same day.

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You’ve sprouted two cute little teeth since last month, which means your penchant for shoving other people’s digits in your mouth has taken a turn for the painful.  But those teeth add so much character to your smile.  Now, when I come back from the kitchen to find you’ve figured out how to crawl across the living room, and I see you grinning that open-mouthed smile loaded with pride, I can’t help but set aside the panic for my future sanity and smile right back.

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I love you, buddy.  I once worried about how our family dynamic would change once you entered the world, but now I can safely say I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Love,

Mommy

19

08 2010

Dear Kaylee, at 39 months

Dear Kaylee,

This has been a crazy month for you.  Or at least, it has been a crazy month for me, watching you go through a bunch of stuff you might not even remember when you’re older. First and foremost, of course, was your surgery. Watching you experience that was the hardest thing I’ve had to do as your mother. Childbirth was nothing compared to this, because even when the epidural stopped working and I was such intense pain, at least I was the only one suffering. Watching you suffer is so much worse. All I could do was hold you and let you sob and wail that you wanted to go home. I whispered in your ear that you were going to be ok, but you were crying so hard I don’t think you heard me.

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I’ve said over and over that one of my worries as a mother is that your earliest memory will be something awful.  While I want you to remember playing Play-Doh with your daddy, you’ll end up hanging onto that skinned knee you got in the driveway.  So of course, this surgery currently tops the list of things I hope you’ll forget about.  You were kind of excited when we got to the hospital that day, but it didn’t take long before you got a little worried.  By the time the anesthesiologist stopped by to brief us, I could tell you were getting downright scared.  When I told the doctor that his normal procedure for calming kids was probably not going to work on you, he prescribed something to “calm you down” beforehand.  At first it worked, and I admit it was pretty entertaining to watch your head bob and listen to your words slur like you were a college freshman at your first kegger.  But the fun ended quickly when you realized you couldn’t control your body anymore.  From then on, if you were awake you were crying. When I carried you into the operating room – which, by the way, taught me how important your cooperation is when I’m carrying you down a long hallway – the anesthesiologist seemed mildly horrified that his plan to calm you had backfired so badly.  He tried to comfort me by saying you probably wouldn’t remember any of this – the sobbing, the lying on the table, the operating room.  The anesthesiologist put a mask on your face and told you a little story to explain the odor of the gas you were breathing in – a story about a little pig that is very, very friendly, but smells very bad.  But he’s a nice pig, and he makes you feel sleepy.

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I took some solace in the idea that you wouldn’t remember that trauma … for about a day.  Because that’s how long it took you to bring it up.  We were playing with Legos when you looked at me and said, “That man told me a story.” “What man, sweetie?” I asked.  “When I was laying on the bed, the man told me a story.” “What was the story about?” “A pig.”  Oh.  Well.  So much for that idea.  You’ve also reminded us about the pink medicine that made you feel sick, and how you threw up in the driveway when we got home from the hospital.  But you don’t seem sad, scared or angry when you mention these things.  You say them matter-of-factly, as if you’re commenting on the weather.  I think you’ll be just fine.

All the emotional trauma aside, your eye looks so much better.  You still get comments from people in public – “You should sit down in that cart, kid, or you’re going to get another black eye!” – that make me want to smack people and say hateful things to them.  I want to grab them by the shoulders and yell, “Yes, she has an angry red mark on her face, but she’s beautiful and healthy and bythewayfuckyou.”  It’s possible I’m a little defensive.  But one of these days it should heal up all the way with minimal scarring, and we will be very lucky people if this is the worst thing that ever happens to you.

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In other news, you’ve been going out of your way to try my patience lately.  You ask me questions that have no correct answer, and you scream your little head off no matter how I respond.  I often think a question is innocuous, only to find out you’re deeply concerned with the answer. “Is this chocolate milk old?” “Yeah, I’ll get you some new chocolate milk.”  “NOOOOOO!  I DON’T WANT CHOCOLATE MILK!!  WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH.”  These conversations are, ahem, frustrating.  I’m trying to stand my ground a little more firmly these days, to let you know this behavior is not acceptable.  A cashier at Bed, Bath and Beyond the other day seemed to think I was the Asshole Mother of the Year because I refused to let you change your mind about what little toy you wanted to buy.  She didn’t know you’d already changed your mind a few times and would likely spend ten minutes deciding whether you wanted the cow keychain or the penguin keychain, while the line lengthened behind us.  So I made you stick with the quacking duck pen you’d already picked out and you threw a little fit while the cashier quietly judged me for being a bitch.  I used to judge mothers, too, when I saw them taking a stand on something seemingly unimportant, like a stupid little duck pen.  Why won’t she just let her pick something else?  It’s not that big of a deal, I would have thought.  I didn’t understand that it’s never just the pen, that kids will always try to push you one step farther, and then one more, and before you know it they’re running the whole household.  So your father and I are trying.  We’re trying to mold you into someone a little less tyrannical and a little more friendly.  It helps if we reward you with stickers.

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You are also completely unexcited about Robbie’s increasing coordination and mobility.  Sure, you’ll help me cheer him on and try to get him to crawl, but once you realize he’s headed for your toys, the cheering stops and the whining begins.  We’ve had more than one conversation about how “but I don’t want him to touch my stuff” is not a good enough reason to snatch a stuffed animal away from him and make him cry.  During your surgery, Robbie spent two nights at Gram and Papa’s apartment.  Every time we’ve gone back, you’ve been crushed to hear we’re not leaving him there again.  You used to get upset when I’d joke about leaving him behind somewhere, but now you think it sounds like a great idea.  I’m sorry, kiddo, but we’re going to have to keep him.

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No offense, but I’m glad this month is over.  We’ve passed the surgery milestone, but we’re headed for more challenges in the coming weeks.  I believe we’ll be all right. But if the changes are too much for you, just know that I will always, always be here for you if you need to put your head on my shoulder and cry.

I love you, my little monkey butt.

Love,

Mommy

16

08 2010

Photo Friday: Imagination edition

I had a great idea for this week’s photo, really. Back in, I dunno, 1998 or so, a picture was taken of me while I was driving my car. It cost me $45, because I was driving my car too fast on my way to work. Naturally, I resolved to keep the photo forever, because why would I throw away such an expensive picture?

That was my one and only speeding ticket, caught by an unmanned speed camera on the busy street that took me from my sad little apartment to my dead-end job, with an expression on my face that clearly said, “I am not looking forward to arriving at my destination.”

It’s not a particularly interesting photo, actually. I sort of wish I’d been singing along with the radio, belting out a Lisa Loeb song or whatever I was listening to at that stage. So when you imagine it, Internet, maybe you could picture it a little differently. Maybe, in your head, I could be flipping off a passing motorist or wolf whistling at a frat boy or sobbing uncontrollably – whatever, as long as it’s better than me staring straight ahead, looking kind of sullen.

I’m asking you to imagine this picture because, well, I can’t find it. I don’t know whether the photo album it’s in is packed away in a closet or if Kaylee picked it up and buried it in the backyard. I almost started pulling boxes out of the closet in my office, but then I realized it’s late on Friday night, and I’m much, much too lazy to do that sort of thing.

Oh wait, I have an idea!!! Here’s the author’s rendition of that photo, which is way better because it has a thought bubble:

car drawing

Let me give you a moment to marvel at my amazing artistic skill.

Done? Ok.

The reason I’m bringing up this photo is because it was my only moving violation ever, and it didn’t count because I didn’t lose any points on my license and I never even had to explain myself to a cop.

Thus, I’ve always felt completely justified in being a bit judgmental whenever Rob has gotten a speeding ticket. Not that he gets that many, but the four he’s gotten in the time since we met – including one a few weeks ago – seems like a lot compared to my one.

I imagine, with all this gloating I’ve been doing, you’ll be completely unsurprised to hear that I got a speeding ticket today. In a construction zone. Going 11 over the speed limit. Because really, if you’re going to wait sixteen years to get your first real speeding ticket, you might as well do it big.

Lucky for me, the kids were in the back seat and Robbie was screaming his cute little head off – at least, I think that’s why the officer took pity on me. What should have been a $250 fine ended up being $105 because he pretended I was only going nine miles per hour too fast, and didn’t write down the “construction zone” part.

Then he correctly guessed both kids’ ages, told me they were cute and sent me on my way.

A few minutes later, I sent Rob a text reading, “I don’t get to give you a hard time about your ticket now. :)

Damn. I hate it when I lose ammunition. I guess now I’ll just have to settle for being right all the time when we argue.

13

08 2010

Silence

I apologize for all the quiet around these here parts, because I know you are all waiting with bated breath to hear more tales from my household.  I know it keeps you up at night, wondering what color vomit Robbie sent flying last night, and what unintentionally amusing thing Kaylee said this morning.

It’s just … well, I’m kind of spent.  There was so much build-up to that surgery, and we’re working on a minor home improvement project that cuts right into blog-writing time, and there’s the car stuff and the money stuff and the stress stuff and all the other STUFF, and even with all that happening I just can’t think of much to say.

All this blabbering basically boils down to a two-word update: I’m tired.

Since I can’t entertain you, here’s a video that might do the job for me.  (You’ve probably already seen this, but again, I’m too tired to find anything fresh.  But still, if you grew up in the same era as me, you’ll enjoy it.)

10

08 2010