Staring Down the Barrel of a (Hot Glue) Gun

Sometimes your mind can be so open that your brain falls out.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

Offspring Story of the Day

Mags: (pointing) Mama, does that say Mags?
Me: N-no, honey, that doesn't.
Mags: Does it say....mama?
Me: No....
Mags: Does it say....daddy?
Me: Well, no, but you're right, it does start with a 'd'.
Mags: Hmmm. Mama, what does that sign say?
Me: Oh, nothing, honey. Do you want a snack?

Friday, April 20, 2007

Have Belly, Might as Well Use It

I just signed up for a belly dancing class that starts in May. Just a six-week course that the local Parks and Community blah group is putting on. Figure that counts as exercise AND mama alone time, so it's well worth the cost, which really isn't too bad.

I'm sure by the time the start date rolls around, I'll be regretting my decision to go out and shake my baby-maker, but it really has been too long since I've opened myself up to trying something new. REALLY gotta do something about this reluctance to embarrass myself/try something new/possibly not be good at something. Its not serving me at all.

And who knows -- if I'm any good, I *could* join the troupe and perform in the RWC Fourth of July parade.


Saturday, April 14, 2007

Birthday Success!

Wow, today ended up being great! I mean, sure, I'm tired - getting up at 5am'll do that to you - but other than my nervous breakdown, the day went without a hitch, and I think people had a good time!

I have to admit I'd been nervous this week, because NO ONE rsvp'd until Thursday, and I had images of no one but Husband's grown-up friends showing up for Mags' soiree, and her imagined crushed and disappointed little face had me all worked up. But nearly everyone who was invited showed up, and suddenly, it was on!
The house got cleaned, groceries and balloons purchased. Cupcakes were made and cooling by the time folks arrived. And arrive they did, at almost the exact time we told folks to show up (none of this fashionably late -- these are toddlers with nap schedules to keep!) And yeah, it rained, so we were all inside, but it all went fine. I put on my extrovert hat and chatted with everyone, and got some names and numbers for playgroups and child care swapping!! Whoo hoo! The kids ranged in age from about 18 months - 7 years, and they all co-existed really well. In fact, at one point, a few 3 year old ganged up on said 7 year old and were pummeling him with balloons (until one of them popped on a pointy birthday hat. The balloon, not the 3 year old.) Mostly they tore through the toys and Play Doh, which was just what I had planned.

People grazed and had lunch-type things, and after everyone got a layer of 'real' food in their tummies, we started to break out the cupcakes. The kids were all sitting at the table in their chairs, spines erect with anticipation and pointy party hats drunkenly pointing at all angles, and actually started to sing to the birthday girl all alone and without any prompting. It was painfully cute. We got the candle lit and then we all sang to her, and when the time came, most of the kids tried to help blow out the candle. I think Mags could still claim credit for blowing it out, though.

Then came big fun (and we'll see how many parents still speak to me after this...) We let the kids frost and put sprinkles on their own individual cupcakes. Everybody got one special star-shaped cupcake and a knife, and was told to go to town. I was pretty impressed; it was not the carnage I had imagined. I figured they'd slather on all the colors and use fistfuls of sprinkles, but I think most of them were so in awe they were fairly careful about the whole thing. Granted, there were plenty of mothers hovering around to prevent any real damage, but they were pretty contained.

Everyone washed up, and presents were opened. Mags got some really nice gifts, even if they weren't things *I'd* actually buy her. Like the princess kit? Ooooh. Yeahhhh. Granted, very generous. Very purple. Complete with high heel shoes. Ooooooh. Yeah. You can see I'm struggling with this one here. And of course, when I tried to 'misplace' the shoes after everyone left, that went over like a ton of bricks. I'm trying to remind myself that its normal for kids to swing hard into stereotypical roles around this age, and that when I was a kid, I wore my mom's shoes, and really, is this so different from that? Uglier, yes, but different? Mags shuffles around in them with full concentration so she doesn't fall over. New rule in our house: no special shoes on the stairs. The gender role might not kill her, but the fall would.

I prayed this would be followed with a tool belt or somesuch, but alas, no. She did, however score some My Little Ponies, a bubble bucket, several good books, and from us, a t-ball batting stand and some Dora roller skates. Young Mr. Kim made her a really cool diorama in a cardboard box - decorated it himself! - within which he'd placed a miniature dollhouse, some furniture, and a toy family, which was very well received. All of it was well received, in fact, and boy, you should have seen the manners blossoming today! All the kids were really well behaved and polite, and most of it was unprompted. It was super cute to watch. My god, they're little people!

Most kids were sad to leave, and could only be coaxed out the door with promises to return another time. Everybody got to take home a balloon in the color of their choice, and I recycled all of our plastic easter eggs as gifts for kids to take home. Everybody got stickers, a small super ball and - my favorite - a chunk of either clear or purple quartz inside. There was one little boy in particular who just about had an accident in his pants when he saw the rock -- apparently he really likes shiny rocks. My heart just about exploded.

And it was all over in time for everyone's naps!

Mags is passed out upstairs, tiara in one hand, wand in the other, shoes next to the bed ("No shoes on the bed, Mama!") Husband is passed out next to her, snoring away. It was, as they say, a very good day.
(p.s. I'm still trying to figure out how to format these entries and move the pictures around. I'm not drunk or otherwise inebriated. Really.)

Offspring Story of the Day

Me: Mags, do you need to go potty?
Mags: No. Go fish.

Great Way to Start the Morning

Woke up at 5 am today, listening to some critter rustling around outside. Totally woke me up into super-attentive mode, so I couldn't fall back asleep. Not a 100% loss because I had to get up at 6anyhow to finish cleaning the house for the party. Which now that I think about it is kind of a loss, too.

I'd woken husband up accidentally, so we chatted for a bit. In passing, he mentioned being bummed about missing his brothers DJ gig the night before. Seems there was a huge throw-down at Moffet Field, of all places. Sure, I saw others on our list chatting about it, but my brain read 'Yoshi's', which is a jazz club I'm neutral about, so I deleted them all without reading.

I can't tell you how crappy hearing about the party made me feel. Or more specifically, missing the party. While the entire rest of the world (in my mind, at least) thumps along to juicy beats, shakes their asses, and gets dressed up to go out, I lie in bed listening to raccoons and fret about what kind of snacks to get for a 3 year olds birthday party. Whee. Put on your seat belts, folks.

Its no wonder I'm so desperate to go to the desert every year and eke as much out of it as I can. I'm resentful, and angry, and frankly want off of the grown-up responsible ride for a while. Like the next 10 years. Oh, and then I feel guilty for feeling crappy about this important day for my daughter. Whee. Suddenly that seat belt is feeling a bit too snug.

I know I need to snap out of this funk and get into the right mindset for this party. What I really want to do is throw myself down onto the couch face first and have a good party of my own (pity party, that is,) but the uber-responsible person in me is already berating me for sitting down to write period when I should be scrubbing the kitchen and shoveling crap off the counters. That's why I got up early, right? So why am I wasting time?

If you suddenly stop seeing blog entries for a long period of time, you'll know I opened my seat belt...

Friday, April 13, 2007

Crack the Whip

So, one of the gifts I got for Mags was a real jump rope. She has one already (not sure where she got it,) but its one of those kind of cheap-o ones that don't have the heavy rope? You remember those: the rope would kind of float above your head instead of whizzing past your ears, no matter how hard you spun your arms. So I got her a nice one, with a good, heavy rope and wood handles.

Now mind you, Mags is no where near the whizzing-past-your-ears stage. But that's not for lack of trying. I've been trying to teach her how to correctly use a jump rope, and thought it might be easier if I broke it down into separate steps. That may ahve worked too good, as now jump roping is two totally separate actions for her.

1. The Jump. This involves correctly aligning the rope just so in front of her, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration, and then...UGH! Jumping happens.

2. The Whip. Hands go back over the shoulders (instead of at her sides,) and *crack*, she flicks it forward with all her might, as well as a mighty 'Hi-Ya!' Its as if she is casting a fishing line, except its more bull whip than fishing pole.

At first I was very encouraging -- that whole getting it over her head part was pretty tricky for her. In fact, at one point, she had this sort of backwards jump rope thing going on; she'd jump forward over the rope, and then step back over it so she could flip the rope behind herself, which was much easier. She didn't really get very far that way. But now I'm afraid; somewhat for other kids that might be any where near her when she tries this, but mostly for the hall carpet she is slowly beating all the fibers out of.

I think the rope is long enough for me to try and show her myself, except that I'd knock myself out cold with my boobs a-slapping, even with a bra on. Mama doesn't do a lot of running these days, let's just say.

Anyhow, I should off to bed; the actual party is tomorrow, and really, the house is no where near ready for guests. And I don't say that in a 'dear-me-the-apres-dinner-mint-bowl-needs-to-be-
polished' politely modest kind of way, but more in the 'christ-have-you-seen-the-kitchen-counters-this-month-and-what-IS-that-smell?' kind of way. Plus there are cupcakes to make, balloons to buy, one particularly feisty toddler to hold at bay.....

I'll set my alarm for early. Like 3am.

Confession, Parts a), b) and c)

I opened most of Mags' birthday presents when she wasn't around.

In my defense, they were a) all from my mom, b) they were all clothes, and c) my mother literally sent 20 gifts. And while a) they were all really nice, b) we now have Mags' entire summer wardrobe and c) Husband eyed me accusingly through the entire process, I really don't need to have a child who thinks she's going to/deserves to get 30+ total gifts every birthday, especially a 3 year old.

So until such time as my daughter catches on, I'm squeezing all I can out of the fact that a) balloons, b) cupcakes with sprinkles and c) other 3 year olds are still the coolest things about having a birthday.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Offspring Story of the Day

Me: Mags, are you doing the potty dance?
Mags: No, I'm just waddling like a penguin.

Offspring Story of the Day

Mags: Remember when I came out of your tummy, mama? Can we do that again?

Wednesday, April 11, 2007

So Much to Say

But my head is going to explode and I just can't concentrate or string any real sentances together. Stupid migraines. Well, at least I can say with certainty that its the Zoloft that's giving me this pain. Weaned myself off the stuff, went nearly 3 weeks without anything, take the stuff for 2 days and WHAM. Laid out again. Gotta find an anti-depressant that won't totally tweak me out. Not taking one is NOT an option, I've found.

Off to bed.

The Role of "Me" Will be Played by Jack Nicholson

Pre-Zoloft: Axe-wielding Jack Torrance, "The Shining"

Post-Zoloft: R.P. McMurphy, lobotomy recipient, "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest"

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Shit + Fan = Life

Well! Everything just sucks today.

I had a horrible nights sleep. And when I did sleep, the majority of my dreaming starred... well, someone who I'm having issues with right now and did not want to be hosting for hours -- much less making out with.

My first thought when I woke up this morning? "Only 8 more hours until I'm off duty and have some free time."

I looked around my bedroom, which I cleaned fairly aggressively 2 weeks ago when Husband took Mags to the ranch (whee, what an exciting vacation for me.) Already there are clothes strewn everywhere, mounts of unfolded and wrinkled clothes hiding the top of our dresser, and a comforter cover that is mysteriously lying in the middle of the floor.

I came downstairs and immediately Husband - being the loving soul that he is - tried to give me a hug and smooch. I held him off at arms length. "Don't touch me," I warned.

I have just been feeling like ass for more than a week. Day care has been closed since Friday, and will be until next Monday. I'm tired all the time, I'm bawling all the time, I'm angry all the time, I've started thinking about divorce again and how I shouldn't be married to ANYONE, I fantasize about my own little cottage deep in the Canadian wilderness, and just in general am incredibly resentful of the fact that I am a wife and a mother right now. I hate being around everyone else because they're all so fucking happy, which just makes me feel worse. I have no fuse to speak of right now. I feel overwhelmed and stressed. I've overloaded my life with too many things. I can't see the light coming through the top of the hole I'm in. I will not graduate from school until I'm 40.

I am completely fed up with compromise, because as seen through my flaming glasses of doom right now, compromise just seems to always end up being someone else trying to convince me to do it their way, and I'm fucking tired of it. I don't know how to take care of myself

I guess I'd like my life to be about, well, ME for bit. I truly cannot bring up the sensation of what that feels like anymore.

And as terrified as I am of the migraines coming back, I popped a Zoloft this morning. I'm not sure what is worse: migraines, or the anger and frustration and anxiety filling my chest, the urge to buy a scimitar and walk down the street mowing people down right and left, or the clawing, desperate need to get away from my daughter.


Friday, April 06, 2007

A Real Kick in the Pants

Only in San Francisco:

About two weeks ago, I was walking down Market Street from school to the train station. Part of this walk takes me through the rough edges of the 'Loin, but during the middle of the day, the worst you really have to put up with is a few panhandlers here and there and the overpowering smell of urine.

So there I was, walking along plugged into my iPod, when a guy walking next to me starts to kind of skip and bob about on the sidewalk. Not obviously a crazed soul: jeans, tshirt, somewhat well-kept. Frankly, I just pegged him for some sort of free soul, performance artist type. The moves he was doing were kind of cool actually. They reminded me of a low-key version of capoiera. Either that, or the spastic dancing of Michael Palin as the leper in "The Life of Brian". To each their own.

After a few minutes of this, he sort of shuffle spins up next to me and puts out his hand for money, to which I shook my head no and kept walking. He sort of spun off, weaving around some of the other pedestians. Then the weirdo started basically dancing into me, or close enough that I had to keep moving over, until I'd been pushed off course by about 6 feet. Finally I just stopped and let him dance ahead of me and leave me alone.

I got to the corner and was waiting for the light to change when *WHAM!* Something crashed into my ass! I turned around to see what had happened, expecting some appologetic soul to be there, but what I saw was our friendly neighborhood weirdo, spinning away again and looking at me to gauge my reaction! The fucker came up and literally kicked me in the ass! What. The. FUCK?!? And as I stood there with my mouth agape, do you know what he did? I will be goddamned if he did not get about 10 feet away, pivot oh so gracefully on one foot before charging at me again! Oh yeah! He got to within about 4 feet of me before I realized he was not gonna stop and then, I pulled out the big guns.
I used my mom voice. No lie. I shot him my biggest and angriest "What-in-the-fuck-do-you-think-you-are-doing?" look and barked out "HEY!" as loudly as I could.
It was as if he had encountered a physical obstacle. He sudenly veered off in a bobbing, weaving lope down the sidewalk in the other direction, never pausing, never saying a word, never making any eye contact. I stood there angrily, before suddenly being overwhelmed with the sensation that *I* had just made a fool of *myself* and that surely I must've done something to bring this onto myself. I daresay I got a little post-adrenaline trembly-like too. Not entirely pleasant.
I did manage to talk myself out of it fairly quicky, and continued on to the station, but boy, was that just about one of the weirdest City experiences I've ever had.
Actually, I think that ranks right up there with the time some other whacked-out guy was following me - literally trailing me - around the Library and City Hall area. I wasn't sure this guy was really following me, but I'd ducked into a restaurant just in case. He kept walking past the window, so I figured I'd just been imagining it. I had lunch there, and strolled out with my leftovers in a bag when, yep, there he was sitting outside the door waiting for me. I decided to head over to City Hall, because there's always a cop standing on the front steps, and I was seriously getting freaked out.
Again, there I was, standing on a corner waiting for the light to change, when I feel my skirt being lifted up from behind! I whipped my arm around - conveniently the one withthe leftovers - and nailed the guy in the head as he was bent down nearly to my knees. I hit him so hard, I nearly broke his glasses, and I bet that's the first time in recorded history a styrofoam box left a bruise on someone's face. Same thing, too -- he just calmly adjusted his glasses, straightened up from his crouch, and strolled away like nothing had happened. Same weird self-concious feeling of guilt too, like I'd done something wrong. Got to work on that.
Wait a second -- I'm noticing a trend here. I have the ass crazed homeless men can only DREAM about! Whoo ho--wait, that's a bad thing....

Speaking of The Doctor

Mags, several of her toy animals and myself met with The Doctor at Stanford again today. If you recall, last we spoke with Herr Doktor, he was fairly certain I did not have Cushings Syndrome. I don't seem to really have any of the physical/visible symptoms that normally accompany it, so he was feeling pretty safe to basically cross that off the list. Now he's not so sure. And while last time the meeting was somewhat dismissive (if I can use that with a non-negative connotation,) this time there seemed to be an undercurrent of concern (if I can use that with a non-panic-y connotation.) The blood tests showed that I'm fairly high for some particular growth hormone as well as testosterone, which may also be caused by a possible growth on the pituitary gland and ties in nicely with the other test results. He's not going to make any sort of diagnosis until he gets the urine test resuls in hand, as well as some confirmation test results for the blood that was drawn today, but he's feeling strongly enough about it that he's got me on the schedule to get an MRI of said gland taken several weeks from now.

So, it turns out I'm not losing my mind (about this, anyhow.) He agrees that I've got some fairly glaring issues with my hormone levels and my adrenals, and spent a good portion of our meeting reassuring me that we will get to the bottom of this, and that there's nothing there that can't be taken care of, best facility around, etc., etc., etc. He also started to try and reassure me about the quality of surgeons there at Stanford, because apparently if this is where this is all going, that's how they get rid of it. Which for all my wanting there to be a problem, still does make me a *bit* uncomfortable, especially compared to say, a radiation treatment-type solution. But cart, blah, horse, blah. My MRI isn't until the beginning of May, and I don't know that I'll see him again in the interrim. I'll try to not get too spooled up about it in the meantime.

Try being the operative word.

A Long Day

Whew. Its all of 930 at night, and I am so ready for bed. I even had a 2 hour nap today, and I'm still fairly wrecked. Mags just went to sleep (without a hassle, thankfully,) and what I really should be doing is working on my homework that's due Monday, or the speech I need to write to test out of taking my Effective Speaking class that's due Thursday, fix the zipper on the St. V de P dress that's due on Thursday, or the sewing project I just got hired to do that's due next Sunday, or load the dishwasher, or do a load of laundry, or, or ....

But I'm wiped. Mags' day care was closed today, so we were joined at the hip today. All in all, the day went fine. She drove with me to pick up the table and chairs set that is now en route to the ranch with Husband and brother-in-law (testosterone weekend with a bunch of the guys. Me and Mags are free souls this weekend. Read: I could use some babysitting.) Then she hung out quite patiently - no pun intended - while I went back to Stanford for a follow up exam. We took some breaks, had a cookie and played in the fountain between hanging out in the waiting room, chatting with The Doctor and getting more blood drawn. Then home for naps, baking Husband's birthday cake, off to Fresh Choice for dinner, bath and bed. A pretty good day. Its just that, on days like today, where I am on duty all day, I get fuck all accomplished for myself, much less any down time, and I really struggle with that. Maybe it wouldn't chafe so much if I didn't have myself in constantly overloaded mode, but that's where I am right now. And as you can see, when 'me' time doesn't start until after 9 pm, not much gets accomplished.

Actually, I think I *will* make a few phone calls and see if I can't get tomorrow evening off so I can sit down and get some uninterrupted work done. What with Husband gone for the weekend and daycare closed ALL OF NEXT WEEK, I'm this side of full-blown panic (as opposed to Thursday night, that was full blown panic, and warrants its own entry.)

Sunday, April 01, 2007

Feeling better

Ok, going and sewing at L's house did me a world of good. I got lost in sequined appliques and talking shop, and soon found myself in that almost zen state that getting to work undisturbed on a good project could bring. We wrapped up just around the time Husband and Mags were getting ready to leave, so I got to spend a bit of time with them before they dashed off to the ranch. Even when I need down time, I am sad to see them go.

Yesterday I put my head down, had some caffeine for lunch, grabbed the snow shovel fromthe shed and dug my bedroom out of some SERIOUS disrepair. I found my bed again, as well as my worktable, and about 30 pieces of clothing I'd forgotten I owned. Later that night I watched 'Cars', because I had the house all to myself and could watch ANYTHING (howd'ya like that logic?)

Today was spent helping my brother-in-law pick up some new furniture with our truck. I got a bit of puttering done around the house, but not nearly as much as I had hoped. And that crazily unrealistic list of things I had hoped to accomplish while on break? Mostly unfinished, although the house does look better, which helps me not lock up from the visual clutter and makes it easier for me to get stuff done.

A relaxing break? Not entirely. Looking forward to class in the am? Not entirely. Looking forward to seeing my family in about 2 hours?