Last time we caught up with our protagonist, she was sending her little letter-minions, her little agents of change, hurrying and scurrying via the internet ether into the world, into the inboxes of the world, sleepers until a click of a mouse set their contents disseminating, dispersing, like Pandora's little cyberbox but not so full of evil. She had strung a line, and her ass was on it, and let's just be honest--it felt a wee bit drafty.
She didn't have long to wait...it was coming, coming, coming and then: she got spanked. A smart little slap, with palm perhaps just slightly angled to produce that pleasing, fleshy smack sound. It was a "this is for your own good" spanking with a shot of righteous, injured indignation and chaser of "from now on, go and be a good girl."
Our heroine (oh, just humor me!) smarted. She frothed a bit of anarchy. The sting wore off and she stopped walking funny. "My, my" she thought; "my ass these days is rather resilient.
And then tonight...Life did it. It busted out with some goddamn lemons. A whole lemony little phalanx of acid reflux inducing, tooth-enamel threatening puckerfacing citrusy sonsabiches.
She thought about iced, cold lemonade. But It is Winter, even if It doesn't know It. She thought about saying "fuck it" and bailing. She indulged in rant therapy.
And then she went home and googled recipes for weaponry made of one simple household ingredient; stingy, stingy lemon juice.
She may have made a few lemon bombs. She may have tucked a few in Life's sock drawer.
Enough third person. I'm gunnin' for the Man now. Wish me luck.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Days All the Rest: LOTSA Letters
Okay, so clearly I'm not up to the challenge of posting every day, even only for a week. I just can't get around to it. HOWEVER, you'll be proud to know this doesn't mean I didn't keep up with my self-imposed "Change Your Reality" challenge. I have sent a gripload of letters over the last few days, I promise, but I'm not going to post them here, because they are all variations of the same letter and you'd be bored. They all had to do with one thing: saving the Writing Center on our campus. I've been a tutor there for more than three years, and its been around for twenty...but now, it's one of the cuts scheduled for the end of this academic year. It's just one of the many answers to the state's mad, insane plan to cut more than 30million dollars (over 14%) from UNR's current budget. (Someone in the TA office altered a bumper sticker "Nevada: We grow things here" by adding "EXCEPT BRAINS." Looking at this state's financial situation, one tends to agree.)
This has been keeping me up at night. As you can imagine, I DON'T have time to be an activist. But somehow, I can't help it. Our Writing Center keeps 7,000 tutoring appointments a year...on a campus of 16,000. The numbers speak for themselves! And as a Writing teacher, I just can't let it go down without a fight. Partly because I worry about the students that will fail without this extra help; but more, because its a resource for the kind of success I wish for my students. In their first scared semester, I can say to my uncertain freshmen, "Look, don't be scared about your writing. If you don't believe in yourself, I'm going to try to build your confidence. And then, for the rest of your time in college, whenever you have doubts about your writing, or you just want to shoot for a high grade in a class or feel great about your personal statement for a scholarship or grad school, then here...there's this resource. Go there. There, someone will REALLY read your writing. They will spend 30 or 60 minutes with you (something few of your teachers will ever do) and they will do everything they can to help."
So, over the last few days I've written:
--The undergraduate student body president
--The Development Director for the Liberal Arts college
--The Provost of the University
--The President of the University
--The Dean of Liberal Arts
--The Associate Dean of Liberal Arts AND
--The Director of Core Curriculum
Now that all of those letters, sent via email, are out in the world, trying their little letter hearts out to change reality, I have to admit...I feel kind of queasy. I know no one can hold it against me for trying to defend something I believe in professionally. But still, for some reason, I kinda feel like it's my (naked, none-too-shapely) ass on the line. Putting yourself out there is central to trying to change the world, I guess. I just hope I don't get spanked.
I guess I could declare next week "When life gives you lemons, just say fuck it and bail" Week (thank you, Forgetting Sarah Marshall)...But somehow, I don't think that's going to happen.
This has been keeping me up at night. As you can imagine, I DON'T have time to be an activist. But somehow, I can't help it. Our Writing Center keeps 7,000 tutoring appointments a year...on a campus of 16,000. The numbers speak for themselves! And as a Writing teacher, I just can't let it go down without a fight. Partly because I worry about the students that will fail without this extra help; but more, because its a resource for the kind of success I wish for my students. In their first scared semester, I can say to my uncertain freshmen, "Look, don't be scared about your writing. If you don't believe in yourself, I'm going to try to build your confidence. And then, for the rest of your time in college, whenever you have doubts about your writing, or you just want to shoot for a high grade in a class or feel great about your personal statement for a scholarship or grad school, then here...there's this resource. Go there. There, someone will REALLY read your writing. They will spend 30 or 60 minutes with you (something few of your teachers will ever do) and they will do everything they can to help."
So, over the last few days I've written:
--The undergraduate student body president
--The Development Director for the Liberal Arts college
--The Provost of the University
--The President of the University
--The Dean of Liberal Arts
--The Associate Dean of Liberal Arts AND
--The Director of Core Curriculum
Now that all of those letters, sent via email, are out in the world, trying their little letter hearts out to change reality, I have to admit...I feel kind of queasy. I know no one can hold it against me for trying to defend something I believe in professionally. But still, for some reason, I kinda feel like it's my (naked, none-too-shapely) ass on the line. Putting yourself out there is central to trying to change the world, I guess. I just hope I don't get spanked.
I guess I could declare next week "When life gives you lemons, just say fuck it and bail" Week (thank you, Forgetting Sarah Marshall)...But somehow, I don't think that's going to happen.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Day 2: Thinking of Kitty
Tomorrow, it's back to reality reality. But today, an attempt to deal with some of thoughts and emotions:
Dear Grandma,
Your oldest daughter, my mother, picked up your ashes this morning. It’s been two weeks since the rainy Thursday afternoon where my phone rang, and I knew what the news was. My phone cut out. My voice was already cracking when I called my mom back. I asked if you were gone, and she answered yes. And now, your body is gone; it is gone and then returned to us in the form of the gone. I will not see your face again; your face is gone. It was your wish—as it is mine—that what stays here on the earth is only dust to be dispersed.
It was never easy to know you, Grandma. I don’t know what you would think of us finding laughs in the minutiae of your death. After her first visit to the crematorium, my mom told me the story of being upsold on the receptacle for your remains. She hadn’t anticipated the complex logistics of design; do you choose the tube that is painted with pansies and has holes on top, so you can sprinkle the ashes out like garlic salt? Or the stately and lugubrious urn—because later, when its contents have been deposed, what on earth do you do with it? Ultimately, she chose a biodegradable box painted with an eagle which could be set free in water—this way, you see, no one need take chances with the direction of the wind. She and I got some mileage from the clever marketing of receptacle designers. She said you would “turn in your urn” if you knew what kind of money she spend on this cardboard eagle box. We laughed hysterically—perhaps too hysterically.
Our family doesn’t do funerals. That last act of letting you go will come long after you have gone. After we have tunneled into winter and passed under the change of a year, after we have emerged into cold early spring and then it warms, and becomes summer, perhaps we will let you go. Perhaps a few of us will gather at the ocean, and that tacky but environment-friendly container—it’s fitting, as it reminds me for some reason of the RV in which you spent more of our childhood away from us, living the cyclical life of a snowbird—will be gently set out from the back of the boat, its bobbing glide stately, queenly as you were, until its hard surfaces turn soft and the ocean begins the quick work of taking the thing apart. I see the glide and the gurgle, the sailing and the subsuming, the release and then the reclamation as the sea swallows the last soft dust of you.
The facts of your death seem real to me; it is the facts of your life that do not. The reality of a life’s end is the sorting, the culling, the remembering that takes place over boxes of life’s trivia which calls, now that its collector is gone, for some kind of order. Your things had hovered in the purgatory of things; you were never coming back for them. You lived, but forgot; you forgot the number of your children, the long shared life with your husband, your jewelry and your photographs and the yellowed documents which tug our heartstrings: certificates of birth, of degree, of death. You had forgotten them but they, your pictures, your papers, your kitsch, still has something to say about your life. We want to hear those things. We are not prepared to hear those things. We still can’t find the things we need to hear.
There were a lot of tears this last weekend, Grandma. Your three grown children (for a time, in the last couple of years, you asked about the fourth. We will never know what memory or missed opportunity might have been that second son to you, that third little girl) gathered here to make sense of what you’d left behind. It was a treasure hunt; there were tiny treasures. Your first born broke over your wedding vows. Your daughters hugged him hard. My sister found a box marked “Keep”—it contained cards we’d written you and craft projects we’d made you over the years. Somehow, I never knew you’d cherished these bits of us.
It is your art that breaks me. When I came to my mom’s house one night, she told me to look inside a photo album resting on top of the coffee table. In it there were photographs, blurry photographs of paintings, your paintings. Most of them, we had never seen. We had some beauty you left us; we didn’t have all of it or, we discovered, the best of it. There is such life in your mountainscapes. The pictures frame the paintings, images of images, and you are only in one of them. In it, you pose before a craft fair booth laden with your paintings. We never knew you were prolific. There are Oregon clouds or Washington clouds and your art and you, looking proud, looking like a queen. It hurts and it heals to know these pieces of your soul are somewhere, at large in the world.
I wish I had known you better.
Dear Grandma,
Your oldest daughter, my mother, picked up your ashes this morning. It’s been two weeks since the rainy Thursday afternoon where my phone rang, and I knew what the news was. My phone cut out. My voice was already cracking when I called my mom back. I asked if you were gone, and she answered yes. And now, your body is gone; it is gone and then returned to us in the form of the gone. I will not see your face again; your face is gone. It was your wish—as it is mine—that what stays here on the earth is only dust to be dispersed.
It was never easy to know you, Grandma. I don’t know what you would think of us finding laughs in the minutiae of your death. After her first visit to the crematorium, my mom told me the story of being upsold on the receptacle for your remains. She hadn’t anticipated the complex logistics of design; do you choose the tube that is painted with pansies and has holes on top, so you can sprinkle the ashes out like garlic salt? Or the stately and lugubrious urn—because later, when its contents have been deposed, what on earth do you do with it? Ultimately, she chose a biodegradable box painted with an eagle which could be set free in water—this way, you see, no one need take chances with the direction of the wind. She and I got some mileage from the clever marketing of receptacle designers. She said you would “turn in your urn” if you knew what kind of money she spend on this cardboard eagle box. We laughed hysterically—perhaps too hysterically.
Our family doesn’t do funerals. That last act of letting you go will come long after you have gone. After we have tunneled into winter and passed under the change of a year, after we have emerged into cold early spring and then it warms, and becomes summer, perhaps we will let you go. Perhaps a few of us will gather at the ocean, and that tacky but environment-friendly container—it’s fitting, as it reminds me for some reason of the RV in which you spent more of our childhood away from us, living the cyclical life of a snowbird—will be gently set out from the back of the boat, its bobbing glide stately, queenly as you were, until its hard surfaces turn soft and the ocean begins the quick work of taking the thing apart. I see the glide and the gurgle, the sailing and the subsuming, the release and then the reclamation as the sea swallows the last soft dust of you.
The facts of your death seem real to me; it is the facts of your life that do not. The reality of a life’s end is the sorting, the culling, the remembering that takes place over boxes of life’s trivia which calls, now that its collector is gone, for some kind of order. Your things had hovered in the purgatory of things; you were never coming back for them. You lived, but forgot; you forgot the number of your children, the long shared life with your husband, your jewelry and your photographs and the yellowed documents which tug our heartstrings: certificates of birth, of degree, of death. You had forgotten them but they, your pictures, your papers, your kitsch, still has something to say about your life. We want to hear those things. We are not prepared to hear those things. We still can’t find the things we need to hear.
There were a lot of tears this last weekend, Grandma. Your three grown children (for a time, in the last couple of years, you asked about the fourth. We will never know what memory or missed opportunity might have been that second son to you, that third little girl) gathered here to make sense of what you’d left behind. It was a treasure hunt; there were tiny treasures. Your first born broke over your wedding vows. Your daughters hugged him hard. My sister found a box marked “Keep”—it contained cards we’d written you and craft projects we’d made you over the years. Somehow, I never knew you’d cherished these bits of us.
It is your art that breaks me. When I came to my mom’s house one night, she told me to look inside a photo album resting on top of the coffee table. In it there were photographs, blurry photographs of paintings, your paintings. Most of them, we had never seen. We had some beauty you left us; we didn’t have all of it or, we discovered, the best of it. There is such life in your mountainscapes. The pictures frame the paintings, images of images, and you are only in one of them. In it, you pose before a craft fair booth laden with your paintings. We never knew you were prolific. There are Oregon clouds or Washington clouds and your art and you, looking proud, looking like a queen. It hurts and it heals to know these pieces of your soul are somewhere, at large in the world.
I wish I had known you better.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Day 1: Mortgage Reality
Here is my first letter for "Change Your Reality Week." We are in a rather drastic situation (as so many are) with our house. Our neighborhood is half empty, values have fallen more than I could have ever imagined, and we have an ARM adjustment coming up in far too soon a time, with no hope of being able to get out of it. This is a letter--a shortened version, as I took some of the more personal information--to our mortgage company asking if they might renegotiate some of our loan terms to make our situation better. I believe, numerically, that we would qualify for consideration, although to be honest I don't know what criteria they are using. It's going in the mail today.
Dear Homeowner Assistance,
I am writing to ask that you consider renegotiating the terms of our loan in an effort to help us keep our house. We have been advised to enter foreclosure proceedings, but have not yet defaulted on our payments, and sincerely hope that with your help we can avoid this.
We purchased our new construction home at was later became evident was the peak of our local market, July of 2006. When we opted for an ARM, even with my job experience in the mortgage industry I had no idea what a foolish decision that would soon prove to be.
With the loss of my job in the mortgage industry, my husband and I lost more than two-thirds of our income. Additionally, since purchasing our house, we have seen values freefall around us, with no bottom in sight. Multiple houses on our street currently stand empty due to foreclosure, and the builder has been unable to sell the remaining inventory. If the recent few sales are any indication, our home has plummeted well over $100,000 in value.
We have no way to refinance or sell, and it is becoming very hard to make our monthly payments. Up until now, we have been struggling to put every spare penny towards our principal balance (at the cost of saving for our daughter’s future or our own) but we are now too strapped to do even that.
Our financial advisor has counseled us that it would be better to begin foreclosure proceedings now, as we have basically no hope of being able to refinance or sell before our ARM adjusts, and the longer we let this go, the more we lose. However, we would vastly prefer to keep our house. We ask, therefore, if you might consider altering the terms of our loan to help our situation. Two changes would allow us to continue to make our monthly payment; a lower interest rate would make our payments more manageable, and converting our loan from a 5-year ARM to a fixed rate would give us the security of knowing that we will not inevitably lose our home, regardless of all of our efforts, to an interest rate adjustment.
In making these adjustments, you would help us protect your investment. Please consider this request.
Sincerely,
Crystal & Mario
Dear Homeowner Assistance,
I am writing to ask that you consider renegotiating the terms of our loan in an effort to help us keep our house. We have been advised to enter foreclosure proceedings, but have not yet defaulted on our payments, and sincerely hope that with your help we can avoid this.
We purchased our new construction home at was later became evident was the peak of our local market, July of 2006. When we opted for an ARM, even with my job experience in the mortgage industry I had no idea what a foolish decision that would soon prove to be.
With the loss of my job in the mortgage industry, my husband and I lost more than two-thirds of our income. Additionally, since purchasing our house, we have seen values freefall around us, with no bottom in sight. Multiple houses on our street currently stand empty due to foreclosure, and the builder has been unable to sell the remaining inventory. If the recent few sales are any indication, our home has plummeted well over $100,000 in value.
We have no way to refinance or sell, and it is becoming very hard to make our monthly payments. Up until now, we have been struggling to put every spare penny towards our principal balance (at the cost of saving for our daughter’s future or our own) but we are now too strapped to do even that.
Our financial advisor has counseled us that it would be better to begin foreclosure proceedings now, as we have basically no hope of being able to refinance or sell before our ARM adjusts, and the longer we let this go, the more we lose. However, we would vastly prefer to keep our house. We ask, therefore, if you might consider altering the terms of our loan to help our situation. Two changes would allow us to continue to make our monthly payment; a lower interest rate would make our payments more manageable, and converting our loan from a 5-year ARM to a fixed rate would give us the security of knowing that we will not inevitably lose our home, regardless of all of our efforts, to an interest rate adjustment.
In making these adjustments, you would help us protect your investment. Please consider this request.
Sincerely,
Crystal & Mario
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Upcoming: Change Your Reality Week
Where has the time gone since I've been able to post a post? It's been almost two weeks, I think, and although there has been so much to say I have not found the time to say it. It's been one week since Obama won the presidential election. It's been twelve days since my grandmother died--but only two days since my family, going through her stored-away things, found some hidden photos that showed us what a beautiful artist she was, and also how little any of us really knew her. It's been several weeks since I've plunged deeply into the fight to save my school and the things I care about there, with the unprecedented budget crisis facing the state of Nevada and threatening to devastate my future and the future of my students. It's been about twenty-four hours since my baby took her first wobbling couple of steps.
Things are happening, terrible and wonderful. The pendulum is swinging. I've been laughing and crying. I've been sick, then healthy, then sick again. I've been running. I've been drinking wine. My world has changed and I've been trying to change the world--but forgetting to blog about it.
I've been gearing up for a project with two colleagues that I'm so excited and honored to be a part of, a interview for publication in a scholarly journal (side note: publication = big deal) with a very important and foundational scholar in my field, Edward M. White. I've been reading some of his writing in preparation for the interview; a recurring theme in his work is power, particularly the power of a writer to change her world. This resonates because I've been writing, and the world has been answering. I email big names (rhetoric rock stars) and they write me back. I vote for a Regent one day; we email the next. Nevada's Chancellor of Higher Education (MY NEWEST HERO) will come to my campus if I invite him. I think I'd forgotten that the world responds when you address it directly.
And so, in honor of Ed White, who himself honors the power of the writer, I declare myself a "Change Your Reality Week." Every day for a week, starting tomorrow, I'm going to write and post a letter that in some way attempts to change my reality. Emotional reality, financial reality, educational reality--any and all of the above. I'll let you know, later, if any of it works.
Anyone want to participate with me?
Things are happening, terrible and wonderful. The pendulum is swinging. I've been laughing and crying. I've been sick, then healthy, then sick again. I've been running. I've been drinking wine. My world has changed and I've been trying to change the world--but forgetting to blog about it.
I've been gearing up for a project with two colleagues that I'm so excited and honored to be a part of, a interview for publication in a scholarly journal (side note: publication = big deal) with a very important and foundational scholar in my field, Edward M. White. I've been reading some of his writing in preparation for the interview; a recurring theme in his work is power, particularly the power of a writer to change her world. This resonates because I've been writing, and the world has been answering. I email big names (rhetoric rock stars) and they write me back. I vote for a Regent one day; we email the next. Nevada's Chancellor of Higher Education (MY NEWEST HERO) will come to my campus if I invite him. I think I'd forgotten that the world responds when you address it directly.
And so, in honor of Ed White, who himself honors the power of the writer, I declare myself a "Change Your Reality Week." Every day for a week, starting tomorrow, I'm going to write and post a letter that in some way attempts to change my reality. Emotional reality, financial reality, educational reality--any and all of the above. I'll let you know, later, if any of it works.
Anyone want to participate with me?
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
GO OBAMA!!!!
I am SO EXCITED. First, that I don't have to move to Canada. And second, that I actually will, for the first time in my life, have a president that I LOVE. I know he's got a tough road ahead of him, but tonight...I am just SO happy. Congratulations Obama!
Sunday, October 26, 2008
1600 Miles Later...
I'm going to share something gross with you. Come on now, I know you can handle it! Are you ready? Okay, here goes: I gotta tell you that when I see a rack of porn magazines, bearing titles such as "Asian Invasion" and "Pussy Parade," next to a soda fountain or a rack of sun chips and snack cakes, all I can think of is splooge. Splooge in the Ho-ho's, splooge in the Snowballs, splooge in my Diet Coke. And it really makes me lose my appetite.
Why, you may ask, were you in a place that sells such fine publications? Well, let me correct you: I was not in "a place" but actually SEVERAL places that sold them; and as to why, the answer is that sometimes you don't have much choice when you are trekking the 800 miles of highways and interstates between Reno, Nevada and Bozeman, Montana. Those are some stretches of road that cater heavily to the trucker population, as you may have guessed; and sometimes, especially when you are traveling with a baby who tends to poop at the most inopportune moments, you just can't hold out for a nice, clean, porn-free Chevron. You just have to pull over at the nearest combination truck stop/casino and try to overcome your reservations about splooge contamination--reservations that become especially plaguing when you are in Nevada and there is a mysterious series of numbered rooms at the back.
But enough about our fine state's penchant for illicit entertainment, and more about my own naughty activities. On this trip, I walked on the wild side and got caught. Yep, you guessed it--I got a SPEEDING TICKET. A rather hefty speeding ticket, as the cop caught me going 92 in a 70!! In my defense, we had just left a 75, and I had just passed a very old couple driving way too slowly and very erratically. I really hate passing on two-lane highways and our Rav-4 has a V6 engine, so I usally pass fast and hightail it back to my own lane. Unfortunately, the cop caught me on the tail end of my hightail, not slowing down fast enough. That was on highway 93, which goes from Wells NV to Twin Falls ID, and which I have labeled "The Bloody Road," in part in honor of the bloody ticket and in part from all the literal blood. 100 miles of road red from dead deer is about the creepiest thing I've ever seen. Driving it at night, which we did on the way back, was especially horrifying. Once I turned on my brights RIGHT before I came upon two deer in the road, allowing me to slow down in time; another time, we came upon a very fresh accident being partaken of by coyotes, also in the road. YUCK. Let's just say I was THRILLED to reach the interstate again!
Apart from the speeding ticket, and the fact that 1600 miles is an EFF of a long way to drive, we had a great trip. We enjoyed some beautiful scenery, especially on the border of Wyoming and Montana as we skirted Yellowstone. Scarlett, although she had some melty moments (translate: melting-down moments) was overall a VERY good girl, a huge change from her early days of being an absolute nightmare in the car. I loved Bozeman and had an all-around great time at the conference--I got a lot out of the presentations I attended, my own work was well received, and rhetoric rock stars cooed over Scarlett. I also enjoyed stopping at Smitty's Pancake House in Idaho Falls, which was started by my great uncle and is still owned and run by my second cousins, even though none of the family was on hand to visit with. All in all, it was a very enjoyable mini-vacation. But next time I get the brilliant idea to drive 1600 miles over the course of four days, just whack me upside the head, okay? Or better yet, drop me the one-word reminder sure to jog me back into a more logical frame of mind: Splooge.
Why, you may ask, were you in a place that sells such fine publications? Well, let me correct you: I was not in "a place" but actually SEVERAL places that sold them; and as to why, the answer is that sometimes you don't have much choice when you are trekking the 800 miles of highways and interstates between Reno, Nevada and Bozeman, Montana. Those are some stretches of road that cater heavily to the trucker population, as you may have guessed; and sometimes, especially when you are traveling with a baby who tends to poop at the most inopportune moments, you just can't hold out for a nice, clean, porn-free Chevron. You just have to pull over at the nearest combination truck stop/casino and try to overcome your reservations about splooge contamination--reservations that become especially plaguing when you are in Nevada and there is a mysterious series of numbered rooms at the back.
But enough about our fine state's penchant for illicit entertainment, and more about my own naughty activities. On this trip, I walked on the wild side and got caught. Yep, you guessed it--I got a SPEEDING TICKET. A rather hefty speeding ticket, as the cop caught me going 92 in a 70!! In my defense, we had just left a 75, and I had just passed a very old couple driving way too slowly and very erratically. I really hate passing on two-lane highways and our Rav-4 has a V6 engine, so I usally pass fast and hightail it back to my own lane. Unfortunately, the cop caught me on the tail end of my hightail, not slowing down fast enough. That was on highway 93, which goes from Wells NV to Twin Falls ID, and which I have labeled "The Bloody Road," in part in honor of the bloody ticket and in part from all the literal blood. 100 miles of road red from dead deer is about the creepiest thing I've ever seen. Driving it at night, which we did on the way back, was especially horrifying. Once I turned on my brights RIGHT before I came upon two deer in the road, allowing me to slow down in time; another time, we came upon a very fresh accident being partaken of by coyotes, also in the road. YUCK. Let's just say I was THRILLED to reach the interstate again!
Apart from the speeding ticket, and the fact that 1600 miles is an EFF of a long way to drive, we had a great trip. We enjoyed some beautiful scenery, especially on the border of Wyoming and Montana as we skirted Yellowstone. Scarlett, although she had some melty moments (translate: melting-down moments) was overall a VERY good girl, a huge change from her early days of being an absolute nightmare in the car. I loved Bozeman and had an all-around great time at the conference--I got a lot out of the presentations I attended, my own work was well received, and rhetoric rock stars cooed over Scarlett. I also enjoyed stopping at Smitty's Pancake House in Idaho Falls, which was started by my great uncle and is still owned and run by my second cousins, even though none of the family was on hand to visit with. All in all, it was a very enjoyable mini-vacation. But next time I get the brilliant idea to drive 1600 miles over the course of four days, just whack me upside the head, okay? Or better yet, drop me the one-word reminder sure to jog me back into a more logical frame of mind: Splooge.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Phyllophilia, OR, How to Decimate a Box of Phyllo in Two Days
So no, I'm still not losing any weight despite Turbo Kick, Jillian Michaels, and Wogging; yes, I have fallen back into the evil dessert pit, and I am no doubt sabotaging myself through sweet calories that love me far too much; and yes, I will soon be creating a new challenge for myself because that seems to be the only way I can be reasonable. But, because I suspect you don't want to read about my baby weight struggles ALL the time, I'm going to address something much more fun in this post: Food. Specifically, food made with delicious, naughty phyllo dough.
I love to cook and bake, and in general (or so I am told) good stuff results. My main problem is that I can be terribly non-adventurous...I tend to get a recipe down pat, then throw it into a fairly limited rotation. Between Mario and I, one of us has class every weeknight, so that's a lot of "quick meals." My usual suspects are turkey or fish tacos, turkey kielbasa with veggies and couscous, turkey burgers, grilled chicken or fish, things like that. When I have a little more time, there is homemade chicken soup, coconut curry, chicken pot pie (Mario's favorite!), or perhaps turkey or veggie lasagna--and I just mastered seafood lasagna with white sauce. Actually, as my husband would attest, I have a kind of dangerous skill with white sauces. Creamy tomato with basil and pinenuts, creamy pesto, and pepperjack chicken pasta are among my naughty specialties.
Anyway, lately I've been a bit bored with my rotation and have vowed to be a bit more adventurous, and to keep better track of the recipes that work. First up on my list of things to try was Spanakopita. I love Greek food (Mario and I got a little too used to the real thing when we were doing our TEFL certificates on Crete) but Reno has a serious dearth. I am pretty much incapable of following a recipe exactly, so here is the Spanakopita recipe I patched together from various sources, and loved:
Spanakopita Crystal's Way
Ingredients
•14 ounce pkg frozen, chopped spinach
•6 oz package feta cheese
•4 large eggs
•1 bunch green onions
•¾ cup cottage cheese
•½ box of phyllo dough
•1 stick (1/2 cup) of butter, or maybe a little more
•Dashes of nutmeg and salt
Directions
1.Heat oven to 375. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.Thaw spinach and squeeze dry.
3.Chop green onions finely. Melt a bit of butter in a frying pan, and fry them up with spinach until they are well mixed, just a few minutes.
4.In a large bowl mix feta cheese, cottage cheese, eggs, and nutmeg and salt until well blended.
5.Add in spinach/green onion mix.
6.Melt the remaining butter in a cup.
7.Line the bottom of pan of greased 9x13 inch pan with a sheet of phyllo. Using a basting brush (rubber works well), brush the sheet lightly with butter. Repeat until you have 5 or 6 layers of dough. (Note: Keep the roll of phyllo sheets covered as much as you can while you work, as it dries out fast. You can drape a damp paper towel over it, but be warned that too much moisture can make it gooey.)
8.Spread the spinach mixture, evenly covering the dough.
9.Cover with a layer of phyllo; brush lightly with butter. Repeat with about 6 more sheets.
10.Butter the top sheet generously. Using the basting brush, go around the edges and smooth them with butter, tucking them down.
11.Score the top lightly where you plan to make cuts.
12.Place in preheated oven and bake 30-40 minutes, or until dark golden brown.
Notes:
Delicious! However, after making this I would say more spinach could definitely be thrown in for good results. Many other recipes call for more eggs than four; four worked perfectly here but if you add more spinach, another egg or so might be a good addition.
Hmmm....a box of phyllo comes with two rolls, and I used about 3/4 of one roll with this recipe. I still had some to use up so it didn't go to waste. So last night, I had my sister over for dinner and utilized THIS delicious recipe. You'll notice some similar techniques with treatment of the phyllo:
Broccoli Chicken in Phyllo, Crystal’s Way
Ingredients:
•1/2 cup or so melted butter
•12 sheets phyllo dough
•2 breasts chicken, diced in small cubes, lightly salted and peppered
•1/2 package turkey bacon, diced small
•2 crowns or so fresh broccoli, cut in small pieces, steamed gently
•1 cup grated cheddar cheese
•1 cup grated jack cheese
•5 eggs
•1 cup heavy whipping cream
•1/2 cup milk
•1 teaspoon salt
•1/2 teaspoon pepper
Directions
1.Heat oven to 375. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.In a frying pan, brown chicken together with bacon in a bit of butter
3.Mix in steamed broccoli. When it cools a bit, toss in both kinds of cheese as well.
4.In a large bowl mix eggs, cream, milk, salt, and pepper until blended.
5.Melt the remaining butter in a cup.
6.Line the bottom of pan of greased 9x13 inch pan with a sheet of phyllo. Using a basting brush (rubber works well), brush the sheet lightly with butter. Repeat until you have 5 or 6 layers of dough.
7.Pour in chicken/bacon/broccoli/cheese mix, spread evenly.
8.Pour cream mixture evenly over the top.
9.Cover with a layer of phyllo; brush lightly with butter. Repeat with about 6 more sheets.
10.Butter the top sheet generously. Using the basting brush, go around the edges and smooth them with butter, tucking them down.
11.Score the top lightly where you plan to make cuts.
12.Place in preheated oven and bake 30-40 minutes, or until dark golden brown.
Mmmm....good! But, still about 2/3 a role of phyllo remaining. Might as well use it up with a dessert recipe. I adapted this recipe from Athens Foods in the following way:
Banana Chocolate Phyllo Packets
Ingredients:
3 bananas, sliced up
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons Kahlua
12 sheets phyllo
1/4 cup butter, melted
Directions
1.Heat oven to 350. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.In medium bowl, combine bananas, chocolate chips, Kahlua and 1 teaspoon of cinnamon.
3.In a small bowl, combine 1 teaspoon cinnamon and sugar.
4.Melt the butter in a cup.
5.Grease a 9x13 cookie sheet.
6.Take a sheet of phyllo. Brush ½ with butter and fold in half. Plop 1/6th of the banana mixture in the middle, and fold gently into a square packet. Brush phyllo with butter as you fold. Wrap packet in one more sheet of phyllo. Avoid breakage by working carefully and keeping phyllo you’re using buttered, and that you’re not using covered. This not easy, so likely your first couple will look a bit funky. That’s fine—they will still taste good.
7.Brush the top of packet with butter, and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar mixture.
8.Repeat 5 times for a total of 6 packets.
9.Place in preheated oven and bake 15 or so minutes, until they look delicious.
10.Serve with a bit of vanilla ice cream! Yum.
And there you have it. Phyllo gone, tummies (a little too) full, all happy. Diet tomorrow!
I love to cook and bake, and in general (or so I am told) good stuff results. My main problem is that I can be terribly non-adventurous...I tend to get a recipe down pat, then throw it into a fairly limited rotation. Between Mario and I, one of us has class every weeknight, so that's a lot of "quick meals." My usual suspects are turkey or fish tacos, turkey kielbasa with veggies and couscous, turkey burgers, grilled chicken or fish, things like that. When I have a little more time, there is homemade chicken soup, coconut curry, chicken pot pie (Mario's favorite!), or perhaps turkey or veggie lasagna--and I just mastered seafood lasagna with white sauce. Actually, as my husband would attest, I have a kind of dangerous skill with white sauces. Creamy tomato with basil and pinenuts, creamy pesto, and pepperjack chicken pasta are among my naughty specialties.
Anyway, lately I've been a bit bored with my rotation and have vowed to be a bit more adventurous, and to keep better track of the recipes that work. First up on my list of things to try was Spanakopita. I love Greek food (Mario and I got a little too used to the real thing when we were doing our TEFL certificates on Crete) but Reno has a serious dearth. I am pretty much incapable of following a recipe exactly, so here is the Spanakopita recipe I patched together from various sources, and loved:
Spanakopita Crystal's Way
Ingredients
•14 ounce pkg frozen, chopped spinach
•6 oz package feta cheese
•4 large eggs
•1 bunch green onions
•¾ cup cottage cheese
•½ box of phyllo dough
•1 stick (1/2 cup) of butter, or maybe a little more
•Dashes of nutmeg and salt
Directions
1.Heat oven to 375. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.Thaw spinach and squeeze dry.
3.Chop green onions finely. Melt a bit of butter in a frying pan, and fry them up with spinach until they are well mixed, just a few minutes.
4.In a large bowl mix feta cheese, cottage cheese, eggs, and nutmeg and salt until well blended.
5.Add in spinach/green onion mix.
6.Melt the remaining butter in a cup.
7.Line the bottom of pan of greased 9x13 inch pan with a sheet of phyllo. Using a basting brush (rubber works well), brush the sheet lightly with butter. Repeat until you have 5 or 6 layers of dough. (Note: Keep the roll of phyllo sheets covered as much as you can while you work, as it dries out fast. You can drape a damp paper towel over it, but be warned that too much moisture can make it gooey.)
8.Spread the spinach mixture, evenly covering the dough.
9.Cover with a layer of phyllo; brush lightly with butter. Repeat with about 6 more sheets.
10.Butter the top sheet generously. Using the basting brush, go around the edges and smooth them with butter, tucking them down.
11.Score the top lightly where you plan to make cuts.
12.Place in preheated oven and bake 30-40 minutes, or until dark golden brown.
Notes:
Delicious! However, after making this I would say more spinach could definitely be thrown in for good results. Many other recipes call for more eggs than four; four worked perfectly here but if you add more spinach, another egg or so might be a good addition.
Hmmm....a box of phyllo comes with two rolls, and I used about 3/4 of one roll with this recipe. I still had some to use up so it didn't go to waste. So last night, I had my sister over for dinner and utilized THIS delicious recipe. You'll notice some similar techniques with treatment of the phyllo:
Broccoli Chicken in Phyllo, Crystal’s Way
Ingredients:
•1/2 cup or so melted butter
•12 sheets phyllo dough
•2 breasts chicken, diced in small cubes, lightly salted and peppered
•1/2 package turkey bacon, diced small
•2 crowns or so fresh broccoli, cut in small pieces, steamed gently
•1 cup grated cheddar cheese
•1 cup grated jack cheese
•5 eggs
•1 cup heavy whipping cream
•1/2 cup milk
•1 teaspoon salt
•1/2 teaspoon pepper
Directions
1.Heat oven to 375. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.In a frying pan, brown chicken together with bacon in a bit of butter
3.Mix in steamed broccoli. When it cools a bit, toss in both kinds of cheese as well.
4.In a large bowl mix eggs, cream, milk, salt, and pepper until blended.
5.Melt the remaining butter in a cup.
6.Line the bottom of pan of greased 9x13 inch pan with a sheet of phyllo. Using a basting brush (rubber works well), brush the sheet lightly with butter. Repeat until you have 5 or 6 layers of dough.
7.Pour in chicken/bacon/broccoli/cheese mix, spread evenly.
8.Pour cream mixture evenly over the top.
9.Cover with a layer of phyllo; brush lightly with butter. Repeat with about 6 more sheets.
10.Butter the top sheet generously. Using the basting brush, go around the edges and smooth them with butter, tucking them down.
11.Score the top lightly where you plan to make cuts.
12.Place in preheated oven and bake 30-40 minutes, or until dark golden brown.
Mmmm....good! But, still about 2/3 a role of phyllo remaining. Might as well use it up with a dessert recipe. I adapted this recipe from Athens Foods in the following way:
Banana Chocolate Phyllo Packets
Ingredients:
3 bananas, sliced up
3/4 cup semisweet chocolate chips
2 teaspoons cinnamon
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons Kahlua
12 sheets phyllo
1/4 cup butter, melted
Directions
1.Heat oven to 350. Have phyllo out of the fridge, still packaged, coming to room temperature.
2.In medium bowl, combine bananas, chocolate chips, Kahlua and 1 teaspoon of cinnamon.
3.In a small bowl, combine 1 teaspoon cinnamon and sugar.
4.Melt the butter in a cup.
5.Grease a 9x13 cookie sheet.
6.Take a sheet of phyllo. Brush ½ with butter and fold in half. Plop 1/6th of the banana mixture in the middle, and fold gently into a square packet. Brush phyllo with butter as you fold. Wrap packet in one more sheet of phyllo. Avoid breakage by working carefully and keeping phyllo you’re using buttered, and that you’re not using covered. This not easy, so likely your first couple will look a bit funky. That’s fine—they will still taste good.
7.Brush the top of packet with butter, and sprinkle with cinnamon sugar mixture.
8.Repeat 5 times for a total of 6 packets.
9.Place in preheated oven and bake 15 or so minutes, until they look delicious.
10.Serve with a bit of vanilla ice cream! Yum.
And there you have it. Phyllo gone, tummies (a little too) full, all happy. Diet tomorrow!
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Seven Times Weird
This week, I was tagged! For the first time, I think. Lauryn over at LauReality tagged me to share seven random or weird facts about myself. Since it's after midnight and I can't sleep after drinking my first Diet Coke in 10 weeks (note to self: 10:00pm is a bad time to break that particular streak) I am going to see what I can come up with.
7> My dad is a geologist, and my sister, Amber, and I both were named after rocks. I have been known to make the remark that it is AWFULLY good he wasn't a gynecologist!
6> I hate toenails. I really do. I cut mine super short even though they look dreadful because I can't stand the feel of them when they're long. I also hate it when my husband's get long and they touch me in bed. EW! Yet, I also don't like it when he clips his and I can hear that sharp, clippy sound. I yell at him to go somewhere else. Yes, he's got a tough life. I also have a weird, malformed little toenail on my pinky toe. And my feet are enormous; I practically have to shop at the tranvestite store. Okay, that's three things. Let's just say if I was invisible below the ankles I would be thrilled.
5) I talk fast. And I get shit for it constantly. And it REALLY bugs me when people call me out on it. For some reason, I am kind of sensitive about my speaking speed. I am always tempted to say, "I don't talk fast; your brain is just slow." Okay, I'll be honest...sometimes I actually do say it.
4> When I was in high school I had my wisdom teeth taken out...my FIVE wisdom teeth. I had four normal ones like everyone else but also a fifth, mutant tooth that no one could explain. I just like to presume that, la de da, I am just THAT much wiser...
3> I haven't eaten red meat or pork in 11 years. I went cold turkey one day while pondering the ickiness of dorm food as a freshman, and have never looked back. This is really gross, but something about flesh just seems so canibalistic to me. In fact, here's a quick recap of my meat rules if you haven't read them before: I don't eat anything too big, too cute, or two ugly. I also don't eat dark meat, things with skin and bones, or things that resembles an animal when it was in its living form. In short, I eat chicken and turkey breast and fish. Don't ask me--I don't claim to be logical.
2> I used to be deathly afraid of needles--I would keel over in a dead faint every single time I got a shot or blood drawn, without fail--but karma has taken things upon itself to fix me. After being bitten by a probably rabid dog and going through the entire rabies series while traveling Southeast Asia, and then having the World's Craziest Thyroid and having a baby, I have gotten MOSTLY past fainting mode. Now I just lay down the law with the vampires: Don't show me the needle, don't tell me what you're doing, and I have to lay down. And I normally stay conscious. But I still hate, hate, hate it.
1> Hmm, one more. Oh, there are so many to choose from. Let's see. Okay, this is kind of cool. I am the oldest child of an oldest child of an oldest child, and my child is the oldest too. All on both sides of the family. No wonder I am that damned bossy!
That's me. It's 1:00 am now. Let's go see if sleep is ready for me for reals this time...
Monday, October 6, 2008
There Goes the Neighborhood...For Real This Time
This morning, I am out doing my normal three-or-four mile wog, baby in tow (actually, me in tow of the baby), minding my own business, when a passing woman stops me. I'd seen her a few times before--she walks to work at one of the downtown casinos, according to her uniform, and sometimes I pass her when I'm out with the baby. So she stops me, gestures to a house on the corner, and asks me if I know that a sex offender lives there. "No," I answer, shocked. She tells me that her kids found it on the internet, and now she warns everyone she passes so that they will be aware. I thank her and hurry home, shooting the house a dirty look as I pass it. Funny--there is a schoolbus stop right in front of that house, and I am always impressed that multiple parents are out waiting with the kids in the mornings. Now I realize there might be more to their watchfulness than I thought.
I stop to tell my sister that a sex offender lives right around the corner from us. She answers, basically, "So? They live everywhere." "SO" is not exactly my reaction. As far as I'm concerned, they should be living nowhere...they shouldn't be living at all. It's a NIABY not a NIMBY thing with me.
As soon as I get home, I hop on the trusty old internet to verify my friendly neighborhood watchdog's story, and yep, she's right. The guy in that house has been convicted of sexual assault and battery. Since I'm already on the website, I broaden my search and make the lovely discovery that twice every morning I go directly in front of not one but TWO sex offender's houses. A third lives just a block off my path. Both of the second two have been convicted of assault of a child under fourteen.
Seriously, I'm as liberal as you can get in most aspects. There is about one issue on which I'm conservative: treatment of sex offenders. I won't detail here, on this innocent blog, what I think should be done to them. But it's not something a "hippy-dippy" liberal would normally endorse.
What am I supposed to do with this information? The economy is collapsing, the earth's temperature is rising, and my neighborhood is peopled with the most awful kind of criminals.
Pepper spray, anyone?
I stop to tell my sister that a sex offender lives right around the corner from us. She answers, basically, "So? They live everywhere." "SO" is not exactly my reaction. As far as I'm concerned, they should be living nowhere...they shouldn't be living at all. It's a NIABY not a NIMBY thing with me.
As soon as I get home, I hop on the trusty old internet to verify my friendly neighborhood watchdog's story, and yep, she's right. The guy in that house has been convicted of sexual assault and battery. Since I'm already on the website, I broaden my search and make the lovely discovery that twice every morning I go directly in front of not one but TWO sex offender's houses. A third lives just a block off my path. Both of the second two have been convicted of assault of a child under fourteen.
Seriously, I'm as liberal as you can get in most aspects. There is about one issue on which I'm conservative: treatment of sex offenders. I won't detail here, on this innocent blog, what I think should be done to them. But it's not something a "hippy-dippy" liberal would normally endorse.
What am I supposed to do with this information? The economy is collapsing, the earth's temperature is rising, and my neighborhood is peopled with the most awful kind of criminals.
Pepper spray, anyone?
Friday, October 3, 2008
A Day Like Any Other
Take a look at this picture. That's me, on the left. Wait, let me be more specific: that's me six and half years, thirty pounds, and shitload of responsibility ago. I was tanned, toned, and free to change the course of my existence on a whim, on many whims. And I did.
This picture was taken on the beach of Pensacola Florida, which was a short hop away from where I was living, New Orleans. I looked this good because my life daily routine was something like this: Wake up, slowly, some time in late morning. Put on running clothes and leave the apartment. Walk the 17th street canal down to the Marina, and then start jogging. Run for miles, miles, along the path that followed the shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Run back. Walk a couple of miles cool down. Go tanning (yes, tanning, bad me.) Come home, shower. Head to the French Quarter for work. Wait tables; go out on Decator or Bourbon Street; or go home, and write poetry lying on my stomach on the floor (I had no furniture--literally, none). Sleep, deeply. Wake again and run again. And so on. Most days, I probably did 8 or 10 miles.
Looking back, I can't believe how great I looked at that time. Did I know then the extent to which my body was my currency? Oh, I could tell you some wild tales...if I was a book, I'd be banned! (That's somebody's proposal for the English Department T-shirt, and I have to say I love it). Hilariously, despite the story this picture tells about how I looked, I still thought I was fat!
I have a point in sharing these reminiscences, I promise. You all know that I've REALLY struggled with baby weight and that I gave myself a 70-day no candy, no dessert, no soda challenge to try to help with that. The last day of that challenge passed Tuesday, without any big hoopla. I had cheated a few times, mostly on things that I baked (one MUST taste test, right?), but I had made it! And I had lost about 10 pounds from my Hawaii trip, but still only 7 from post-hospital baby weight.
I am sort of befuddled about where to go from here. True, I learned to live through a day without constant sugar input. But I'm still not sure I have learned any restraint if today is any example--we had a bake sale for the English Graduate Organization, and I pretty much sampled all day, as if I had never quit. On one hand, I really don't want to fall back into my old patterns--on the other hand, I'm pretty sure the quality of my life is impacted by not eating desserts. I don't want to always be turning sweets down--but I suspect I'm an all-or-nothing kinda gal.
I'm writing about this because I need some advice. I don't know if I will ever look like that picture again, but I want to be fit and feel good about my body and my eating habits. I am still wogging most days, and also now doing Jillian Michaels videos (YOUCH!), and also about to starting taking my friend's Turbo Kick class two days a week, but I know none of those things will help if I don't eat right. What do you all think I should do? Should I make a new challenge, a new rule? If so, what?
This picture was taken on the beach of Pensacola Florida, which was a short hop away from where I was living, New Orleans. I looked this good because my life daily routine was something like this: Wake up, slowly, some time in late morning. Put on running clothes and leave the apartment. Walk the 17th street canal down to the Marina, and then start jogging. Run for miles, miles, along the path that followed the shore of Lake Ponchartrain. Run back. Walk a couple of miles cool down. Go tanning (yes, tanning, bad me.) Come home, shower. Head to the French Quarter for work. Wait tables; go out on Decator or Bourbon Street; or go home, and write poetry lying on my stomach on the floor (I had no furniture--literally, none). Sleep, deeply. Wake again and run again. And so on. Most days, I probably did 8 or 10 miles.
Looking back, I can't believe how great I looked at that time. Did I know then the extent to which my body was my currency? Oh, I could tell you some wild tales...if I was a book, I'd be banned! (That's somebody's proposal for the English Department T-shirt, and I have to say I love it). Hilariously, despite the story this picture tells about how I looked, I still thought I was fat!
I have a point in sharing these reminiscences, I promise. You all know that I've REALLY struggled with baby weight and that I gave myself a 70-day no candy, no dessert, no soda challenge to try to help with that. The last day of that challenge passed Tuesday, without any big hoopla. I had cheated a few times, mostly on things that I baked (one MUST taste test, right?), but I had made it! And I had lost about 10 pounds from my Hawaii trip, but still only 7 from post-hospital baby weight.
I am sort of befuddled about where to go from here. True, I learned to live through a day without constant sugar input. But I'm still not sure I have learned any restraint if today is any example--we had a bake sale for the English Graduate Organization, and I pretty much sampled all day, as if I had never quit. On one hand, I really don't want to fall back into my old patterns--on the other hand, I'm pretty sure the quality of my life is impacted by not eating desserts. I don't want to always be turning sweets down--but I suspect I'm an all-or-nothing kinda gal.
I'm writing about this because I need some advice. I don't know if I will ever look like that picture again, but I want to be fit and feel good about my body and my eating habits. I am still wogging most days, and also now doing Jillian Michaels videos (YOUCH!), and also about to starting taking my friend's Turbo Kick class two days a week, but I know none of those things will help if I don't eat right. What do you all think I should do? Should I make a new challenge, a new rule? If so, what?
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
San Francisco Wedding Pics
So, here are a few of Mario's shots from my cousin's wedding: aunts, uncles, cousins--grandma, grandpa--sister, husband, baby, me--litchi-tinis--a little dancing, a little drama--beautiful everything--and a helluva party.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Not Happy, Not Happy at All!
So, Mario, Miss Scarlett and I were away from home last night. On Saturday morning, we headed to San Francisco for my cousin Nikki's wedding. We had a great time staying with my Aunt Karen and seeing a bunch of our wonderful family members. The wedding was beautiful! The only bummer was that we ACTUALLY. MISSED. THE CEREMONY. How awful is that? San Francisco traffic was SO awful (on a Saturday? How do those poor people effing live?) that it took us TWO HOURS to get 30 miles. Actually, one whole hour of that was devoted to less than 8 miles! We arrived at the Flood Mansion as the wedding party was out from taking pictures...TOTALLY EMBARRASSING. I felt awful! But luckily the bride and groom graciously forgave us, and we managed to enjoy a beautiful night (a few pics soon to come).
I came home to rather troublesome news, however. The house on the right of us has been empty via foreclosure for almost a year now, and it just sold a couple of weeks ago. At first glance, I was rather pleased with our new neighbor selection...they appeared to be a small family (translate: four generations are not living with them, and they appear to own a mere two or three cars!) and, or so I thought, quiet?
Apparently not so. My sister's boyfriend told us they had a RAGER Saturday night. A RAGING PARTY that was still going strong after 1:00am. Cars parked in the backyard and everything. (Yes, this is the side of the house that Scarlett's room is on.) Pounding music, screaming people, utter madness.
Oh wait...it gets better.
According to Scott, round about 1:30a.m. an insane fight broke out in the street. Scott estimated 50 people gathered as fighters punched, kicked, and rolled in the street. He heard sirens wailing before he could dial the cops himself.
Yeah. LOVE-FUCKING-LY.
Cross your fingers that shit doesn't happen again, because you'd better believe I'm not letting it go past 10pm without a call to the cops! Yes, I'm an old fuddy duddy. Why, oh why, oh why, am I living in this ghetto ass neighborhood?? Oh wait...because we are 100 thousand plus upside down in this house and we are NEVER getting out from under it, that's why.
In other news, Scarlett is none too happy either. Her first tooth, the bottom right, is just about half way in, and already it's neighbor is breaking through her gums...and one or two of the top front teeth are coming fast on their heels! So she is getting either three or four teeth simultaneously! Yeah...if I was her...I'd be fussy too!
I came home to rather troublesome news, however. The house on the right of us has been empty via foreclosure for almost a year now, and it just sold a couple of weeks ago. At first glance, I was rather pleased with our new neighbor selection...they appeared to be a small family (translate: four generations are not living with them, and they appear to own a mere two or three cars!) and, or so I thought, quiet?
Apparently not so. My sister's boyfriend told us they had a RAGER Saturday night. A RAGING PARTY that was still going strong after 1:00am. Cars parked in the backyard and everything. (Yes, this is the side of the house that Scarlett's room is on.) Pounding music, screaming people, utter madness.
Oh wait...it gets better.
According to Scott, round about 1:30a.m. an insane fight broke out in the street. Scott estimated 50 people gathered as fighters punched, kicked, and rolled in the street. He heard sirens wailing before he could dial the cops himself.
Yeah. LOVE-FUCKING-LY.
Cross your fingers that shit doesn't happen again, because you'd better believe I'm not letting it go past 10pm without a call to the cops! Yes, I'm an old fuddy duddy. Why, oh why, oh why, am I living in this ghetto ass neighborhood?? Oh wait...because we are 100 thousand plus upside down in this house and we are NEVER getting out from under it, that's why.
In other news, Scarlett is none too happy either. Her first tooth, the bottom right, is just about half way in, and already it's neighbor is breaking through her gums...and one or two of the top front teeth are coming fast on their heels! So she is getting either three or four teeth simultaneously! Yeah...if I was her...I'd be fussy too!
Monday, September 15, 2008
Sleep-sence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder
(This picture taken by the fabulous EmilyPie!)
In the first few months of Scarlett's life, I loved her--unconditionally, consumingly, completely. All that parent love stuff that you hear about, you'd throw yourself in front of a train for them, leap in front of a bullet, yadi yadi ya...yes, I felt it all, and more.
But, I realize in retrospect, I also loved her stressfully. This was probably due partially to my lack of experience, partially to my hectic schedule, partially to the fact that Scarlett was not the world's easiest baby...but my immense love for her was tangled up with fear and frustration. Fear that she'd derail me, fear that I was doing the wrong thing, fear that things would never get better. Looking back, I'm actually kind of amazed I managed to appear so together in my daily life--well, at least I think I did. The truth was that I was barely staying afloat.
Lately, I've realized, my love feels different than it did, and I feel different than I did...in both respects, so much more light-hearted, so much happier. I'm sure a HUGE reason for the change is that fact that Scarlett is sleeping (almost) every night from 8:00pm to 6:00 or 7:00am. Also, now that she can sit and crawl I can set her down when I'm doing something, instead of feeling paralyzed by never being able to put her down without her being devastated. Sometimes I can even read or email while, a few feet away, she babbles and plays with her toys!
Whatever the reason, I suddenly feel healthier, more flexible about dealing with whatever baby drama she throws at me, and more positive in my belief that I CAN have kids and a succesful career and do them both well. I had been doubting something that before I had never questioned: that I was born to be a mom. These days I love hanging out with my baby and playing with her, and eagerly anticipate rather than dreading uninterrupted days of Scarlett-Mommy-time. Her personality is just so darling and fun...even though she still has her little-devil side.
The hard thing about this new more peaceful love is that being away from Miss Adorable is suddenly so much harder than it ever was. Even when she was only a few weeks old--yes, go ahead and condemn me as an unnatural mother for this--I would welcome the breaks and welcome the chance to immerse myself in school stuff, where I could glory in feeling like a moderate moron instead of an extreme one. But, because I was still breastfeeing, I went back and forth a lot and was rarely away from Scarlett more than four or five hours at a time.
Lately, however, it's been more like seven- and eight-hour days that she's with my mom and I am hammering away on a computer at school. As my husband pointed out, suddenly full time daycare doesn't seem like that much of a stretch. And I am so lucky--I have the absolute luxury of knowing that she is with her Grammy who loves her more than anything in the world (her own kids included!) But suddenly I find myself calculating hours, creating an equation of Grandma hours vs. Mommy hours. I never felt guilty before but I do now--isn't that weird? I think most moms are the opposite--the younger the child, the more the guilt. I am torn between wanting to be my child's primary caregiver and also wanting to get to a place where I have a career that will let me give her a good life, make me happy, AND--I hope--make her proud of me.
This is still an intense time in my life. And I am still worried about my ability to find this balance. But, on a positive note, I want to try to use this concern to motivate me. My new goal is to find better ways to be a student AND a mom, better ways to use my time more effectively and get more out of every day with my little one AND my program. The best part is that the new well-rested me actually feels hopeful that this is possible.
Speaking of...it's time for bed!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Pics from Portland Weekend
Yes, I'm behind as always, but here are some tidbits from Labor Day weekend in Portland. I, by the way, HEART Portland. Not only do I love the city completely, but multiple friends are there, both from high school and from college. I love, love, love it. Every time I eat a fresh bagel from Noah's, drink a bubble tea, or wander through the shops on Hawthorne, I wish that I could move there. Come on, big job market in three years!
Anyway, the scoop. First, I got to have a baby-free night with the girls--I flew up Thursday; Mario brought Scarlett up Friday night--which involved drinking OF COURSE, a wee bit of dancing, overloading a poor pedicab driver, and having a great time at a gay male strip club--best invention EVER, by the way! Totally brilliant, to be able to freely enjoy delectable male bodies without having to worry about getting hit on by skeezey patrons! Sadly, no pics allowed, or this would have been a GREAT blog post! Ha.
Of course with all that WILD PARTYING (okay, that definitely counts as wild in my life!) I didn't get much sleep, and was hoping I'd be able to catch up later, but that didn't happen--Scarlett's amazing newfound ability to sleep through the night does not hold up in unknown places! Dammit. But although tired, we had fun on Friday--my friend Saundra, who just returned from Iraq, and I had fun kickin' it in downtown Portland and visiting my friend from high school Jennifer who also lives there. Mario and Scarlett came in late Friday, and I was happy to see them. I decided it is IDEAL to arrive a day before your husband and child on any vacation so you get enough independent time to be thrilled when they arrive!
Saturday we headed out to the coast, where we had rented a house in Rockaway Beach. The rest of the weekend was beaching, hot tubbing, eating, drinking OF COURSE, and enjoying deliciousness at the local cheese factories in Tillamook. Some pics:
Saundra with Scarlett
Allysa helping Scarlett walk:
Megan--my roommate from the dorms and for the next three years--flying a kite:
Denise and Scott--guess who they're smiling at?
Scarlett with Andrew and Alexis:
Mmm, Coffee on the Beach:
A little coastal character:
More:
Old college roommates: Megan, Saundra, me, and Denise
Anyway, the scoop. First, I got to have a baby-free night with the girls--I flew up Thursday; Mario brought Scarlett up Friday night--which involved drinking OF COURSE, a wee bit of dancing, overloading a poor pedicab driver, and having a great time at a gay male strip club--best invention EVER, by the way! Totally brilliant, to be able to freely enjoy delectable male bodies without having to worry about getting hit on by skeezey patrons! Sadly, no pics allowed, or this would have been a GREAT blog post! Ha.
Of course with all that WILD PARTYING (okay, that definitely counts as wild in my life!) I didn't get much sleep, and was hoping I'd be able to catch up later, but that didn't happen--Scarlett's amazing newfound ability to sleep through the night does not hold up in unknown places! Dammit. But although tired, we had fun on Friday--my friend Saundra, who just returned from Iraq, and I had fun kickin' it in downtown Portland and visiting my friend from high school Jennifer who also lives there. Mario and Scarlett came in late Friday, and I was happy to see them. I decided it is IDEAL to arrive a day before your husband and child on any vacation so you get enough independent time to be thrilled when they arrive!
Saturday we headed out to the coast, where we had rented a house in Rockaway Beach. The rest of the weekend was beaching, hot tubbing, eating, drinking OF COURSE, and enjoying deliciousness at the local cheese factories in Tillamook. Some pics:
Saundra with Scarlett
Allysa helping Scarlett walk:
Megan--my roommate from the dorms and for the next three years--flying a kite:
Denise and Scott--guess who they're smiling at?
Scarlett with Andrew and Alexis:
Mmm, Coffee on the Beach:
A little coastal character:
More:
Old college roommates: Megan, Saundra, me, and Denise
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
I-R-Exasperating as All HECK
Nearly a freaking year ago…okay, maybe not quite, but it feels like it, we got a letter from the IRS stating that we owed them $2,000 dollars. After recovering from nearly fainting, I sat down to read the letter and discovered that apparently we owed this money for two reasons. 1) We had failed to report a $90 gain on one tiny account we never use and 2) because my husband had made $13,000 dollars more than we had reported.
Well, apparently we had actually forgotten all about the tiny account, bad us. But, as much as I would have LOVED to have been $13,000 richer, the second and far more major charge simply wasn’t true. I had to dig up the W2s to verify that we didn’t have any severe brain malfunctions while filing, and surprisingly, we hadn’t. (I say surprisingly because, knowing us, a malfunction would be more than likely.) We had filed exactly what we received which was exactly what Mario had made.
So, I wrote the IRS a letter explaining all this, wrote a check for the estimated $20 we owed for the missed account, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands, confident the situation would soon be resolved.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
One day, another letter from the IRS showed up, this one more threatening than the last. It thanked me for my payment, but informed me I still owed a big chunk from that missing income, and it had better be paid now OR ELSE--or else fatty interest and a paddling from Uncle Sam.
Irate, I went to my husband’s employers. They swore up and down that we had the right information, and they had reported the same information. I wrote another letter, this time with all the required documentation, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands-—which, this time, were slightly sweaty and red from being clenched.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
One day, ANOTHER letter from IRS showed up, this one even more threatening than the threatening one. The documentation wasn’t good enough. I needed to pay asap or be entered into official deficiency status. I called and suffered through a long, long, LONG hold. The Fresno IRS center swore they had an extra, separate W2 for the missing amount. My husband’s bosses swore they had no record of it. A tad more than irate, I wrote another letter attesting to the fact that whatever mystical documentation had been received by the IRS was apparently sent by mischievous aliens, had the employers print it on their stationary and sign it, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands. Or I would have, if they hadn't been balled into punching position.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
Deficiency notices began appearing in the mail. I ignored them.
Then one glorious day not too long ago, another letter arrived, this one stating that we had finally been cleared of all charges. Oh, glorious day! How joyous we felt to know that our rightfully earned and already overtaxed $2,000 would be staying right where it belonged, in our none-too-chubby bank account.
Just when I thought it was all over, a good nine months later, today a check shows up in the mail, a check for $20.43. Apparently, the breakdown explained, that was $20 for what I paid on the charge I WAS NOT disputing, and .43 in interest. What the hell is wrong with the IRS, I ask you? I guess I should take comfort in the fact that not only did those lovely tax people have to fork over almost a whole 50-cent piece in interest, but between the hundred pieces of mail they sent me during the course of this debacle, they piddled away at least another good 30 dollars.
I have to say, however, that it doesn’t much comfort me. After all, those are my tax dollars at work.
Well, apparently we had actually forgotten all about the tiny account, bad us. But, as much as I would have LOVED to have been $13,000 richer, the second and far more major charge simply wasn’t true. I had to dig up the W2s to verify that we didn’t have any severe brain malfunctions while filing, and surprisingly, we hadn’t. (I say surprisingly because, knowing us, a malfunction would be more than likely.) We had filed exactly what we received which was exactly what Mario had made.
So, I wrote the IRS a letter explaining all this, wrote a check for the estimated $20 we owed for the missed account, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands, confident the situation would soon be resolved.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
One day, another letter from the IRS showed up, this one more threatening than the last. It thanked me for my payment, but informed me I still owed a big chunk from that missing income, and it had better be paid now OR ELSE--or else fatty interest and a paddling from Uncle Sam.
Irate, I went to my husband’s employers. They swore up and down that we had the right information, and they had reported the same information. I wrote another letter, this time with all the required documentation, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands-—which, this time, were slightly sweaty and red from being clenched.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
One day, ANOTHER letter from IRS showed up, this one even more threatening than the threatening one. The documentation wasn’t good enough. I needed to pay asap or be entered into official deficiency status. I called and suffered through a long, long, LONG hold. The Fresno IRS center swore they had an extra, separate W2 for the missing amount. My husband’s bosses swore they had no record of it. A tad more than irate, I wrote another letter attesting to the fact that whatever mystical documentation had been received by the IRS was apparently sent by mischievous aliens, had the employers print it on their stationary and sign it, stuck it all in the mail, and dusted off my hands. Or I would have, if they hadn't been balled into punching position.
Weeks went by. Months, even.
Deficiency notices began appearing in the mail. I ignored them.
Then one glorious day not too long ago, another letter arrived, this one stating that we had finally been cleared of all charges. Oh, glorious day! How joyous we felt to know that our rightfully earned and already overtaxed $2,000 would be staying right where it belonged, in our none-too-chubby bank account.
Just when I thought it was all over, a good nine months later, today a check shows up in the mail, a check for $20.43. Apparently, the breakdown explained, that was $20 for what I paid on the charge I WAS NOT disputing, and .43 in interest. What the hell is wrong with the IRS, I ask you? I guess I should take comfort in the fact that not only did those lovely tax people have to fork over almost a whole 50-cent piece in interest, but between the hundred pieces of mail they sent me during the course of this debacle, they piddled away at least another good 30 dollars.
I have to say, however, that it doesn’t much comfort me. After all, those are my tax dollars at work.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
A New Lens on Life
Thanks to the great recommendation of the fabulous photographer extraordinaire EmilyPie, I got Mario a new lens for our anniversary--I'm going to tell you what it is but PLEASE don't assume that means I know diddly about photography! In fact, I'm about to perform a little cut-'n-paste action DIRECTLY from the email in which Emily told me which one to get--a Canon 50mm f/1.4 USM Autofocus Lens. Basically this was a totally selfish gift to ensure that pictures WILL be taken of my angellically-still-sleeping-through-the-night and marvellously photogenic (clearly those are her father's genes at work) daughter Scarlett. I thought I'd share a few--he is still experimenting with this lens but I think they turned out really well. Not that I'm biased...at all...really...
Keep 'em coming, honey!
Keep 'em coming, honey!
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Why My Two-Year Anniversary Rocked
Yesterday, August 19th, was Mario and I's two year wedding anniversary! That's probably the "Ball Point Pen" anniversary or something equally meaningless, but we celebrated anyway. It's hard to believe it's been two years since we, fancy (read: child) free--well, almost; we had just bought our house--said I do. So much has happened since then, not the least among them the advent of our little daughter.
We took this occasion to enjoy a great dinner out sans Miss Grab-Everything-in-Sight, whom my sister and her boyfriend Scott bravely watched. (I say bravely because it turned out Scarlett was a total shit and cried for three hours straight! Check ONE potential babysitter off the list!) Johnny's is a VERY delicious Italian restaurant in Reno that is always busy, and like a dummy I didn't make reservations, but we were able to get a table in the lounge, which is just as nice as the restaurant. We enjoyed a bottle of the Wine of the Month--an Antinori blend that I've already forgotten the name of--along with an appetizer of calamari, salad and bread, a plate of pesto gnocchi, and the crowning glory...Seafood Lasagna! (Cue salivation). This dish had come highly recommended by my sister and she definitely wasn't exaggerating...it was perhaps the most indulgent thing I have ever eaten. Perhaps it was the absence of Squidge and perhaps it was the wine--or more likely a combination of both--but it was a wonderful relaxing dinner.
While there, Mario and I gave each other our gifts...well, actually just pictures of the gifts, because neither of us are actually on top of it to have anything ready. I had ordered him a new lens and filter for his camera, but it was late in arriving, and he was planning to buy me the new NICER iPhone but wasn't able to get it yet. He told me he also had another present for me waiting back home which "wasn't very exciting," but he didn't want to tell me so I made him give me clues, and it took me forever. Here were the clues:
*It has to do with something he doesn't have at work
*It has to do with kissing
*It has the same size and mechanism as something one might purchase from an adult store
*I'm currently using it for free, but now I will have to start paying for it monthly
*Our friends Brandon and Emily have it, but we don't.
Can you guess? Probably not, as you would have to know something about his work and B&E's penchant for gadgets...it's an electric toothbrush! (He doesn't have dental insurance at work.) Now, granted, this may not be very exciting, but actually I've been wanting one for a long time.
But the best part of our anniversary was yet to come. Upon returning home, we picked Squidge up from my sister's house, where we sadly found out that she had been a devil and a half. By that time, however, she had cried herself to sleep, so we toted her next door and after a very little bit of feeding and cuddling, put her down in her crib. She won't stay on her back now, so she promptly flipped over on her belly and conked.
And there she stayed.
Without crying or fussing.
Without howling or moaning.
Without waking or playing.
Until SEVEN A.M.
(Cue music in the background: HalleLUJAH! HalleLUJAH! Hallelujah--Hallelujah--Hall-E-LU-
JAH!)
Scarlett's first night truly sleeping through the night! Now THERE'S something to blog about. Words cannot express how wonderful I felt this morning after having had a full night's sleep (never mind those several times I woke up and checked on her, worried because it's so unlike her to stay asleep!) I don't know when it will happen again, but couldn't have asked for a more fabulous anniversary present.
Sadly, Scarlett has followed up that halcyon night by being a little shit again today about napping...she is now crying in her crib as she does what she has been doing for the last two hours nonstop...fighting off sleep with all her pissy little might. SIGH. Our Department picnic is this afternoon and it would be a much more pleasant event if little Miss weren't crankier than the Grinch who Stole Christmas (before he reformed). But, I'll be honest...I wouldn't trade last night for anything!
My one hope: that it happens again BEFORE my next anniversary. Preferrably, tonight. But I won't count my chickens.
We took this occasion to enjoy a great dinner out sans Miss Grab-Everything-in-Sight, whom my sister and her boyfriend Scott bravely watched. (I say bravely because it turned out Scarlett was a total shit and cried for three hours straight! Check ONE potential babysitter off the list!) Johnny's is a VERY delicious Italian restaurant in Reno that is always busy, and like a dummy I didn't make reservations, but we were able to get a table in the lounge, which is just as nice as the restaurant. We enjoyed a bottle of the Wine of the Month--an Antinori blend that I've already forgotten the name of--along with an appetizer of calamari, salad and bread, a plate of pesto gnocchi, and the crowning glory...Seafood Lasagna! (Cue salivation). This dish had come highly recommended by my sister and she definitely wasn't exaggerating...it was perhaps the most indulgent thing I have ever eaten. Perhaps it was the absence of Squidge and perhaps it was the wine--or more likely a combination of both--but it was a wonderful relaxing dinner.
While there, Mario and I gave each other our gifts...well, actually just pictures of the gifts, because neither of us are actually on top of it to have anything ready. I had ordered him a new lens and filter for his camera, but it was late in arriving, and he was planning to buy me the new NICER iPhone but wasn't able to get it yet. He told me he also had another present for me waiting back home which "wasn't very exciting," but he didn't want to tell me so I made him give me clues, and it took me forever. Here were the clues:
*It has to do with something he doesn't have at work
*It has to do with kissing
*It has the same size and mechanism as something one might purchase from an adult store
*I'm currently using it for free, but now I will have to start paying for it monthly
*Our friends Brandon and Emily have it, but we don't.
Can you guess? Probably not, as you would have to know something about his work and B&E's penchant for gadgets...it's an electric toothbrush! (He doesn't have dental insurance at work.) Now, granted, this may not be very exciting, but actually I've been wanting one for a long time.
But the best part of our anniversary was yet to come. Upon returning home, we picked Squidge up from my sister's house, where we sadly found out that she had been a devil and a half. By that time, however, she had cried herself to sleep, so we toted her next door and after a very little bit of feeding and cuddling, put her down in her crib. She won't stay on her back now, so she promptly flipped over on her belly and conked.
And there she stayed.
Without crying or fussing.
Without howling or moaning.
Without waking or playing.
Until SEVEN A.M.
(Cue music in the background: HalleLUJAH! HalleLUJAH! Hallelujah--Hallelujah--Hall-E-LU-
JAH!)
Scarlett's first night truly sleeping through the night! Now THERE'S something to blog about. Words cannot express how wonderful I felt this morning after having had a full night's sleep (never mind those several times I woke up and checked on her, worried because it's so unlike her to stay asleep!) I don't know when it will happen again, but couldn't have asked for a more fabulous anniversary present.
Sadly, Scarlett has followed up that halcyon night by being a little shit again today about napping...she is now crying in her crib as she does what she has been doing for the last two hours nonstop...fighting off sleep with all her pissy little might. SIGH. Our Department picnic is this afternoon and it would be a much more pleasant event if little Miss weren't crankier than the Grinch who Stole Christmas (before he reformed). But, I'll be honest...I wouldn't trade last night for anything!
My one hope: that it happens again BEFORE my next anniversary. Preferrably, tonight. But I won't count my chickens.
Saturday, August 9, 2008
The Desire to Cheat
As I've previously mentioned on this blog, losing the baby weight has not exactly been a piece of cake for me. In fact, I can't even say what it has or hasn't been for me, because it simply hasn't happened. Almost 30 weeks have passed since the birth of my little bambina, but the 30 pounds I have to lose (okay, would ideally like to lose...I still need to lose about 20 to get back to pre-baby, but not exactly svelte, status) haven't gone anywhere. I've tried a couple of times in the last three or four months to get some kind of regimen going, but it always seems to peter out. If it's hard to find time to exercise and eat right before kids, it is nearly impossible when they come along, particularly if they're not prone to chilling peacefully while Mommy attempts to take care of herself. (I know, I know...I'm not even to the days of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets, mac' n cheese, and popsickles yet!)
When we came back from Hawaii, where I had stuffed myself unrepentantly with mango pina coladas and Hawaiian cookies and cream pies, and I got on the scale, I nearly shit a brick. (Oh, would if I could...that would be a good few pounds gone instantaneously, right?) After months of seeing the exact same (horrifically high) number on the bathroom scale, the situation had finally changed...for the WORST! The number was 5 pounds higher than it had been!
That's when I had it. And that's when I had the brilliant idea to issue myself a personal challenge : 70 days of no candy, no dessert, and no soda. In addition, I wanted to try to write down what I ate, eat small meals every three hours, and exercise as often as possible. 70 days was a semi-random number. It's also semi-not-random, but I'm not going to confess my further reasoning right now, although I might do so in the future.
Now, I have NEVER stuck to any kind of resolution like this in the past. Several times I've exercised every day for a set amount of days--once in college I ran every day for 40 days straight, and a couple of years ago a coworker and I had gym-visit challenges that I always stuck to. And believe it or not, I have quit candy more than once--at one point, I stuck with it for months. But I have never tried to quit candy AND dessert (so yes, whenever I quit candy, I would basically just increase my consumption of sweet baked goods!) Those of you who are not born sugar fiends have NO idea how lucky you are. I hate when people says things like "It's easy! Just don't eat it." No. It's not easy. I freaking NEED sweets and I always have. It's a real curse and probably the one thing I would change about myself if I could. (Luckily this is my only real food curse or I would have to curse the unfairness of fate--oh, other than an inordinate love for carbs. But I don't like or crave fast food, or even fried food very often, and I only eat lean white meat with zero desire for fatty meats.)
But I'm doing it! This is the 19th day. The bummer is, I thought quitting is supposed to get easier after awhile, but that has not been my experience. For the first few days I wandered around proudly content to do without junk food. But gradually, thoughts of Whoppers and coconut cream pies and ice cream have infiltrated my head, and they don't seem to want to leave. Today it's particularly bad. About ten times I've opened the pantry, frigerator, or freezer desperately scanning for something sweet that I could eat without having to cheat, categorically. But nothing. Luckily an apple with a little peanut butter tided me over temporarily.
To be quite honest, I have semi-cheated twice in these nineteen: I confess to two illicit liasons with baked goods. Once was a week ago when I baked an apricot coffee cake for breakfast when Mario's parents were here, and could not stop myself from eating a piece. I rationalized that coffee cake is a strictly breakfast food (how often do you see it served for dessert?) and therefore not a direct infringement of the law. Then last Thursday I made a batch of zucchini bread, and although I gave one loaf to Mario to take to work and one loaf to my sister, I did have one--okay, several spoonfuls--okay, heaping spoonfuls of the very sweet batter.
But other than that, I'm on the wagon. When I weighed myself last Wednesday I had lost seven pounds from the (aneurism-causing) post-Hawaii weight. That means, actually, about 16 pounds to pre-baby-but-could-be-better status. Let's see, that's about A MILLION desserts and pieces of candy I will have to forego until then. Hmmmph. Moral support is welcome!
When we came back from Hawaii, where I had stuffed myself unrepentantly with mango pina coladas and Hawaiian cookies and cream pies, and I got on the scale, I nearly shit a brick. (Oh, would if I could...that would be a good few pounds gone instantaneously, right?) After months of seeing the exact same (horrifically high) number on the bathroom scale, the situation had finally changed...for the WORST! The number was 5 pounds higher than it had been!
That's when I had it. And that's when I had the brilliant idea to issue myself a personal challenge : 70 days of no candy, no dessert, and no soda. In addition, I wanted to try to write down what I ate, eat small meals every three hours, and exercise as often as possible. 70 days was a semi-random number. It's also semi-not-random, but I'm not going to confess my further reasoning right now, although I might do so in the future.
Now, I have NEVER stuck to any kind of resolution like this in the past. Several times I've exercised every day for a set amount of days--once in college I ran every day for 40 days straight, and a couple of years ago a coworker and I had gym-visit challenges that I always stuck to. And believe it or not, I have quit candy more than once--at one point, I stuck with it for months. But I have never tried to quit candy AND dessert (so yes, whenever I quit candy, I would basically just increase my consumption of sweet baked goods!) Those of you who are not born sugar fiends have NO idea how lucky you are. I hate when people says things like "It's easy! Just don't eat it." No. It's not easy. I freaking NEED sweets and I always have. It's a real curse and probably the one thing I would change about myself if I could. (Luckily this is my only real food curse or I would have to curse the unfairness of fate--oh, other than an inordinate love for carbs. But I don't like or crave fast food, or even fried food very often, and I only eat lean white meat with zero desire for fatty meats.)
But I'm doing it! This is the 19th day. The bummer is, I thought quitting is supposed to get easier after awhile, but that has not been my experience. For the first few days I wandered around proudly content to do without junk food. But gradually, thoughts of Whoppers and coconut cream pies and ice cream have infiltrated my head, and they don't seem to want to leave. Today it's particularly bad. About ten times I've opened the pantry, frigerator, or freezer desperately scanning for something sweet that I could eat without having to cheat, categorically. But nothing. Luckily an apple with a little peanut butter tided me over temporarily.
To be quite honest, I have semi-cheated twice in these nineteen: I confess to two illicit liasons with baked goods. Once was a week ago when I baked an apricot coffee cake for breakfast when Mario's parents were here, and could not stop myself from eating a piece. I rationalized that coffee cake is a strictly breakfast food (how often do you see it served for dessert?) and therefore not a direct infringement of the law. Then last Thursday I made a batch of zucchini bread, and although I gave one loaf to Mario to take to work and one loaf to my sister, I did have one--okay, several spoonfuls--okay, heaping spoonfuls of the very sweet batter.
But other than that, I'm on the wagon. When I weighed myself last Wednesday I had lost seven pounds from the (aneurism-causing) post-Hawaii weight. That means, actually, about 16 pounds to pre-baby-but-could-be-better status. Let's see, that's about A MILLION desserts and pieces of candy I will have to forego until then. Hmmmph. Moral support is welcome!
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
Break Through!
Oh my god...I hesitate to make this pronouncement for fear that I'm wrong...but I think I'm right...we've turned a corner with Scarlett and the Evil Crib. The last few times I've laid her down she's either (halleluha! halleluha!) gone right to sleep or spent a measly few minutes crying, without any real force behind it. It's been about a week and a half that we've been putting her to sleep in her own wonderful bed, and it feels So Damned Sweet to have our bed back. (I did not want to be that parent who ended up having kids in their bed for eighteen years. Or ten. Or four. Or even two!) The first night was beyond dreadful. It took over a solid hour of Ferber method crying (that means leaving for 5, 10, 15 minutes with short visits in between, then starting all over) before she fell asleep, and then she woke up crying--I kid you not--about twenty times before morning mercifully broke. Naptimes during the day have been even harder...there was a day where she basically cried right through one whole morning nap time, skipping it, then when I tried to put her down for her afternoon nap she cried for another two hours!
I am sure I have no need to detail how traumatizing this has been for me. Up until this point, I really never let Scarlett cry much....okay...I never let her cry if I could at all help it. My only excuse for this is that everything I've read tells me that the first six months are all about answering a baby's needs and getting her to trust you. After six months, however, kids develop the power to manipulate and also the ability to understand cause and effect, so I was really waiting for that milestone to become a...da da da dum...Mean Parent. I was resolved when we came back from Hawaii to get starting breaking our little girl of some of her bad habits. But I really wasn't prepared for how hard it would be. Especially when I'd pick her up after an unsuccessful attempt at naptime and she would cling to me so sadly, her little body still heaving and hiccoughing and snivelling, like "Momma, how could you do this to me?" and my heart would just break. It felt like it would never end!
But...knock on wood...I think she's finally getting it! It's amazing to be able to lay her in her crib, wind up her mobile and switch on her white noise machine, kiss her on the forehead, and leave the room! It's amazing to plan on a bedtime between 8 and 9 and actually go get some stuff done after that! It's amazing, this stuff that so many other parents have been able to experience since their kid was born! (Okay, and I probably could have too if I'd been willing to really be tough, but again, I was hesitant to put my foot down before the six-month marker.)
The only thing that's not amazing...she is STILL not sleeping through the night. Some nights she still wakes up between six and twenty times, and now we have further to go to shush her. When we're lucky, she goes until 4 am or so. She doesn't need a middle of the night feeding anymore--she seems perfectly happy to eat in the morning---so I don't know what this is all about except that, crib trained or not, she is still a damned light (read: bad) sleeper. And, I have to face facts...at some point I'm probably going to have to buck up and let her cry in the middle of the night. I just haven't done it yet. I just hope it gets better soon. I did surprisingly well on insufficient molecules of sleep for six months, but I can tell you that my body is OVER it. Now, I drag...I yawn...I crash. I'm ready to go back to eight hours a night, please.
Um, NOW.
I am sure I have no need to detail how traumatizing this has been for me. Up until this point, I really never let Scarlett cry much....okay...I never let her cry if I could at all help it. My only excuse for this is that everything I've read tells me that the first six months are all about answering a baby's needs and getting her to trust you. After six months, however, kids develop the power to manipulate and also the ability to understand cause and effect, so I was really waiting for that milestone to become a...da da da dum...Mean Parent. I was resolved when we came back from Hawaii to get starting breaking our little girl of some of her bad habits. But I really wasn't prepared for how hard it would be. Especially when I'd pick her up after an unsuccessful attempt at naptime and she would cling to me so sadly, her little body still heaving and hiccoughing and snivelling, like "Momma, how could you do this to me?" and my heart would just break. It felt like it would never end!
But...knock on wood...I think she's finally getting it! It's amazing to be able to lay her in her crib, wind up her mobile and switch on her white noise machine, kiss her on the forehead, and leave the room! It's amazing to plan on a bedtime between 8 and 9 and actually go get some stuff done after that! It's amazing, this stuff that so many other parents have been able to experience since their kid was born! (Okay, and I probably could have too if I'd been willing to really be tough, but again, I was hesitant to put my foot down before the six-month marker.)
The only thing that's not amazing...she is STILL not sleeping through the night. Some nights she still wakes up between six and twenty times, and now we have further to go to shush her. When we're lucky, she goes until 4 am or so. She doesn't need a middle of the night feeding anymore--she seems perfectly happy to eat in the morning---so I don't know what this is all about except that, crib trained or not, she is still a damned light (read: bad) sleeper. And, I have to face facts...at some point I'm probably going to have to buck up and let her cry in the middle of the night. I just haven't done it yet. I just hope it gets better soon. I did surprisingly well on insufficient molecules of sleep for six months, but I can tell you that my body is OVER it. Now, I drag...I yawn...I crash. I'm ready to go back to eight hours a night, please.
Um, NOW.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Things to Do in Hawaii When You've Got a Petite Bebe
Okay, so I am back...and I don't know why...but I'm still finding it hard to make time to blog! Or maybe it's just that, on a sort of hiatus from school stuff and hanging around the house a lot, I don't have a lot to say (wow, that's a shocker coming from me! But I'm sure that will change soon.) Anyway, although I've been back for over a week, I still need to post about our Hawaii trip, so that's one I'm doing. I didn't have the same trip that some of my other family members had...I didn't kayak, snorkel, mountain bike, scuba or snuba, surf, or any of those other water-vacation-Hawaii-associated things. I hope to do some of that when Scarlett's a little older, but this trip involved a lot of trying to put her to sleep, waiting for her to wake up, getting her ready to go in the sun, then going in to avoid too much sun...you get the idea. Not that I'm complaining, because I had a beautiful, relaxing, and fun time. So, without further talk of what I didn't do, here's an overview of what I DID do:
Partied: Yes, I actually got some time to party with my cousins and the fam! In fact, that was the first I've actually been fully buzzed in...oh...about a year and a half. And I got buzzed about once per day on delicious pina coladas (and mangolinas, I drink I "invented" with fresh mango and pineapple, pina colada mix, ice, lime, and a healthy amount of rum). It was great having so many family members around because there was always someone to hold the baby when my hands were busy with beverages.
Went Swimming with the Squidge: She loved both the ocean and the swimming pool, although the ocean scared her a bit so I'd say she liked the swimming pool more. We took her in a bunch of times and she would kick her legs like crazy whenever she was getting in! So cute. It was really fun to swim with her. (PS I also had my first moment where mommy-life-saving instinct kicked in. One of the pools had this super slippery curved step, and one time as I was trying to pass the baby up to my mom to dry her off, I slipped and went under. I stuck my arms as far as I could above the water to keep Squidge from going under and totally forgot to even try to hold my breath, so breathed a ton of water. I'm sure it only took my mom one second to catch her, but it felt like forever!)
Enjoyed the fantastic scenery: It's hard to take a bad picture in such a beautiful location. Okay, most of these were taken by Mario, including the one below. But I did actually get a good snap or two in myself!
Threw my cousin a surprise shower: All of the gals in my family gathered at Tommy Bahama's (the guys did too, only we put them at a table by themselves) to surprise my cousin on the day before her wedding. (Note about me: I freaking love party planning. It's my Martha Stewart side that must emerge now and again.) The surprise worked (although my dad almost gave it away when he wandered into the restaurant late, and Michelle saw him!)--we even got a few tears! I didn't want to overdo it on the activities, but I did make a "The Story of Michelle and Jeff" Mad Lib for everyone to fill out--and then laughed my ass of reading them out loud. I also had everyoen write notes that I later put in a scrapbook for Michelle (putting it together kept me busy during above-mentioned nap times).
Went on a Sunset Cruise: This was one of the activities arranged by the bride and groom, and luckily there were enough takers to charter the whole boat! It was great having practically all the wedding guests aboard as we snacked, sipped alcoholic beverages (okay, I admit it, I wussed--Istuck with ginger ale made with fresh ginger after a touch of seasickness set in) and got to see an amazing sunset.
Ya-Ya'ed: My aunts recently decided that the women of my family needed to do something to show their solidarity and share their love and support for each other. So, prior to going to Hawaii, we each made elaborate hats and, in the spirit of The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, trekked down to the beach one night for some sparklers, some speeches, and some serious (ly wonderful) chic power time!
Enjoyed my Cousin's Beatiful Wedding: After the ceremony in the morning, we had fun taking gorgeous pictures at the Maui Prince Hotel. At the reception in the evening, we enjoyed fabulous food and entertainment including a conch shell blower at sunset, Hawaiian dancers, and a fire dancer! And of course, we got a little groove on ourselves.
So there's a few pictures and a brief overview of our lovely vacation. More blog posts to come soon...as soon as I have something interesting to say!
Partied: Yes, I actually got some time to party with my cousins and the fam! In fact, that was the first I've actually been fully buzzed in...oh...about a year and a half. And I got buzzed about once per day on delicious pina coladas (and mangolinas, I drink I "invented" with fresh mango and pineapple, pina colada mix, ice, lime, and a healthy amount of rum). It was great having so many family members around because there was always someone to hold the baby when my hands were busy with beverages.
Went Swimming with the Squidge: She loved both the ocean and the swimming pool, although the ocean scared her a bit so I'd say she liked the swimming pool more. We took her in a bunch of times and she would kick her legs like crazy whenever she was getting in! So cute. It was really fun to swim with her. (PS I also had my first moment where mommy-life-saving instinct kicked in. One of the pools had this super slippery curved step, and one time as I was trying to pass the baby up to my mom to dry her off, I slipped and went under. I stuck my arms as far as I could above the water to keep Squidge from going under and totally forgot to even try to hold my breath, so breathed a ton of water. I'm sure it only took my mom one second to catch her, but it felt like forever!)
Enjoyed the fantastic scenery: It's hard to take a bad picture in such a beautiful location. Okay, most of these were taken by Mario, including the one below. But I did actually get a good snap or two in myself!
Threw my cousin a surprise shower: All of the gals in my family gathered at Tommy Bahama's (the guys did too, only we put them at a table by themselves) to surprise my cousin on the day before her wedding. (Note about me: I freaking love party planning. It's my Martha Stewart side that must emerge now and again.) The surprise worked (although my dad almost gave it away when he wandered into the restaurant late, and Michelle saw him!)--we even got a few tears! I didn't want to overdo it on the activities, but I did make a "The Story of Michelle and Jeff" Mad Lib for everyone to fill out--and then laughed my ass of reading them out loud. I also had everyoen write notes that I later put in a scrapbook for Michelle (putting it together kept me busy during above-mentioned nap times).
Went on a Sunset Cruise: This was one of the activities arranged by the bride and groom, and luckily there were enough takers to charter the whole boat! It was great having practically all the wedding guests aboard as we snacked, sipped alcoholic beverages (okay, I admit it, I wussed--Istuck with ginger ale made with fresh ginger after a touch of seasickness set in) and got to see an amazing sunset.
Ya-Ya'ed: My aunts recently decided that the women of my family needed to do something to show their solidarity and share their love and support for each other. So, prior to going to Hawaii, we each made elaborate hats and, in the spirit of The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood, trekked down to the beach one night for some sparklers, some speeches, and some serious (ly wonderful) chic power time!
Enjoyed my Cousin's Beatiful Wedding: After the ceremony in the morning, we had fun taking gorgeous pictures at the Maui Prince Hotel. At the reception in the evening, we enjoyed fabulous food and entertainment including a conch shell blower at sunset, Hawaiian dancers, and a fire dancer! And of course, we got a little groove on ourselves. 
So there's a few pictures and a brief overview of our lovely vacation. More blog posts to come soon...as soon as I have something interesting to say!Thursday, July 17, 2008
A Mid Week Picture Update
Whee hee apparently we have internet! It makes me feel a wee bit better about being in Hawaii and not being able to do much of anything due to Squidge-alea! (That's her Hawaiian name. I am Crystalani! And then of course, there's Maui Mario.)
I can't wait to write more about my cousin's beautiful wedding--think Hawaiian dancers, a fire dancer, leis all around, fantastic food and cocktails, and a great party!--I thought I'd post a couple of pictures. They are from the surprise shower I threw for my cousin, the sunset cruise the night before the wedding, the wedding ceremony itself at the beautiful Maui Prince Hotel (the ceremony was in the morning, the party at night), and other general pictures of Scarlett being adorable.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Vignettes of Peevery and Joy
I miss my blog. I don't know why I just can't find time to get to it. Okay, well maybe I do know why. Last week, I was frantically finishing up summer school, then frantically writing a conference paper, then frantically heading to Denver to attend the conference, then heading home, and now frantic again--we are leaving tomorrow for Hawaii, and NOTHING is done! No packing, none of the other tasks I need to accomplish. Should i be blogging? No. But, I've been away a long time, and will likely be away a while longer after this.
I have so much I could write about. So this will be a series of mini-moments:
* I survived my first (36-hour) absence from the bug! I admit to sniveling my pathetic way through the airport after saying goodbye, but once on my way I managed to enjoy my inordinate freedom quite extensively despite only having to pump like EVERY TWO HOURS, because for some unexplainable reason being away made my production factory kick into overdrive.
* Or perhaps it was the alcohol? I may have committed a petite conference no-no by getting quite buzzed (off of two glasses of wine!) after a very, very impolite and unprofessional person was rude after my presentation. Very occasionally people can be snide and nasty at conferences, but I was not expecting it at this time. People reassured me that my presentation was fine (retrospectively, it could have been better I know) and that she was in the wrong, but it still cast a pall on my experience, compelling me to drown my sorrows in house red, seek reassurance from everyone in our crew that I had done okay, and then proceed to babble shamelessly at strangers in the buffet line. It probably would have been in my best interests to be a tad more disciplined, yes. At least, when we continued to imbibe well into the night, we did it down on 16th street rather than at the conference hotel where the staid, responsible compositionists would not be mentally filing my name and face in the "Do Not Hire" file.
* At least the eatin' was good. I am telling you: Grand Hyatt, downtown Denver. Best conference food I have EVER had, hands down.
* And I got some really great ideas from some of the presentations I observed. Yippee! It's good to get pumped up with motivation and ideas for new projects!
* Speaking of pumping--That airline security guards should be total wankers and fixate on the most inappropriate and non-terrorist objects must be written in the job application. When I went to Seattle in May, I got crap for having a spoon in my purse (maybe I could cut out someone's heart with it?) and this time, I got it for...wait for it...you guessed it...MY BREAST PUMP. A snippet of the exchange:
Him (stopping the conveyor belt to peer at his little x-rays): You have a bottle in your bag.
Me: An EMPTY bottle.
Him: You have a small, plastic, bottle in your bag.
Me: Yes. There is nothing in it. There isn't even a lid on it.
Him: It's an empty plastic bottle? (in a tone implying suspicion of WMD)
Me: It's. My. PUMP. Because I'm. BREASTFEEDING.
Him: I'm going to need to take a look.
Me: Go ahead. Take it out. Fondle it. Embarrass yourself. Let me know when you're done.
Granted, breast pumping isn't exactly a thrill. But I am pretty sure that it would not be an effective terrorist threat. ("Everyone stay in your seats why we fly this plane into the National Bowling Stadium! Fuck with us and you WILL get pumped!")
* And while I'm talking about terror, I'm a little concerned Mario and I might be in for it with a little bully. Yesterday some good friends were in town when I got home last night, including a couple who had a baby about 12 weeks after we did, cute little Landyn with the most kissable, pinchable cheeks. And what did Scarlett do when we plopped them down together? Immediately, and multiple times, grab Landyn's plug out of her mouth and stick it in her own, leaving her to cry sadly. Sigh...we are really in for it!
Wish us luck in Hawaii. After twelve hundred tasks and errands today, we have to drive to the Bay Area tomorrow to catch our flight. Um, yeah...wish us LOTS of luck!
I have so much I could write about. So this will be a series of mini-moments:
* I survived my first (36-hour) absence from the bug! I admit to sniveling my pathetic way through the airport after saying goodbye, but once on my way I managed to enjoy my inordinate freedom quite extensively despite only having to pump like EVERY TWO HOURS, because for some unexplainable reason being away made my production factory kick into overdrive.
* Or perhaps it was the alcohol? I may have committed a petite conference no-no by getting quite buzzed (off of two glasses of wine!) after a very, very impolite and unprofessional person was rude after my presentation. Very occasionally people can be snide and nasty at conferences, but I was not expecting it at this time. People reassured me that my presentation was fine (retrospectively, it could have been better I know) and that she was in the wrong, but it still cast a pall on my experience, compelling me to drown my sorrows in house red, seek reassurance from everyone in our crew that I had done okay, and then proceed to babble shamelessly at strangers in the buffet line. It probably would have been in my best interests to be a tad more disciplined, yes. At least, when we continued to imbibe well into the night, we did it down on 16th street rather than at the conference hotel where the staid, responsible compositionists would not be mentally filing my name and face in the "Do Not Hire" file.
* At least the eatin' was good. I am telling you: Grand Hyatt, downtown Denver. Best conference food I have EVER had, hands down.
* And I got some really great ideas from some of the presentations I observed. Yippee! It's good to get pumped up with motivation and ideas for new projects!
* Speaking of pumping--That airline security guards should be total wankers and fixate on the most inappropriate and non-terrorist objects must be written in the job application. When I went to Seattle in May, I got crap for having a spoon in my purse (maybe I could cut out someone's heart with it?) and this time, I got it for...wait for it...you guessed it...MY BREAST PUMP. A snippet of the exchange:
Him (stopping the conveyor belt to peer at his little x-rays): You have a bottle in your bag.
Me: An EMPTY bottle.
Him: You have a small, plastic, bottle in your bag.
Me: Yes. There is nothing in it. There isn't even a lid on it.
Him: It's an empty plastic bottle? (in a tone implying suspicion of WMD)
Me: It's. My. PUMP. Because I'm. BREASTFEEDING.
Him: I'm going to need to take a look.
Me: Go ahead. Take it out. Fondle it. Embarrass yourself. Let me know when you're done.
Granted, breast pumping isn't exactly a thrill. But I am pretty sure that it would not be an effective terrorist threat. ("Everyone stay in your seats why we fly this plane into the National Bowling Stadium! Fuck with us and you WILL get pumped!")
* And while I'm talking about terror, I'm a little concerned Mario and I might be in for it with a little bully. Yesterday some good friends were in town when I got home last night, including a couple who had a baby about 12 weeks after we did, cute little Landyn with the most kissable, pinchable cheeks. And what did Scarlett do when we plopped them down together? Immediately, and multiple times, grab Landyn's plug out of her mouth and stick it in her own, leaving her to cry sadly. Sigh...we are really in for it!
Wish us luck in Hawaii. After twelve hundred tasks and errands today, we have to drive to the Bay Area tomorrow to catch our flight. Um, yeah...wish us LOTS of luck!
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Trouble at the Pump
Whew, sorry for the long hiatus from the Bloggosphere! Our internet router has been broken and then we were out of town. We could get little snippets of my sister's connection next door, but it was tenuous at best and not conducive to good quality internet time. Finally Mario went and bought another router today at Best Buy and we are back in the game!
It's probably good that I've taken a break, because I think maybe Scarlett has been reading my blog, and has seen some of the negative comments I've posted about breastfeeding. No wait...that would imply that she actually CARED what I think! Either way, she's up to something, and that something is rejecting the breast. Since last Thursday, she's been a total turd when I've tried to feed her. She'll eat for a minute or so and then start arching and whining and trying to look in the other direction. Feedings that used to be 15 to 20 minutes are now no more than four if I'm lucky. At first, I thought it might just be gas, or some other kind of pain, or a brief phase. But it's getting close to a week now and things don't seem to be improving. I can only guess that this is because a) now that she's having formula and baby food she's decided these new tastes are superior to mom's milk, b) she's such a busybody she hates been made to lie down facing me, away from the action, or c) she's just plain contentious and she's sensed that even though I only originally committed to six months of this, I had recently decided it was too soon to stop.
I have heard of babies doing this...just up and deciding they are done with breastfeeding. Apparently my sister did it when she was eight months (my mom was pissed at her because it was right before summer and she was hoping to have big boobies for bikini season!) and one of Mario's cousin's babies that we saw this weekend was over it at six months. I called the doctor yesterday and they said there is really nothing I can do except start offering her a bottle when she won't eat. I knew that would be the end of it, so I was reluctant to accept that suggestion, but I finally did it tonight, because of course keeping her healthy and happy is the most important thing. The little twit arched and whined on the boob but then sucked two ounces of formula down, sweet as pie, and afterwards scarfed half a jar of butternut squash.
Granted, this is probably the control freak in me being bummed because I'm not the one making the choice here. But I have to admit, I'm a little sad. Unless something changes pretty quick here, this is going to be the end of the road for the Milk Cow. For all my talk about looking forward to weaning her, I had finally come around in the last couple of months to understanding what some women rave about when they talk about breastfeeding. It was sweet to feel that bond with her, to have her want me and only me when she's hungry or needs comfort. Even though it's a huge tie-down, it's also been time when I have been forced to take breaks from my hectic life and just sit down to enjoy her, to soak myself in her infanthood, to marvel at the baby-soft feeling of her scalp and wiggle her little toes and stroke the soft skin of her arms and legs and rub her little back while she looked up at me, sucking away so earnestly.
Sigh.
It's probably good that I've taken a break, because I think maybe Scarlett has been reading my blog, and has seen some of the negative comments I've posted about breastfeeding. No wait...that would imply that she actually CARED what I think! Either way, she's up to something, and that something is rejecting the breast. Since last Thursday, she's been a total turd when I've tried to feed her. She'll eat for a minute or so and then start arching and whining and trying to look in the other direction. Feedings that used to be 15 to 20 minutes are now no more than four if I'm lucky. At first, I thought it might just be gas, or some other kind of pain, or a brief phase. But it's getting close to a week now and things don't seem to be improving. I can only guess that this is because a) now that she's having formula and baby food she's decided these new tastes are superior to mom's milk, b) she's such a busybody she hates been made to lie down facing me, away from the action, or c) she's just plain contentious and she's sensed that even though I only originally committed to six months of this, I had recently decided it was too soon to stop.
I have heard of babies doing this...just up and deciding they are done with breastfeeding. Apparently my sister did it when she was eight months (my mom was pissed at her because it was right before summer and she was hoping to have big boobies for bikini season!) and one of Mario's cousin's babies that we saw this weekend was over it at six months. I called the doctor yesterday and they said there is really nothing I can do except start offering her a bottle when she won't eat. I knew that would be the end of it, so I was reluctant to accept that suggestion, but I finally did it tonight, because of course keeping her healthy and happy is the most important thing. The little twit arched and whined on the boob but then sucked two ounces of formula down, sweet as pie, and afterwards scarfed half a jar of butternut squash.
Granted, this is probably the control freak in me being bummed because I'm not the one making the choice here. But I have to admit, I'm a little sad. Unless something changes pretty quick here, this is going to be the end of the road for the Milk Cow. For all my talk about looking forward to weaning her, I had finally come around in the last couple of months to understanding what some women rave about when they talk about breastfeeding. It was sweet to feel that bond with her, to have her want me and only me when she's hungry or needs comfort. Even though it's a huge tie-down, it's also been time when I have been forced to take breaks from my hectic life and just sit down to enjoy her, to soak myself in her infanthood, to marvel at the baby-soft feeling of her scalp and wiggle her little toes and stroke the soft skin of her arms and legs and rub her little back while she looked up at me, sucking away so earnestly.
Sigh.
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