Selling your Soles

So I sold an Ann Taylor dress and separate suit on ebay last week. Used my mannequin thank-you-very-much.

And I have been a whore for feedback. I'm a junky, I swear. I check daily "Did they get it? Do they like it? Did they leave FEEDBACK???"

God how I love ebay feedback. In 80 characters or less a total stranger validates you.

Amazing seller! Speedy shipment, bonus items and super considerate. A+++++
Super fast payment...Excellent buyer...Happy you like them...You're awesome!!!!
Super Fast Shipment! Excellent Communication! Great Seller! A++++++++++++++++

This last item I sold? I wrote a note, put in a picture of Ellie that says "Ellie hopes you like your dress", enclosed $5 cash for drycleaning and included a bonus item.

I feel so dirty.

Tomato Tomahto

Tomato, Tomahto
Contentious or Compulsive

I have laundry. If you were a musical theater geek we could do the whole

LAUNDRY, oh we got laundry
Right here in Wakefield!
With a capital "L"
That rhymes with "Smell"
And that stands for Laundry.

I try to keep up with it, I do. It's only we three, her stuff is only a load itself, and her blankets and bibs are wash and dry, relatively easy. His stuff is T's and boxers, no trouble there, and I wear my jeans until they get up and walk to the machine begging to be cleaned so it's not my laundry. Where does it come from???

So I'm gonna tell it like it is.
I'm telling the truth now.
I really am.

The other day I washed an entire two loads again. Just because I waited so long to fold them.
I rewashed laundry.
Because I didn't fold it.
In a timely manner.

Then this morning,
this very morning,
here
in my own home,
I ironed a onesie.

More then once-ie.

Daddy turns 38! Happy Birthday Daddy!

How Green is My Garbage

I am, if not the queen, a loyal subject of recycling.

I shred envelopes, call to be removed off catalog lists, flatten cardboard food boxes and even paper labels. I reuse plastic takeout containers as lunch glad ware, and fold the bags for reuse. Old clothes are donated or placed in the scrap rag recycling box. Socks turn into dust mitts. Miscellaneous electronic items are listed as "free" on craigslist or donated to Salvation Army. I go thirsty rather then grab a Poland Springs sport bottle. The list goes on. Slightly obsessive? Perhaps. I hadn't noticed until this writing but sure, you could make a case for it.

I draw the line at craziness though. I mean, Ellie uses plastic diapers and I don't fold tinfoil or anything. (Tinfoil?! My god, why don't I just say flashcube, rabbit ear antenna and pong while I'm at it?)

Anywho...my dearest darling Douglas differs. Vastly.
And yesterday we reached, as a family, a rather disgusting low.

See my town no longer takes cardboard as trash. If you leave a box out, it stays in front of your house with a big orange sticker saying, essentially, "flatten it yourself deadbeat cuz this trashbarge has sailed". Now usually, this wouldn't be an issue. I get a box, I flatten it. But this year, when my mannequin was delivered (don't ask), the box stayed outside for a week or so. Then I threw 3 teddie bears in it (I know, but you can't recycle them...) and some other mish mash intending to sort it all out later, and flatten the box. (To be fair, when it all went down the no cardboard left behind act hadn't been, well, enacted yet. So my intentions were good and not motivated by duress.) well, the box was moved from the upper porch lower, and ultimately it was rained on. It was a big sodden mess.

I felt bad, I really did, but I thought "Well, just this once I'm going to just let it go. It's one box."

I let Doug put in on the curb.

Forgetting the new rules.

Sure enough, my outraged sanitation engineered slapped a big ol sticker on it.

Drag, drag drag - I drag it back behind the porch. Weeks go by. Not ten weeks but not two either. Maybe three, four tops. A recycle day comes and goes. I really really do not want to break down this box. It's all dry by now but god, it just seems like another endless task. I leave it.

Yesterday was a non recycling trash day. In our shared driveway we stand with neighbor Mike.
Doug says "Oh, and I'll put the box out."
"You can't" both my neighbor and I chime.
"Its not a recycle day." I say.
"They won't take it" Mike says, "They don't take boxes anymore.

Doug strides purposely towards it.
"They do if I put it in a plastic bag" Doug replies.

The Art of Compromise or Situational Hygiene

WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT. DISCRETION IS ADVISED.



I woke her up, changed her, fed her...and smelt poop within an hour.
Hmm.

So I went to change her again and it was just a poop. Not the usual steaming mass, but a poop like a dog poop. A singular, lone, independent poop. I scooped it out of her otherwise dry diaper and refastened the adhesive tabs.

For a fleeting second I wondered "Was That Gross?" then decided that I was fine with it.

No use crying over the nonskid milktray

I need to wake Ellie up, to eat, so we can go to Wee Listeners today.
But.
Before I do that I just want to say:

Today she is getting fed downstairs. Every day since she's been home, we've eaten up in the office. First it was bottles. Bottles in arms. Then food at 5 months. She sat in her swing for that, anchored of course, then out she came for her bottle. Yesterday we got the highchair. (Delivered, how I love Amazon)

It's HERE. Whee! Open box, set up. Try her in it. She loves it. Daddy comes home. Whee! Excitement. A highchair. He puts her back in it.
Look at you, big girl! Your own chair!

So progress.

A highchair.

Downstairs I'll go, and buckle her into a seat thats not my arms and she'll eat. It's progress for sure. She's starting to sit on her own. And I wouldn't want her to stay dependent. Think of those poor moms with 18 year olds in wheelchairs.

So pay no attention to the fact that I really feel like yelling "WAIT!! She's just a BABY! It's not fair that she's too big to eat in my arms. She's only 7 months. Doesn't she get to be a baby for a little longer???"

Sigh, so our daily routine of office eating, then Mommy cuddling Ellie surfing the internet with Ellie watching On The Farm split screen are over.

Those Graco bastards.

I'm just not ready.

Ellie the Bridesmaid

Who Me? Nah, musta been somebody else.

Last week Ellie went to her regular Tuesday Little Gym class. That night, Doug glances down at her bare foot.

"Oh my god, honey" he says to her, then looks up at me. "She has something on her foot. Like a rash or something."

I look.
"Oh no, that's just a stamp" I said.
"A stamp?"
"Yes, she gets a stamp at Little Gym"

He looked at me quizzically.

"It's like, you know, like getting a star for your homework. I did gym, I get a stamp. Yeah for me, you know?"

"Ohhhhh" he says. "I thought you meant they get stamped as if it's a bar. So they don't sneak back in and try to take another class."

Now, I love this man but did he honestly think that the gym teacher wouldn't notice my six month old coming back in? Pay no attention to the baby in the leopard stretchy pants...

The Lord Works In Mysterious Ways subtitled Procrastination Really Pays Off

Several weeks ago, we christened Miss Ellie. I want to say she was 2 weeks shy of six months. Late really, if you are Catholic. I'm fairly certain my early CCD taught me that you christen early to avoid limbo in the event of an early demise. I'm starting to think it's so they can suck you in whilst the post baby mush brain is still in effect.

Prior to her christening, we had some brief discussion as to which parish. We live, and I kid you not, smack dab within walking distance and abutting the school for Saint Joseph's. Our cleaning lady is the housekeeper and cook for the priest, I met the church secretary at her wedding, the list of loose associations goes on. Saint Patrick's is the other church. It's farther away but barely just - it's the distance one might travel to a regular church if it wasn't squarely in ones back yard. But it's gorgeous. Pristine white, buffed floors, echoing hall, rich carpets...sumptuous really.

Regardless, we live in St Joseph's parish - so St. Joseph's I called. And left a message for Father Ron. Then called back. And left another message for Father Ron. Neither of which call did he return.

I was pissed. At a priest no less. But really annoyed. You'd think they'd be doing all the could to win back a few Catholics?

So I waited to see if I'd cool down.
I didn't.

So we called St. Patrick's. And got the best, most charming, humane, funny, kind priest ever -and a gorgeous day and a beautiful beautiful ceremony.

Shortly thereafter, Doug emails me from work. The subject line reads We picked the right Church
"

Local Priest Bans Harry Potter Book" First book banned in Massachusetts in several hundred years. We watch the interviews. Father Ron does not come off too well. We feel smug.

Well, until today that is.

Priest Arrested For Stalking Conan O'Brien Accused Of Sending Threatening Notes On Parish Letterhead
NEW YORK, Nov. 8, 2007 / The star of NBC's "Late Night with Conan O'Brien" has received numerous communications from a stalker over the past 14 months, despite demands that he desist. The correspondent, a priest from Stoneham, Mass., was arrested as he tried to gain entry to O'Brien's Rockefeller Center studio.
...Ajemian was a reverend at St. Patrick's Parish in Stoneham, Mass., from 2005 to May of this year. He has not been reassigned to another parish since May.

So now I'm feeling doubly blessed! Not only did Father Ron's not calling back delay the process, make us switch churches but because we waited, we didn't get the whack job priest.

Ah, God is Good!

Ellie Looking Uber Cute

National Tell It Like It Is Day

So my sister has this great idea. There should be a national Tell It Like It Is Day on which we are all allowed to "tell it like it is" with no repercussions. Not walk up to someone and say "Hey, you're a fat ass and a bad mother" but if someone says to you "Do you think I did the right thing" you can say "Why no, I think it was incredibly foolish of you to let your 14 year old daughter go camping with her 19 year old boyfriend". Or whatever.

Right or wrong, high road or not, someone irked me today and I answered them 100% in kind. Plain speak so to speak.

We got an email, Doug and I, from a friend of Doug's mom. Someone who I have never met, talked to, or otherwise know. She is working overseas right now and I have, on occasion, emailed a picture of Ellie, a nice note, warm wishes, whatever. But she certainly doesn't KNOW me. Or us. Meanwhile, she was at one time as close as an aunt to Doug. She used to live in their spare apartment etc. Loves him. And Doug's mother is a virtual saint to her. Calls her so she can speak English, writes notes, gets links for audio to stream local radio to her. I mean A SAINT. So given that Doug's mom is a doll, it's likely the gist of why I opened the following email today:

From: S
Sent: Tuesday, November 06, 2007 8:44 AM
Subject: You are so lucky........

I hope know how lucky you are .........................have a great week..............love, S

Now, I'm sure I should have sent back a:
WE SURE ARE!

But given Doug and I both bust our asses, and we are in fact VERY good to his mother, and to her, I just was like. "Listen chicki, I don't need you to send me an email telling me that I should know how lucky I am."

Which is why I replied with the following:

From: D
Sent: Tuesday, November 06, 2007 10:30 AM
To: S
Subject: RE: You are so lucky........
Thanks S, we are incredibly blessed. Lucky? Not really. We work hard and try to do the right things, and we appreciate what gifts are given. So yes, we do realize how fortunate we are. But I don't quite call it luck.

And let the chips fall where they may.

Feeling Bad

Today I am having trouble being positive. Honestly. I cant even begin to express it either. Well, actually, I could express it if anyone had the time to, or cared to, listen. Buy there isn't anyone and that's actually the issue.

Good Things Come in Small Packages

I love waking Ellie up in the morning. Not because she always seems SO delighted to see me, which I admit is awesome. But because every single morning her bedtime regalia comes as a big surprise. Daddy puts her to bed you see. With me, you get all one color. If I do dress her for bed, which is seldom, I run with a theme. Say she's wearing a pink onesie, then she gets a pink cotton sleeper and then a larger pink fleece sleeper. If she's wearing purple, then she gets a purple cotton sleeper and then a larger purple fleece sleeper. If a yellow onsie, then a variant of green for the sleepers. She's all very coordinated. It's like matching your bra and panties to your dress.

Now when Daddy puts her to bed....

In the morning I'll sneak in to wake her. And she's all smiles and little feet up in the air (which signifies either excitement or a wet bum, six months in and I still don't know which) - and I'll admire her.

"Good MORNing Eleanor," I'll singsong. "Look at you, so pretty in your bunny sleeper" I'll reach in to rub her belly or kiss her cheeks. "Hello hello," I'll coo at her. And then I'll slowly unzip her outer fleece. Inevitably underneath she'll be wearing some random discordant thing. Like a navy blue long sleeve ribbed onsie. Or something with pumpkins. Or zig zags. Then I'll laugh. And Ellie laughs too.

She thinks we are playing. Then she looks at me puzzled because I'm squinting at her. Still chuckling. Then I have to confess to her "I'm sorry honey, I'm not laughing with you. Mommy's laughing at you." Then she laughs again.

I haven't told Daddy though, it would spoil all the fun.

Homemade vs. Storebought

So my sister has "handmade" all her children's costumes since they were born. Except for one year. And when I say handmade, I mean from scratch. She didn't buy a sweatsuit and bedazzle it, or take her clothes and resize them. She literally bought patterns, fabric, fired up her swing machine with her 5th grade Home Economics education and viola. (Which should be said with a flourish and not be read with a quizical "who plays the viola" look.)

So I think she was a little disappointed when I decided to buy Ellie's first costume. Oh she didn't let on but we are both so similar that she won't deny, if pressed, a fleeting moment of remorse for Ellie. Part of her surely thought "Oh how fun to make a baby costume!" I know what she means. there is something symbolically loving about making one yourself.

In some respects I compromised. I bought it used, on ebay, not retail. So almost homemade, right? Still creative.

She's going as an Elephant. Get it. ELLIEphant.

Like Goldilocks, her first ebay costume was too big. The second, my neighbors Old Navy surprise was too chintzy looking, finally the third came via usps. We love it...but there were no feet! It was listed as having "White cotton tusks and footprints" but the woman meant the arms. She insisted that since an Elephant was on all fours, that her use of the term footprints was correct and inclusive of the arm imprint as the arms were in fact the elephants legs. Because I should have looked at it from the animal point of view surely?

Whatever, all I'm saying is that I expected footies damnit.

So I went online to look for slippers or something. Then it hit me.
And my sister should be pretty friggin proud of me.

THE OUTFIT
Notice the lack of feet...














THE IDEA
(1) pair circo gray socks from Target













(1) Set Avon Dry Polish French Manicure Strips















YEAH BABY! WHO'SE GOT YOUR FOOTIES NOW BEYATCH!
Tell ME I don't love my baby...xoxo Ellie-phant!!!

A Rose By Any Other Name

I had these rosebud curtain hooks. I bought them at a yard sale with Doug when we were dating. 12 for $1.25. They were a bargain and subsequently, coincidently, went fabulous with my shabby chic floral curtains. I - HEARTED - these stupid curtain hooks.

Time passes.

Our cleaning woman lets me know that some broke, 3 in fact, while she was cleaning the tub. "They're so fragile" she said. I believe her. They weren't dainty, but old. So online I go. I find them on ebay. They are $7.50 with $4 for shipping. More then I think shower curtain hooks need to be but not bank breaking. I don't bid on them though. I think "Don't be wasteful, likely you can just find them at Target." Environmentally, I'm caring about the packaging it'll take to mail them to me.

We go to Target. They don't have anything similar. I see green leaves. I don't love them. "What about the pink ones?" I muse out loud looking at some gerber daisy hooks. "Get the green leaves" Doug says. Hmm, I really don't love them but I'm happy he's taking an interest in home decor.

I put both back. I'll just go to Walmart.

As I walk away, I think "Oh what am I crazy? They're shower curtain hooks. Who cares, just BUY them here and be done with it. You're going to go all the way to Walmart to try and find the roses? Be done with it."

I stand still. Paralyzed. I REALLY don't like my choices. But one hopes. And because Doug is always chiding me for both being indecisive and creating more work for myself, I grab the green leaves.

"I think you'll like them" he says.
I get them home.
I can't open the damn package. I tear it. I usually don't but THIS time I'm committing to a decision. I bought these, they are fine, they'll do. Be done with it. I actually throw the package away. Upstairs I go, I place them on the corner on the sink. To Be Done Tomorrow.

That night, Doug goes in to brush his teeth.
"I think you were right honey" he calls out.
"Right about what" I ask (pointlessly really because what am I ever wrong about?)
"Right about the hooks...these green one's look horrible"
I walk in. He's hanging the hooks. Wow, he's right. How could we both be so wrong.
"Shit" I say out loud.
"What's the matter"
I explain about the torn box. He sympathizes.
"Maybe they'll take them back anyway" he says.
Downstairs I go and fish the torn packaging out of the trash.

I mull it over. For about a day. Seriously. The hooks are back in the car with the receipt. Then it hits me! Pure genius.

I'll just buy the pink ones, and return the green leaves in the pink's packaging. It's not stealing, I never used them, the price is the same, the packaging the same. It's PERFECT, Besides, if I returned the first bunch in the damaged package, they would have been discarded as damaged and I was only going to throw the new packaging away. My god, this is great! This way, everything gets reused!

Back to Target I go. I buy the pink. I drop another $14 while I'm there on a snow hat and mittens for the darling. I'm now into Target for $34. Out to the car. Hmm, I know I'm going to be returning the green anyway, let me just change the packages now. Jam jam, stuff stuff, manipulate, maneuver. M*therf*ckers changed their packaging. Argh. I'm stymied.

Oh well, you know what, I can still return them in the damaged packaging I conclude. I leave all the hooks, the empty plastic packages, everything on the passenger seat. Home I go. In I go. Upstairs I go. Try the pink.

The pink look like sh*t. Too pink. Too modern. Too stark against the subtle washed shower curtain. Sigh, I sigh.

But being the perfect Pollyanna I think "Well, I have to go back to the store to return the green anyway, so I'll just return both together. No big deal."

I leave the pink in the car, next to the green, next to all the loose packaging and receipts. Drive around for a day. Wednesday, the cleaning woman is coming back. I'll let her know that I'm getting new hooks and not to bother with the shower liner, I'm replacing it with the hooks.

Wednesday she calls. Late. And cancels. Not the first time. There's a crisis with her daughter. Her daughter has been lying. Also not the first time. Drama ensues. I offer to "talk" to the daughter. She eagerly accepts. Daughter is dropped off, we talk, two hours later, daughter gets into my car to be driven home.

"Just move those to the back seat" I say.
"Oh pretty" she says. "New shower curtain hooks?"
"Yes, mine broke"
And no sooner had the words crossed my lips, she drops them to the ground. Bending swiftly, she puts them on the back seat. "They didn't break" she assures me.
"No problem" I say.

Home she is driven. Out of the car she pops, and in her mother comes. Chit chat ensues. Ellie has been a trouper but starts vocalizing her displeasure. I decide to sit in the back for the dramatic denouement to the "talk" ordeal. So does the cleaning lady slash mother.

"Oh," she says "You got new hooks"
"Yes" I said.
She moves them slightly to the side. Then sits on them.
I hear a crack. I pretend it's the packaging.
I ignore it. I'm returning it all anyway, it'll be fine.

Last night I clean out the car. I bring all the miscellany in to reassemble it. I find the receipts. I put it on the coffee table to look at today. Then I go on ebay. I should have just bought the damn hooks there in the first place. They aren't there but another set is. They are $9 and $5 plus for shipping. $15 Buy It Now. I bid, win, and buy.

I am $35 into shower curtain hooks. Plus the original $1.25. And the extra snow hat.

"So you're getting those " Doug says over my shoulder.
"Yep" I say embarrassed.
"Good" and as he walks away I swear I see him shaking his head.

3pm today. Ellie has had massive diarrhea for two days. I've been chained to the house. Finally we are all set to go out. This is it. My one hour to run an errand. She's fed, napped, clean, and I'm going to, you guessed it, TARGET! I gather the boxes. Place the pink hooks in a pleasant pattern. Slide back into the box. It fits. I pick up the green leaves, I pick up the torn box. I fit it symmetrically in. And then I squint.

One of the ceramic leaves is broken in two. Completely. Only 1 out of the 12 irreparably damaged, yet rendering all useless. There's no returning it now. And all I can think of is this: "That lying bitch or her inept mother broke my goddamn hooks"

I actually stopped typing after the sentence above, walked my barefoot arse ouside, and crouched on the ground like Columbo. And there they were, leaf fragments. Next to the car, where my cleaning woman's daughter assured me they didn't break.

So now I've got one set to go back, one set broken, one set on the way, a dirty bathroom and a burning hatred for both the cleaning woman and her daughter.

I also subconsciously realize that it doesn't pay to be an environmentalist.

Letting it Go

So I had this incredibly annoying thing happen Friday and I am having The Hugest Issue With It. I realize this is just a) fall out from me having too much time to think and b) my the obsessive need to right personal injustices but I just Can NOT let it go.

Whew. With a set up like that, you'd think it would be about Ellie, right? Someone doing her wrong and me leaping to the mommy defense? Of course not. God forfend I post about my dulcet darling.

Nope, it's something else entirely and as I type this I realize it may come back to bite me on the ass. The typing of it.

See specifically, it happened whilst I was posting on my old ww board. And I also shared my blog link with some of the posters to show pics of Ellie. So there is always the chance that a ww member may read this. Having said that I'm not being passive aggressive hoping that one does. It just triggered something in me and I certainly can't discuss it there.

So let's start here. Last year I joined WW in July, and found a fabulous thread of new marrieds/new move ins who were in a Less to Lose group. It was kismet. I adored posting and chatting with them, and of course, definitely had my favorites. In fact, there was no one i didn't like or agree with although occasionally, i did find one particular poster somewhat, for lack of a better word, sanctimonious and more often then not confrontational. I'd post one idea and she always seemed to have a rebuttal. Back then, I cared.

I remember once sharing the fact that I had a blog and she wondered aloud whether I discussed the group, semi questioning my ethics, etc. At the time I was not only offended but angry. She wasn't a moderator nor had I ever given any indication that I would behave with disregard towards anyone else's privacy. But I took the hight road regardless and assured her otherwise.

Time passes. The other day I checked in. I left the group while pregnant, finding it all too painful to post about daily life when I was busy on baby death watch. And as I read, I noticed that some people had moved on, and others hadn't changed. Oh sure, I won't ...can't...do a character sketch nor should I but suffice to say that as I was reading along a few times I though "Ah, the naiveté of narcissistic childless people". Okayyyyy. That was a smack.

The long story short is that I posted something and she immediately jumps in with her **conflicting** opinion. I wouldn't care so much but I hardly ever see her do it with anyone else. She's normally obsequious and accommodating.

SMACK again.

I need to cool off.

Basically it all stared when I posted that I thought someone should stay away from those daily boards - like babycenter, etc.

Specifically I wrote:
"I'm begging you, BEGGING you don't sign up for too many of those online follow the baby things. they are AWFUL! All they do is tell you to eat right, do yoga, and not to drink. It's awful awful. They make you feel like a failure if you aren't doing gentle cardio 19 times a day and registering for inane items." And then I added a few more no sequiters. Random but re: being pregnant, weight gain, allowig yourself to be human. Of course I was being tongue in cheek. I’ll grant you, but I believed what I wrote. And I said it in a “take it with a grain of salt” way.

So douche bag, I mean annoying girl, immediately jumps in with this completely sanctimonious rebuttal about how much weight someone should gain, that being pregnant is not license to pig out, etc etc. Then this other annoying narcissist jumps in with her 2 cents about her being in the medical field and that Dr’s say x y and z (Dr's also said thalidomide was a good idea but I didn’t feel the need to bring it up.)

Anyway they were both the archetypal cliché of the typical first new mom circa 2008.
Yet neither was pregnant. Neither had had a child. Frnakly, neither knew what the fuck they were talking about.

But for all their reading that is.

I don’t mean to belabor this, pun intended, but I was just pissed. Hey, don't get me wrong, when I was pregnant I was reading everything ( because I had the time to) and I talked to my two fiends daily, also pregnant. And the simple fact is, those websites??? Well I just saw a really disturbing and sad trend amongst the readers and within my first time mom friends. (Second time moms aren’t as reliant so to speak on outside information!) Sort of a pervasive feeling of feeling bad because no one was doing their pregnancy “perfectly”.

The websites for “moms” (and everyone else frankly) have wonderful advice about walking, eating right, not eating for two etc – and yes, those things are true. But none of the print advice given to moms also allows the mom to just relax – as a simple human being. Pregnancy is treated like something to conquer. Something to master. Something else to be good at. “Managing your stress, how to tell your boss, what to wear, what not to wear, paying attention to your husband, eating for two, breast or bottle” On and on it goes. Or my favorites “Are you sleeping enough? Are you sleeping correctly? Are you still *sleeping* with your spouse?”

Sure, because we are bright, we think "I’ll sift through the advice, and take out what I need." But here’s the thing. The advice - while trite - is so so pervasive and oft repeated, that it becomes fact. It becomes the "norm" when in fact, it's just perpetuated myth.

So am I saying that every single study is bullshit and I and I alone know what's The Truth?

No.

I just feel like we need to remember that we are raised within one culture and all our information comes from similar sources. Even diverging information is still based on a universal shared idea. I personally believe the obsession, yes obsession, with weight gain, exercise during pregnancy, and alcohol consumption are uniquely American obsessions. And just because Drs, blogs, websites, Newsweek all say one thing, b/c they are coming from a shared value base, I'm not sure if you can believe it. It soesn't make something true just because everyone believes it. (See article: Earth not Flat circ. 1492)

My original point in posting to the ww group was to simply say "Listen, you don’t HAVE to follow these rules. It is VERY easy to “fail” to do all the things that you are “told” to do right. As woman, we get inundated with advice on how to be the “perfect” pregnant woman. You are still going to be ok if you don’t. Maybe you're sick, you're tired, you don’t feel like walking, like exercising, you just want to eat something easy. You should allow yourself that."

I ended up quitting the group. I don't have the patience to wait for each of them to have kids of their own and see how pregnancy, in the final analysis, is just not that big a deal.

The Dark Side

I've officially stepped out of the socioeconomic class I was brought up in. Yesterday, as our cleaning woman was doing the bathroom, I found myself wondering if I could prop Ellie up to watch her. I'm a good mother, I rationalized. I definately want to instill in her the ability to do housework. She's just not going to see me doing it.

I'd be ashamed if it wasn't so damn funny.

How Green is My Baby

Every now and then I look at her and just think .... Oh My God How Cute ARE You????... I mean really. Wow.

My Cheating Baby

I don't mind when she smiles at other people. I don't mind when she laughs louder for the neighbors, or stops crying for a stranger. I don't mind that she cuddles with him, but only wants to play with me. I don't even mind that she doesn't notice when I leave the room.

But god, the stink of another woman's perfume on her head.

Ladies, ladies - can we dial down the musk? I'm getting secondhand skin rashes and she, dry scalp from all the bathes.

Gooooo SOX!

The Lord Works in Mysterious Ways

There's a poem that is always associated with the Challenger flight that went down, and specifically with Christa McCauliffe. Maybe I remember it because I went to Framingham State and it was posted in the auditorium. Or maybe for some other obscure reason. But it was written by a pilot and the first and last line are those most often quoted

"Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth...
Put out my hand and touched the face of God."

For whatever reason, every occasional now and then, I think of the last line. "I touched the face of God."

I'm not super religious but I believed in, I don't know, something. I believe in miracles, I believe that you can die of a broken heart, and I believe that sometimes you miss a bus so that the empty seat you didn't fill is taken by someone who worked all day and really needed to sit.

Yesterday, that happened.

Yesterday I went to a fall festival with my handsome almost hubby and cutie patootie baby. The festival was from 12-4, with plenty of time to make my nieces cheer competition at 5. Sure enough, by 4 we were done with kettle corn and bluegrass. Too early to go to the competition, we made a pit stop at a local restaurant scheduled for her christening dinner. Then the gas station, and finally, we pull up to the High School. It's late. So late. She's on at exactly 5.

He drops me off in traffic, it's 4:57. I thread my way through what looks like a sea of elderly people. There are at least a dozen charter buses. "All this for a cheer competition?" I'm thinking. I try top walk slow so as not to startle anyone but I know I need to hurry. I pass the crowd and frantically run to the door. Up stairs I blow by the ticket seller, and dash to the gym floor. I squat down in front of the stands and see her colors on the mats. WHEW! I look for her. Hmm, she's not in place. I see the tall black pretty girl that I know stands to the right of her. Where is she? Did she plead sickness? Was she mad that morning and hiding in the bathroom? I'm barely seeing the routine. I notice a pyramid and someone lets go of an ankle too soon. I think "Penalty for that. I didn't know her team moved up to that. I thought it was illegal" WHERE IS SHE?? I cheer anyway. I hoot and holler. GO W*LT*M! I scan for her. I just can't see her. The team exits the floor. I didn't see her. I look into the stands, and see my sister. She pointed looks left and right and mimics a rocking motion. "Where's the baby" she mouthes. "In the car" I mouth back while holding my hands at 10 and 2 and making the universal steering wheel movement. I hold up my hand, fingers splayed, signaling 5 and yell up "I can only stay 5 minutes" to which she shakes her head no. I squint. "No?" I shake back. "You already missed her" she mouths. "She went already".

I'm sad. She knows it. She looks at me sympathetically. I'm REALLY sad.
I shrug my shoulders, make a boo boo face, and wave. "Bye" I mouth. She waves back.

I leave, slower then I go in. It's empty out in the parking lot. Good for them, I think, they managed to move all those old people. I start to walk down the large hill to the middle school where I know sweet almost husband and baby are parked. I text my nieces mom. "I missed it" I type. She understands, she texts back. But I know she doesn't know how sad I feel. I'm bereft. I feel heavy. I missed it, I think, and it was important.

As I'm walking I see ahead, and older woman teetering on the edge of the sidewalk, she quick shuffles, grabs the pole, and steadies herself against it. I look around. No car, no bus. Maybe she's waiting for a cab. I approach, calling out so she knows I'm nearing.

"I'm certain you are alright" I say "But is there anything I can do to get you closer where you need to be." I ask
"I'm fine" she snaps.

Oh my god. It's my grandmothers voice. Oh my god. I freeze.

"I'm just getting off that hill. I don't need help." she says again.
I know that voice.
"Oh I know you don't need help," I say. "But I don't feel right walking by you. Can we at least walk together?"
"No," she says. "I'm going all the away down that hill" and she points to the large hill "My car is at the bottom, there were no spaces up here. I walked it once already. I can do it."

She even acts like her. I know it's not her, but she sounds like her, she's stubborn like her. She still drives...like grandma did.

"I'm going down the hill too," I say. "Really, I don't want to be a pest, but can't we walk together?"
She glares at me.
"I'm too slow," she finally admits. "You're in a hurry."
"I most certainly am not," I shot back. "I have a baby, she's in the car and I never get away from her. I love her but I could use a nice walk. A slow walk, You'd be doing me a favor." She refuses again.
Finally I say "Ok. I'll leave you alone. But just tell me. Is it me? Do you not like me? Was it something I said?"
She starts to admonish me "Don't like you, I don't even KNOW you.." and then she looks at me. She sees me smiling and realizes I'm not going to leave. I'll follow her if I have to.
"Ok, fine" she says begrudgingly. "But I CAN do it. It's just far."
"Thank you" I say. It's far for me too. And it's a beautiful day, and I'd enjoy your company."

So off we walked down the hill. I knew better then to take her arm, and I paced to her pace, but casually. As if it was my pace too. We talked. I wanted to get her car for her but it was clear that she would never have allowed it

And as we walked we talked. She had worked for the Herald for years. This was no "little old lady". She was smart...like my grandmother. I asked her where she was from. The voice, the voice. It was driving me crazy. Local, she said. Local I knew. But why did she talk the same exact way? "I grew up in Brighton," I said. I'm local too. She looked at me closely. "I live in Brighton". So did my grandmother. "I was born at Saint E's" I said. "I worked there for 16 years" she said. She said "My parish was Saint Gabes". St Gabes was behind my grandmothers house. "I was baptisied there" I said. We both said "I was sad when they closed it." I recognized her in spirit, although not in body. WE walked on and up ahead, I saw Doug walking towards us holding the baby. He understood that I needed him to show her to the woman.

We finally stop. That's my car, she pointed. And of course it was. It was a grandmothers car. A smart bright sassy grandmother who's life was coming to an end but who had all the fire and brilliance of a much younger woman. "I'm 79" she said. And she wasn't the Fidelity scuba diving 79. She was a housedress coral lipstick 79. The kind of 79 that knew about busing, about Whitey Bulger, about Charlestown in the 70s. She was my grandmother. We held hands to say goodbye. She looked at Doug and said "Your wife is a very special girl" and he thanked her. She touched Ellie's foot, and told us we were blessed. Then she turned and walked towards her car. I saw her stop and rest her bag on the hood. She was pretending to look for her keys but I knew the curb had scared her. I turned my back to give her her privacy. I pretended to fidget with Ellie.

"Goodbye" I casually called over my shoulder.
"Goodbye" she said
I turned back "Thank you for letting me walk with you"
She nodded and moved towards the door.

Doug and I walked away.
"I miss my grandmother" I said. I started to cry.
"I know, he said. I miss mine too."

And as we buckled ourselves into the car I realized that I was meant to miss the cheer competition. That I was meant to walk with Mary down that hill, and I was meant that day to be a gift to Mary and she a gift to me. That it was God's plan for each of us, and had I been but 2 minutes earlier, we would have passed each other by. That I wasn't there for my neice, I was there for my grandmother.

So God brought to me my grandmother, and to Mary a friend for a moment in time.

and I felt as if I had..."Put out my hand and touched the face of God."

Do you work? Yes I do. I work "In the Home"

This is my actual to do list for tomorrow:

BASEMENT
Bring up laundry, fold
remake guest bed in babies room with quilt
bring up gifts for Glen & Cindy
bag Salvation Army items from hamper
bring up 2 bttles of water to make formula while out

PORCH
Recyling
Reloop hose

DINING ROOM
Vaccuum
Find Pension paperwork
repack diaper bag
Pack all gift items and cards into bag for PO
find Lord & Taylor Receipt for return

LIVING ROOM
Vaccuum
Get dress for return out of closet, place at back door

OFFICE
print out JC Penney return slips
bring drycleaning down
empty trash

BATHROOM
Bring down water glasses

ELLIES ROOM
Strip sheet, remake crib
Fold and put away laundry
make guest bed with quilt from BASEMENT

OUR ROOM
Make Bed
put away laundry

OUT OF HOUSE
o Library
Photocopy License.
Return books
o Post Office
Mail paperwork including license proof to Fidelity for Pension Rollover to IRA
Mail Abbie card & mom to be gift
mail Cindy baby gift
o Cobbler
Drop off Dougs shoes

RETURN
o JC Penney curtain rods ordered online, take out of Dougs car
o Dress to Lord & Taylor


General To Do
o Call Priest re appt and baptism info
o Call and CXL Sheena appt
o Find parts to bring watches in for repair
Visit Longs for godparent gift ideas
o write reminder note to self to have engagement ring engraved with proposal date
o Confirm Restaurant for Christianing - send out meal preferences email
o Find Doiugs family a Hotel "
o Discuss gift bags for hotel "guests"
o Fix Wood window frame in Basement
o Fix Nail Polish
o Vist TJ Maxx for dress


TO BUY
Grocery store for: Mozzarella, basil, chicken, scallions
CVS for Formula
Vanilla extract

To buy this week
Tights and shoes for christianing, plan dress for dinner eve prior
visit TJ Maxx for cheaper mommy dress
Halloween Costume for Ellie
Gift for Glen & Paula
gift bag stuff
godparents gifts

This is Doug's to do list:
change lightbulbs
fix headlight

Social Etiquette - Even family needs to RSVP

From: D
Sent: Friday, September 21
via snail mail

You are cordially invited to attend the Christening of our daughter E****** R**** on Sunday, Date Year at Time and Location.
Insert Card Reads
In lieu of a post christening celebration, please join us the evening prior for a dinner celebration. Date Time RSVP by September 29.
***********************************************************

From: D
Sent: Monday, October 01, 2007 5:27 PM
To: bcc
Subject: Step right up and RSVP please!

Hi, the RSVP date for the evening dinner prior to Ellie's Christening has passed. As you know, the reason for the big deal dinner is that Doug and I aren't going to be having any sort of wedding so this is what would be the "dinner" with his family. Simply meaning, if you're interested in meeting his family while they are in town, now's the time.

I 100% absolutely will not be upset if you can't make it - or if only 1/2 of the you that is part of a couple can make it etc. I'll only be upset if you tell me you're coming, then cancel after. And that's because it'll cost me valuable moolah honoring the food and beverage commitment. (I can't take it in leftovers - rats...)

Right now it's at the old H** in L*** off of 114. It's called M***. Please let me know by tonight if possible so I can sign the contract and finalize the menu.
***********************************************************

From: D
Sent: Wednesday, October 03, 2007 11:34 PM
To: bcc
Subject: Honestly, it's Thursday already.

With all due respect, I'm not hosting a backyard bbq. I actually need an answer or a reply at a minimum. Sorry to be a bitch but I don't have all day everyday to plan things.Oh wait, that's right, I do. But still.

I REALLY need to know who's coming b/c if I don't have the right #'s I need to find a new restaurant. So it's not "drop by the big round table at Chuckie Cheese" here. It's an actual fancy sit down dinner with a preselected menu that requires an RSVP.

So cheer it out
RSVP
RSVP
GET BACK
TO ME

Gooooo telephone service!

From: D
Sent: Monday, September 17, 2007 2:05 PM
To: Daddy
Subject: HI DADDY!

Hi Daddy!
I miss you. Mommy dressed me up like an Eskimo and took me out ALL DAY. She keeps saying "get things done" - you need to tell her I need Tummy Time and a proper nap. I tried to cry but she won't let me. She gave me a bottle instead. So I smiled but you watch, I'll cry tonight!!!!

Today we saw Barbara, Ciara and a new friend Maria. She has THREE kids daddy. THREE. Wow. that's a lot of kids. That would definitely cut into my Tummy Time. We went to the lake, the Salvation Army, the drycleaner, the postoffice and the library. Now we are going to the mall and the grocery store. Daddy, when will it stop?? Can't I stay home and watch football with you? Even Grandpa's football would be ok. When you get home, show me Mommy's off switch, ok?? OK.

I hope you are having a good day at the penny plant. I miss you.

I love you - Ellie Belly the Eskimo

I read the Baby Whisperer: I saw the Baby Whisperer; The Baby Whisperer is oft quoted at our house. Honey, you're no Baby Whisperer.

So I'm running an errand Saturday and decide to drop by...well, let's just call her "a friend"...a friend's house. Ellie has just eaten and is sweetly docile. Well sated and cozy in her seat. Alert but not fussy. I pull in.

"Friend" has four children. All well mannered, all kind hearted. But loud. The shear volume of her family is proportionate to the volume in her house.

A louder volume then our home norm.

Ellie looks about, dare I say, confused. She's only 4-1/2 months so there's no real stranger anxiety yet. She mostly smiles at everyone. I place her carseat on the floor and sit in front of it. The children gather around. "Ohhhh," they clamor. "How cute". I lean in. Coo coo, she murmers hopefully. Coo coo I signal back with a smile and expressive eyes. I draw her out of her seat. Coo coo. I place her in "friends" arms.

"WAHHHHHHHHHHH"

"What's the matter" her children cry out. "Is she ok?" "What's wrong with E******?"

"WAAH WAAH WAAH WAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
The friend scoops her into her arms in a cradle, ne bear hug. She's got her tucked in close and starts singing in a high pitched scare the dogs voice.

"Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

Holy shit, I'm thinking. I mean, not to sound arrogant but my kid NEVER cries. Well, I mean, she cries when she's hungry, or when she's pooping, or when a shock of cold air hits her after a tubbie but she's not, like, an indiscriminate crier. Usually she cries with cause.

"Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh"

I'm shocked. I even say it outloud.
"Oh my god, I'm shocked." I motion to take her.

"Friend" blocks me with a deft turn of her shoulder. Then she starts tossing out a series of inane questions - the kind you inevitably get when your child is screaming uncontrollably. "Is she hungry" "Is she tired" "Does her belly hurt" "Is it the kids" with her cherubs chanting along side of her the last word in each phrase "She's Hungry" "she's tired" "She's got a belly ache" "Is it us"

"No No" I say "She was fine in the car, I'm not sure what's going on."
If she just give me my f*n kid back maybe I could figure it out, I'm thinking.

Bounce bounce, dance. "Friend" is doing something akin to a triple step swing whilst singing the alphabet song.

"I really need to..." I begin tentatively.

She interupts me. Like one of those precocious 2nd graders with too much validation at home. "shhhhhhh shhhhhh shhhh" she's hissing (yes at her rambunctious but certainly not piercingly loud children) Hissing loud enough that if her kids weren't bugging my wee one, I know for shit sure she was.

By now I'm regreting that i ever stopped. I'm wondering if I snatch her out of "friends" arms will she get hurt. What are the risks here?

I ask for my child back.
"Listen, could I..."

"Oh no" she wails, and turns her body as a shield, back to me. "Don't take her, I'll calm her down, please let me calm her down."

"Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh"

Her children are now completely inured to the novelty of a baby in the house and imploring "Friend" aka their Mom for whatever is is they required that second.
"Friend" is doing the equivilent of I-Can't-Hear-You" by walking faster, singing louder. I see a sea of legs, arms, hair. More commotion then I need really. Far more then miss ellie cares for.

Sweet Baby E is in full meltdown. I'm ready to join her.

"Listen" I start to bargain "I just need her for a minute. I need to see what's wrong. I'll give her back."

"You have to give her back" "Friend" sternly admonishes me as she pases her over.

I lift her up. I pace the house. 10 minutes pass. She's calm.

I come back in the room.
"Friend" asks for her back.
"I just got her calmed down" I say.
"Friend" takes her from my arms.

"Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh"

"Let me try" she says. Off she goes. Alphabet song, bounce, "Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah" Sing sing song song, dance, sing song. Bounce bounce. On it goes.

I'm pleading now for her. "Listen, I said I'd be home. I really need to get going. I'll come back some other time." I'm ready to promise my next kid if I can just get this one back.

"Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh Wah Wah Wah Wah wahhhh wahhhhhhhhhh wahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh wah awah wah awahhhhh ah wah awhahhhhh"

Finally the cries die down. There's whimpering involved. I see my poor flushed baby in her arms, limp, tired, defeated.

"See," she crows triumphantly "I knew I could get her to calm down."

Light Dawns

Do you know how people always say "a baby can sleep in a drawer?" Until I had Ellie, and until slightly after her birth I used to think "They must mean the bottom drawer because wouldn't the babies weight make it fall out of the bureau?"

SERIOUSLY.

Then I was like "Or do you close the drawer, like at a morgue. But then how do they breathe?" It just didn't make sense.

I finally figured out that they meant to take the drawer OUT of the dresser.

Never had this reality hit home more though then last night. Doug and I stayed over at the Ritz in Boston.

"Don't bring the porta-crib," he said. "I asked for two doubles; she can sleep in the middle of the other one."
"Perfect" I cheerily replied.

That night, as we placed her on the bed, we both immediately realized the error of our ways. As she sunk into the down coverlet, deeper still into the featherbed underneath, we looked at each other in dismay.
(btw - notice my reliance on the cliched above. Error of our ways. Looked on in dismay. It's 7am Sunday, I was up before 6 with these d*mn allergies. I need all the help I can get)

I looked at Doug. "We can't let her sleep like that" I said. He nodded. "I don't actually think she's going to roll over." he began, "but just to be of the safe side we probably shouldn't."

We start inspecting the bed. Hospital corners, double sheets, blankets firmly in place. "It's too much work to strip it" we agreed.

"What should we do?"

"We could put her in the bathtub" I pondered outloud.
Doug just looked at me. It seemed frightening. As if the water would somehow turn on automatically.

"Or on the floor" he said, motioning to an area by the foot of the bed, closer to the window.

I felt funny about it though. "What if we step on her?"
"When? he said. "When we get up to surf the internet in the middle of the night?"
"It seems mean" I dithered.
"It's no harder then her portacrib" he pointed out.
I bounced with my feet. "Rug's soft" I said. I thought about Dateline and bluelights. I thought about bugs crawling on her. I thought about the vent blowing on her head. I thought about a fire in the hotel. Fireman bursting in, unaware that she was on the floor and trampling her. What if one of us sleepwalked? I thought about how tired I was.

I dubiously checked the room drawers. Wondered if they were on rollers attached or if they would really pull out. Too small.

"Ok" I was hesitant. "Do we just, what?, put her down?"

We both started looking left to right. Waiting for something to reveal iteself. the shams, I started thinking. Aha! Into the bathroom, and out with a huge towel. I neatly place it on the floor, perfectly aligned with the foot of the bad. It makes a nice tableau. A virtual crib. We gently place her in the center and cover her with her blankie. I shove a pillow under the chair closet to the vent. To mitigate any rouge airflow underneath.

She's so sweet.

Into bed we climbed shortly after.
We heard her little Ellie noises.
"She's fine" he assured me. "She's fine.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I woke up. "I hear her little feet thumping."
"She's just looking for her thumb" he mumbles.
I peek over. I hear her breathing gently.

We sleep. The alarm goes off at 6. Thanks to room darkening blinds it's still midnight in the desert in there. I hear a thump. Ellie makes a noise.

She must be kicking her feet again, I think. I'll sleep a bit more.
Elllie makes a mewling sound. Well, she's still making noise, I think. I'm half asleep . Doug starts to get up.
"It's ok, I'll get her" I say.

He heads for the bathroom, and I for our baby.

"Oh ELLIE"
And there she was. Only a foot remaining on the towel, the rest of her body sideways, sleeping half under the office desk, her head at the table leg, her foot angled towards the chair.

"I think I know what that noise was a minute ago," I call out. He comes back in.
I point to her forehead against the table leg. Ellie sucking her thumb, sleeping soundly. Doug picks her up.

"No more floor for you" He kisses her and puts her on the bed.

And in that EXACT moment I suddenly realized why babies slept in drawers.

Things That Crossed My Mind Today

Aside from the usual thoughts of "Must sweep hair off bathroom floor" and "Is my sweet baby hungry" I generally spend the day idly (so to speak) thinking random, disconnected thoughts.

Today for example I caught myself woolgathering over the following. In approximately this order but in no way were these my only thoughts...

1. I really like Lucky Charms. They are actually magically delicious. I also screwed myself by siphoning out the marshmallows yesterday because today I had more cereal then marshmallow. Bummer. I was able to locate the REAL Lucky out of the 5 on the box, by using power of reasoning vs. foreknowledge. And finally, that I don't like the new leprechaun. As I write this I am also thinking that I don't know how to spell leprechaun. Then I spellchecked and was astonished that I did. Go me.

2. I was very cute at Heather's wedding 5 years ago. I really liked those teensy brown Banana "Martin" pants. I will never see that size again. That hotel was kind of dumpy too. Were their tiles missing from the floor?? I can't remember. And why-ever did I hook up with Mark briefly. ewww. Hey, I still have a picture of Carla and me from that wedding on the fridge...

3. Ellie's really cute. No really. Wow. Look how cute she is. Wow. I mean, she is really cute.

4. The lyrics to the song O Valencia are reminiscent of "Run Joey Run" (Daddy Please Don't and realistically West Side Story set to music. The Decemberists are also playing at The Orpheum Nov 4 which would be fun to go to but we talked about getting married the 3rd so we might not be able to do both.

5. I was hungry. Ellie was buckled in and we had to go. I opened the fridge and saw my Dole Fruit Naturals. Diced fruit in plastic containers with cellophane lids. I swear to you I actually had the following thought..."Argh. I can't take one of those. How'm I gonna eat it and drive? I wish there was something I could just grab, like those, but that didn't have packaging... that I could eat in the car...that wasn't junkfood. But what?
Oh, I dunno, fruit maybe?

6. Hey, I though Luigi Tailor's was closed. Did he go back into business? Was that his daughter Rose walking out? I though he retired. He's over 80. Oh god, do you remember when he tried to kiss me. Sigh. Sad.

7. I'm lucky that Doug provides a nice life for us. That I can spend time with Ellie and that we can sing, and laugh, and take our time leaving the house in the morning...and stop to buy fresh fruit at this farm stand. Our lives are good. I am very lucky. He's a good man.

8. This Walmart is really far away. Are the prices that much better here? Oh yeah, that's right. They are because I read that article about how they are a monopoly and the ruiniation of Vlasic pickles. I just need binders and they were super expensive at Staples. Oh here they are. Wow, these binders ARE cheap. Ohh look, a box of Lucky Charms.

9. Ellie's really cute. No really. Wow. Look how cute she is. Wow. I mean, she is really cute.

10. I want to be nominated for a one of those "new wardrobe" shows. Like Tim Gunn's. Guide to Style or What Not to Wear. I can show off all my vneck t-shirts. All 9 of them. I really need clothes. Of course they'll just tell me to shop for my new size. I should just ebay my Ann Taylor suits.

11. Why is my neighbor's child screaming like someone is carjacking her. SHUT UP already. Else I'm going to have to Say Something. Tag is NOT that much fun. It just isn't.

12. Ellie is still REALLY cute today. Wow. She's so cute.

13. Canned potatoes are fine. I'm just making a casserole. I may never use whole potatoes again. I wonder if the canned would be good in beef stew? Probably not. I should grab an extra can and fry them for a weekend breakfast with soy sauce. Like hash browns.

14. I had no way of seeing her in her aspen motor scooter with Ellie obstructing me from the grocery carriage. I almost rearended her. Shit that was close. I'm so sorry.

15. Mission aborted, macaroni down in aise 4. Hey Ellie, did you see that onesie that said "now that I'm safe I'm prochoice"? Yeah, I know, only Daddy and Heather would laugh.

16. Are those ferns dying? Did I over water them? Argh. We never should have planted this garden.

17. I don't want to go look in the drier. I don't want to know if the cushion cover shrunk. I should have dry cleaned it. Maybe Doug can look for me. The red probably faded. I have said a million times, don't lean her forward to burp her OVER the couch. It just doesn't make sense.

18. If anything ever happened to Doug I could never stay in this house without him. How do people raise children alone? I'd be so lonely without him. I hope I sleep tonight. Is this the first night I've slept apart from him since Ellie was born? Yes, it is actually. When was the last time before this? Oh that's right. When I was pregnant. That night was awful! I hope I don't turn the lights out and start worrying about "Where do we go when we die" Maybe I'll sleep in peanut's room. Hey, what was that noise? Oh, phew, just Ellie kicking her mattress trying to find her thumb. I'd go in and look but i swear, she scents me.

and finally. What was the quote I heard today?

"I can't change the way I am perceived, but I can change the way I am presenting". I like that.

Phew. Ok, maybe I'll sleep. Goodnight Daddy in your hotel. Belly and I miss you. wait, what was that noise...is the door locked?

But enough about me, how do YOU like my hat?

By now you are likely wondering "Well sure, but where's Ellie in all this?"

Ellie is peacefully sleeping in the bedroom beside me.

To Everything There Is a Season...Turn Turn Turn

The Byrds version please, not ecclesiastes.

Perhaps you may have noticed that my last several posts have been bitter. Strained.. Tense as it were. Yep, me too. It's frustratiing because I don't go through my days that way. Or exactly that way. But lately. Well, let's just say lately I've been less then perky..

"Why?," you ask. I have been asking myself the same thing. My home is good, my "husband" delightful, there's money in the bank, food on the stove (or in the plastic takeout container more realistically), I've got shoes on my feet, a new garden to tend. I enjoy Ellie, we have great days, the weather is spectacular. Life is good. Life is Very Good. So why the long face?

"It's having a baby," they say "You're tired."
"You're just feeling isolated," he suggests.
"You miss talking to other adults," she offered.

But none of those feel like the real answer.

"Think think think" I think. I'm frustrated. Something is bugging me but what?

So I called up Sheena, my old, now active therapist from days on yon.

"What's the matter with me?" I asked.

"There's no measurement." she replied. (Not as quickly as all that. She took about 40 minutes to get there.)

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Well, " she said. "You have no way of knowing how you are doing. There's no progress reports, no one on one's, no merit review. You're working everyday at this new job but you aren't getting any feedback."

I quickly protest "Doug's happy. He tells me he's happy. Ellie's doing great." I gesture to Ellie smiling in her pumpkin seat.

"Yes, I'm sure." she smiled at me. "But YOU need to know how you are doing. Comparatively."

I was aghast. "I don't want to be competitive! I want to be good at being a mom but I'm not looking to be in a contest." I protested.

"I'm sure your not" and she said as she earnestly leaned forward. "But if that's not exactly it, what parts of it do you think might be true."

So I thought about it.

"I think I'm failing." I said. "Not at being a mother, that seems to be the only part I get right. But daily, I question everything I do. I can't seem to make decisions. I want the house to look nice, so I buy curtains and comforters but end up returning them. I try to shop for Ellie and leave stores upset because I can't figure out her size. I spend 15 minutes at CVS buying diapers, and then question wether I could have gotten the cheaper at Target. I can't plan a meal. I can't decide which gym to join. I've tried shopping for myself and don't know how. I'm frustrating Doug. I'm frustrating myself. I tried to hire a mother's helper, and it ended up disastrously. The cleaning woman turned out to be a nut job. I'm afraid the garden will die because I won't take care of it properly. It feels like I'm bad at everything I do."

I paused. Then:

"You know, I've always walked up to the sale rack and picked the best option of what was on sale. I've never walked into a store with the idea "This is what I want" but always "What is the best I can find that I can settle for." And that reality is sort of a metaphor for my life. I know I want to join a gym but I'm so upset because I can't make a simple decision about it. I can join down the block but there is no childcare. So I'd have to go at night. It's only $27. But I could ALSO join the Y. It has childcare and a pool. But it's $85. Will I use it? If I join the Y Ellie can have swimming lessons. And do the Tumble Tots next year. So do I join now, while the weather is nice? Or should I wait until November when she's six months and can join swim and I can't walk outside any longer. $85 is a lot of money. Plus I won't meet many moms. What about Stroller Striders? I like that but I didn't really get a workout. But there are lots of moms. Can I do both? No, that's too much money."

I stop. Paralyzed. Frustrated. "See, this is what I mean. I can't make a decision about anything!"

She laughed at me. "You aren't bad at anything you do. Think about it. You are learning how to be a homeowner, a decorator, a gardener, a mother, a wife, a neighbor, and a cook. That's a lot to take on. And you don't have any resources to do this. You are trying things you've never tried before. You've never owned a house, you've never lived with anyone, you've never had to plan family meals. Everything you are doing you are doing for the first time, and OF COURSE it's unfamiliar. That doesn't mean you are making mistakes, it just means that you are learning."

So I let it sit with me for a bit.
And I think she's right.

Mommy Dearest

I've held on to a relationship that has never been good because the adage "You only have one mother. You have to be good to her" echoes in my mind.

I can't imagine that at this advanced age I'm about to confess to...Mother Issues. And I don't mean my own ability to parent.

Doug insists that no woman has a decent relationship with her mother. How trivializing. This from a man who has great relationships primarily due to the fact that he ignores most people. Thus overlooks their flaws. He's a favorite.

Sigh. Hope sprung eternal until several weeks ago. I think the camels back broke. No one wants to read a treatise on what, why and how. I think Barnes & Noble has a section devoted to it.

Doug says that my mother, given every opportunity, will always take the low road. Not by design, she just will naturally complicate the issue.

My mother would argue that it's me. That she can do no right in my eyes.

For the longest time I believed her. I must be too hard on her, I thought. I should try seeing her side. She'd manage to do something wildly inappropriate and yet I'd be chastised for taking offense. So I'd look at it from her point of view. I mean, really, if you are Very Good and Very Smart, you can actually justify almost any behavior as acceptable. Which I did. (Much to my detriment I might add because I also learned to justify OTHERS bad behavior towards me.) I didn't always agree but I always defended. Then about 5 years ago, I started talking to her about changing the pattern. I assumed because we were close that our relationship had room for honestly and truth. Certainly after years of "Going along to get along" we could disagree? But we really couldn't. As it turns out, she didn't want a relationship, she wanted validation. Unswerving.

Ok, I thought. We'll do this slowly. Using all the tools in my counseling arsenal, tried inching over the line a toe at a time. Fights ensued.

She begs to differ but then, consider the source.

As brilliant as I am, she's no dummy either. And for her every action, there was an argument, a validation. Her actions were a direct result of her feelings, and her feelings were, after all, The Facts. Like all lies, sure, her feelings had elements of truth threading through them. But the motivations she ascribed to things?! Completely mythological. Follow my bad analogy here...it's as if her mind was a garden with polluted soil. So even the best planted seeds metamorphisized into something bastardized, something tainted. Left to long as the architect, keeping her own counsel and cultivating her own garden; her mind and her operating system became too tangled, and too dense to cut through anymore.

So time passed and we were at an impasse. I kept trying because I truly would never want to hurt someone else. And I knew the day I stopped trying would be a Very Sad Day. I'm unwilling to have a false relationship at this level so it's either real, or over.

The last year and a half has been the worst ever. She's been beyond awful. I thought about telling her that only someone who still had hope would bother to argue. That I continued to try to negotiate a relationship with her because I didn't want to give up. I thought about asking her to write down her definition of what a good relationship is then seeing if we could build it.

But suddenly, sadly, I've decided to give up. I equated trying with loving. And now I'm quitting. I'm not calling, not visiting, not inviting. I'm not cultivating, defending, ignoring, manipulating. I'm not doing anything. I am Giving Up. You can't be good to someone who believes that no one is ever good to her.

It's a tremendously sad day for me because I'll cross the street to help load a grocery carriage for a complete stranger. I'll stop and talk to an old woman 35 minutes so she's less alone. I visit the cobbler just to say hello. The fact that I'm going to withdraw my attention and treat her as I would treat anyone else who behaves the way she does is painful. She's going to have to earn my affection and trust.

It breaks my heart because I don't think she's capable of it.

Give it a Breast Already

So I was in Babies R Us Wednesday. It was 1:30 and Ellie was just starting to realize that she hadn't eaten in over 4 hours. She wasn't crying, or even whimpering, but I thought to myself "Let's catch this at the onset." So to the mother's lounge I went.

Knock knock, I tapped then pushed the door open.
And there, in front of me, was a Smug Breastie.

Oh you know the type. Holding their breast in one hand, leaning forward making sure little Harrison, never Harry, was getting enough out of his Sacred Cow.

Now let's be clear about this. I'm not against breast feeding. I'm not Anti-Naked Boob. I could care less if you want to whip out your ta-ta's. If it works for you, fabulous. In public? You're ok, then I'm ok. Just don't be upset if I stare.

What aggravates that crap out of me is the smugness of NEW breastfeeders. Every single time I go into Babies R Us I run into one of these assholes.

"Yes" she said sanctimoniously. "We've decided to breastfeed Ava for at least 6 months. I'm tired though. Up every three hours but we think it's worth it."

"My pediatrician says no bottles for at least six weeks," she told me. "Evan will have nipple confusion."

Good for you, I say. To them.

To you, my friends I say the following.

"We decided that breastfeeding is best? It's worth it?"
Worth it how exactly? Unless it's for 100% financial reasons I'm not convinced that breastfeeding is "better". I get that there are untold number of "Studies". Fine. Studies also showed that cigarettes helped woman lose weight.

"Oh but breastfed babies are more alert, brighter, develop quicker."
I'm not arguing that. But can you say that's a result of the breastmilk or the fact that the majority of breastfeeders are college educated?

"Well, breastmilk has more nutrients."
Ok. Sure again. But can you definitively prove that with all the bovine growth hormones and bioengeneered foods that we eat, that our breastmilk isn't contaminated?

Then you get the angry breastfeeders. The ones who say "I don't ask you to eat in a bathroom, why should my baby? Breastfeeding is natural." So's peeing. Get a better argument.

I f*cking hate breastfeeders. Honestly.

It's like new parents get this bee in their bonnet. I'm a new mom and I need some sort of benchmark that I'm a good mom. So I'm going to pick this one thing, breastfeeding, and hang my hat on it. It's going to validate me as a mother. I Breastfeed therefore I am Good.

I just want to say - you know what, talking to your baby, singing to your baby, holding your baby, having a good marriage, having a clean environment, going to the doctor - those are equally important. If you smoke like a chimney, are 20 pounds plus overweight, if you are a bitch on wheels because you are tired, then you are doing as much damage as good. Dropping dead of your red meat habit at 62 is going to traumatize your "baby" a hell of a lot more then whether they had your boob in their mouth for 10 months.

I had a friend who said "I breastfeed for me. It forces me to sit with him, to focus on him. I love the half hour alone. Sitting quietly. Talking to him. I feel like his mother. I feel like he needs me."

She had the only argument I have no argument with.

A Baby Song...A Love Song

Did you ever hear a song that you've heard a million times and suddenly realize that it's actually ABOUT something?

Back when I made that futile attempt to breastfeed (for which I thank god daily that it never worked out)I had a play list called Pumping Mix.

For obvious reasons.

In theory it was supposed to relax me whilst I allowed the Medela Symphony to do it's wild magic. Shortly after it was renamed the Feeding Mix. Now it's Ellie's Soothing Mix. Most of the songs I hand selected but a few I gathered off Doug's system, after sorting by Genre. Labeled as Folk, I liked the melody and added it. I inevitably skipped over it.

Until Wednesday. While Ellie was napping, I was typing, her mix playing in the background. And I heard the lines:

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows...

I had always assumed the song was about a break-up, or at a minimum a beginning. Trite folk angst. Like poor Jewel singing about her cup of coffee for one. Blah blah blah. Meloncholy whine.

It sounds, I thought, like it could be about a baby.

type type...www.google.com "Dar Williams The One Who Knows Lyrics Meaning"

aha!

So if you can find it, listen to it.

Time it was I had a dream
And you're the dream come true
And if I had the world to give
I'd give it all to you.
I'll take you to the mountains
I will take you to the sea
I'll show you how this life became
A miracle to me.

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

All the things you treasure most
Will be the hardest one
I will watch you struggle on
For the answers come
But I won't make it harder
I'll be there to cheer you up
I'll shine the light that guides you down
The road you're walking on

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

Before the mountains call to you
Before you leave this home
When I teach your heart to trust
As I will teach my own
But sometimes I will ask the moon
Where it shined upon you last
And shake my head and let me say
It all went by so fast

You'll fly away
but take my hand until that day
So when they ask how far love goes
When my job's done, you'll be the one who knows.

You're Always Meeting New People

People walk up to baby carriages and say "Now that's the life. Laying down, having someone push you around, wiping your butt for you...you eat, sleep, burp. That's as good as it gets."

Really? REALLY?

Because 30 years from now in your life that's going to be called Alzheimer's and I can't imagine you're looking forward to it.

Setting Limits

We live in a culture of "you have to do what's right for you" (YHTDWRFY) yet on the other it's "Live and Let Live" (L&LL). So what do we do when someone else's L&LL impedes your YHTDWRFY?

Since having Ellie I find myself frequently wondering "Where do someone's else rights stop, and mine begin?" Maybe it's because now I'm the mother deadlines, timeframes and boundaries have become that much more important to me. My time is, after all, no longer my own. It's stolen in chunks, interwoven with naps. I find myself fiercely protecting rights that I had long since abdicated. I find myself constantly questioning "Do I have the right to ask for this? Or to be upset by this? Or to require this?"

I find myself constantly having to assert myself - in areas where I'm confused that someone had the temerity to trespass. And when I do insist on pointing out boundaries defined by longstanding social mores, I'm shocked by the inevitable response of "Well, I was just doing what I thought was best" or "I was just doing what was "right" for me to do."

Really?

One of the downsides of living in a generation of babyboomer inspired therapy is that we now have a culture of "Just do it", "Never give up", and "You need to be true to yourself." From reality shows, to movie celebrities, to Oprah - we are a culture of post-therapy individuals that sincerely believe that as long as you are just protecting your interests, you have every right to demand, bully, cajole, enforce, sulk or steamroll over others to get your way - so long as it all flies under the banner of "I was just doing what's right for me."

Essentially, we have created a culture of narcissists wildly, adamantly, and frequently demanding their "right" to be...well...right.

Let's say you accept that. Let's say I accept that. What about the fineprint? The part of Just Do It that reads "And Accept The Consequences of Your Actions".

Why is that so consistently lost? It seems that everfyone takes the BEGINNING to heart but doesn't pay the piper. Everyone knows that in AA you have to admit you have a problem. But do they know that Steps 2-12 are about making amends?? You don't get to just say "Yep, well, I have a disease." You have to MOVE ON and do whats good for the whole.

We all love a snapshot, a headline, a catch phrase. We see and spout "Just do what's right for you" but we constantly fail to footnote that systems are interdependent. You can't just "Do your own thing" because you can't dismiss the fact that "your own thing" has implications for others.

So what do you do when faced with a group of people who take no responsibility for their actions? Who hide behind "I was doing what I thought was best." with no apologies, no sense of consequence and no sense that relationships are not autocracies.

I had a therapist once to whom I wailed that there must be something wrong with me. How could I be finding fault with 5 seperate people. It couldn't be them, it must be me.

To which she replied "Yes, it is you. The one thing each of these people have in common is that you allowed all of them into your life. So if you picked badly once, it's possible that you picked badly all five times."

...and I'll be to Scotland before ye....

My sister once said
"The only thing good about the high road is that the traffic is lighter."

So here is what I have to say about the last week and 3 days:

1. "Mom, Don't go into my pocketbook after I expressly asked you twice not to. The keys weren't in there and regardless of the fact that you were "trying to help" I specifically used the words "PLEASE DO NOT OPEN MY BAG". For all you know I could have had a 10-inch dildo, a hypodemic, or diamond earrings for your next birthday in there. It wasn't that you went INTO my pocketbook that was offensive, it was offensive that you did it AFTER I told you not to."

2. "Laurie, Ellie doesn't need 6 stuffed animals, 5 size 12 month summer outfits, 2 bibs, a lucite floating poem with an inspirational saying and a cheap splintery basket. We have discussed, at length, and over the years, the fact that you are a compulsive shopper. Do not use my daughter as an excuse to justify your inability to stop shopping. Additionally, the fact that you "hadn't bought her anything before now" does NOT absolve you of blatently disregarding my feelings on excess, clutter, unneccessary items, and keeping to a minimum 'the Ellie gifts'."

3. Doug, you are an excellent father and a wonderful man. Stop getting angry at me for offering to help. I'm not undermining you, questioning you or impuning your abilities. She's crying, you're struggling, I might be able to help. When I am holding her, and she cries, and you offer to help - I say yes.

4. Mom, I asked you if you were going to BJs and would you buy me a case of Size 2 Pampers Swaddlers while you were there. You said yes. I'm aware that a case is approximatelty 150 diapers. I'm aware that size 2's are good up to 18 pounds. I know what I asked for because she's my daughter and I change her approximately 9 times a day. I'm familiar with both her weight and size. I'm completely NOT grateful for the size 2-3s that you brought home because "You thought I'd never use all the size 2's. That there was "no way" I would so you got me what you thought was best." There is way. She weighs 15 pounds. She's not going to gain 3 pounds in 30 days. I asked for a favor because you begrudge not being needed. You choose to do what you want regardless. I now have a case of diapoers for October or November but had to stop at Target for the size 2's."

5. Lisa, If you say one more time, in any variation, that you'd enjoy "staying home all day" or that "It must be nice to be able to do what I want, when I want" I'm going to scream. You know absolutely nothing about my life, nmy days, my strugggles, my finances. What we gave up to get, what makes our lives work and where the fractures are. I had a baby, I stay home. It's not all "Pass me the remote while I finish these bon bons." Yes, I am staying home. To raise Ellie. And it's a full time fucking job. So enough about the cake walk that's my life. And don't placate me with "Oh I know how busy you must be, how crazy". Not to make a cheap shot here but actually, no you DON'T know how busy I am, or what my life is like. Not because you aren't smart enough or intuitive enough but because you are one of the worst listeners I have ever met.

I'm tired of taking the high road because someone else had "good intentions". I'm tired of looking at their motivations. I get it. I get it. They meant well, I need to turn the other cheek.

Why?

I just want to say "Don't value-add people. You only fuck it up."