Tuesday, January 30, 2007

Bullets over Bedhead

Part II in an occasional series

  • Here's something that you shouldn't do when you're home alone at 10 p.m. and you're easily spooked. You shouldn't watch a special about the Boston Strangler. Just don't do it. I think I'll be sleeping with my eyes propped open until TCBIM gets home.
  • I bought a dress on Friday. It looks fanTAStic on me. Of course, I forgot my camera, so you'll just have to take my word for it, but it did. But high heels? Ouch. I'd forgotten how much they hurt. even if they were adorable, peep-toed, black satin lovlies.
  • And I got a push-em-up-where-they-belong bra that made me look va-va-voom. It was a men-talking-to-my-cleavage kind of evening. Which was kind of nice, since I have felt like frump girl for a mighty long time.
  • Having more than two drinks after three years of being pregnant/nursing and only having the odd glass of wine every few weeks is a Very Bad Idea. We went to a wedding on Saturday - thus the buying of the dress - and I had several drinks. Sunday was mostly spent lazing around, dozing on the couch.
  • O had an appointment at Joslin today. It went well. Her 14- and 7-day average was 146, which is fantastic. She had a few lows in those two weeks, which the doctor wants me to watch. And we have to be more vigilant about changing her site every two days. We've been letting it go for three or four and it's starting to show in her arms and belly. There is some scarring and she's had a couple of infected sites.
  • I have to call Minimed tomorrow and get her on the Quicksets. We haven't tried them in two years - she started off using them and they'd crimp up on her. One time, she was sent into DKA and wound up in the hospital for a few days. It sucked.
  • She's also gained 9 lbs in three months. This concerns me more than the endo, who seemed to think it was from feeding the insulin. Regardless, something needs to be done about it, before O becomes more than just a little pudgy. I don't want to harp on her about her weight, but I also don't want to let her get fat.
  • The parking garage at Joslin still sucks ass.
  • And I was gone for twelve hours today. Twelve. I drove from one end of the state to the other and I am tired. G'night.

Monday, January 29, 2007

A budding gourmand

Boo is not your typical toddler. While having a definite fondness for a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich, she turns her nose up at the usual toddler fair. Hot dogs? Won't touch them. Chicken nuggets? Uh uh. Grilled cheese? No way.

It was no surprise that she refused to touch the Hamburger Helper I served tonight. (Shut up. It was on sale for $1. Desperation dinner. The chicken I took out of the freezer yesterday was still half-frozen.) I gave hers to the dog. But, you know, she's right. It's disgusting. I'm giving mine to the dog, too. Last time I ever make that shit. Edited to add: TCBIM is eating mine. Philistine.

I made some butternut squash enchiladas that Red Stapler had posted on her blog. They were tasty, if a bit mushy. Boo loves them. She'll eat hummus until it comes out of her ears. Last night, she ate a huge handful of jalapeno and cheese potato chips. Her eyes were watering, but she persisted, taking huge swigs of milk to wash them down.

She likes Grape-Nuts, steel cut oatmeal with cranberries, curried lamb and couscous. She'll drink seltzer water - not flavoured, just plain old seltzer. She likes prune juice, fer Pete's sake. Prune juice!??! Blech.

I'm glad she has such an adventurous palate, but it does make it difficult to order off the kid's menu on the rare times we do take her out to eat.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

How To Eat A Peanut Butter And Jelly Sandwich

by Boo, age two

First, hop up and down and tug on your mama's leg and yell "Butter jelly, butter jelly, butter jelly, mama!" over and over again. She will put you into your high chair. Try to avoid being buckled in because when you're buckled, you can't turn the light switch off and on and off and on and off and on. It's kind of fun to hear Mama yell "Boo! Sit down on your bum and stop that!" If she does buckle you in, you can always bang on the tray until the sandwich arrives.

When Mama puts the sandwich on your plate, take it apart and inspect it to make sure she made it correctly.

Then, give it a lick. Finally, take a bite out of the tip. Do this for each quarter of the sandwich.

After taking bites out of all the corners, scrub the sandwich in your hair. This will make your hair stick up in new and interesting ways. It will also make Mama shriek and yell "No, Boo! I just washed your hair!" Of course, by that time, it will be too late. The jelly will be a sticky mess and the peanut butter will have gunked up good.

Inspect the crusts to make sure they are of equal size.

Mash them all over your high chair tray and tell Mama "I cleanin', Mama." Watch her put her hands over her eyes and sigh heavily.

Then rub the rest of the crusts all over your hands, paying particular attention to the bits in between your fingers and getting under each and every fingernail. Listen to Mama sob as she gets a washcloth and paper towels.

I do clean up nicely, though.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

If it's not one thing, it's your mother.

My mother comes over on Wednesdays, ostensibly to help me for the day with the babies and to visit. Usually, however, these visits entail me having to wait on her hand and foot.

"If you'd make some tea, I'd be happy to drink some." Sure, I'd love some fresh tea. I've only reheated mine four times now.

"There are some bags in the back of my car that you could get." This while I'm trying to nurse the Bug and trying to stop Boo from squeezing the cat to death/colouring on the walls/eating crayons.

"What can you fix me for lunch?" Half-eaten mac & cheese. Half-eaten peanut butter & jelly. Half-eaten apples and cheese. Are you sensing a half-eaten theme here?

"How about a glass of water?" How about one?

"When are you going to move those boxes/set up Boo's bed/put up the playpen?" Shut. Up.

"I wish you'd re-arrange your bedroom the way I think it should be." I'll get right on that - I mean, really, I have nothing else to do.

"Do you want me to buy you a new dish drainboard? I just hate yours." Um, NO, mother. I LIKE it and YOU never do dishes. And, hello? MY house. Mine.

It's driving me crazy. How do I confront her about this, though? I mean, she's driving an hour out here, once a week. But this prima donna routine is getting old. I am so frazzled with taking care of the babies and O and TCBIM, who is now working TWO jobs, so is really never, ever, ever home, that I cannot add an able-bodied adult to the mix. I just can't. No amount of "Could you please get it yourself? I'm rather busy right now," does any good. She just says "I'll wait."

Seriously, people, I'm losing my mind.

In other news, I am going to New York City at the end of March and I cannot fucking WAIT! Cannot. Wait. I need a break so badly that it's not funny. I'm taking O, but leaving the babies home with TCBIM. Hah. HAH! Wait, what's that I'm feeling? I do believe it's glee. Yes. Glee. That would about cover it.

Ahhhhh. New York City. How do I love thee?

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

In the middle of the night....

The Bug cries and I slip out of bed to retrieve her from her bassinet. I quickly get back under the covers with her, happily sliding back into the warmth of the duvet, the comfort of the flannel sheets. Her head snuggles into the crook of my arm as she starts to nurse, the dim glow of the bedside lamp falling on her downy head. She falls into a sleepy rhythm that half-hypnotizes me. Her fingers curl through strands of my hair and her eyes meet mine as we gaze at each other. Her hand reaches up, fingers brushing my cheek, my lips and then go back to my hair. Her nursing rhythm slows and finally stops as her eyelids droop over her sleepy blue eyes. I cuddle her gently, so as not to wake her, my hand softly stroking her fuzzy little head, my heart full of a love so intense that it's nearly painful, nearly takes my breath away, this final baby of mine. Her thumb stabs at her face, seeking her mouth. Finding it, she falls more deeply to sleep.

Easing out of bed, I lift her up and gently deposit her back in her bassinet. As I place her on the mattress, pulling her blankets up around her shoulders, she lets out a huge burp, smiles in her sleep and starts to snore.

Monday, January 22, 2007

Blog For Choice

Blog for Choice Day - January 22, 2007

Today is Blog For Choice. You can read more about it here.

I have hesitated about putting up this post this all day, just because I'm a little concerned about the reaction I might get. I think I'll probably moderate comments, or at least disallow anonymous ones. This is a touchy subject.

I had an abortion when I was 18 years old. I was a sophomore in college and completely ...insane is too strong a term, but I certainly wasn't what anyone would consider mentally healthy. I had just ended a three-year, emotionally abusive relationship the summer before going back to college and was in a continuing love/neglect relationship with my father. I was desperate for some affection and when I met D, we just clicked. We were both fucked up and we became immediately inseperable. And then I got pregnant.

In my rational moments, I knew I was incapable of taking care of a baby. I was in school. My mother would kill me. The fact that I had smoked pot and drank like a fish in the 6 or 7 weeks before the penny dropped and I realized I'd missed my period also had something to do with it. But mostly, I just knew I couldn't handle it. I knew that D couldn't handle it. Even if we'd had a healthy relationship, instead of this desperately needy one, we were both too immature.

D and I talked about it and both decided we weren't ready. We weren't ready to start a family, we weren't ready to be that committed to each other. We didn't have the desire to have a baby. Not then. It was not an easy decision to reach. We both cried about it, talked about it endlessly, questioned ourselves and each other to make sure we were making the right decision. In the end, we agreed it would be better to not have a baby.

So I went to the clinic. It's all sort of a blur. I remember it hurting a bit and that I fainted after, but that's all I remember of the actual procedure. After was the worst. I had doubts. I had second thoughts. I cried a lot. D and I drifted apart and I quit school and moved back home for a bit. D and I talked on the phone now and again. We both sought counselling, seperately, without telling each other. Eventually, we got back together and stayed together for another two years or so. I don't regret not having a child with him, or not having a child at that time.

I do think about it sometimes, though. What my life might have been like, had I decided to have a baby. I don't think it would have been a very good life. I don't think I would have been a very good mother.

I'm glad I had the choice. It's not a decision I made lightly, which, I believe, is how it should be. Abortion should not be used as birth control. It should, however, be readily accessible and inexpensive. It should not be opposed because of religious beliefs. If you don't believe it's the right thing to do, then don't have one. But don't impose your religion on me. I firmly believe that it is a woman's choice and that the government should stay out of it.

Sunday, January 21, 2007

I KNEW I was royalty

Behold, I now have a title.

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is:
Her Most Serene Highness Lady Julia the Mirthful of Bumpstead under Carpet
Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

You may change your blogroll to reflect my new status. Please let me know yours, so I may address you properly.

Friday, January 19, 2007

Brought to you by....

Or: How Many YouTube Videos Can You Fit In One Blog Entry?

I was bored today, can you tell?

Sesame Street skits used to be way more drug-influenced than they are now.

That's Stockard Channing up there.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

Someone should gag Bill O'Reilly

It should surprise no one that I don't like Bill O'Reilly. But the other night, he made a statement that absolutely disgusted me. He claimed that the reason Shawn Hornbeck never ran away from his kidnapper was because "The situation...looks to me to be a lot more fun than what he had under his old parents. He didn't have to go to school. He could run around and do whatever he wanted."

I can't even write coherently, I'm so appalled by that. What? LIKED it? Are you a scared 11 year-old, Bill? Have you ever been kidnapped? Molested as a child? If you never have, then shut the fuck up. I don't know what gives you the right to say how this kid felt or discuss what he experienced as though you were there.

He owes that boy a huge apology.

Blog For Choice

Blog for Choice Day - January 22, 2007

Suzanne, over at CUSS, brought this to my attention. I think it's a great idea. If you'd like to participate in Blog For Choice, click on the button and sign yourself up.

Hopefully my stance on this subject surprises no one.

Wednesday, January 17, 2007

Day 7

All the girls have my last name as their second middle name. This morning, O came to me and asked me if she could go to court and legally change her name from her father's last name to just mine. I told her I didn't know, but that I thought her father would have to sign off on that. I did tell her that when she was 18, she could change it herself, if she still wanted to.

She told TCBIM that he's been more of a father to her than her own dad.

I think he's driven the final nail in the coffin this time.

He still hasn't called her. It's now Day 7.

Monday, January 15, 2007

Oy. And vey.

Do you remember me gloating over this little pecadillo? Yeah, well, I shouldn't have. Remind me, next time I start in with the schadenfreude to just knock that shit off, ok?

Here are the players, in case you're keeping score at home:
O = my daughter
P = O's dad, my ex-husband.
K = P's estranged, now re-stranged, wife.

O's father called her on Thursday and told her he was getting back together with his wife. To say that O took it badly would be putting it mildly. She sobbed. She raged. Her blood sugars went thru the roof.

We snuggled on her bed and talked a lot on Thursday evening. She does not want to see K, her dad's wife, ever again. I don't want her seeing K again. K, according to what P has told me, is a drunk. She locked O in her room once, when she was mad at her. I just found that one out a few weeks ago. P said that he'd found pot in her house. (Pot doesn't bother me, but it is illegal and I don't think O needs to be exposed to it at this point in her life. She's only 12.) P has said that K has thrown things at him. K had P arrested. It's a fucking mess. A mess. And I don't want O in the middle of that. O doesn't want to be in the middle of that.

So I called the guidance counsellor at her school. The counsellor agreed with me that O doesn't need to be subjected to that, that when O told her that her father was getting divorced, O was ecstatic. I told the counsellor what was going on now and she is going to talk to O tomorrow about it. In the meantime, I'm going to find a therapist for O to talk to as well.

Tonight, O told me that she was going to tell her dad that if he wanted to wreck his life by getting back together with K, then that was his business, but if he did, she, O, had no desire to see him any more. Ouch. I'm completely behind her on this, though. I think it may be bordering on dangerous to let O go over to that house.

O said that when her dad told her all this stuff, he just blurted it out and then basically hung up on her, never let her say anything in return. He hasn't called her since then. What a chicken shit.

I'm telling you, the fun never ends at Casa Bedhead.

Friday, January 12, 2007

In which I get all political on your asses

Do you watch Keith Olbermann on MSNBC? My liberal, tree-hugging, crunchy-granola heart loves him to bits. To. Bits. He says things that I think, only he says them better and in a public forum. Things like this:
"Mr. Bush, the question is no longer “what are you thinking?,” but rather “are you thinking at all?”

Last night, in his Special Comment, he read a list of things that Bush has said over the years about this debacle in Iraq. I knew all this stuff, but to hear it read back to back to back like that really drove it home, just how wrong-headed this President is, just how awful he has been for this country.

  • Before Mr. Bush was elected, he said nation-building was wrong for America.
  • Now he says it is vital.
  • He said he would never put U.S. troops under foreign control.
  • Last night he promised to embed them in Iraqi units.
  • He told us about WMD.
  • Mobile labs.
  • Secret sources.
  • Aluminum tubes.
  • Yellow-cake.
    He has told us the war is necessary:
  • Because Saddam was a material threat.
  • Because of 9/11.
  • Because of Osama Bin Laden. Al-Qaida. Terrorism in general.
  • To liberate Iraq. To spread freedom. To spread Democracy. To prevent terrorism by gas price increases.
    Because this was a guy who tried to kill his dad.
  • Because — 439 words in to the speech last night — he trotted out 9/11 again.
  • In advocating and prosecuting this war he passed on a chance to get Abu Musab Al-Zarqawi.
  • To get Muqtada Al-Sadr. To get Bin Laden.
  • He sent in fewer troops than the generals told him to. He ordered the Iraqi army disbanded and the Iraqi government “de-Baathified.”
  • He short-changed Iraqi training. He neglected to plan for widespread looting. He did not anticipate sectarian violence.
  • He sent in troops without life-saving equipment. He gave jobs to foreign contractors, and not Iraqis. He staffed U.S. positions there, based on partisanship, not professionalism.
  • He and his government told us: America had prevailed, mission accomplished, the resistance was in its last throes.
  • He has insisted more troops were not necessary. He has now insisted more troops are necessary.
  • He has insisted it’s up to the generals, and then removed some of the generals who said more troops would not be necessary.
  • He has trumpeted the turning points:
  • The fall of Baghdad, the death of Uday and Qusay, the capture of Saddam. A provisional government, a charter, a constitution, the trial of Saddam. Elections, purple fingers, another government, the death of Saddam.
  • He has assured us: We would be greeted as liberators — with flowers;
  • As they stood up, we would stand down. We would stay the course; we were never about “stay the course.”
  • We would never have to go door-to-door in Baghdad. And, last night, that to gain Iraqis’ trust, we would go door-to-door in Baghdad.
  • He told us the enemy was al-Qaida, foreign fighters, terrorists, Baathists, and now Iran and Syria.
  • He told us the war would pay for itself. It would cost $1.7 billion. $100 billion. $400 billion. Half a trillion. Last night’s speech alone cost another $6 billion.
  • And after all of that, now it is his credibility versus that of generals, diplomats, allies, Democrats, Republicans, the Iraq Study Group, past presidents, voters last November and the majority of the American people.
Mr. Bush, this is madness.
You have lost the military. You have lost the Congress to the Democrats. You have lost most of the Iraqis. You have lost many of the Republicans. You have lost our allies.
You are losing the credibility, not just of your presidency, but more importantly of the office itself.
And most imperatively, you are guaranteeing that more American troops will be losing their lives, and more families their loved ones. You are guaranteeing it!
This becomes your legacy, sir: How many of those you addressed last night as your “fellow citizens” you just sent to their deaths.
And for what, Mr. Bush?
So the next president has to pull the survivors out of Iraq instead of you?

I'm glad, finally, that people are speaking up, that Congress and the Senate are fighting back, that the Democrats have the majority in both houses, but what the hell took so long? How did so many people allow themselves to be persuaded by this guy? Was everyone really that afraid? Did everyone decide that they'd rather give up their personal freedoms on the off chance that we might be safer some day? Did no one think that going in to the Middle East was only going to increase how pissed off the fundamentalists were going to get? I don't get it. I've never gotten it. Bush is now able to listen to our phone conversations, read our emails and intercept our regular mail and he's done all this via special signing statements, not by going through the normal routes and getting warrants. No, just because he says he can, thus, hey, presto, he can. How does this not outrage everyone? Why are people just sitting back and saying "Ok, go ahead, read my mail, listen to my phone calls, I don't care." Well, you bloody well SHOULD care!

The November elections were a great start. Now, please, please, please, can we elect someone in 2008 who can act more like a President and less like a dictator?

Thursday, January 11, 2007

Fashionably Late

It's National De-Lurking week. Sure, the week's almost over, but it's Thursday and Thursdays are slow days, usually, so leave me a comment while you're wasting time at work.

Graphic courtesy of four kids and a dog

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

The weight thing

I have issues (and if that isn't a No shit, Sherlock statement, nothing is). Issues with self-esteem that mainly stem from my weight and body image and all that lovely crap. I weigh too much. I'm not going to say how much, but I need to lose a considerable amount of weight. It's not gastric bypass-worthy, but it's pushing it. So, yeah. Yuck.

I'm taking part in the OC New Me Challenge. I've pledged to lost 30 lbs. I can't kick in that much money, but I figure kicking in even a little bit will help keep me in line. Are there many of you OC-ers out there doing this?

I was also inspired by this post over at Oh, The Joys (who's a fucking riot and if you aren't reading her regularly, put her on your blogroll and do it now), I have dragged out my old Weight Watchers stuff. Last time I did it, I lost 40 lbs. Of course, I promptly got knocked up with the baby I lost before I got pregnant with the Boo, but now that TCBIM has been snipped, I shouldn't have to worry about that. (Unless Johnny Depp comes knocking, but that's another fantasy for another time.)

I've only been doing this for four days but I've already lost five pounds. Five! Yay! Go, me. I guess I need to take a picture of my scale and send it to Allison.

And in other news, we have heat!! Whahooooooooooo!

TCBIM got a second job, tending bar. We had been talking about me going to work at someplace like Barnes & Noble or Whole Foods, but this came up for him. We'll see if he makes enough money doing two nights a week. I don't really like the idea of him bartending - the hours are going to suck for him and the temptation to have a few after hours are going to be there - but hopefully he'll make enough to make it worth his while.

Tuesday, January 09, 2007

There she goes again

My sister and her girlfriend left this morning for California. They don't know when or if they'll be coming back - maybe next Christmas. She's my only sibling and while we don't always see eye to eye, we are still close. Boo and O love her. I feel like I was really just getting to know her girlfriend - she's a really lovely person, but quiet and sometimes that's difficult when you're around my family. We can be kind of loud.

I'm just bummed that she's gone, that she's not ten minutes down the road any more, that she can't just pop around for a drink or a movie or a game of Cosmic Wimpout. In a way, I hope they don't like it out there and decide to come back after six months, but I doubt it. The place they're moving to is just their style and even more progressive than it is out here in the Happy Valley.

I also found out some really disturbing news about a friend of mine. Her father molested her as a child and when she went home for Christmas, he did it again. She doesn't know that I know this and I'm only going to talk to her about it if she brings it up, but it's making me sick. I can't talk to TCBIM about it either because I don't want him inadvertently saying anything to her.

What makes people do that? It has to be some sort of sickness because it's just unfathomable to me. And what can I do for my friend, besides listen, if she does talk to me about it? I have no experience with this (thankfully). I don't know anyone who's experienced it, or if they have, they've never talked to me about it. She told her brother about it and he believed her but ever since she told him, he hasn't come home. They share a flat and she hasn't seen or heard from him since then. She's afraid to tell her other sister for fear of the same reaction.

It does explain so much about her - she hates to be hugged, emotions make her so uncomfortable that she either laughs or leaves the room and she has a tendency to binge drink at times. I kind of hope she does talk to me about it because I hate knowing something like that about someone I care about.


Edited to add: And in the Duh category: Diabetes Care Magazine had this article today.

A gratuitous Bug Shot, to lighten the tone a little....

Saturday, January 06, 2007

Major Bedhead meets General Malaise

I'm starting to get sick of myself. I feel like all I do is complain on here and I hate that. I don't want to be that person whose blog you dread reading, who gives you a feeling of dread when you see it's been updated because you just know it's going to be some new tale of woe.

I want to post funny things and happy things and goofy things and ranty things about politics and government and the Red Sox. I don't want to keep posting about all the crap that's going on over here. But I can't seem to find the funny or happy or goofy or even the ranty. It's just sort of gone, lost in this ennui that may be from the new anti-depressant or may be from all the craptastic shit that's been going on, or both.

I'm not taking a break, I just don't have much to say right now. I'm barely reading the blogs I like and I'm hardly commenting and it's making me feel a bit guilty. I'm feeling very down and my brain feels full of cotton wool. I'm having a hard time working up any enthusiasm for anything and it's difficult to string together coherent thoughts. If I wrote what was going thru my brain, you'd probably have me committed. It all just sort of sucks and I'm sick of the suckage.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Sometimes global warming is a good thing

I spent the weekend at my mother's. Oh. My. God. I didn't realize that two people could be so loud. They bicker. Constantly. At full volume. The TV is always on, also at full volume, because C, my mother's boyfriend, is hard of hearing. Plus, there was some drama with C's son and wife, which just added another layer of tension to an already-stressful situation. I got home late last night even though my mother wanted me to stay another day. We don't have heat, but I couldn't take it any more. It was warm, but I'd rather be chilly and stress-free. Well. Relatively stress-free.

TCBIM has put in the new boiler and hot water tank by himself. He had help yesterday, for about three hours, but the rest of it he's done alone. I am amazed at how much he got done. We have hot water, which is good. And the weather is abnormally mild, which means that the house is holding at about sixty degrees, give or take, which is quite bearable. I'm sitting here in a long sleeve t-shirt, trousers and socks and I'm a tad cool, but it could be much, much worse.

I do feel bad for TCBIM. We have an old house and the part of the cellar that houses the boiler is maybe five and a half feet high. I can't stand up straight in it and I'm five eight. He's six one. Installing all that pipe, which sits just below the joists, when you can't stand up straight, has to have been incredibly awkward. He says his back and shoulders are killing him today.

We should have radiators hooked up tomorrow. He had to get some special brackets from work and they didn't come in today. We put ceramic heaters in the girls' rooms and it kept them nice and warm last night. The Bug slept with us last night and she was fine. If tonight is as nice as last night, we should be fine until tomorrow.

I really am starting to think that I killed babies in a past life, though. I have had such shit luck this year that it's ridiculous. I don't know who has my name in their freezer or what god I've pissed off, but I'm sorry, ok? Can you just lay off me now? Please? I will be eternally greatful.