When you find out you're pregnant for the first time - and you're actually going to keep the child - you read every book that was ever written by anyone who has any kind of experience with children. You're nervous. You fret about everything you ingest. You absorb all the horror stories. You try all the advice. You know... typical new parent stuff. Then you realize that babies are, for all intents and purposes, pretty unbreakable. They're these beautiful clean slates; moldable and malleable. Sure, you have to contend with genetics and all that, but nurture has to have some effect, right?
As I may have mentioned, Liam (The Nugget) was recently diagnosed with ADHD. In my quest to understand everything I can about what's going on in his head, so I can help him navigate the waters of life, I'm reading everything I can get my hands on. The more I read, though, the more guilty I feel. It turns out, despite my best intentions, my boy had the chips stacked against him from the outset.
First, let's talk genetics. The Ex is ADHD, too. He never really outgrew it, as a goodly percentage of children with the disorder won't, but he seemed to have learned how to cope in life. Aside from a severe Peter Pan complex he seemed fairly normal. Or maybe I was just young and stupid, and didn't know any better.
Now let's discuss womb environment. So, Liam already had a potent cocktail of genetics working against him. I'm not proud of this, but I smoked during all three of my pregnancies. I cut way back, but I still smoked. While pregnant with Liam, I was down to no more than four cigarettes a day... until The Ex decided to leave me while I was 7 1/2 months pregnant with Liam. I immediately went back up to a pack a day.
Did I mention that, early in the pregnancy, I contracted bacterial meningitis? Theoretically, the placenta filtered the bad stuff out, but nobody really knows for sure that he wasn't affected.
Now let's get back to the stress and depression I felt during the latter part of my pregnancy. I couldn't eat. I could barely consume liquids (depression does that to you). I ended up losing weight. Combine that with a nasty smoking habit and Liam's womb environment was less than ideal.
When he was born, his APGAR scores were damn near perfect. There was no oxygen deprivation (he was as pink as the shrimp I was so fond of while pregnant with him). The delivery, via c-section, went without a hitch. He was smack dab in the middle of the weight and height ranges. Nothing indicated that he wouldn't be perfectly normal.
So what was different? My pregnancy. The Monkey had the same genetic cocktail to work with and yet he is, at least as far as I can tell, unaffected by ADHD. Hell, I didn't even cut back as much on the smoking while pregnant with The Monkey (which accounts for his birth weight being on the lower end of normal), and I definitely drank a ton of coffee with him. But I hadn't contracted meningitis and I wasn't suffering from a broken heart.
There's nothing I can do about any of this now, short of building a time machine. And I'm all out of plutonium at the moment. What I can do is try to help my boy navigate the waters of life in the context of our new definition of normal.
But the spectrum of normal has shifted a great deal for me. I freeze when I need to address a discipline issue because I don't know what the right move is. I am wracked with guilt and this guilt tinges almost all of my interactions with Liam. My thought processes are frozen in a constant loop of "you did this to him. you did this to him. you did this to him." I want to help him, but I don't know what helping him means anymore.
Intellectually, I know this is bordering on insanity on my part, and probably the result of internalizing far too much of what I'm reading right now. But emotionally, I can't help but feel like I'm treading water.
When you get a diagnosis like this for your child, it doesn't come along with a bunch of handouts about what to expect with your ADHD kid. No. Instead they send you off with the test results and a 504 plan with calm reassurances about reevaluating him again in a year. They don't explain how to intercede when outbursts at the supper table just won't stop happening. They don't explain how you're supposed to be able to tell how much of the behavior is "...an imperfection in the brain that causes the... poor impulse control..." or how much of it is your kid, who is abnormally perceptive anyway, trying to use his ADHD as an excuse to be an asshole. They don't explain to you how to explain to your kid that it's not OK to hug strangers, no matter how much you want to, because other kids will make fun of you. Because, guess what? ADHD kids have a really fucking hard time processing future consequences. In fact, future consequences don't exist in the ADHD world. They don't tell you that part, either.
No map. No directions. You're a foreigner in a new land and you don't speak the language.
So how do you parent that? How do you guide your child through the rapids when your child sees the rapids as just any other body of water. Oh and your kid can't swim, either.
Where's the fucking manual for that?
Showing posts with label Middle of a thought. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Middle of a thought. Show all posts
Monday, March 3, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
What Resolutions? (A blog about finding out your kid is different)
I feel compelled to blog, though I don't know where to begin. Should I be witty? Should I be candid? Should I just stream of consciousness this post? There's so much and nothing at all in my head right now. But where to start?
The quest to actually follow through on my New Years resolutions has fallen way, way short. Mostly this is because life has demanded my attention be focused elsewhere, and all at once. The people in white lab coats say that the human brain is not capable of actually, literally multitasking. I don't think they did those scans on full time moms with full time jobs. Or maybe my brain is just really good at switching between tasks.
...Which, come to think of it, is not necessarily true. Because I forget a LOT of stuff most of the time. I drop balls like a novice juggler. Hell, I'm not even making decent analogies right now.
Speaking of brains, The Nugget was recently diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive type) and ODD (for those of you who don't know, that's oppositional defiant disorder. The first step on the path to conduct disorder. For those of you who don't know what conduct disorder is, introduce yourself to most of the habitual offenders in our prison system today). I won't even begin to wax knowledgable about either of these disorders, because I'm still learning all I can about these disorders. But looking back on my poor sweet boy's life, in perspective and through the lenses of these labels, so, so much makes sense now.
There's a certain level of comfort in finally having a label for the thing that has made parenting The Nugget for these last 11 years so difficult. He couldn't remember to do basic tasks, like shutting the front door or to change his socks. He was almost four before he was fully potty trained. He was almost nine before he learned to tie his shoes without help.
Then there were the issues at daycare and at school. Every new school year, I braced myself for the onslaught of notes and conferences that seemed to always accompany The Nugget through school. Every week - sometimes every day - there was a new note. Really, though, it wasn't a new note so much the same note on a different day tinged with a growing frustration that The Nugget just couldn't seem to get his shit together.
Before that, it was at least once a week that he was being sent home from daycare because his behavior was just so abysmal the teachers couldn't control him.
And nothing seemed to work to change the behavior. No amount of punishment or reward; begging or bribing would make The Nugget behave. I remember one time, when The Nugget was about four or so, when, sobbing with frustration about being reprimanded again, he wailed, "but Mama! I'm being haved!" For him, he really was trying. He was being his version of "haved". I didn't know then what I know now. And now that I know, the story isn't as cute anymore.
I chalked it up to The Nugget being a boy. The Monkey outgrew all of this behavior, surely The Nugget would, too! Then I chalked it up to the teacher being an asshole, but then The Nugget had some really fantastic teachers and I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. I clung desperately to the idea that maybe he was just Huck Finn and why on earth would I want to change that? I was in serious denial that there was something actually wrong with him.
And now I have a label; I have a reason for it all. But that label and the reason don't make things any easier. In fact, I have a tremendous amount of guilt in letting it go on for as long as I did before I really truly insisted on getting him tested. Though, letting it go on and letting his record get supremely thick helped us skip right through all the bureaucratic bullshit red tape. We passed go. We collected our diagnoses. He has an education plan which will help get him through elementary school, at least.
Depending on what you're reading, the root causes for ADHD and ODD aren't entirely clear, but they do know that it happens in the brain - whether it's a structural cause or a chemical imbalance is still a matter of debate. They don't know exactly what contributes to these defects - everything from maternal consumption of caffeine and nicotine while pregnant to genetic factors have been cited - but everyone seems to now agree that it's not just teachers and parents looking to medicate kids to the point of zombie-hood.
The Nugget's... actually, let me pause. He deserves to be spoken of as something more than an anecdote. The Nugget's name is Liam... the version of ADHD that Liam has is the inattentive type. We're luckier than some folks there because he really doesn't need medication. He's capable of sitting still. He's capable of focusing some of the time (and only if there are absolutely no distractions). He has some mild tics and socialization issues, but nothing that is considered clinical (just borderline) in that arena. Liam also has a very difficult time processing his emotions in a "normal" way, and suffers a fair amount of anxiety most of the time.
But what makes a disorder like this more difficult for families like ours is there's no outward appearance of abnormality. There's nothing that screams "my child has special needs! Back the fuck off and show him some respect!" because he looks normal. People expect him to be able to operate on the same level as most folks. He just can't. He can fake it. He can find ways to cope in the world. But he will. Never. Be. Normal. And folks will just keep on wondering why the weird kid is weird.
That's a hard pill to swallow as a mama. Especially at this stage of the game. My child has special needs. My child will never be normal. My child will always struggle in the world. My child will always have to work extra hard. My child will often be at a loss to explain why he did something and why it was wrong (or why it was right) and will get in trouble for it. Because he looks normal.
------
I don't know how to sum this post up. It's open-ended, I suppose, because there's still so much left to learn. I'm still grieving for my boy and am still processing all of this information in a space of grief. No, he's not dying - and I am lucky for that! And he doesn't have a terminal illness. But his life is, and always was, inexorably changed.
The quest to actually follow through on my New Years resolutions has fallen way, way short. Mostly this is because life has demanded my attention be focused elsewhere, and all at once. The people in white lab coats say that the human brain is not capable of actually, literally multitasking. I don't think they did those scans on full time moms with full time jobs. Or maybe my brain is just really good at switching between tasks.
...Which, come to think of it, is not necessarily true. Because I forget a LOT of stuff most of the time. I drop balls like a novice juggler. Hell, I'm not even making decent analogies right now.
Speaking of brains, The Nugget was recently diagnosed with ADHD (inattentive type) and ODD (for those of you who don't know, that's oppositional defiant disorder. The first step on the path to conduct disorder. For those of you who don't know what conduct disorder is, introduce yourself to most of the habitual offenders in our prison system today). I won't even begin to wax knowledgable about either of these disorders, because I'm still learning all I can about these disorders. But looking back on my poor sweet boy's life, in perspective and through the lenses of these labels, so, so much makes sense now.
There's a certain level of comfort in finally having a label for the thing that has made parenting The Nugget for these last 11 years so difficult. He couldn't remember to do basic tasks, like shutting the front door or to change his socks. He was almost four before he was fully potty trained. He was almost nine before he learned to tie his shoes without help.
Then there were the issues at daycare and at school. Every new school year, I braced myself for the onslaught of notes and conferences that seemed to always accompany The Nugget through school. Every week - sometimes every day - there was a new note. Really, though, it wasn't a new note so much the same note on a different day tinged with a growing frustration that The Nugget just couldn't seem to get his shit together.
Before that, it was at least once a week that he was being sent home from daycare because his behavior was just so abysmal the teachers couldn't control him.
And nothing seemed to work to change the behavior. No amount of punishment or reward; begging or bribing would make The Nugget behave. I remember one time, when The Nugget was about four or so, when, sobbing with frustration about being reprimanded again, he wailed, "but Mama! I'm being haved!" For him, he really was trying. He was being his version of "haved". I didn't know then what I know now. And now that I know, the story isn't as cute anymore.
I chalked it up to The Nugget being a boy. The Monkey outgrew all of this behavior, surely The Nugget would, too! Then I chalked it up to the teacher being an asshole, but then The Nugget had some really fantastic teachers and I couldn't use that as an excuse anymore. I clung desperately to the idea that maybe he was just Huck Finn and why on earth would I want to change that? I was in serious denial that there was something actually wrong with him.
And now I have a label; I have a reason for it all. But that label and the reason don't make things any easier. In fact, I have a tremendous amount of guilt in letting it go on for as long as I did before I really truly insisted on getting him tested. Though, letting it go on and letting his record get supremely thick helped us skip right through all the bureaucratic bullshit red tape. We passed go. We collected our diagnoses. He has an education plan which will help get him through elementary school, at least.
Depending on what you're reading, the root causes for ADHD and ODD aren't entirely clear, but they do know that it happens in the brain - whether it's a structural cause or a chemical imbalance is still a matter of debate. They don't know exactly what contributes to these defects - everything from maternal consumption of caffeine and nicotine while pregnant to genetic factors have been cited - but everyone seems to now agree that it's not just teachers and parents looking to medicate kids to the point of zombie-hood.
The Nugget's... actually, let me pause. He deserves to be spoken of as something more than an anecdote. The Nugget's name is Liam... the version of ADHD that Liam has is the inattentive type. We're luckier than some folks there because he really doesn't need medication. He's capable of sitting still. He's capable of focusing some of the time (and only if there are absolutely no distractions). He has some mild tics and socialization issues, but nothing that is considered clinical (just borderline) in that arena. Liam also has a very difficult time processing his emotions in a "normal" way, and suffers a fair amount of anxiety most of the time.
But what makes a disorder like this more difficult for families like ours is there's no outward appearance of abnormality. There's nothing that screams "my child has special needs! Back the fuck off and show him some respect!" because he looks normal. People expect him to be able to operate on the same level as most folks. He just can't. He can fake it. He can find ways to cope in the world. But he will. Never. Be. Normal. And folks will just keep on wondering why the weird kid is weird.
That's a hard pill to swallow as a mama. Especially at this stage of the game. My child has special needs. My child will never be normal. My child will always struggle in the world. My child will always have to work extra hard. My child will often be at a loss to explain why he did something and why it was wrong (or why it was right) and will get in trouble for it. Because he looks normal.
------
I don't know how to sum this post up. It's open-ended, I suppose, because there's still so much left to learn. I'm still grieving for my boy and am still processing all of this information in a space of grief. No, he's not dying - and I am lucky for that! And he doesn't have a terminal illness. But his life is, and always was, inexorably changed.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
Comparing Apples to Agent Orange -- How Not to Be a Dick
One of the most solid pieces of advice that any person anywhere will ever hear is never to compare their last relationship to the one they're currently in. It's just bad news all the way around. But we're also human beings, so we're going to do exactly the opposite of the thing we're not supposed to do.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
As a rule -- at least this time around -- I don't compare The Fiancee™ to The Ex. There's no comparison. The Fiancee™ is far and away the better of the two. I may reflect back on the previous relationship to make sure I'm not repeating mistakes or clearing out the detritus from some leftover baggage, but I usually don't compare.
Until I had a baby with The Fiancee™. Ever since I had The Bean, a constant thought runs through my head, "I wish I'd had The Trolls with The Fiancee™". He's such a fantastic and remarkable father. He's hands on. He reads. He listens. He's all the things The Ex isn't. Every time I have to send The Trolls off with The Ex, I cringe and count the seconds 'til they're back home with us, because The Ex is just a shit.
(I'm probably going to regret typing that last sentence -- and then publishing it in a public forum -- especially if The Trolls ever find out I have a blog, but... well... First Amendment and all that).
But really why I take to my blog is not to extoll the virtues of my beloved, but to speak to all The Exes out there. Call it Sady's Rules for Not Being a Dick and Everyone Will Be Happy.
1) Visitation: the children should always come first. Sure, every now-and-again there are going to be times when you have to work late or you need a break, but as the non-custodial parent, when you have an opportunity to see your children, you should take it. You shouldn't blow them off for, oh I don't know, a tour (you're a forty-year-old wanna-be rock star who is never going to be a famous musician. Just come to grips with that already, wouldja?)
If you can't make a scheduled visit, call the other parent NOT the children. Messages like that should not be delivered to or through the kids.
If you need to reschedule a visit, call the other parent NOT the children.
If you want to see the children, call the other parent NOT the children.
Stick to the prearranged schedule unless there's an emergency. Schools frown upon unexcused tardies and your ex gets really annoyed having to wait around for you.
2) Call the children: by all means, call the children. Regularly. Several times a day, even. There's no need to speak to the other parent if you're just calling to say, "hi."
But if the other parent needs to speak to you, the polite thing to do is take the call. If you don't want to talk to your ex, that's fine. Shoot him or her a text message. He or she would probably prefer it since he or she didn't want to talk to you, either. Talking to your ex is a necessary evil when you have children together.
3) Scheduling a visit: as a matter of fact, you do need to speak to your ex if you want to see your children. Your ex should not have to keep the children's schedules indefinitely open in the hopes that you'll find time in your schedule to see them. I know, I know. You hate feeling like you have to ask permission to see your kids, but you know what? You do need to make sure that they don't already have plans. Suck it up, Cupcake.
4) Don't trash talk: sure, you hate your ex. She or he hates you, too. That's why the two of you aren't together. Keep the trash talking between you and the voice in your head. The children don't need to be caught in the crossfire.
5) Child Support: I've got news for you, Buttercup -- child support is necessary. You don't get to arbitrarily decide that you'll buy the kids something in lieu of paying child support. It doesn't work that way. Child support goes toward the cost of raising children and, in most cases, doesn't even begin to cover what your ex has to pay toward their cost of living. Children are fucking expensive.
And if you think you're just spiting your ex by not paying, well, think again. You're just a dick that likes to hurt your own kids. NOT paying child support prevents your ex from doing things for the kids -- like get them braces or pay for sports.
It's not "extra money", by the way. It's money that is very, very needed. But even if it is extra money and your ex chooses to spend it on hookers and blow, he or she can. He or she has already paid the mortgage, the light bill and put food in the children's bellies. You're simply paying your ex back a small portion of what he or she has already spent on the children.
And let's just address this while we're at it: your ex cannot ask his or her parents to help. It's your job to support your children.Your ex's current is not responsible for the financial burden of your children, either. He or she does it because he or she loves your kids -- and you should be goddamned grateful for that and not take it for granted.
Oh and side note: if you can afford to take time off from work to go on fucking tour, you better make sure that you've paid your child support. Dick.
(Item five is especially touchy for me, since The Ex -- who only is required (by our mutual agreement... for now) to pay $300 a month for two kids hasn't paid a dime since October 2012. All points covered are all arguments he used to justify not paying).
6) Don't be super-happy-funtime-parent: Seriously, just don't. Don't be the parent that the kids get to have all the fun with while your ex is the one that has to make them eat their vegetables and do their homework. Because, you know what? The next time you have a weekend with your kids, your ex may just send them over all hopped up on Mountain Dew and bags of sugar. You'd deserve it.
7) Don't be a dick to your kids: don't say things like "you're just like your mother" or "you're stupid" or "you're fat and lazy." Saying those kinds of things is a sure fire way to get yourself a one-way ticket to The-Kids-Are-Permanently-Busy-and-Can-Never-See-You-Again-ville.
8) Blending families: make sure that the children have a place of their own in your home -- especially if you're living with someone who already has kids. There's nothing quite so sure to guarantee to make a child require years and years of therapy as one or both of their parents making their "biological" child feel like a red-headed step-child.
9) Do what you say you're going to do. And don't argue about it if it's not convenient for you anymore. You made your bed, now lay in it.
Wednesday, May 1, 2013
I'm the kind of exhausted that parents of a newborn are. Oh wait...
The Lady Gray decided to switch her schedule from nights to days, so was up a goodly portion of last night. Not to mention the fact that we're getting some stormy weather around here and, like my middle child, she's a baby barometer, too. Cranky and fussy, she is, and I just feel so badly for her.
She's down for a nap now and I'm hoping that it will last long enough for me to hop in the shower and then put my contacts in. Oh, glorious contact lenses! How I've missed you. While I do look pretty fancy in glasses, I can't help but reflect on Dorothy Parker's assessment of them:
"Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses"
Which makes me feel decidedly un-sexy. Not that my usual uniform of a tank top and jammy bottoms helps matters much. Or the lack of make up, post-natal acne and hair tossed into a very unattractive pony tail. It's a wonder how The Fiance™ can even think of having another baby.
All of this rambling is to say that I have to leave in a couple of hours to go get The Nugget and take him to his orthodontist consultation. Yes, dear readers, it is possible that I will have another one in braces soon. But in the mean time, I'm enjoying to quiet of the house and doing my level best to ignore the pile of dishes that need doing and the laundry that needs folding. Because I'm tired and I'm supposed to be honoring that and sleeping when the baby does, instead of gulping down a cup of coffee (the one a day I'm allowed while nursing) and fighting the urge to sleep.
Because time moves too quickly these days and before I know it, I'll be returning to work full time and trusting my baby with someone else. Not an easy thing for this mama to wrap her head around, even if I am leaving her with an aunt and uncle her love her to the point of worship.
Edit: Guess who just woke up? I'll get to that shower later, I suppose.
She's down for a nap now and I'm hoping that it will last long enough for me to hop in the shower and then put my contacts in. Oh, glorious contact lenses! How I've missed you. While I do look pretty fancy in glasses, I can't help but reflect on Dorothy Parker's assessment of them:
"Boys don't make passes at girls who wear glasses"
Which makes me feel decidedly un-sexy. Not that my usual uniform of a tank top and jammy bottoms helps matters much. Or the lack of make up, post-natal acne and hair tossed into a very unattractive pony tail. It's a wonder how The Fiance™ can even think of having another baby.
All of this rambling is to say that I have to leave in a couple of hours to go get The Nugget and take him to his orthodontist consultation. Yes, dear readers, it is possible that I will have another one in braces soon. But in the mean time, I'm enjoying to quiet of the house and doing my level best to ignore the pile of dishes that need doing and the laundry that needs folding. Because I'm tired and I'm supposed to be honoring that and sleeping when the baby does, instead of gulping down a cup of coffee (the one a day I'm allowed while nursing) and fighting the urge to sleep.
Because time moves too quickly these days and before I know it, I'll be returning to work full time and trusting my baby with someone else. Not an easy thing for this mama to wrap her head around, even if I am leaving her with an aunt and uncle her love her to the point of worship.
Edit: Guess who just woke up? I'll get to that shower later, I suppose.
Monday, April 8, 2013
Because I'm taking the high road on Facebook, I'll come to my blog to rant
The Lady Gray is down for her umpteenth nap at the moment, so I have an hour or so of time to myself. I could be cleaning or doing something more productive than sitting on my back porch wishing that it wasn't so damn hot out already, but I have to go and get the trolls soon. Once the trolls get home, it'll be pure craziness round these parts for a bit.
Speaking of the trolls...
One of the things that kept me with The Ex far longer than I should've was his family. They're a tight knit bunch and I was worried that if I left, he'd get them in the divorce. Fortunately, it was a baseless fear, since -- as it turns out -- they're a tight knit bunch who know how to compartmentalize. As such, I've remained friends-ish with his sister over these past few years. The friendship has cooled to more of a friends-on-Facebook level over the last few months, which happens when life gets in the way.
The Lady Gray has been home for a week now. Like any good new mom, I've been kind of blowing up Facebook with pictures of her. I'm not going over the top, but I also have a crap ton of family up north who don't get the benefit of watching her grow up and probably won't meet her for quite some time. It's my way of keeping them in the loop. Besides, my step-dad asked me to keep posting there.
Today, the ex-SIL decided to comment on one of the pictures of The Lady and asked where pictures of "my other two children" were. Clearly she's upset that I haven't been giving equal air time to all three of my children. One half of my brain was all, "Oh my god! She's such a good aunt!" The other half of my brain was all, "Da fuck?!" So I decided to play the middle road and say something along the lines of, "Well, they're at school at the moment... ;) But actually, I've taken pictures of with The Monkey's phone... etc" Her response, "Yeah, but you've had her for a week."
On Facebook, I decided to let it drop. But I want to go on the official record as saying the following:
Just because there aren't more pictures of The Monkey and The Nugget on Facebook doesn't mean that I love them any less than The Lady Gray. In fact, if it's possible, I love them MORE since she's gotten here (there's something about loving more that makes you love MORE, y'know?). I wasn't in the habit of posting pictures of them all the time before she got here and since The Monkey now has his own Facebook page, he can post all the pictures of himself that he wants. That's the beauty of having a teenager in the house.
Here's the real thing though: I don't post pictures of them every day because I'm too busy trying to keep their routine as normal as possible [with a mom that needs to sleep when the baby does and all that jazz]. There are things like home work that needs to be done and supper that needs to be cooked and eaten, and chores that need to be completed. Life needs to happen despite the fact that there's a new baby here. I don't get a mulligan on the old kids because there's a new one. And I don't have a whole lot of time to stop and take pictures of our daily routines.
And let's not forget that, despite the fact that I'm moving around really well, I still had a c-section. I'm trying to do all of this while recovering from major abdominal surgery.
There are more pictures of The Lady Gray because her routine consists of eating, sleeping and pooping (and sometimes pooping in her sleep). I'm home with her all day and, frankly, it's kind of boring. So I'm trying to keep myself entertained with something other than crap TV.
Not for nothing, but The Lady Gray is ten years younger than her closest sibling. The Trolls have had at least ten years more of pictures being taken and posted, and framed and hung than she has. Yes, she's been here for a week and she's got a lot of catching up to do.
Speaking of the trolls...
One of the things that kept me with The Ex far longer than I should've was his family. They're a tight knit bunch and I was worried that if I left, he'd get them in the divorce. Fortunately, it was a baseless fear, since -- as it turns out -- they're a tight knit bunch who know how to compartmentalize. As such, I've remained friends-ish with his sister over these past few years. The friendship has cooled to more of a friends-on-Facebook level over the last few months, which happens when life gets in the way.
The Lady Gray has been home for a week now. Like any good new mom, I've been kind of blowing up Facebook with pictures of her. I'm not going over the top, but I also have a crap ton of family up north who don't get the benefit of watching her grow up and probably won't meet her for quite some time. It's my way of keeping them in the loop. Besides, my step-dad asked me to keep posting there.
Today, the ex-SIL decided to comment on one of the pictures of The Lady and asked where pictures of "my other two children" were. Clearly she's upset that I haven't been giving equal air time to all three of my children. One half of my brain was all, "Oh my god! She's such a good aunt!" The other half of my brain was all, "Da fuck?!" So I decided to play the middle road and say something along the lines of, "Well, they're at school at the moment... ;) But actually, I've taken pictures of with The Monkey's phone... etc" Her response, "Yeah, but you've had her for a week."
On Facebook, I decided to let it drop. But I want to go on the official record as saying the following:
Just because there aren't more pictures of The Monkey and The Nugget on Facebook doesn't mean that I love them any less than The Lady Gray. In fact, if it's possible, I love them MORE since she's gotten here (there's something about loving more that makes you love MORE, y'know?). I wasn't in the habit of posting pictures of them all the time before she got here and since The Monkey now has his own Facebook page, he can post all the pictures of himself that he wants. That's the beauty of having a teenager in the house.
Here's the real thing though: I don't post pictures of them every day because I'm too busy trying to keep their routine as normal as possible [with a mom that needs to sleep when the baby does and all that jazz]. There are things like home work that needs to be done and supper that needs to be cooked and eaten, and chores that need to be completed. Life needs to happen despite the fact that there's a new baby here. I don't get a mulligan on the old kids because there's a new one. And I don't have a whole lot of time to stop and take pictures of our daily routines.
And let's not forget that, despite the fact that I'm moving around really well, I still had a c-section. I'm trying to do all of this while recovering from major abdominal surgery.
There are more pictures of The Lady Gray because her routine consists of eating, sleeping and pooping (and sometimes pooping in her sleep). I'm home with her all day and, frankly, it's kind of boring. So I'm trying to keep myself entertained with something other than crap TV.
Not for nothing, but The Lady Gray is ten years younger than her closest sibling. The Trolls have had at least ten years more of pictures being taken and posted, and framed and hung than she has. Yes, she's been here for a week and she's got a lot of catching up to do.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Thoughts on shifting
About this time last year, I was so action-packed full of Two Year Plans and Other Grand Adventures that I thought absolutely nothing could stand in my way of fulfilling all of my grand ambitions. Little did I know, that my life would be taking a wildly different course than I had planned.
That's the thing about plans: you need backup plans for them.
I spend very little time in my studio these days, and I'm OK with that.
I pay for search ads on Etsy for a shop that I've neglected woefully (and will probably shut down, temporarily, while I'm wrapping my head around my new adventure).
While I wrote and published one book, and illustrated another, I've backburnered the topic for the time being, because I really only wrote the first book for my gram as a Christmas gift.
I don't remember the last time I was on Pinterest or Craft Gawker -- which is unusual for me, since those were multiple-times-a-day visits once-upon-a-time.
I've realized that plans shift. They're malleable and rather sandy. Topics that were important yesterday seem rather pointless in the current moment. And I guess that's why it's so important to live in the present, focusing on what's in front of you right now.
This isn't to say that I won't resume my regularly scheduled programming, so to speak, but that I'm honoring the shift that's happened in my head and in my life. I've retreated from the constant focus on THE PLANS into a kind of quiet wait-and-see holding pattern while I, well, wait and see what's in store. Because my carefully laid plans got waylaid by a different kind of planning; a good kind of planning for the life that will be here before I know it.
Sometimes the road is supposed to shift. Sometimes you're supposed to take a different path for a while. And sometimes all that planning you did for something else was just to lead you to where you are right now.
That's the thing about plans: you need backup plans for them.
I spend very little time in my studio these days, and I'm OK with that.
I pay for search ads on Etsy for a shop that I've neglected woefully (and will probably shut down, temporarily, while I'm wrapping my head around my new adventure).
While I wrote and published one book, and illustrated another, I've backburnered the topic for the time being, because I really only wrote the first book for my gram as a Christmas gift.
I don't remember the last time I was on Pinterest or Craft Gawker -- which is unusual for me, since those were multiple-times-a-day visits once-upon-a-time.
I've realized that plans shift. They're malleable and rather sandy. Topics that were important yesterday seem rather pointless in the current moment. And I guess that's why it's so important to live in the present, focusing on what's in front of you right now.
This isn't to say that I won't resume my regularly scheduled programming, so to speak, but that I'm honoring the shift that's happened in my head and in my life. I've retreated from the constant focus on THE PLANS into a kind of quiet wait-and-see holding pattern while I, well, wait and see what's in store. Because my carefully laid plans got waylaid by a different kind of planning; a good kind of planning for the life that will be here before I know it.
Sometimes the road is supposed to shift. Sometimes you're supposed to take a different path for a while. And sometimes all that planning you did for something else was just to lead you to where you are right now.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
Now that's more like it
I just had to open all the open-able windows in my house because my kitchen is filled with smoke. Since our house has an open floor plan, the whole house is actually filled with smoke. This is the sign of something tasty about to come out of my kitchen in about four to five hours.
I started cooking for the week on Sundays, a few weeks back, in an effort to get supper on the table sometime before 8:30 at night. Cooking for the week also gives the trolls options for supper - they can have whatever they want, so long as it's something that's already made. Cooking for the week can be a challenge, because you want to make something that reheats well, so things you want crispy... Well, sorry. Not gonna happen (unless it's Sunday night supper).
Like all of my good intentions, though, things happened and I fell off the "being prepared" wagon for a bit. Of course I chose Thanksgiving week to get back in the saddle. So, we're having ethnic food this week: Moroccan Cubanos and Pasta Rustica. The fat content notwithstanding, these are super healthy meals - especially when paired with a nice salad or steamed vegetable (the Cubanos have pickled veggies included). And being healthy is not something I've been terribly good at these days.
And so I return to my scrubbed-top-to-bottom kitchen (there's just something about a super clean kitchen that makes me want to get in there and cook) to bring healthy and delicious meals back to my family - and just in time for the Lima Bean's taste buds to appear. She'll being enjoying the flavorful combinations, too. This tree huggin mama, with her love of organic and yoga and fresh fruits and veggies has returned. I just hope the boys are ready!
And on that note, while I wait for the pork to roast, I am going to tackle the studio. It's elving season and I anticipate having to spend a LOT of time in there.
I started cooking for the week on Sundays, a few weeks back, in an effort to get supper on the table sometime before 8:30 at night. Cooking for the week also gives the trolls options for supper - they can have whatever they want, so long as it's something that's already made. Cooking for the week can be a challenge, because you want to make something that reheats well, so things you want crispy... Well, sorry. Not gonna happen (unless it's Sunday night supper).
Like all of my good intentions, though, things happened and I fell off the "being prepared" wagon for a bit. Of course I chose Thanksgiving week to get back in the saddle. So, we're having ethnic food this week: Moroccan Cubanos and Pasta Rustica. The fat content notwithstanding, these are super healthy meals - especially when paired with a nice salad or steamed vegetable (the Cubanos have pickled veggies included). And being healthy is not something I've been terribly good at these days.
And so I return to my scrubbed-top-to-bottom kitchen (there's just something about a super clean kitchen that makes me want to get in there and cook) to bring healthy and delicious meals back to my family - and just in time for the Lima Bean's taste buds to appear. She'll being enjoying the flavorful combinations, too. This tree huggin mama, with her love of organic and yoga and fresh fruits and veggies has returned. I just hope the boys are ready!
And on that note, while I wait for the pork to roast, I am going to tackle the studio. It's elving season and I anticipate having to spend a LOT of time in there.
Saturday, November 3, 2012
12 Things - The Calling Customer Service Edition
During the latter part of my work week, I had the "good fortune" of revisiting my call center customer service roots. By the end of the day, my voice was ragged and I was exhausted from keeping a smile in my voice. But mostly I was reminded why I abhor working customer service. It isn't that I don't enjoy helping our customers, it's more that people are just... Yeah. I was reminded why I prefer a good book over human interaction any day of the week.
So with that, I bring you a "things to keep in mind when you're calling customer service" friendly reminder.
1) Have your information ready. Nothing is more annoying to a call center rep than having to ferret out an order number, a search or other piece of information because you were too dial happy to have that information handy before you called. You want off the phone faster? Great. I want you off my phone faster, too. Try having your shit together when you call and we can both have what we want.
2) Don't be impatient. See number 1. If I have to play 20 Questions with you because you couldn't be bothered to give me the information I need, you're going to have to live with the consequences.
3) For the love of all that is holy and pure, DO NOT SPELL EVERY WORD. I graduated from high school and remember how to spell "road" and "Smith". If I need clarification, I'll ask for it. Nothing is quite so patronizing as listening to, "It's Mary, M-A-R-Y... Smith... S-M-I-T-H..."
4) Hey, guess what? I'm a person! With feelings! You're frustrated, maybe even angry, I get that. I don't make nearly enough money to be demoralized and cursed at. You'll catch more flies with honey... Just sayin.
5) You know what's worse than having to ferret out information from you? Listening to you eat - right in my ear. I get it. You have a finite period of time to call customer service AND eat your lunch. Don't multitask by doing both. It's rude... Not to mention incredibly disgusting to listen to. I wear an ear piece, so your crunching and lip smacking is amplified. Quit it.
6) Customer service 101 says, "Treat each call as if it were your first." I got news for you, Cupcake. Unless you're calling as soon as I log into my phone, you are NOT my first call. In fact, you're probably the 50th call. I defy you to answer the same damn question 50 times in a row and not be a little irritated.
7) Customer Service 101 also says, "the customer is always right." Actually, no. The customer is usually an asshole. I've been doing this shtick for years and I'm here to tell you, 9 times out of 10 you did something wrong. It's my job to make it sound like you're not an incompetent fucktard and that I'm actually apologizing. That doesn't mean you're not an incompetent fucktard; it just means I'll get fired for calling you one.
8) This one is specific to the information industry: you are using an Internet-based search tool, if you don't know what a browser is, you should not be allowed near a computer. If I have to ask you what the little picture that you click on looks like, you need more help than I can give.
9) The customer service rep does not have the power to credit your entire order. In fact, we're on the front lines to deter you from asking for that. But if you really feel like you need more than $5.00 back, ask for a supervisor - politely and immediately.
10) The last I knew, I was not employed by you. Don't treat me like your personal shopper, secretary, maid or personal IT member. I also don't work for Microsoft, Google, Intel, Mozilla, AOL or Apple. I have to look up the answer to your question the same way you'd have to.
11) As much as I'd like to be able to read minds, I can't. Use all the words, please.
12) Remember, we keep notes in our system on everything from why you called to how much of a prick you were. For all of your complaining about how shitty your customer service experience was, the problem probably started with you... Being a prick.
The bottom line is that being a customer service rep is really a thankless job. In most corporate environments, CSRs are so low down on the totem pole they're overlooked and under thought about. Calls are monitored not so much for quality assistance, but to ensure call quotas and stats. And those stats will determine if the CSR can feed her family next week or if she'll be let go because she couldn't get you off the phone in 180 seconds or less.
Keep that in mind.
So with that, I bring you a "things to keep in mind when you're calling customer service" friendly reminder.
1) Have your information ready. Nothing is more annoying to a call center rep than having to ferret out an order number, a search or other piece of information because you were too dial happy to have that information handy before you called. You want off the phone faster? Great. I want you off my phone faster, too. Try having your shit together when you call and we can both have what we want.
2) Don't be impatient. See number 1. If I have to play 20 Questions with you because you couldn't be bothered to give me the information I need, you're going to have to live with the consequences.
3) For the love of all that is holy and pure, DO NOT SPELL EVERY WORD. I graduated from high school and remember how to spell "road" and "Smith". If I need clarification, I'll ask for it. Nothing is quite so patronizing as listening to, "It's Mary, M-A-R-Y... Smith... S-M-I-T-H..."
4) Hey, guess what? I'm a person! With feelings! You're frustrated, maybe even angry, I get that. I don't make nearly enough money to be demoralized and cursed at. You'll catch more flies with honey... Just sayin.
5) You know what's worse than having to ferret out information from you? Listening to you eat - right in my ear. I get it. You have a finite period of time to call customer service AND eat your lunch. Don't multitask by doing both. It's rude... Not to mention incredibly disgusting to listen to. I wear an ear piece, so your crunching and lip smacking is amplified. Quit it.
6) Customer service 101 says, "Treat each call as if it were your first." I got news for you, Cupcake. Unless you're calling as soon as I log into my phone, you are NOT my first call. In fact, you're probably the 50th call. I defy you to answer the same damn question 50 times in a row and not be a little irritated.
7) Customer Service 101 also says, "the customer is always right." Actually, no. The customer is usually an asshole. I've been doing this shtick for years and I'm here to tell you, 9 times out of 10 you did something wrong. It's my job to make it sound like you're not an incompetent fucktard and that I'm actually apologizing. That doesn't mean you're not an incompetent fucktard; it just means I'll get fired for calling you one.
8) This one is specific to the information industry: you are using an Internet-based search tool, if you don't know what a browser is, you should not be allowed near a computer. If I have to ask you what the little picture that you click on looks like, you need more help than I can give.
9) The customer service rep does not have the power to credit your entire order. In fact, we're on the front lines to deter you from asking for that. But if you really feel like you need more than $5.00 back, ask for a supervisor - politely and immediately.
10) The last I knew, I was not employed by you. Don't treat me like your personal shopper, secretary, maid or personal IT member. I also don't work for Microsoft, Google, Intel, Mozilla, AOL or Apple. I have to look up the answer to your question the same way you'd have to.
11) As much as I'd like to be able to read minds, I can't. Use all the words, please.
12) Remember, we keep notes in our system on everything from why you called to how much of a prick you were. For all of your complaining about how shitty your customer service experience was, the problem probably started with you... Being a prick.
The bottom line is that being a customer service rep is really a thankless job. In most corporate environments, CSRs are so low down on the totem pole they're overlooked and under thought about. Calls are monitored not so much for quality assistance, but to ensure call quotas and stats. And those stats will determine if the CSR can feed her family next week or if she'll be let go because she couldn't get you off the phone in 180 seconds or less.
Keep that in mind.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
I need to buy a new coffee maker and other Sunday thoughts
My house is very quiet at the moment. The trolls are with The Ex, The Boyfriend™ is sleeping off the weekend's busyness, and the whole of the world seems very quiet at the moment. In the perfectness of the quiet and temperature of the air, I miss home a bit more than usual right now. Sundays have that effect on me.
Tomorrow, we find out if the Lima Bean will cooperate enough to let us know if she or he is a she or he. The Boyfriend™ will get his first glimpse of his child and get to hear his or her heartbeat live, rather than the recorded version he's heard so far. I'm beyond excited to begin calling this little one by either of the names we've chosen, and to start properly preparing for him or her.
I'll keep you posted and, perhaps, post a picture here for you.
Tomorrow, we find out if the Lima Bean will cooperate enough to let us know if she or he is a she or he. The Boyfriend™ will get his first glimpse of his child and get to hear his or her heartbeat live, rather than the recorded version he's heard so far. I'm beyond excited to begin calling this little one by either of the names we've chosen, and to start properly preparing for him or her.
I'll keep you posted and, perhaps, post a picture here for you.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
My letter to a Christian Nation
Dear Bible Thumpers, Proselyters, Born Agains, et al
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Stop calling this a Christian nation. It's not. Really. I know you WANT it to be, but wanting and actually being are two separate things entirely.
Sure, SOME of our founding fathers were Christian. Some of them were quite devout. But the vast majority were at best theists, but were closer to agnostic than anything. I mean, are you familiar with The Jefferson Bible at all? The one were THE WRITER OF THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE (and our third president) took out all mention of Christ's divinity because he, y'know, didn't believe that Christ was magical.
Speaking of the Declaration... It doesn't say "and they are endowed by the God of the Bible with certain inalienable rights..." Nope. It says they are endowed by their CREATOR. Semantics, I know, but a valid point nonetheless.
I'm sure I don't need to mention the first amendment of the Bill of Rights... The one that says Congress will make no law respecting an establishment of religion; or prohibiting the free exercise thereof..."
Are you at all familiar with who the Pilgrims were? Sure they were a Christian lot, but they came here, in large part, to escape religious persecution.
Maryland's founders? You know who they were? Catholics. Escaping persecution from the other colonies.
The Mormon Church wasn't even founded until Joseh Smith started waxing on about gold plates and angels some time in the mid-nineteenth century. Baptists, as we know them, didn't come into being until the mid-nineteenth century, either. In God We Trust wasn't put on our currency until the 1950s (ditto for the "one nation under God" in the pledge). Why? Because of the whole anti-communism thing McCarthy had us in a frenzy about.
I could go on and on, but like in high school history class, I'm sure you already stopped paying attention. But the fact is, this is all FACT. Historical, indisputable, unambiguous FACT. None of it is open to interpretation, it just is what it is.
This is not a Christian nation.
Stop cramming your bible down my throat. Stop insisting that I can only have a relationship with God on your terms. Stop saying your Mary is more valid than my Isis.
I sure as shit will be wishing people Happy Holidays because, you know what? Hanukkah is valid. So is Kwanzaa and whatever Muslim holiday happens to fall during that time.
Because christianity isn't the only valid choice; it's just A choice. What makes this country great is that I have the choice and I don't have to be a Christian.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Diddle, diddle dumping...
For some reason, that rhyme is running through my head right now. Why "with one shoe off and one shoe on..." seems appropriate at the mo I haven't figured out.
We have officially been living in our house for a month now and it still doesn't feel like home. A goodly portion of that reason is because it still seems like my parents' house, and I haven't lived "at home" (aside from a brief return when The Ex broke my heart) since I was seventeen. My independent streak could never abide living with my folks for very long.
The other reason for it not feeling like home is the lamentable lack of art on the walls and the piles of boxes in just about every corner. We really just unpacked what we needed and left the rest for later, which - if truth be told - I don't really mind. The more that's left packed, the less packing I'll have to do when it's time to move back to Massachusetts.
So as I rearrange the kitchen for the third time since moving in, this rhyme runs through my head because I've got one foot in the door and one foot out.
We have officially been living in our house for a month now and it still doesn't feel like home. A goodly portion of that reason is because it still seems like my parents' house, and I haven't lived "at home" (aside from a brief return when The Ex broke my heart) since I was seventeen. My independent streak could never abide living with my folks for very long.
The other reason for it not feeling like home is the lamentable lack of art on the walls and the piles of boxes in just about every corner. We really just unpacked what we needed and left the rest for later, which - if truth be told - I don't really mind. The more that's left packed, the less packing I'll have to do when it's time to move back to Massachusetts.
So as I rearrange the kitchen for the third time since moving in, this rhyme runs through my head because I've got one foot in the door and one foot out.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
I have 17 minutes before I'm supposed to be awake
Every once-a-while, I like to pretend that I'm a list person, in that I will do those things that I put on a list. I'm very bad at accomplishing everything on a to do list, as a rule, despite the feeling of accomplishment I get whenever I DO complete my to do list.
Yesterday I made a to do list for the week, filled with lots of simple things. See, I'm trying to simplify. I'm trying not to be so scatterbrained despite scatterbraininess being part of my genetic make up. So I have this list, and I carry it around with me in my purse. On my to do list are things like "clean out purse" so I don't lose things, like my to do list... Or drivers license; and "make the bed", because I sleep better in a made bed (The Boyfriend™ does not share that quirk).
Because The Nugget will be getting on the bus earlier, starting tomorrow, I also have "wake up earlier" on my list, in an effort to make an early rise time a habit. Unfortunately, this means The Boyfriend™ and I are now waking up at the same time. Neither of us are morning people and both of us being awake at the same time may result in jail time for one or both of us. He is extra cantankerous in the morning, and I am extra sarcastic. Not a good combo.
Frankly, a world run by morning larks should be illegal. I am a night owl; all my best thinking happens at night, the way God intended it. And as I sit here on the back porch up earlier than necessary, sipping my coffee, looking at the pile of cat food on the floor (one of them just knocked a bucket of it down), I remind myself that patience is a virtue.
...One I don't possess. Especially in the morning.
Yesterday I made a to do list for the week, filled with lots of simple things. See, I'm trying to simplify. I'm trying not to be so scatterbrained despite scatterbraininess being part of my genetic make up. So I have this list, and I carry it around with me in my purse. On my to do list are things like "clean out purse" so I don't lose things, like my to do list... Or drivers license; and "make the bed", because I sleep better in a made bed (The Boyfriend™ does not share that quirk).
Because The Nugget will be getting on the bus earlier, starting tomorrow, I also have "wake up earlier" on my list, in an effort to make an early rise time a habit. Unfortunately, this means The Boyfriend™ and I are now waking up at the same time. Neither of us are morning people and both of us being awake at the same time may result in jail time for one or both of us. He is extra cantankerous in the morning, and I am extra sarcastic. Not a good combo.
Frankly, a world run by morning larks should be illegal. I am a night owl; all my best thinking happens at night, the way God intended it. And as I sit here on the back porch up earlier than necessary, sipping my coffee, looking at the pile of cat food on the floor (one of them just knocked a bucket of it down), I remind myself that patience is a virtue.
...One I don't possess. Especially in the morning.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Scallion Pancakes
I've been far away from this space as of late. Too far and too long away, I think. There's been so much life happening these days, that it's been difficult for me to find a few moments in which to gather my thoughts - which have been even more disjointed than usual.
Let's start with some updates:
We are officially moved into our new digs now, but still unearthing ourselves from a mountain of boxes. I'm afraid I haven't been much help with the moving effort because...
The Boyfriend™ and I are expecting our first child together. I must say, there's a world of difference between being pregnant at 24 and being pregnant at 34. I am tired. All the time. I don't remember being this tired with either of the trolls. Lima Bean (as we refer to "her") is due in very late March. I'm hoping, since I have to have another c-section anyway, that the doc can deliver "her" on March 29th - my Grammie's birthday.
In case you didn't notice, I have a feeling (or maybe it's an over inflated sense of wishful thinking) that this one is a girl. Or maybe it's because I desperately need more estrogen in the house, since I'm sorely out numbered in that regard.
That's really it, in terms of big life announcements, but I guess that's plenty. So let's move onto thoughts:
I miss my daily yoga routine and really need to get back into that. I definitely had more energy when I was practicing regularly and didn't feel nearly so out of sorts. There's a focus when you're on the mat and a necessary calmness that happens. I need that calm... Especially for the Lima Bean.
I am so thrilled that the trolls are thrilled about becoming big brothers (again, in The Monkey's case). The Monkey and I have been having marvelously candid conversations about the nature of relationships, life, love and everything in between. He's one cool kid that one is.
I miss home so desperately still. I've realized that my sort of constant general malaise is not so much that as a constant state of homesickness. I miss home. Even Lima Bean misses home... Or so says I (my food cravings are all for things that I can only seem to find back home).
The new house still doesn't feel like a home yet. I think this is due in large part to still feeling like my folks' place, and the rest owing to the fact that I detest the town I live in. I was never so grateful to move out of it - and now I find myself back in it. I'm a bit grateful for this though, since it'll keep the fire stoked to get out of here and move back home.
The Two Year Plan is still very much in motion. Don't you fret about that.
I need, need, NEED to get back into my studio. I miss it with a fierceness. I hope to unearth it tomorrow.
Scallion pancakes a delicious. Just saying.
Let's start with some updates:
We are officially moved into our new digs now, but still unearthing ourselves from a mountain of boxes. I'm afraid I haven't been much help with the moving effort because...
The Boyfriend™ and I are expecting our first child together. I must say, there's a world of difference between being pregnant at 24 and being pregnant at 34. I am tired. All the time. I don't remember being this tired with either of the trolls. Lima Bean (as we refer to "her") is due in very late March. I'm hoping, since I have to have another c-section anyway, that the doc can deliver "her" on March 29th - my Grammie's birthday.
In case you didn't notice, I have a feeling (or maybe it's an over inflated sense of wishful thinking) that this one is a girl. Or maybe it's because I desperately need more estrogen in the house, since I'm sorely out numbered in that regard.
That's really it, in terms of big life announcements, but I guess that's plenty. So let's move onto thoughts:
I miss my daily yoga routine and really need to get back into that. I definitely had more energy when I was practicing regularly and didn't feel nearly so out of sorts. There's a focus when you're on the mat and a necessary calmness that happens. I need that calm... Especially for the Lima Bean.
I am so thrilled that the trolls are thrilled about becoming big brothers (again, in The Monkey's case). The Monkey and I have been having marvelously candid conversations about the nature of relationships, life, love and everything in between. He's one cool kid that one is.
I miss home so desperately still. I've realized that my sort of constant general malaise is not so much that as a constant state of homesickness. I miss home. Even Lima Bean misses home... Or so says I (my food cravings are all for things that I can only seem to find back home).
The new house still doesn't feel like a home yet. I think this is due in large part to still feeling like my folks' place, and the rest owing to the fact that I detest the town I live in. I was never so grateful to move out of it - and now I find myself back in it. I'm a bit grateful for this though, since it'll keep the fire stoked to get out of here and move back home.
The Two Year Plan is still very much in motion. Don't you fret about that.
I need, need, NEED to get back into my studio. I miss it with a fierceness. I hope to unearth it tomorrow.
Scallion pancakes a delicious. Just saying.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Playing in the whitebox
I finally got some decent lighting a couple of weeks ago. Not great lighting, but decent. There's a lot to be said for natural light. And awesome photo editing software. An artist can't rest simply on her laurels, now can she?
Here are some of the results:
I spent the better part of tonight deep in iPod-land desperately trying to cobble together more sentences for the book I'm working on. When the muse clearly was busy elsewhere, I decided it was time to do some photo editing instead. While I'm not 100% thrilled with what I captured that evening, I'm glad I'm getting back into the groove with the photography again.
I've come to realize that my art is a holistic thing; it requires both typical tools of the artistic trade and photographs. When my pool of photos is running thin, I have to revisit the ones I'd previously discarded as not good enough. Often I find treasures in there -- things that won't stand on their own merit, but are otherwise excellent fodder for some mixed media work.
The only thing I'm really lacking these days is time. There are simply not enough hours in a day and in my week to get everything I want to do done. I keep trying to figure out how to make it all work, but there really is no such thing as having your cake and eating it, too. That frustrates the hell out of me, because I don't like being thwarted. Because, dammit, I have dreams. Big ones. Living, breathing, dynamic visions of what I want my more immediate future to look like -- and it has nothing to do with dragging my ass out of bed so I can drag it into a corporate job.
Which is why I have to have my cake and eat it -- swallow great big gobs of it. Because dreams this big won't wait to come true. I have to ride this for all its worth. I've got the support and love of a good man, trolls who already believe I'm an artist and don't understand why I'm not an art teacher. I've got the gumption, the vision and the relative know-how. Now all I need is time -- and a bit more money in the bank.
Here are some of the results:
I spent the better part of tonight deep in iPod-land desperately trying to cobble together more sentences for the book I'm working on. When the muse clearly was busy elsewhere, I decided it was time to do some photo editing instead. While I'm not 100% thrilled with what I captured that evening, I'm glad I'm getting back into the groove with the photography again.
I've come to realize that my art is a holistic thing; it requires both typical tools of the artistic trade and photographs. When my pool of photos is running thin, I have to revisit the ones I'd previously discarded as not good enough. Often I find treasures in there -- things that won't stand on their own merit, but are otherwise excellent fodder for some mixed media work.
The only thing I'm really lacking these days is time. There are simply not enough hours in a day and in my week to get everything I want to do done. I keep trying to figure out how to make it all work, but there really is no such thing as having your cake and eating it, too. That frustrates the hell out of me, because I don't like being thwarted. Because, dammit, I have dreams. Big ones. Living, breathing, dynamic visions of what I want my more immediate future to look like -- and it has nothing to do with dragging my ass out of bed so I can drag it into a corporate job.
Which is why I have to have my cake and eat it -- swallow great big gobs of it. Because dreams this big won't wait to come true. I have to ride this for all its worth. I've got the support and love of a good man, trolls who already believe I'm an artist and don't understand why I'm not an art teacher. I've got the gumption, the vision and the relative know-how. Now all I need is time -- and a bit more money in the bank.
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Inch by Inch
The Etsy shop is growing! I've added more items -- earrings, for now -- and will be adding more very, very soon! The Boyfriend™ fixed my loaner sewing machine, so after I'm done being a little one-man Christmas sweatshop, I'll return to making my fun and whimsical fabric jewelry.
I plan on making the investment -- time and money-wise -- to get more traffic to my page. However, I definitely want a bigger selection up there before I start directing a ton of traffic to my Etsy shop. In the mean time, I'll promote it here and on my web page -- www.samandsady.com.
I have some other updates that I'll get up here in the next couple of days -- including: how I lost the Mother of the Year Award; why I'm considering a career change (to waitressing, actually); how The Best Friend® abandoned me to make herself happy; and the great Christmas Tree Debacle... OK. It was neither a debacle or much of a story, but I'm wicked excited to have the first real Christmas tree I've had since I moved to this godforsaken state (and it's officially The Boyfriend™'s first real tree, period).
Until I can get back to the computer, I leave you with this outtake from this year's Christmas card:
I plan on making the investment -- time and money-wise -- to get more traffic to my page. However, I definitely want a bigger selection up there before I start directing a ton of traffic to my Etsy shop. In the mean time, I'll promote it here and on my web page -- www.samandsady.com.
I have some other updates that I'll get up here in the next couple of days -- including: how I lost the Mother of the Year Award; why I'm considering a career change (to waitressing, actually); how The Best Friend® abandoned me to make herself happy; and the great Christmas Tree Debacle... OK. It was neither a debacle or much of a story, but I'm wicked excited to have the first real Christmas tree I've had since I moved to this godforsaken state (and it's officially The Boyfriend™'s first real tree, period).
Until I can get back to the computer, I leave you with this outtake from this year's Christmas card:
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Bubble, bubble, toil and to trouble...
One of the downsides to The Boyfriend™, is that he's ridiculously comfortable. I find myself spending most weekends ensconced in my spot, not being productive in the slightest. As a rule, I'm cool with this, because I really don't want to be productive most of the time. But there are those rare occasions when I want to create and I can't resist the siren song of the comfort of my spot. So let all of pjy to do list go to hell in a handbasket.
The end result of this, though, is that I have about a billion things left that I NEED to do wand about a million that I want to do. I have a ton of projects simmering in the brain bowl screaming at me to bring them to life.
I have a feeling that I'm not going to be able to resist much longer. As a creative being, there is only so long that I can without creating before I have to spend an entire weekend barely sleeping, so I can get all the screaming out of my head. And that time is coming up soon. The urge to create is becoming a force unto itself, one that I will not be able to resist despite looming deadlines.
So very soon, expect blog posts full of rambling about projects I'm undertaking and that are done with an ADHD level of attention. In the mean time though, Im going to go enjoy my spot.
The end result of this, though, is that I have about a billion things left that I NEED to do wand about a million that I want to do. I have a ton of projects simmering in the brain bowl screaming at me to bring them to life.
I have a feeling that I'm not going to be able to resist much longer. As a creative being, there is only so long that I can without creating before I have to spend an entire weekend barely sleeping, so I can get all the screaming out of my head. And that time is coming up soon. The urge to create is becoming a force unto itself, one that I will not be able to resist despite looming deadlines.
So very soon, expect blog posts full of rambling about projects I'm undertaking and that are done with an ADHD level of attention. In the mean time though, Im going to go enjoy my spot.
Friday, September 10, 2010
I could've sworn it was on my list
First entry on my very own blog! This is exciting... and exhilarating! I'll say it right now, out loud, on my very first blog entry -- I hope this is the first step in becoming wildly successful in all my endeavors. But I am willing to admit that I am just one of many many bloggers out here in the Blogosphere, so I'll be happy if my nana happens to check my blog out from time to time.
So... why blog? Why be like the countless many out there who all think they're important enough to have their say in such a public forum as Teh Internets? Well... why not? Why not add my voice and hope someone listens? Besides, despite being so gregarious I'm actually quite shy. Humiliation and I do not get along. I don't do public very well. Sure, I can be ballsy and out there and wild and goofy, but not if someone is actually going to see me. Or, more accurately, not if I'm going to be able to see people.
But if I'm going to do this artist thing -- and be true to my soul -- I have to actually be out there. I have to be willing to expose myself in a public forum and accept the praise and criticism that go along with it. Even if it's just from my family.
Moving on...
I'm going to start with my life list. I figure if I post it here, then I have to do it. Otherwise, I'm just another slacker. And I'm tired of being a slacker. OK, not really. Slacking is fun, but it's not very conducive to a deliciously wonderful life -- and I want a deliciously wonderful life. Which, from what I'm told, is something you actually have to work for.
First -- I don't have TV. Well, I have a TV, but I don't have cable or a satellite dish or any other exposure to the outside world, other than the internet. This is very much on purpose. So I wasn't familiar with the whole bucket list phenomenon until I read about it playing Six Degrees of the Internet. I thought it was a cute concept for a movie, but rather macabre, and didn't give it much more thought than that.
So flash forward a month or so later, and I'm back to playing Six Degrees of the Internet again (it's what I do when I don't want to do anything else), and I happen to click through The Bloggess's blog to Chookooloonk's blog -- and I fell in love. It was kismet! It was synchronistic! It was exactly what I needed to lift me off my ass and set me on my path! This woman is fearlessly living her life and is exactly who I want to be when I grow up. But here it was again... mention of this list... a Life List. I read through it and started writing one of my own. My life list is now in a journal that I cart around in my backpack like it's my security blanket -- going everywhere I go -- and I fill page after page with motivational words, inspiration for future art projects, instructions for completing items on my life list and other ramblings. This life list has turned out to be a life line on more than one occasion.
I could've sworn that "designing my own web site" was on my life list, but I can't find it. Granted, I've only skimmed the 109 goals on there and might've missed it (my handwriting is choppy, at best). So when I find what number it actually is, I'll update this blog. Maybe. I hope. It's Life List Goal #100
Right now, I'm at the beginning stage of Life List Goal #62 -- Grow my own vegetables. The Boyfriend™ is doing most of the work and I find myself having to literally beg him to let me help. But apparently, this whole living off the land thing appeals to him this week.
(Side note: The Boyfriend™ is dreamy... and wonderful... and smart... and a goddamn breath of fresh air. How can you not love a man who not only supports your dreams and ambitions and talents, but actuallytakes over helps you with something on your life list, to bring it to fruition).
Life List Goal #61 -- Grow my own herbs from seed to plant started off well, but then failed miserably. I think that has something to do with the fire ants in my fronts yard -- and the poison necessary to kill them -- but, I'm not going to let that deter me. Besides, The Boyfriend™ is taking over the vegetables -- and I want to appear somewhat invested in my life list, so I guess I'll try the herb thing again.
So... why blog? Why be like the countless many out there who all think they're important enough to have their say in such a public forum as Teh Internets? Well... why not? Why not add my voice and hope someone listens? Besides, despite being so gregarious I'm actually quite shy. Humiliation and I do not get along. I don't do public very well. Sure, I can be ballsy and out there and wild and goofy, but not if someone is actually going to see me. Or, more accurately, not if I'm going to be able to see people.
But if I'm going to do this artist thing -- and be true to my soul -- I have to actually be out there. I have to be willing to expose myself in a public forum and accept the praise and criticism that go along with it. Even if it's just from my family.
Moving on...
I'm going to start with my life list. I figure if I post it here, then I have to do it. Otherwise, I'm just another slacker. And I'm tired of being a slacker. OK, not really. Slacking is fun, but it's not very conducive to a deliciously wonderful life -- and I want a deliciously wonderful life. Which, from what I'm told, is something you actually have to work for.
First -- I don't have TV. Well, I have a TV, but I don't have cable or a satellite dish or any other exposure to the outside world, other than the internet. This is very much on purpose. So I wasn't familiar with the whole bucket list phenomenon until I read about it playing Six Degrees of the Internet. I thought it was a cute concept for a movie, but rather macabre, and didn't give it much more thought than that.
So flash forward a month or so later, and I'm back to playing Six Degrees of the Internet again (it's what I do when I don't want to do anything else), and I happen to click through The Bloggess's blog to Chookooloonk's blog -- and I fell in love. It was kismet! It was synchronistic! It was exactly what I needed to lift me off my ass and set me on my path! This woman is fearlessly living her life and is exactly who I want to be when I grow up. But here it was again... mention of this list... a Life List. I read through it and started writing one of my own. My life list is now in a journal that I cart around in my backpack like it's my security blanket -- going everywhere I go -- and I fill page after page with motivational words, inspiration for future art projects, instructions for completing items on my life list and other ramblings. This life list has turned out to be a life line on more than one occasion.
I could've sworn that "designing my own web site" was on my life list, but I can't find it. Granted, I've only skimmed the 109 goals on there and might've missed it (my handwriting is choppy, at best).
Right now, I'm at the beginning stage of Life List Goal #62 -- Grow my own vegetables. The Boyfriend™ is doing most of the work and I find myself having to literally beg him to let me help. But apparently, this whole living off the land thing appeals to him this week.
(Side note: The Boyfriend™ is dreamy... and wonderful... and smart... and a goddamn breath of fresh air. How can you not love a man who not only supports your dreams and ambitions and talents, but actually
Life List Goal #61 -- Grow my own herbs from seed to plant started off well, but then failed miserably. I think that has something to do with the fire ants in my fronts yard -- and the poison necessary to kill them -- but, I'm not going to let that deter me. Besides, The Boyfriend™ is taking over the vegetables -- and I want to appear somewhat invested in my life list, so I guess I'll try the herb thing again.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)