How Soon is Too Soon for Christmas?

Driving to work this morning, the fog hovering over the edge of a near mountain, I started to imagine my drive to work as the Winter chill gets deeper. For some reason, lights look brighter to me, the rain makes everything sparkle, and everything reminds me that it is the Christmas season.

It's probably psychological, but there are some things I don't notice until after Thanksgiving, like when you are on 101 South, just past Northgate on a dark evening, the rows of head- and brake lights look like strings of decoration I'd hang on my Christmas tree. And the rain smells sweeter than it does in the Summer. The air is crisp, not freezing like in the Fall, but clear and it sharpens the appearance of the leaves on trees.

I was wishing this morning that I had a Christmas CD to pop on. I'm one of "those people" who gets excited that right after Halloween they start the jolly-jingles that loop over the intercom at department stores. If my husband would allow it, I'd buy a Christmas tree before Thanksgiving and keep it up until Valentine's Day. I bake full-fat cookies, and hand them out to neighbors, co-workers, and maybe this year the postman too. I love buying gifts, spending hours deciding in the perfect present, then come home, fill a glass with wine, and spend twice as long wrapping them up. I love to cuddle under a blanket with the smell of soup on the stove, the patter of rain outside, and a hot cup of chocolate nestled in my hands.

There is something so sweet and magical about Winter, and Christmas really is my favorite holiday. I hate how people turn it into a stressful, competitive time, worrying they are not buying enough, not spending enough. I've had so many broke Christmases, and I feel grateful for that because I feel like I can appreciate the Holidays for what they are meant to be. A time to spend with family and friends, and just be together enjoying each others' company. I incorporate Jesus into mine, but I don't think that's requisite.

Anyway, I think I'm going to start early this year, because I plan on doing all gifts homemade. At least for the adults. Big plans folks. I'm stoked. Taryn will love the lights and such, opening her gifts, eating all the yummy food, and especially beign with family.

FWD: Talking ISH

It's been a hard week. I've been auper-busy at work, which I love because time passes so much more quickly, and I get to see my angel before, during, and after the mad rush of other people's emergencies that I have been innundated with.

I've been thinking a lot about this blog thing. There were some disparaging comments recently about how awful anonymity is on the internet. I seem to have read quite a few articles, even in Time magazine, about the evil side that pops out of people, the fake myspace pages, the kiddy-predators and the cyber-bullying, all behind a cloak of secrecy.

I don't mind anonymous. I think some people need it to speak their minds and say what they really feel, and in many situations they are justifiably worried about the repercussions of claiming up to their own opinions and actions. All I can on that is that many times it is not the anonymous person's fault they have to be that way. People are too sensitive, too guarded, and their past reactions are what cause people to be cautious around them.

But I am a bit worried about the other facet of the internet, and that is the complete lack of privacy between folks. I know, I know, who the hell am I to speak on this, right?

The difference between me and what I am about to bitch about, is that I'll rant about how I am affected by things. I'll share my internal dialogue with the world, and I may include other people in it, but it is not to be stricktly spiteful.

Usually.

I'm paranoid about emailing anything. I'm paranoid that if I tell someone how much of an asshole they are, they'll always have physical proof of it. Or if I tell someone how much I appreciate the ear they lent before when I was going through a rough time, I don't want anyone to know what a sap I am. I'm getting better about being comfortable with my emotions, but I'm still not entirely comfortable with other people knowing those deepest ones.

It seems to me lately that there have been a lot of spreading of personal correspondence lately. And I don't know why I see this differently than blogging, but I do. I'm uncomfortable with the thought that I tell someone something very personal, and it may be forwarded to my entire internet-accessible family.

I don't want to look dumb, without my own doing. And I don't want people to discuss me behind my back without my knowing. I know it happens, and I do it too. But I try to edit my dialogue to what I would say if they were sitting in front of me. Unless I don't like you, I don't want to be the one talking shit behind your back. I pride myself in being open and honest and forthcoming when something is bothering me, but this situation feels a little passive-agressive. It's almost like my mind is being pressured to think the way theirs does, and they are sending me proof of why I should think like that.

I'm rambling. This has been bouncing around my brain all week, and I'm bothered because I know some people see my blogging in the same light, but I feel like this is okay since my intention is to process for myself..... But maybe I'm just making excuses and trying to distance myself from what I know is wrong?

I don't know.

Baby Ache

I don't know what has possessed me the last week or so, but I feel like I'm having baby withdrawals! Taryn has grown in the last month to such an incredible little girl, I can't wait to get pregnant again and be in awe twice as much as I am now.

Maybe part of it has to do with the fact that I'm surrounded by pregnant people at work, and most of my friends are parents now. But I miss being pregnant. I know it annoyed people that I always had a hand on my belly, but feeling her kick was the most amazingly-odd sensation, I didn't want to miss a single one.

And granted, it wasn't all fun and bubbles, especially the birth and sleepless nights, but I was so grateful to be blessed with the ability to conceive and carry my own baby... it may sound weird to some folks, but I seriously considered being a surrogate, just to be pregnant again. And do a good deed. If I could be pregnant and skip over the birth part, I may be more inclined, but I also would have to find the right family, and it's slim picking when you aren't looking.

I guess that now that we've decided to try again next year, I want to stay in the moment and enjoy every second of Taryn being a toddler, but I think I'll love being pregnant and taking her to the park, as tired as I'm sure I will be this time we'll have more help, and I can listen to my body more instead of pushing to do everything all the time.

It just makes me smile, hoping and dreaming about the future. I'm really grateful for the escape.

AWESOME

We went to see Mana on Friday night, and it was the most incredible concert I've been too. That could not mean much, considering I haven't been to all that many, but the vibe of the crowd was like nothing I've been around before.

The effects were amazing, there was fire and water, images of butterflies and trees, and inspirational messages that made it okay to seek help. It was really incredible.

There was some drama, of course. A woman said she was grabbed inappropriately, and when P and I were in line for beer, we ended up with the last two (really four, heh) liter bottles. There were probably 30 people in line behind us, and the called the police over to stop any fights that broke out when they announced that the one person behind us would be the last to get anything.

It was funny though, because all the songs were in Spanish I didn't understand much, but the music was still amazing. I knew most of them from what P had played at home, and some I knew well enough to sing along to, but some I didn't know at all but I could feel the meaning.

All in all, a bit stressful to get to it, but it was so worth the trouble.

A Plan's a Plan, Right?

I'm torn here. I don't want to be offensive, but I've been super-irritated by something that seems to be happening more and more regularly with more and more people. And I know I'm PMS-ing, so I'm more bothered than normal, but FUCK!

Can you make up your damn mind?

I don't do wishy-washy. For a lot of years when my self-esteem was lower, I was that person who would defer to others' wishes. When I was asked to make a decision like, "Where do you want to go for lunch?" I would always be the one without an opinion. Even when I really wanted to go somewhere, I would say I didn't care so as not to be pushy. How lame is that? I'm the only person I would call pushy who stated an opinion.

I didn't realize I had lost my voice until a friend said he remembered how when we were dating I would tell him I was going somewhere and he was free to come along, but I was going even if he didn't. And he loved that about me.

And I've been trying ever since to state my opinions, when I have them. I'm realizing something major changed in me after Boogie was born. I have to set an example of a strong woman for her, so I've been consiously setting myself up to be the person I always wanted to be, I just didn't have the motivation to improve until she came along.

Sometimes I really don't give a damn where to go to eat. I'm just hungry. But it drives me crazy when other people are wishy-washy. I can't stand to be in a conversation with someone who is deferential to the point of not having an opinion. And I abhor the actions of people who try to make things easier for you, and end up fucking it all up.

Example. If I'm at work and I need to get something from someone on another floor, I will normally call them and let them know I am coming to get it. If that person says they'll be upstairs soon so they can drop it off anyway, fine. But if we agreed that I would go downstairs to get it, and that person happens to come upstairs to drop it off without telling me, it's bound to be at the same time that I'm going downstairs to pick it up. So we cross paths without realizing it, and I'm downstairs searching for the paper, or the person I need to get it from.

That was a bogus example, but it's that kind of thing that irks me lately. Like, I get you are trying to be helpful, but you're really not. I like when things happen according to whatever plan we decided on, and when someone decides to change that plan, it inevitably screws with me.

If I say, "Let's go have lunch." And you say, "Sure, where?" Then I'm going to respond with a location. If you agree to that, it's a plan, right?

But if when we're in the car you say, "If you don't want to go to X, we could go to Y." Then you're fucking with my plan.

And I might respond by saying, "Sure, if you'd rather go to Y, that's fine with me." Don't freaking turn around and say, "Or we could try Z if you don't like Y."

We already planned on X, why is the hell are we now discussing Z? I am not the docile creature I was years ago. If I don't want to go to Y, I won't agree to go there. If you didn't want to go to X, you shouldn't have agreed in the first place.

Comprende?

Raaaawwwrrrrr.

Month Fifteen

I'm going to blame it on the fact that I'm a new mom that I just realized that rather than telling you about your fifteenth month, I'm really telling you about your fourteenth now, right? Or not?

You just pooped in the potty again. Is it weird that I'm proud of that? And an amazing discovery we made today is that you like ranch on your pizza. I didn't even know you like pizza, at least you don't care for the one I give you, only what Papa has. But you two were eating pizza for dinner tonight, and you stretched your hand up to your Papa and made your "a-yayayaya" sound. So he lowered his hand, and you wiped your piece of pizza across the top of his, covering the tops of all 5 fingers in ranch dressing, then popped it into your mouth. And you chewed with a wonderful happy smile on your face while you licked the ranch off your fingers. Papa's Girl.

Most kids' first words are something cute like "doggy" or "kitty" and of course Mama and Dada. And while you say those two adorable nicknames, and can sign kitty and can bark like a doggy your first real word? "Cheese." Need I say more?

I wish I could say we've had an exciting September, but really? It's been mostly sick time spent lying around reading books, watching movies and sticking any type of edible product into your mouth to see if you'll actually eat. In the past three months you grew 1.5 inches, but only gained 3oz. And now, Papa and I need to see a nutritionist, partly so our insurance can bill for extra appointments, partly I guess to make sure we're not starving you into model material. Because! This Monday you have an interview with Marla Dell Talent. And I'm praying you get a contract so I can stop stressing for a while about your college savings account that hasn't had a deposit since I opened it. Three months ago. But we're making daily deposits in the bank of LOVE. That's what really counts.

Love bug, my wish for you is that you have enough saved and earned to not leave college with a huge debt and a worthless degree, and second-guess your decision to go. I might be projecting a bit, but it's a crap situation to be in, and I hope you don't end up like Mama did.

I know I'm forgetting something, but I've been sick too and my brain is all foggy-like. But I do have fond memories of this month with you snuggling with us for hours, sleeping in the bed late on a Sunday morning when we're all sick and drippy, asking for sips of tea and eating peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I love how you nuzzle our necks when you're extra tired and how you wake up at 4am to nurse, and then sleep in until 8. I love seeing you in cutie-pie footie PJs that are fit for your age, but you're so small we have to roll up the sleeves and ankles so you can still play, and how you chase the cat around the house and pick her up by her neck, and you are so excited that she's too old to run away from you.

Papa has had a hard month, but you are always quick to give out hugs and kisses when they are needed most, and it's those special fleeting moments that make me love being a mom more than anything else in the world.

I love you.
Mama

The Nasty End of the Flu

I hate to complain (yeah! right!) but have you ever noticed that the end of the flu is the grossest? I mean, sure, you feel worse the first two weeks, and the last week or so is uncomfortable, but it is also the time when you are the most ... um ... drippy?

I won't describe to you the rainbow of colors that my mucos has been the last two days, but suffice to say most of the colors of the walls in my house? Perfect match.

But the good news is that I am finally on the mend. And better news is that Boogie is feeling much better than I am. She's got a snotty nose also but it doesn't seem to bother her too much, more like a liquidy salt-lick to occupy her idle hours....

You may notice that I didn't get around to her monthly letter yesterday, but I will today. I popped a Tylenol PM at around 7 last night and slept like I didn't have a baby until the 4am feeding. Then miraculously fell right back asleep until my alarm went off for the third time at 6 am. I don't remember turing it off the first two times though, oops.

And good news too, is that P has been really backing me up these two weeks since I've been sick. He's had a lot to do as well, preparing for interviews and such, but he's been awesome about letting me pass-out on the couch while he cooks dinner and feeds Boogie, wakes me up by putting food in front of my face so I can get enough energy for bathtime, and then doing a man-cleaning of the kitchen since I've been going to sleep around 7:30 at night.

I'd probably feel better if he did all that dressed like a fireman, but I can't complain too much. :)

Whoo-Hoo!!!!

I'm so stoked right now! I just got a call from Marla Dell, and Boogie has a modeling interview on Monday! Yay!

She said she didn't realize how long it had been since we submitted the application, and she's been waiting to see us for a while.

Only bad thing is that means a lot more time that I need to take off work, on very short notice, but Yay!

****

In other news, Boogie is still sick. She's got a cough now, and runny nose, but at least no fever. She got 3 shots yesterday, so I know she's feeling crappy now. Plus, we have to go see a nutritionist because the kid has grown 1.5 inches taller in 3 months, but is only 3ozs heavier. Height for age, she's average, 56%, but weight for age she's only 3%, and weight for height, she's not even on the chart anymore.

Poor Angie, but I'm pretty sure being sick the last week didn't help. I have another appointment scheduled in a couple months to check up on her weight again. But the Doc said maybe she's just blessed with the long and skinny gene, like Mama.

Thank Goodness for the Ego

And I mean that in a wholly Freudian sense of the word.

I haven't blogged in almost two weeks, which could be construed as me doing very well emotionally, as I tend to blog when I have something I need to get out. I wish I could say that was true, but really, I've been dealing with so much lately, the most difficult being my Id trying to kick the ass of my Super-ego, that I figured it was safer not to write anything public.

I'm not a control freak, I just have a super-strong Super-ego. But these past couple weeks, I've wanted to just say fuck-all to everyone and leave me alone. I know part of it is being sick. And part of it is not sleeping well because the creepy fucking blue light in our room, and Boogie being up every couple hours with a 102 fever and a runny nose. Tygir has something wrong with her hip, so I'm contemplating medical bills up the yang, and really? Nanny, I'm not your fucking mother.

I know I've taken on a lot, and I don't want to deal with it anymore. I wish, for one short period in my life, that someone else would just deal with everything for me so I can focus on what's really important. I don't want to be the gagged confidant right now. I don't want the frustration of my solicited opinions being constantly ignored. I don't want to cook and clean, walk the dogs, or even shower. I just want to take care of my baby the way I know she needs it.

I'm feeling very judgmental at the moment. I don't agree with what you are doing, but I don't even have the energy to tell you that. It's easier for me to shut-up and listen, then you'll stop talking about yourself and maybe give a damn about my well-being for a moment. Even writing that, I can see the repercussions coming, the questions, the anger... But what to do? It applies to everyone I'm in contact with lately, my boss, my coworkers, clients and friends. No one specific, just everyone. And it's obviously me, because my head isn't big enough to think I'm in the center of some elaborate conspiracy to make me feel shitty.

So don't take it personally if you start yacking and my eyes glaze over. I just don't have the energy to deal with your stuff right now. I don't have the energy to be caring and sympathetic. I only have enough to take care of me and Boogie right now, and ah! A jolt of maturity and wisdom... That's all I'm going to try to do.

Beautiful, Ain't It?

And oh-so-energy-efficient.

Funny thing is though, from looking at this photo it would seem to someone who doesn't know us that the walls in the house are white...they are very much not. But I guess the ceiling still is, never noticed, really.

Boogie's New Kitty

Sometimes I sit and watch T-Boogie, and I am completely overwhelmed with how amazing she is. I have never seen a more beautiful, intelligent, friendly child in my entire life, and I don’t feel entirely biased even though I helped create her. She is truly an incredible kid, and I feel so blessed, day after day, that she chose me as her Mommy.

It trips me out how smart she is. I don’t think her father or I had that much common sense when we were her age. We took her to the Civic Center lagoon yesterday to feed the ducks all the stale chips and cereal I cleaned out of the pantry earlier in the day. When we got there, I threw a few handfuls of food so they would come closer to her. She crouched down in a semi-squat with her hands in front of her, and started calling to the geese as she slowly baby-stepped towards them. I don’t know where she learned that, with most animals including our dogs and the cat, she sort of just tumble-runs towards them, and tackles them to the ground for pets and giggles, but somehow she sensed that approach probably wouldn’t work with the ducks and geese.

Earlier this weekend, I had her on the bed just playing around with whatever we could find, an empty birth control box, the lids off perfume bottles, and clean but unfolded socks. She saw Tygir lying on P’s pillow sleeping, and crawled over to her. Now normally, we don’t let her mess with the kitty because she’s old, and doesn’t particularly like kids. I think they are too loud, too rough and too fast for her older sensibilities, but Boogie doesn’t really seem to care, and laid her head on Tygir’s side, wrapped both arms around her, and plastered this huge grin on her face. She must have lain like that for 10 minutes, one hand on the back of Tygir’s neck, one stroking her belly, and her head firmly planted on her stomach. Tygir was purring like a mad-animal, little specklets of drool dripping from her mouth, and occasionally Boogie would lift her head up, smile and me, then plop it right back down on Tygir’s side.

It was such a beautiful sight, my old cranky cat who doesn’t like very many people, snuggling with my baby. And I realized it’s not my cat anymore, she’s all Boogie’s.

I'm SO Cool

Have I mentioned before the hideous painted-gold three-light monstrosity hanging from the ceiling in my living room?

No? Well, let me elaborate... It came with the house, and it's ugly as dirt.

Aside from the fact that every single fixture in this either silver or brushed nickel, and I can't wrap my mind around the thought process to put a cheap-ass GOLD colored hanging light in the room we spend *almost* most of our time in.

But they did.

And now... it's gone.

I bought this beautiful ceiling fan a few weeks ago at Home Depot, and I was being all Damsel in Distress about putting it up. I had requested assistance from a few different men, but none seemed to have the time to get it done, so I said, fuck it. I put it up, just me and T-Boogie while P was picking up the Nanny at the airport.

And I was thisclose to being finished, and I realized I'm missing a piece. It's not a huge deal, but it's supposed to hold the frosted glass over the lights, which are under the fan blades, so I need to go order it soon so I can take a picture and post it on here.

I probably should have taken a "before" shot, but I don't want any reminders about how stupidly hellacious that other light is, so, you'll just see the beauty, and you will be impressed, I promise.

Soon

Completely and Utterly Fucked Up

I wish from the bottom of my heart that I could blog about an incident that occurred today, but I think that if it gets out, he will never be forgiven.

Steps are being taken to stop P's alcohol consumption, because he is out of control. I know I'm inviting questions by even posting this, but I appreciate your understanding that I need to get some of this out, and I don't want to answer questions.

I never thought it would happen. I'm heart-broken that it did, because it can never be taken back. It's one of those things that will forever taint my view of him, and if it ever happens again, I will face being a single mother, because I'm not having it. I told him to leave today, but I did let him come back on the condition that he stops drinking.

My initial suggestion was to drink in moderation, but I realize that's not an option for an alcoholic. He's tried that, and once he starts, he can't stop. It's peaking now with the black-outs, not remembering the fight at Maya's, not remembering the horrific incident this morning, it's got to stop.

Support and suggestions are welcome. I don't know what to do right now.

Presents

You can tell a lot about a person by the present they buy for your child.

For instance, a person who buys a gift, no matter how small, when they refuse to speak to you is a person who genuinely cares about your kid. Or they could be a complete a-hole trying to make you feel guilty for your actions by still thinking of your child. I like to believe the former.

Then there are those people who will throw cheap, thoughtless items together as a gift. They might be procrastinators who forgot to stop by the store ahead of time, or they could only be buying a gift out of a feeling of obligation, not really caring too much if the gift is something your child will use or enjoy. I believe the latter on this one, and yeah, it's nice you remembered to bring something, but next time, don't bother.

And finally, my favorite, are those folks who go out and search for that perfect gift for your child. It may not be exactly what you were expecting, or maybe it was, but it is something your child is guaranteed to use and enjoy for a long time, because a lot of thought went into it. These people love and treasure your child, I think, and also value your friendship. If someone doesn't care enough about your child to get them something they will really like, that person in my mind doesn't value your friendship as much either. And I don't mean these are expensive gifts, but they are thoughtful.

I've been buying a TON of gifts lately, and more gift cards this year than I can ever remember doing in the past. Part of that is I don't want to buy people I don't know super-well something that they won't like, and I also don't want to over-step the friendship bounds by buying something inappropriate. I don't want people to be weirded out that I remembered that 7 months ago they mentioned they really wanted something and I got it for them, and then they are like, "How did you know I wanted this? Weirdo-stalker, eh? Nobody pays that much attention to other people..."

***

So anyway. I think it's the little things that count. I'm big on intention. And I feel awful right now because people I care about are hurting and I don't know how to make it better. I know it's not my job, and I have all these ideas on what I could bring to them to try to make things a tiny bit easier, but I don't want to overstep some invisible boundary that I never learned about. I don't want to show up unannounced and intrude on their grief. I don't want to belittle their loss by bringing them something that I think they would appreciate, but maybe it's not the right time. Maybe my ideas are not appropriate, maybe I should wait a week until I figure out how much I can give without being creepy.

I have this problem a lot. I love to give. I love to hang out with my friends, but I don't want to appear like I'm overly-needy, or trying to buy their friendship. I don't want people to be wary that I was thinking of them at the farmer's market and picked them up something. I don't know when it's okay to do things like that, if we have to be friends for a year first, or if we discuss the intimate details of our lives, it's okay to sporadically buy them stuff, not gifts necessarily, but if I see something and it reminds me of you, can I get it for you without being weird?

Psychosomatic

I feel sick.

My neck hurts, my stomach is upset, my throat is sore with the dry coughing and I’m irritable.…

I thought maybe I caught a bug somewhere, but when I called P to ask how he was feeling, he suggested maybe I’m just stressed. I can see that, maybe, considering the circumstances and my lack of control about them, maybe I’m a bit stressed. But I thought I was handling this well. I thought I wasn’t too worried about anything, that money wouldn’t be too much tighter than it is now, but I’m rethinking that idea, and it’s very possible that I’m psycho-somatizing.

Is that even a word?

I’ve been feeling really tired lately, and that gaping chasm in the earth that is my depression feels like it’s going to swallow me whole again. But this time instead of hurling myself over the edge without abandon, I feel like one of those circus-clown bears riding a pink miniature bike with streamers flowing off the handlebars and those clickety-clack beads on the spokes bouncing up and down as I slowly spiral my way into it.

I thought I was handling this well, but I’m scared.

Being faced with possibly losing the house when we already barely have enough cash after bills to pay for food and gas is terrifying. Where would we go? Would our marriage survive a loss like that? We are so far from being content with each other as it is, the stress of worrying more than we already do about money is taking its toll. But I know we’ll have enough, and he’ll find another job soon. At least I think we’ll have enough. We have no savings. I can’t afford insurance for him and if something happened…. We would be screwed.

But I didn’t realize I was so worried about this. The loss of control, and knowing that next week there will be another check is hard. We’ve been hand to mouth for so long I thought we would be comfortable by now, but we’re not. One thing could ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for. It wouldn’t be like this if he listened to me, but part of marriage is letting the other person have a say and this is what happens when he makes financial decisions for us.

I feel awful. I don’t even have the energy to want to read a book and oink out on ice cream, just want to sleep it all away. I really did think I was handling this better, but I guess suppressing the fear and anxiety just makes it manifest in another way.

Damn.

Month Fourteen

It never seems to fail that when I sit down to write to you, I can hear you miserable in the background. The entire month hasn't been this bad, but this past weekend your sleep schedule was severely disrupted, and now we are both paying for that sin. But what can two party girls do? It's a good lesson to learn early on...

This month has been pretty cool though. You really embody a toddler now, no longer my helpless little baby, you have a mind of your own and you don't mind sharing it with everyone. That may be an exaggeration, you are very well-behaved in public, but in the privacy of our home you really stretch those wings and express your opinions.

Like, you won't be fed by a spoon, unless you are up walking around. Nothing new there, except that now you won't eat finger foods yourself either, unless it happens to be frozen berries or Garden Burgers. And you want water all. the. time. The sign language is progressing well, but anything with four legs and fur is "kitty" and you want water from a cup, not a sippy cup, but an open top one you can drench yourself in, every six seconds.

And now you run, sort of. When we pretend like we're chasing you, you do this high-step baby-run which usually lasts about two feet before you fall over giggling. Hilarious. And when we say "noni" you immediately lay your head down on the closest thing you can find and pretend you're snoring. Sometimes you lie of the kitchen floor, sometimes on a dog, or a box or a book. Doesn't really matter because you find this game hilarious (and really, we do too) and do it on queue every single time. Even in the middle of Target, you'll lay on the floor and kick one leg as you giggle and stare up at us.

And there is a developing fascination with the toilet the last couple weeks. I hate to put this out there as something you may forever be teased about, but you pooped in the bathtub the other day. When I realized what you were doing, I sort of freaked out and put you straight on the toilet, and you finished your business there. It was your Papa's job to fish your angels out, and I don't know how he did it, but I hope I never have to. The next evening, you started straining in the bathtub again, so I put you on the potty again before you dirtied the tub, and you pooped there! I even gave you a square of toilet paper and you wiped at your leg. Darling, I was so proud. Thirteen months, and already pooping on the toilet, AND you knew to wipe! Although I shouldn't be surprised at that part, when you are in the restroom with me, lately you've been trying to wipe for me too. And maybe that's another thing I shouldn't just post on the internet, but it's adorable, and you are so smart to know what to do without ever being explicitly shown.

Forgive me for being in awe of you. So much seems to have come to your awareness lately that every day is a new lesson for both of us. You're now saying Mama, which could almost make my heart explode, but it's more of a demand, like "Mama, get me that NOW!" Than an "I love you Mama," tone. But beggars can't be choosers, right?

I've been trying to go on walks, but... well, we never make it much further than the curb in front of the house. There is just too much to look around at, the cedar bark on the ground, flowers, ants, pieces of plastic trash. Everything must be examined, picked-up, shown to Mama, thrown away, and then chased again. I can't imagine what you are thinking, but I like to think you understand me when I'm explaining things to you. And as of now, you are most definitely bilingual. I hope it sticks, your Papa's family is so excited that you respond and follow directions in Spanish, and I'm hoping that's also the reason you aren't really talking much. Besides Mama and Dada, you don't say much verbally, but your sign language repertoire is getting better, you've mastered hungry, water, more, kitty, poop, and probably more that I can't think of now. And you know what we're saying, though obviously you don't always listen.

So there it is Sweet-Sweet. You are amazing. You amaze me. Even though you turn off the printer and computer when I'm in the middle of working, and you try to step on the kitty when she won't let you play with her. And even now that you are always wanting to wash you hands, and then spread lotion on them, and your face, and my face, and the dogs...

I love you more than I can ever explain.

Mommy.

Still Embracing

I’ve been having this weird sensation lately of listening to people talking and thinking “Holy! Is that what I sound like?” Or seeing people walk down the street in an outfit that I could have picked out myself and wondering “Gawd, do I look that weird?” And not in a bad way, but more of an “I wonder what people really think of me” way.

Because I have all these odd preconceptions about myself, and many of them have been validated, but in this new striving-to-not-give-a-shit-that-I’m-a-Weirdo mode, I’m wondering how many of the misconceptions about me I’ve perpetuated.

Let me give you an example. People who don’t’ know me think I’m a bitch. Well, people who know me think the same thing, but for good reason. And it’s not that I’m stuck up, but I’m very shy. And I started musing on why people assume that I’m evil, when they’ve never heard a word out of my mouth. I don’t trust people who don’t’ speak up, so I know that’s part of it. But I started to look at the people I am around, or see on the street, and try to see form an outside perspective how I appear to others.

And wow.

My habit of jumping from topic to topic without finishing a thought? Very annoying.

Smiling at everyone I pass in the hallways at work, but not always saying Hi or Good Morning? A little creepy.

Trying to dress-down fancy pants with sneakers and a tee-shirt? Looks really odd.

Black eyeliner in the middle of the day? Maybe not the softest look.

And all of the above on a pretty girl? Weird. Score!

But really, I think people see me and assume I’m unapproachable. Which it not true most times, but very true some moments. It’s fun to recognize traits in others that you know you have, and I can be amused at the quirks. I’m not perfect, I used to think I was the closest thing to God walking this earth, but I’m over that. I think everyone else was over it before I was.

I know I have blind spots, maybe a look in my eye or a tone to my voice that warns people to stay away? And even if I don’t mean it in the moment, it’s something I’ve developed to protect myself, to set boundaries with people I didn’t want to approach me. So it’s my own fault, but I feel like I have enough maturity and strength to verbally let people know when they are infringing on my personal rights, and I’d like to get rid of my “Stay Way” vibes.

I do notice that people approach me a lot more when I have Taryn. Maybe I need to act every day the way I do when I’m with her. I would probably be much happier if I really felt that all day long. Gawd, that kid is amazing. I can’t pinpoint what it is that makes me act differently with her, maybe because I really am happy, or because I’m less self-conscious since I’m so focused on her. Maybe my self-consciousness is mistaken for bitchiness?

The thing that is irking me with this whole line of thought, and excuse me for being an a-hole by saying this, but why are normal-looking people allowed to be shy, and it is expected that I am not? Not to blow up my head bigger than it already is, but I know most days I look good. It’s just not fair for people to assume that since I’m not outgoing, I’m snotty. If I was ugly, would I have this same problem? I really don’t think people would assume that I quiet because I thought I was better than them, they would assume I was quiet because I was shy.

And I’m shy because all my life I’ve been attracting attention that I didn’t want. It’s traumatic as a 12 year old to have old men at the bus stop telling you the things they want to do to you, thinking you were older. And it’s intimidating to be singled out by teachers as the “very smart, exotic-looking one” and be expected to represent the entire African-American race. It’s a lot of pressure to put on a kid who just wants to fit in and be normal, because no matter what I did, people saw me. I became self-conscious at a young age when I realized that some people could walk into a room and not be noticed, but I was never one of them. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but it was fairly consistent. And I started to over-think every single action, knowing that someone would see it.

And I’ve partly grown out of that, because while yes, people still notice if I walk into a meeting and have a wedgie, I’m realizing that their opinions of me really mean jack. So you think I have no fashion sense? Fine. My hair isn’t perfect? Neither is yours. I screwed up a case and my face turned bright red? Yep, and in about a minute it’ll be back to the beautiful café au laite color you wished yours was. I know, easier said than done, but it is getting easier. And even though it takes constant attention to remind myself that my world will not end if you don’t approve of me, I obviously don’t have much else to focus on right now.

So thanks, you’re helping me to become the Weirdo I’ve always known I was.

Sometimes it Would Hurt Less to be Jaded

I didn’t know him, not really. I knew a lot about him, I knew where he lived and how much he earned. I knew his account balances and his medical history, but nothing that really mattered. I didn’t know his favorite color, of anything about his family.

I did know that he was dying, and now he is dead.

How can I shed tears for someone I didn’t know? I can grieve for the loss of life, he was young, and kind, but the weight pressing down on my chest is nothing in comparison to his mother hearing her child is gone. Or his lover losing his best friend.

People make immature decisions early in life. People are often uninformed, and in his case, the lack of information cost him his life. Twenty years of pain, I just pray he’s in a better place now.

Rest in Peace.

Loyalty

There aren't a whole lot of times in the course of a friendship in which you are able to prove, without a doubt, that you got your friend's back.

One I remember was at a party a few years ago. We were all standing around outside, drinking beer and having a cig break from the noise inside. Two guys started fighting about some BS, something about one being Mexican and one Brazilian, and they got all macho on each other and started swinging. Tere got popped in the face, and my first reaction was to jump on the guy who hit her. P grabbed me, picked me up and carried me inside where B was getting ice for her face.

Now I understand that B wanted to take care of his girl, it's sweet really, but I wasn't about to let someone walk away without getting hit back for punching her like that. And I didn't care if it was an accident, I didn't think, I just reacted.

Last night was another one of those nights. P got into an altercation with a restaurant manager. The manager started shoving him around, and without thinking my first reaction was to jump in the middle of them and try to get the guy off my husband. P was trashed. He wasn't thinking straight enough to defend himself, and none of his "boys" were doing a damn thing either.

The manager shoved me out of the way, grabbed P by the neck and pushed him down an outdoor flight of stairs. So I, in all my unthinking glory, jumped on the manager's back, holding onto his arms so he wouldn't go after him again. P was stumbling to get up, and the manager was a lot stronger than me and shook me off. He shoved P again, knocking him into a table and he tripped over a chair and fell. I grabbed the manager's face and was shoving him away from P, the guy kept raising his hand to hit me, and I dared him to do it, knowing he'd never make it out of a crowded bar alive after hitting a female in front of a bunch of drunk men. Finally some big guy from the bar came over and held the manager back while I calmed P down who was ready (haha) to kick the guy's ass.

And I was pissed. I couldn't fathom why in the fuck all these guys would stand around and let P get beat on, knowing how drunk he was, and not even stepping in when I was the only one trying to break up the fight. I don't want to be racist, but is it a thing with only minorities that we will defend each other no matter what? I knew P probably provoked the guy, but I also knew P couldn't fight him off, and I think his friends knew that too, but they would have let him get his ass kicked.

I wasn't even drunk, because if I had been I might have started swinging on the manager, which is not the right thing to do. But since I had stopped drinking probably 3 hours before, my only thought was to protect him from this guy who was raging. I'm so disappointed not only in how P was acting, but the lack of reaction from his friends. And maybe it's misplaced anger, but I would hope that my friends would jump into a fight with me if they thought I was getting my ass kicked. At least step in to help break it up.

And I'm not talking about high school, hunting some chick down and jumping her for some stupid reason. I'm talking about seeing your friend in a situation in which they could potentially be seriously hurt (like being shoved down a flight of stairs) and not remaining a bystander.

But whatever. That's how I feel about my friends. I'm loyal. Even if you've pissed me off recently, I'm still going to be the one to jump into a bar fight with you, or lock you in the trunk of my car so the police don't get you while you're still drunk. And I'll be the one to admit to the police that yes, I jumped in. So if you're going down for assault and battery charges, I'm going right with you.

So the Truth Finally Comes Out

(You may want to get some coffee first .... this is a long one)

For the past two and a half years, a beat-up old Cutlass Supreme has been sitting in the only covered parking space available at my house. From my doorway, it looked like a dusty black, but in fact it has red stripes up the hood (spray painted on, thankyouverymuch) and the opposite side of the care is alternately a baby-ish blue and stripped metal. He never got around to painting the other side.

For the fisrt few months, P worked on the car every weekend, sanding down the paint, attempting to hammer out some of the dings, and laying a dingy blue rug throughout the interior to cover the lack of floor panels and ripped blue leather. The car is an eyesore, although that may really be an understatement. A piece of carpet was placed under it so that the oil oozing from the engine would be somewhat soaked up. Two tires are flat, and I found a hubcap in a bush a few weeks ago. The engine will only start if it's jumped, but otherwise that part at least is in decent shape.

The car was not exactly gifted to P. He sort of inherited it when La Tia threatened to send it to the junk yard. His Tio Toto loved that car, and drove it into the ground. When Tio Toto passed away from a misdiagnosed, God-awful cancer which ravaged his body making him unable to eat or walk, but left his razor-sharp mind intact, he gifted the Cutlass to Julio, who didn't have the money to make it driveable, so he left it in front of La Tia's house in Petaluma. And P claimed it.

So for two years, it has sat untouched in our carport, save the readjustments to the cover when the wind blew more than a single gust. Finally he got frustrated with the cover too, and left the car to blind anyone passing by, with it's degraded glory. For two years we begged foregiveness from the neighbors for leaving such an ugly, inoperable, unregistered vehicle park where they were forced to see it daily. And finally they started complaining to the HOA.

So I saw a note on it a few days ago that it was going to be towed. The note was old though, that's how much attention was paid to the car, and it was supposed to be gone a week before I found it. I finally convinced P that we needed to do something with it before they took it from him, and we decided it would be better to donate it to charity than have it torn apart for scrap metal. I looked online, contacted Marin AIDS Project who agreed to come tow it, and as of about 12:30pm yesterday, it was gone.

P had a really rough day. As he walked back into the house and the tow truck was pulling away from the curb, I could see him fighting back tears. There were people around, so I cracked a joke to give him some composure time, and headed back to work.

Last night I stopped at Safeway to get some beer, knowing he needed to grieve and that he wouldn't allow himself to lose face by doing it sober. We danced around the issue for a few hours, but he refused to discuss it, each time we came close tears welled up in his eyes, and he would angrily wipe them away and change the subject. When he finally had enough to drink to let his guard down, the tears streamed down his face and my heart broke open.

I don't understand. I've lost people before, but none were that closed to me. My great grandmother passed recently, and as heartbroken as I was it was more for the loss of life in general, than any real attachment to her as a person. It sounds cruel, but I didn't know her. We had a blood bond, but that was all. My uncle passed a few months after Tio Toto, and again I cried, but I didn't know him well. I mourned the sudden-ness of it, and the suffering my aunt would endure, and he was a good man, but I'd only met him once and so the grieving was relatively short.

But once the tears started flowing they quickly went from genuine grief to this overly dramatic spilling a sip of beer in his name, kissing his hand and holding it over his heart, asking for forgiveness, and I couldn't take it. I snapped. It was only for 10 minutes or so that he did that, and I'm sure I was a complete a-hole in the moment, but I told him to be real. I told him that if he was going to grieve, he needed to do it for the right reason. I said he didn't give away his uncle, he gave away the car, and I apologized for pressuring him, but told him that he needed to keep his Tio Toto in his heart and mourn his death, not giving away a material object that he once owned.

And I think he got it. He sat quietly for a minute, and then said, yes, I was right. He felt guilty that the day before Tio Toto passed away, he had called P to go visit him and he didn't. He regretted not going to say goodbye, and it felt like a double betrayal that he is now giving away the one thing he had left of him.

I remember at his funeral, P didn't want to say goodbye. I basically forced him to go up to the casket and say a prayer for him. I knew that if he didn't do it, as much as he opposed it in the moment, he would not forgive himself for missing that opportunity. I knew there was something wrong at the funeral, but I was busy taking care of the kids so the adults could say their goodbyes, and I never pressured him to tell me.

So there it is. Guilt is an ugly thing. It makes you irrational, and it sucks that people feel so much shame, so much that they can't face what it really is about in order to work through it. I dont' think I did anything to "solve" his problems, but I'm hoping that when he starts to feel that guilt and shame he can remember that it isn't about the car. And anyway, we did a good thing. Hopefully when they auction the car off they'll get enough to help someone out with medications or doctor's appointments or something. Hopefully.

I know this is long, there is a lot to this. But P also said something that broke my heart and confirmed years-old suspicions that I've had.

He said that one of the reasons he felt so close to Tio Toto was that they both loved women their families hated.

Yeah. He finally admitted what I've known for years. His family hated me. I don't think they do anymore, but he made me out to be this crazy American bitch who broke his heart and trampled his self-worth, turning him into a depressed, angry, alcoholic recluse. And then when we got back together, I was the Golden Child. I saved him from himself.

At Tio Toto's funeral, people were whispering about the "other woman." The mother of his children would not allow her to pay her respects, even though he had been divorced for decades and the "other woman" had been by his side, loving him and caring for him when nobody else would. P said he understood the ostracism, loving an American, choosing a woman over his family.

And on some level, I always knew it, although he denied it up and down for the past 7 years, I knew it, and now I can stop worrying about pleasing them. It's hard to be yourself when you have a suspicion someone doesn't like you, but won't admit it. It's a weird feeling. It doens't change my feelings toward them, I love his family, but I'm glad to finally know why I felt so out of place for so many years.

One of Those Days

I want to sit at home, snuggled up in my jammies with a good book, a cup of coffee and some cheddar and broccoli soup.

But I have entirely too much to do. Drop off my leather jacket at the cleaners, write up P and I's Advance Directives and PoA's, take care of the little terror (who is feeling much better, and hence has MUCH more energy), get Vic a gift for her birthday, and make P some lunch in the next 30 minutes...

*sigh*

Of course I could have been snuggled up for the last hour or so, but this damn computer won't let me go!

I got bored with my book again, so I'm planning to start another soon. Maybe during her afternoon nap.

I am Fertile Again!

After a short 22 months, Aunt Flo is back for a visit and I am officially (biologically) ready for #2! If only my finances recovered to quickly. I'm bummed out due to the inconvenience, but stoked that my magical baby-making powers are back.

And it is on this old-newcomer that I am blaming the following statement:
I have been having some seriously inappropriate dreams about someone other than my husband.

And I'm slightly disturbed, because this is someone that I haven't thought of in that way before. Okay, maybe a little bit, but not quite so...graphically.

Gawd, and what to do? I see this person every day, more than a few times a day at work, and I know I'm blushing when we speak, so thank Goodness my office is so dark, but I feel like the bright red ACT NORMAL sign on my forehead is blinking and it's throwing me off so that I know I get a tiny smile in the corners of my mouth when we speak, but I can't help it.

How naughty, eh? But don't worry folks, this person is in a committed relationship, as am I, and there is not a hot damn thing that I going to do about this in real life. It's just tripping me out, you know, and since shame is not a word I'm familiar with lately, I wanted to share.

Thanks, I feel better. And I know it's only 9pm, but I'm suddenly very tired.

:)

Twinkle Twinkle

I was sitting outside last night, looking into the sky and wishing for a sign.

I've been feeling religiously stuck lately, and I want to get back to the innate feeling of being surrounded by God like I used to, but I don't know how. I really wanted a cash-sign, like a winning lotto ticket (even though I don't play) or a huge inheritance (but I don't have any rich relatives).

As I was staring out over the fence line, admiring the beautiful old oak trees on my hill I noticed a single star shining through the cloud cover. I stood up and searched the rest of the sky, but there were no other stars in view. It was before 8pm, and the sky was still fairly bright, so I sat outside for about 15 more minutes contemplating a recent decision P and I made.

No other stars were showing.

And I'm going to take this as a sign that I'm not going against my faith, that God is okay that I'm covering my bases. I need something, and the only way I can find it right now is through Taryn, and I think God understands that.

White Hot Rage

This past weekend, we had another visit from Crazy. It was probably close to midnight, and Will was over having a few drinks. She had called him at least three or four times in the span of an hour, and each time he had told her he was on his way home. At one point, P was inside taking care of business and Will and I were outside talking. Crazy called again and threatened to wake up the Baby to come get him. He reassured her that he was leaving right away, and as soon as he hung up, turned to me and said "If I'm not honest, I know I've got 30 more minutes."

Okay, so granted, their relationship is all types of messed up. He lies, she threatens, he consoles and lies some more, and then she goes off the deep end. He told me he's getting to the point where he just doesn't care anymore. Sad.

But here's what really pisses me off: He knows that if he doesn't go home, she's going to wake the kids up and come looking for him. What kind of father does that? What kind of father would rather lie to stay away from home for an extra 30 minutes when he knows his kids will suffer because of it?

And what kind of selfish biotch mother would do that to her own kids? What crazy-ass person who carried a child for 9 months and went through the pain of childbirth would wake her kids up at midnight, put them in the car, then drive to a house that they most likely recognize, to sit there in the dark while she yells out the car window for him to come home, threatening him with "Don't make me get out of this car, Will!"

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Every time I think about this, my eyes go blank with fury. I'm half-tempted to report these messed-up people to CPS, but I can't figure out who is worse. The Crazy mother who wants her husband home and under her supervision, although from my experience they really don't talk to each other unless they are yelling. Or the drinking, gambling father who will do anything to get out of the house and away from her.

I just don't understand how parents could act in a way that they know their kids will suffer. People like this shouldn't be allowed to raise children together, and I'm all for working things out, but it's been the same old shit for the two years we've known them.

If P and I get to the point that we simply can't get along anymore, we've vowed not to put any of our children in the middle. I'm sure the temptation will be there, since Taryn is the easiest way for us to hurt each other, but we've both been through it ourselves and know how much it can mess a family up.

Sometimes I Suffer to Make a Point

Today we were supposed to be bringing Super Nanny over to the Berkeley Kite Festival for her monthly Au Pair cluster meeting. For the most part, we don't like going to these things, Nanny is bored and seemingly doesn't really want to get to know the other Au Pairs, T-Boogie's schedule is always thrown off because the meetings aren't timed with her naps in mind, and P-Dely and I fight because he's always wanting to get into the shower 5 minutes before we need to be out the door, and I HATE being late to everything just because he can't get his shit together.

But Boogie really likes watching kites, so I was thinking she'd enjoy our required outing today. I woke her up early so she'd be able to get a nap in before we had to leave, and I checked out the food options there so we'd be able to grab some lunch that she could share with us while we watched. But like clockwork at 10:20 P says he's getting in the shower.

And I snapped.

I was all ready to go, my bag was packed with a banana to feed Boogie on the way, all I needed to do was get her up, change her diaper and clothes, and put her in the car. Nanny doesn't have issues like him with getting ready, so I knew at precisely 10:30 she'd be downstairs waiting for us.

I didn't flash on him like I normally do. Yelling doesn't do anything but make him regress, and I didn't want to deal with another child. I told him he didn't have time for a shower, and he had a minor hissy, then went and changed his undershirt and sat back down at the computer without brushing his teeth. I calmly washed my hands, walked over to him, pointed to the directions I had printed out and told him he needed to get Nanny there by 11.

Then I sat on the bed, turned on the monitor, opened up a book and started reading. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him staring at me, mouth hanging slightly open and a look of shocked disbelief on his face. I don't know if he was waiting for me to start ranting like I normally do, but right now, I'm sick of the same old shit happening. We're locked in this crazy dance that makes us both miserable, and as much as I was dying to take Boogie there, I knew I wouldn't enjoy myself with him being in a pissed-off mood, and I don't want Boogie being around us like that.

So. Now I have to find something else for us to do today. I'm thinking of taking her over to the water park in Terra Linda for a while, so she can splash around and play with the other kids, maybe stopping at Sonoma Taco so we can share a burrito for lunch (this kid LOVES her some chicken burritos). I'm bummed my plans didn't work out, but hopefully P will realize, soon, that I'm not going to cater to his childish actions and tantrums. Because in the past I would have bitched and moaned and we would have gone, and neither of us would have had fun. I'd rather change my plans and enjoy myself than that craziness we used to do.

Peer-Pressure Boyfriends

I've seen two ex-boyfriends in the past 48 hours. I know this county is small, but is there something He is trying to tell me?

Both of these guys were peer-pressure boyfriends, you know that guy (or girl) you date because they are your best friend's cousin or your parent's friend's nephew? The person you are not really into, but you give it a try because if they have so many good things to say about them, maybe they really are a diamond in the rough.

There was absolutely no hanky panky with these two. Call me shallow, but I just could not get past not being physically attracted to them. And maybe I'm unlucky, but I've never been so WOWed by someone's personality that I didn't care what they looked like. Well, maybe once, but only once.

Don't get me wrong, I have crushed on guys who were less-than-stunning, but normally they were so intimidated by me that we never were more than friends. And sadly, I've spent more time with gorgeous a-holes than the aforementioned sweet boys, but I've got a serious sweet spot for a pretty face and a hard body.

But I digress....

Both of these guys were somehow related to my two best friends at the time. Neither was what I would normally go for, and yes, they were sweet, but I remember both being very needy (serious turn-off to me) and more interested in trying to get in my pants than trying to get to know me (also turn-off). Neither lasted long, and neither was a real "boyfriend" as I don't remember any inclination on my part to not look for something better while I was seeing them. What an a-hole I am.

The sad thing is that I think they may have really liked me. I was so cruel back then, on the prowl for my perfect man and totally discounting anyone who wasn't exactly what I thought I wanted. And it was for a reason, I was looking for P, but I didn't know that, and I was too self-centered to consider their feelings at the time. It was all me, all the time. And it didn't help that they seemed to agree, they were both aware (I think) of me checking out other guys, and I may have been a bit of a flirt and really didn't give a hot damn about trying to conceal my intentions towards other men when they were around. Even after I basically told each that I was bored with them, we still hung out as friends, but I would still strut around like a horndog on a stick looking for my next conquest.

So anyway. No point really, just trying to figure out what the karmic mesage is in seeing these two this week. Any ideas?

Heebie-Jeebies

Don't you hate it when you're sitting on the pot and you see a spider crawling toward you?

But then it's even worse when you look away for a second, to grab a magazine or rip off some paper to finish your business, and you look back to make sure it hasn't gotten too close and you can't find it!

Eck.

Paraguay Here We Come!

I bought our tickets to go to Paraguay this November. Yay!

We're pretty much assed-out in terms of actually celebrating Christmas, and getting my new car, and possibly eating for the next couple years as well, because we are dead-broke, but Yay! We're going back to Paraguay!

I'm excited that P's family will be able to see Taryn when she's small, and so damn cute and cuddly. It will be easier to travel when she's older, but it was really important to me that they see her as a baby/toddler. It's easier to bond with a kid this age than maybe a six year-old who isn't as interested in snuggling, and I want her to get used to the 30 hour plane ride soon too.

Yeah, 30 hours.

I'm being dramatic. It's only 20 hours to get there, 17 of which are actually on the plane. For some reason on the way home, we couldn't get a decent set of flights, so we'll have an 11 hour layover in Chile. So P and I decided to make the most of it, get T and I some visas, and go have some wine whie we wait. Because really? 11 hours in an airport. Shitty.

But we found fabulous rates, and we had room on the credit card, so hey. Can't complain. These are the types of things I love to go into debt over.

So yay! Paraguay! P's Tata Lina is going to be so excited when we tell her we're cominng back. I can't beleive it's been 2 years already since the last trip.

I Will Never Be Bourgeois

I was BS-ing on myspace again today. I had loads of work to catch up on, but really, who wants to work when you are so stuffed from a work potluck, you've got serious doubts about controlling your gag reflex, and anyway, I was in baby-zone and seeing if any classmates had been knocked up recently. Or done the knocking.

And I happened upon a friend (although really, I was looking at a friend of his who used to like me, back in the day maybe 15 years ago) and I started to realize that I could never be that. I could not be dressed up when the sun is still out in my Daytime Fancy with my man decked out in his Summer Suit, champagne glasses carefully placed beside a centerpiece overflowing with pink and purple blossoms.

In my house, when the champagne comes out we've either run out of other alcohol, or are transitioning to the hard stuff. My dress-up clothes are more likely to be black knee-high boots with an above-the-knee denim skirt and a booby shirt, instead of a long, formal velvet dress. I think tattoos are hot, and not the shit-tard "tribal" arm bands, but crosses and bleeding hearts, portraits and panthers and beautiful, sentimental designs. Huge hoop earrings, layered necklaces, stilleto slingbacks, gelled waves and dark eyeliner, that's me, not this mellowed-out I have to dress like my father so I'll be successful in like crap.

I don't have a problem with other people doing it, it's just not me.

It's just odd sometimes, when you see how people turned out when you both started in the same place. Okay, maybe they started out with less morals and more money, and look where it got them! More money and still less morals.

Interesting...

14 Weeks

No silly, not pregnant.

We took T-Boogie to get her passport today. We waited for an entire hour, and there were literally three people in front of us. One couple took upwards of 45 minutes, and the sign on the door said the clerk was taking lunch from 1-2, so at 12:56 the woman in front of us offered me her place in line, because she could see T was tired and P was talking about going back to work.

I told her to keep it, she looked like she had her shit together, and I felt bad because I figured we'd take a while, seeing as we needed photos taken and P and I's IDs and such needed to be checked.

A couple minutes later, literally at 12:58 the woman said she was going to try to do it in the mail, handed me her number, wished us luck and left. I walked over to one of the workers and asked if we could get P to sign the form in front of one of them, but they said the sign was old, the woman doens't take a lunch anymore, and she should be calling us soon. Maybe a minute later, the door opened, and we were called in.

We only took about 15 minutes total, so I can't fathom what in the hell the couple before us were doing in there for so long. Anyway, I'm just glad we got the application in today. It's supposedly a 14 week wait to get the passport, and she also took the only certified birth certificate we have for T, so if something happens and we need it, we're pretty much screwed. So... 14 weeks. Plus a couple extra weeks to mail in our passports to get out visas. I don't know if the late-November trip is going to happen. May have to push it back to January or February. Shoot.

But Yay! I got my chairs in the mail. And they are utterly fab. I can't wait to get trashed and sit outside in them and smoke! Heheheh.

Holy Shit

I weighed myself yesterday (in the process of weighing T-Boogie, who is now 19lbs) and I only weigh 129 lbs!

WTF?

I haven't been this skinny since I was in high school, and I'm a tad worried, considering I'm still nursing. I think I'll go downstairs and make some brownies instead of the blackberry pie I was planning on, and try to fatten myself up a bit.

Dang. I weighed more than this before I got pregnant, before I lost 11lbs when I first got pregnant...

Screw Normalcy

The happiest time of my conscious life was when I was dedicated to being different. People were intrigued with the odd styles of clothes I would pick out, my quirky hobbies and habits, and the fact that for a while, I just didn't give a damn. I mean, I did. My personality was a cultivation of things that I enjoyed, things that made me an individual, and at the same time I was very conscious of the fact that those differences were what drew people to me, and so I did care a lot about what people thought, and the more different I was from the crowd, the happier I was with myself.

When I was 13, I remember moving to San Marin and realizing that different was no longer good. Everyone was white. Everyone had stylish clothes, and a JanSport backpack. Except me. And for the next 11 years, I tried to be "that." I tried to be like everyone else, because I didn't want to be alone. I thought that maybe if I changed the outside of me, the inside would align itself and I would finally be a normal person.

But as The Nanny so eloquently told me, as I was explaining to her that I'd rather drink beer than eat ice cream because it had less calories, "You're weird."

And it suddenly hit me, damn straight I am! And no matter what hell I do, I'm always going to be weird. I'm tired of fighting it.

I strove for so long to be understood. And I'm tired of always trying to explain myself, always wasting my energy to get people to understand what I'm talking about, or why I did something that they wouldn't have done. I give up. For some reason, that just isn't important to me anymore.

Whenever I start a new friendship, it's always this feeling of, "Will this be the person who really gets me?" And I'm just starting to think it's not possible. It's an unreal expectation that someone out there will totally get me. And even if that person was out there in the world, would I really want to find them? Would I want to be aroudn someone who always understood how I felt? Maybe, but it seems like it could get a little annoying.

Anyway, for years and years, I tried to define myself without being true to who I really am. I tried to find "acceptable" hobbies and do all that normal shit that people do, and I haven't really been happy because it just wasn't me. And not that this revelation is going to make me chipper overnight, but I feel a bit freer just thinking that right now, I'm a freaking odd-ball, and I'm okay with that.

PLEASE Write This Down

My new blog url will be http://caffeinatedsoapbox.blogspot.com

I think I'll switch over in a week. So on July 28th, Refuge will be no more.

I'm going to have all my blogs on the new address, just not feeling the old title. I'll tell you why tomorrow.

Month Thirteen

Sweets, it is so hard to sit down and write this for you right now. We have just spent the last two hours battling, me trying to get you to sleep on time, you wanting to play, and being so overtired that you could barely walk straight, but still coherent enough to know when we go it your room, it means bedtime.

I guess that's one of the annoying and amazing transitions you've gone through this month. Your personality is not just blooming, it's exploding like a bag of firecrackers hit with a molotov cocktail, and true to form as a Gemini, one minute you are screaming like the world is going up in a riery ball of flames, and the next you are passed out on the bed between your Papa and I, the hair at your temples and the nape of your neck curling as it soaks in your own sweat, one arm thrown carelessly across your face (just like Papa) and one leg draped across my torso.

I think this whole Ms. Independence thing is partly because in the course of this month you've gone from an unsteady Grandpa walking with no ankle support and no cane to practically running. You have been climbing for a while now on the obvious, your picnic table, the couch pilows, and the radio cabinet, but now you have also discovered that something out of reach is *thatmuchcloser* if you pull a pillow over to stand on. Which means that where I used to only have to clean up dangerous objects two feet off the floor, I have to look much higher now, and I'm tired.

You are just too smart. We've been trying to teach you some sign langauge, hopefully to head off the sorts of melt-downs that occurred tonight, and you've already mastered "more," "hungry," and "water," and now we're working on "milk" so you stop smacking my boobs in public when you're hungry. And though you really don't talk much, mostly yelling "DADADADA" when I ask you oh-so-politely to say "Mama" I know you understand us pretty well, because you laugh hysterically when I tell you not to put the broken balloon in your mouth and you pop it in faster than that little Asian guy on TV eats hot dogs.

Ah, another Grandpa comparison? You've now got eight teeth up front, and two molars in the back. But between the four front teeth and the molars on the bottom, you're missing a tooth on each side, so it looks like you swallowed your bridge when you laugh. And you're still the most beautiful kid I've ever seen.

Due to some unfortunate circumstances this month, you were able to spend a lot of time with your Nonny, two of your great-aunts (Tina and Sherry) and with your Papa and I too. It was great to be home with you so much, but I was especially happy that you were able to spend basically a full week with your Aunts. They loved having you around, playing with you, feeding you, taking you to gymnastics. And my wish for you is that you develop a closer bond with your extended family that I did. I'm not good at keeping in touch, but I'm working on it, and I hope for your sake I do get better.

By the way, that "Please kidnap me!" sign on your forehead? You got that from your Papa. I don't know what has possessed you in the past few weeks, but you are the most outgoing child I've ever seen at your age. You walk right up to strangers and lift up your arms so they will hold you. You snuggle with strange men you've never seen before (Hi Mike!) resting your head on their shoulders like you really want them to take you home. Even walking down the street with the dogs, or shopping at Safeway, you are constantly stroking people's hair, waving "bye-bye," smiling, and generally asking to be stolen. We considered getting you micro-chipped, just in case you did get kidnapped, then they would know where to bring you when you were screaming hysterically before bedtime, arching your back like you really wanted to get dropped on your head, biting (oh yes, Love, you're a biter) and pimp-slapping anything within reach, which often includes a parent, a stranger, a dog, a toy... whatever. But Papa objected. Oh, well.

Thanks for making me laugh.

I love you,
Mommy

It's 2007, Right?

Today I had what would have been an incredibly awful experience a couple years ago, and now, I'm just overwhelmed with pity.

A coworker was in a workshop with me today, and we were paired together for an exercise. About half of the class was discussing work-related communication issues, and the rest of us were focusing on personal issues, which was okay-ed by the facilitator, though the spin of the workshop was toward work (duh).

So this woman, when she heard what I wanted to discuss flat out refused to speak to me. She said in no uncertain terms that she would not role-play as Nanny, and really, it wasn't role-playing but more her sitting and listening as I spoke to her as if she were Nanny.

This woman, who is quite a bit older than me, slammed her book shut and physically moved away from me as she told me should would not work with me. She then packed up her purse and left the room!

A couple activities later we were back in a larger group together, and she told me to my face that maybe if I didn't act so immature (her words) my clients would not get angry with me. Another woman in the group jokingly said, "Yeah, you should ugly yourself up a bit," and another woman sympathized with me and said something to the effect that people must patronize me a lot for being so young in the work I do. But this other coworker of mine just bull-dozed on, talking about how I probably don't take people seriously enough and that I didn't look professional, and that's why people don't take me seriously.

Now, granted, she has a point. I tend to dress down on the days I have intakes (or workshops), and adopt a fairly familiar, friendly attitude with my clients, but it is very intentional. If I was applying for public assistance, I would not want a worker I didn't feel would understand me. By dressing down and really trying to connect with clients and understand their situations during the intake, while in my opinion not sacraficing my position as the EW, I feel like I get much more honest information from them. If I wore a business suit every day, my clients may respect my position more, but they would not feel understood, and would consequently not be as open with me. I can't count the number of times I've gotten information from people who have been on aid for years and years and was never reported before, because I have a converstaion with them, I don't just interview them.

So aside from her attacks on my age, maturity level, and clothes, this woman made several derogatory remarks about another person in our office. She made blatantly racist and age-ist statements about him, and right now I feel so bad for her, to be so back-ass-wards and racist, in 2007 in MARIN County, where the white folks may have the financial upper-hand, but their numbers are nothing against my pro-creating brown, black and yellow brothers and sisters.

And I'm also torn as to whether or not to report these remarks. I was deeply offended not only by what she said about me, but also about this other man. No offended to the point of wanting revenge, or breaching confidentiality, but really very saddened that people still think like that.

So what do I do? Broach the subject with my supervisor? Pray that she finds some wisdom in her old age? I'm really torn here.

My Newest Obsession

Anyone who has stepped past the door to my house knows that I absolutely abhor the painted brass, ugly-ass "chandelier" hanging from my living room ceiling. From the first day we saw our new place, that was the one beef I had with the built-in decor. And after three years, I still don't understand the design flaw of hanging that in a house full of brushed nickel fixtures.

Last week, I finally bought a fan to hang there instead. I am so stoked beyond belief, but I have to figure out if I have a beam over the hole to attach it to.

And while I was on my It's Been Three Years, I Deserve It kick, I also FINALLY bought some wood patio furniture for the front porch. I can't afford it, but I figure that we spend so much time out front, drinking, smoking, talking, playing with T-Boogie, that we should have some nice furniture out there to sit on. And I'm sick of our house looking like a junk-bomb exploded out front and I'm hoping with some nice stuff out there, I'll be motivated to keep it a touch cleaner.

Just like I thought owning dogs would motivate me to start running. Maybe I just needed bigger dogs?

So now that those two things, which I have been ruminating on for the past three years since we bought our place, my mind has become suddenly clear for a new obsession, and it's skin care.

Look, I know I look young, and I'm thinking that part of it may be the fact that my face looks like I rubbed a piece of pepperoni pizza on it, then rubbed it with steel wool to get the grease good and lodged in my pores. I've got pimples, and I'm not ashamed of it. I'm actually pretty used to it, especially when I'm stressed and I start messing with them (I know, gross. Sorry) but I don't look at it all day long, so maybe that's why it doesn't bother me too much?

For my birthday, Nonny bought me some shower gloves to revitalize my skin, and I'm hooked. The first time I used them, I couldn't beleive my skin could be so soft without any lotion on. Of course I'm not looking to be ashy, so I put some on anyway, but I am so far past impressed with these that I actually went out and bought a couple more pairs as gifts. And I started thinking, if I can get my body-skin healthier with a little bit of work, how about my face?

So I started using the Olay Revitalift face cream, and I bought the night cream too because I'll be honest. I don't wash my face at night. Sounds gross, but I don't use foundation, so I figured it wasn't necessary. But I also bought my Bare Minerals starter kit this weekend, so I thought it'd be a good idea to get some good night cream since I'll need to wash it off before I go to sleep. Even though it's "So pure you could sleep in it." I'm not taking any chances.

I'm hoping the new regime will become second nature and my skin will clear up, and maybe I'll look my age instead of 18. I don't know what that will affect, besides my self-esteem, but if that's it, it'll be worth it.

I spent a lot this weekend. But it all seems like good investments, for my mental health and well being. I need to invest in me some more, so this is my start.

How Could I Forget?

The pimply-faced teenage boys sitting on the fence railing. They quickly light up a Marlboro Red to mask the undeniable scent of skunk weed.

Pre-pubescent girls skipping hand in hand down the middle of the street, singing off-key in more of a holler than a wail, the latest Pop songs, infusing a bubbly-innocent but deeply felt emotion into an otherwise bland and uninspiring chart topper. As if they truly knew what love and loss were.

The rowdy black poodle from the building over chained up to his porch at 10:30pm. He barks like the Second Coming of Christ is happening right before his eyes, and he's going to miss his ascendency because of a red nylon collar. But all that is really passing in front of him is a fat orange cat lumbering to his righful side of the street.

And herds of kids barely out of Pampers riding hot pink scooters and baby blue banana seat bikes with the white handle bar tassles and the sparkly, clinking spoke jewels. Their parents meander slowly behind them, holding hands and admiring the beautiful children they spend every waking hour thinking of, worrying about, and protecting. They can't help but to feel like the luckiest people in the world, to be surrounded by so much love and laughter.

I love late summer nights.

She Misses Her Boyfriend

Taryn was rummaging around my closet today. As long as I can hear her, I don't worry, it's when she gets quiet that she's usually doing something naughty.

After a few minutes, she stopped rustling papers, so I got up to investigate and see what mess she had created. As I leaned into the closet, I saw her holding a photo in her hand.

She looked up at me, pointed to the picture and started laughing.

He finger was dead-on over Jackson's face.

I smiled back when I realized she was looking at their Christmas card from this year that I had put into a box to keep for her. When she saw me smile, she looked back at the photo card and started smiling too. And she walked around the room for a few minutes, clutching the card in one hand, periodically looking back at it and smiling, like she had forgotten what she was holding onto but cool! There's JAckson in her hand!

Then she dropped it in the bathroom when she attacked a roll of toilet paper, and I tucked it away for safekeeping. I think she'll be very happy when Nanny gets back and she and Jackson can play again.

We Do What We Can

How do you help a friend who's hurting? Besides smacking your husband in the mouth and telling him to shutthafuggup about how much he wishes they would get back together already (My Love, it takes time. We all want them back together, but if things doen't get worked out first, this is bound to happen again).

I didn't really smack him. At least not in the mouth.

So P and I did what P and I do best. We opened some wine, bought a couple packs of cigarettes, and distracted her as much as possible, for as long as possible with assinine trivia, Yahoo! News stories, and planning our Living Will. Or Trust, whatever. It's not written yet, but she had excellent insight in some things to consider.

And then we clogged her arteries with Burger King at 11:30, which slyly encouraged her to go to sleep soon after. And because we got her sloshed on day-old Sangria and two liter bottles of White Zin, she gets a day off work today! And maybe being busy would have been easier, but I'm hoping the time to focus on herself will be just as fulfilling.

And of course, after she slept we had to stay up and discuss more ... randomness, so I don't remember what time I went to sleep, and P was up later than me, but he actually got himself up and showered and to work. Poor guy. While I sit and blog, drinking my coffee in my PJs and contemplating which novel to dig into, he's probably at work now, uber-starving with the post-drinking BGs. Hehe.

But I'm sending my good juju to my Buddy today, and hoping that last night helped just a little bit. I'm so sorry I can't do more for you.

This is How My Mind Works

I started this blog for two reasons. One, I wanted a way to keep in touch with the majority of my family that lives out of California. I wanted a medium, aside from mass-emails in which to update these important people in my life, because I didn't feel like I was capable of doing it in a one-on-one manner. I haven't quite succeeded in this goal, but I'm working on it.

The other main reason I started this blog was to have a place to be open and honest with myself. A place where I could write and process my thoughts because for me, I don't feel like I can fully process a situation or idea wihtout putting it in writing. That's just how my mind works. I write to process and explore the different feelings, emotions, ideas, etc that tumble around in my mind like a sandstorm, each particle a conflicting part of myself that I somehow have to come to terms with.

I feel like lately I've been getting a lot of heat from folks reading this blog. My intention when I write here is not to attack anyone without giving them an opportunity to defend themselves, or to be passive-aggressive to put this all in writing out in the blog-o-sphere, and hope that the person I am referring to will read it. My intention is to process my feelings, that's all.

I'm not like other people. I don't automatically feel compassion and empathy. My initial reaction to most things is a combination of disgust, anger, hurt, shame and a whole slew of other negative feelings. Unlike most people, I need to process these feelings in order to reach the humane part of myself who can be understanding and sympathetic to others. I feel like I've built up so many layers of negativity in my life, that pain and guilt have become the filters in which I see the world through.

I'm not an entertainer. I don't write comical posts daily. If something it outright funny to me, then yes, that single post may be amusing to others. But I can't get to that enjoyment in life if I can't process all the other stuff. And I can't slant my blog to write for others and neglect the parts of my that need to be expressed. I did start a new blog on a different host sight a while back for the sole intent of blogging all the negativity there. I didn't want to hurt the people close to me, but I had to get it out somehow. I've stopped posting there though. It feels false to me to have all my funny stories and amazements about Taryn here, and all the "shit" there. I've compartmentalized my life enough, and in order to be open and honest I need people to know all the sides of me, even the dark painful corners I've been hiding for years.

This is my consciousness. This is how I think. I write what the voice in my head is saying, and it may not be easy for others to hear but what can I say? I'm sorry?

I am sorry people are offended. I am sorry people feel the need to explain their actions and reactions when I blog about a situation. I'm sorry I'm not like you guys, but I'm not sorry for using this space, my blog, to process. My initial reaction is to say, look. If you can't handle what I'm writing, then maybe you shouldn't be reading this. But I'm not going to ask you to leave, I'm only asking you to be understanding of what I am doing, what my intention is, and to understand as well that if something is really bothering me, I'll come to you about it.

For the most part, I eventually get it. I eventually understand that you were being affected by medication, or we misunderstood each other, or that I read too much into the situation. The difference is I blog the thought processes that led me to my final understanding, and you are getting a glimpse of those thoughts, and not just the final result.

I don't know what else to say.

Cute Baby Trick #5

Normally when nursing T-Boogie and it's time to switch sides, she'll pull off and sort of push herself away from me. That's been my queue for the past six months or so that she's drained one side, and ready for the next.

Now that we've been teaching her sign language, she's figured out a new trick.

When she finished the first side last night, she pulled away like normal, and looked up at me for a second. So I asked, "Are you finished?" And she made the hand sign for more!

So I switched sides, and before starting on #2, she looked up at me and smiled.

Smart Girl.

Dimension of Confusion

Due to our lack of childcare for the next couple weeks, an event almost entirely out of our control, P and I will be alternating days to take off work to watch T-Boog. As soon as we figured out that we don't exactly have someone to watch her the whole time I called Blondie and Toe-Nail-Less and let them know that they too will have to find someone to watch Cheeks until Nanny is back. I offered to watch him while I was home with T-Boog, and assummed they would take me up on the offer so that Blondie could see him at lunch, and really, it just seemed easier than asking around to find someone else to do it.

But this morning I found out that I won't be watching him at all, and I'm pretty bummed out about it.

I think of Cheeks more as my nephew than a friend of T-Boog's. He's awesome with her, very gentle and playful and friendly, and such a joy to be around. Admittedly, the thought of watching them both was daunting at first. But mentally as I ran through what a day would look like, I started getting excited. I want to know what it will be like to have two kids, and although it's probabaly harder with two this close in age, I thought it would be a great experience for me, and would (hopefully) give me some insight and confidence about having another baby. I had already figured out the hot spots, feeding and naptime, and how I would be able to handle both at those times, and also if I could put T-Boog's old carseat back in my car and take them to the park, or something.

I guess it's my own fault for assumming I would get to watch him, without hearing difinitively that it would happen. But really, what's compounding the disappointment is the fact that they offered originally to pay me what they pay Nanny to watch him, but decided instead to pay someone else more to do it.

So then I'm left thinking, what the hell? Do they not trust me to watch him? Why would someone who can't afford more for ongoing childcare pay a neighbor or another friend more than they offer to Nanny?

And it's not that I would want anything to watch Cheeks, I would do it for free to help them out. And I get that paying Nanny more on an ongoing basis is very different than a one-time gig, but still.

The mind-tripping is being super compounded by the extra dose of caffeine today, and I should probably just let this go, but I don't understand. Do they not feel like she deserves more? And what would make someone choose to pay a childless friend when they could have a mother watch him for free?

I think my own insecurities are coming up, that I'm not a good-enough mother for my own child, so why would someone trust me with their kid? Is there something about how I act with T-Boog that would make someone not want to leave their child with me? Is it a personal thing? And in a quasi-emergency situation, what would I do? Could I hanlde two kids? Should I even consider another child if a friend won't leave hers with me for a day?

But I know I can't take it personally. I have friends who are mothers that I would not necessarily leave T-Boog with, but I never considered that people might think of me like that. And I still think of them as good friends, and would leave T-Boog with them if I absolutley needed to, but maybe that's whats thought about me. In an emergency? Yes. If we have any other option at all? No.

But really? Fuck it. I can't trip off this because what's done is done. It just adds another dimesion of confusion to the relationship. I know that my intentions and my love for my child are as pure as they get, so I have to take these three extra days alone with her as a blessing. Maybe we'll get a chance to go to the beach again, or maybe to a fair, or the Farmer's Market. Because these are things we can't do with another baby with us. And I can't assign thoughts and intentions to others, because that just builds resentment (on my side) that's impossible for them to dispel because I'm too much of a chicken-shit to tell them how ... truth be told, I'm hurt, but it could be completely misplaced and irrational, and I have to get over it.

Soooo. I'll be off the 9th, 10th, 12th, and 17th this month. If anyone wants to hang out?

Almost Forgot

Sometimes when I'm eating, my tongue will brush against my teeth and my heart will skip a beat when I realze I didn't feel my tongue ring.

Oh shit, I swallowed it!

But then I remember I took it out a while ago. Kind of like when you lose a body part but you can still feel it there ... right?

On the Road to Jadedness

Should I be offended or pleased that people keep attacking my age?

One the one hand, I have to laugh, because when clients are mad at me, or mad at the program rules, they chalk it up to me being young, inexperienced with life, or the fact that they are parents (and don't know that I am as well). I suppose I should be pleased that they aren't saying I'm stupid, or unknowledgeable about the programs, or ugly for that matter, but really? Why does everything have to come down to age?

And not to be a complete asshole, but are they really just mad that at my age I'm holding down a steady job while they are the ones applying for assistance?

I don't like to think like that. I know that one major event could easily land me in this office in need of food and money to take care of my child. I don't like to think that there is a huge disparity between myself and my clients, or that I am any better than they are. Because if I felt that, I wouldn't be effective in my job. I can't walk around thinking we're different, I think that's how people get jaded here, by the assumption that it could never happen to them, and its these peoples' fault for the situation that they are in.

And sometimes it is. But many times mental illness or alcohol and drug abuse that got them here. And though I don't understand addiction, I can still see that obviously it has a major influnence on people's actions and isn't as hard to overcome as I may like to think.

But once again I have to mention the entitled folks, the ones who used to be where I am, and now are who I am determining benefits for. Would I be like that? Would I raise hell and swear to high heaven that I deserve benefits because I've been paying takes for 10 years? I may want to, but I hope I would be a bit more humble. And at the same time I can't imagine how people feel when they are denied for their kids. I think I could handle it if I didn't get anything, but why should T-Boog suffer? That being said though, most of the people who say I'm too young to understand what they are going through are single without kids.

But being subjected to verbal abuse and really having no recourse but to walk away does take it's toll. I notice how grateful I am for motivated clients, and people who understand that what I'm doing is not personal. If they are ineligible, it's not because I don't like them or beleive their story, it's because the government says they don't qualify. And I notice how irritated and angry I get sometimes with people who want me to bend the rules for them. Who want to skip the steps everyone else has to go through and just get what they want.

"Sorry Sir, it doesn't work like that."

Because really? A single guy, educated or skilled, getting help from family and friends is going to be much better off than a single parent of an infant who didn't graduate high school. If I could bend the rules, who would I do it for?

***

On a completely unrelated topic, I've figured out why parents take so much more time off from work. It's not because we have to stay home with our sick kids, or we catch infectious, contagious diseases from them, it's because we'd much rather stay home and play with those lights of our lives, than sit in an office thinking about them all day long since we haev nothing productive to do at work.

I'm pretty positive.

Un-Connected

Nonny's RAZR has pretty much up and died recently, and since she was watching T-Boog today while I was at work (and because I'm cheap and don't have a house phone) I left mine for her to use.

Now granted, I have an office phone, so it's not like I've been phone-free all day, but it's kind of liberating to not have my cell on me. I'm not stooping into my desk drawer after my intakes to see if I have a missed call, or stumbling down the stairs to my car while I try to dig it out of my purse so I can call someone before I actually drive away from the job.

Because in California, it is now officially illegal to drive and talk without a headset. I'm pretty sure.


But it is nice. And kind of heart-stopping at the same time when I think "Who would find me if something happened to T-Boog?" But yeah, Nonny's a smart cookie. I'm sure she'll have me on the phone in minutes if needed.

Or maybe just drive by my job and lay on the horn until I go out to see who the crazy lady in the Beemer is, honking to herself? Heheh. Creativity runs in the family.