Fruit Salad

This Blog Has Moved

2008-03-19T12:54:00.000-05:00

Please visit me at fruitsaladfamily.wordpress.com.

Hey, Guess What!?

2008-01-10T18:49:00.000-06:00

I am ashamed to say that I ended 2007 on a very pessimistic note. While I enjoyed Christmas with my family, I was stressed and tired from long hours at my job and from the schlepping of kids and presents. It felt too much like work, and not enough like a holiday. I was annoyed by news of the presidential race, and annoyed by my own cynicism. I felt trapped in my own life, but I had enough logic left to know that I had plenty of choices, I just needed to choose something.

Somehow, this New Year really does feel like a clean slate. I've always thought January 1 was as good a day as any to start something new, but that it really was pretty arbitrary. This year I'm not so sure.

I am tired, but I'm coming to terms with this job, and I'm making plans for the future. I'm enjoying my kids again. I'm sticking to the diet. I'm hopeful about what voters can accomplish in November, no matter which candidates get the nomination. I have done a 180 in attitude. I'm not sure why, but I am so grateful, because I was tired of being that woman.

I have long intended to write a post explaining the panic that started the whole "let's put ads on this site" thing, but it doesn't seem as important now. Suffice it to say, I freaked out and made several rash decisions, when a few well-thought-out ones would've served us all better. (Sample thought process: "What else could I do to make money? I'm pretty good at ovulating, maybe I could sell my eggs." You'll all be relieved to know that even then I realized that was taking things too far.)

So, as part of reclaiming my life, making choices instead of pretending to be forced into them, I am returning to Wordpress: the blog will be back here starting immediately.

Thank you all for your patience. I cannot promise a freak-out free future, but I do tend to panic about NEW things each time, so it's pretty likely that this particular freak-out will not recur.

I Don't Know How You Do It

2008-01-08T14:06:00.000-06:00

People often ask me "how I do it." How do I manage with toddler twins and a preschooler (or, at first, infant twins and a toddler)? (Go ahead and laugh, moms with triplets -- or those of you with 4 + kids. It's OK. You have earned it.)

I don't know.

At home, it's not too hard. We follow the Routine, and it serves us pretty well. Some days Raisin doesn't brush her teeth until after lunch, and some days the grit underfoot in the kitchen feels like a million daggers in my soul, but it all gets taken care of eventually.

But I don't want to be the mom who says "no" all the time, so we venture to the library, or bowling with Raisin's friends from school, or out to play in the snow. At the library, Orange tries to rip pages out of every book. At the bowling alley, Apple wanted a closer look at the pins, and I had to chase him down the lane. It took me 1/2 hour to get everyone dressed for outside today. Apple and Orange both had their boots off within 2 minutes of being out (a good chunk of the 1/2 hour was me putting one twin back in their boots while the other struggled out of theirs). I made them stay out another 15 minutes anyway.

They deserve to have all these childhood experiences, and the fact that it's hard for me is no excuse for them to miss out. So, I keep trying. But I don't think I'll ever feel like I'm "managing."

The real trick is being OK with that.

With The Thoughts I'd Be Thinkin'*

2007-12-30T22:02:00.000-06:00

1. Garrison Keillor: literary luminary, or Humongous Bighead? It's hard to tell sometimes -- maybe he's both?

2. In the 2008 presidential election, I would like to cast my vote for someone who opts out of the political game. Tell me the truth. Tell me what you really think, and not what you think I want to hear. So far, the only candidates willing to do this are friends of Shirley MacLaine or they believe that "illegal alien" means the same thing as "American dream killer." Please tell me these are not my only choices.**

3. When Raisin chooses names for dolls or imaginary friends, they are always things like "Kaweeza" or "Halla." When I was a child, I had an imaginary friend named "Seeley Galeely." Um, my child and I are normal, right?

4. Orange walks on her knees. Why does she do that? (She will walk on her feet if she's holding someone's hand, so I'm not worried about her development. I'm just wondering...)

5. Why didn't anyone tell me about "Wait, Wait ... Don't Tell Me?"*** I had no idea public radio could be so funny.

6. Making your own hummus is easy. I assumed there'd be some trick to it. I've been missing out, apparently.

7. New Year's Resolution: go back on Weight Watchers. Good thing hummus is low fat.

8. Pre-New Year's Resolution: eat all the junk that will tempt me after New Year's. That way, it won't be here to make things harder later. Logical, right?

*...I could be another Lincoln, if I only had a brain. Phew. That was like leaving "two bits" out of "Shave and a Haircut."

**Except maybe John McCain. So add one more caveat: candidate must be willing to think outside the box on health care, the mortgage crisis, education, and most importantly, Iraq.

***Get it?

I Knew There Was A Reason I Married This Guy

2007-12-24T15:54:00.000-06:00

This wasn't my best Christmas Eve. The kids were tired from celebrating yesterday with my mom and dad. I tried all day, with extremely limited success, to unpack their loot from that party so they could play with it and leave me some time to clean up for our company tomorrow. I have to work tonight, and so will miss the family gathering at my Grandma's house. We haven't made it to church at all this week, what with tired and/or sick babies and bad weather. By the time the Jellyman got home from work, the house was a disaster and his entire family was crabby. Merry Christmas.

He just called me from upstairs. "Take a break from checking email, and see the mess I've made in your kitchen," he said. So, I went.

He's making beef stroganoff and popovers, which is what my grandmother always serves Christmas Eve.

He's mine, and you can't have him. *Sniff*

Superstar

2007-12-20T10:40:00.000-06:00

Raisin starred* in her preschool's Christmas program this week. If it was unclear before, it is now quite obvious to me that I am raising a march-to-your-own-drum kid.

She sang along with the first song, but as an echo. This actually makes sense; that's how the teachers help the kids learn the songs, so it's logical that she thinks that's how the song really goes. But since the rest of the class was singing in unison, and she took seriously my suggestion that she should sing loudly -- well.

During the recitation, she was so enthralled by the Oscar-worthy performance of her peers that she forgot to say it with them.

While the rest of the class sang "Jingle Bells," she was trying to push her way to the front to tell the teacher something, and missed the whole song.

And while the whole school sang some other bell-related song (this is my favorite part), Raisin sang "Jingle Bells," which actually made for a nice sort of medley. (Like that Sting/Bing Crosby carol where Sting sings "Peace On Earth" and Bing sings "The Little Drummer Boy.")

She looked so beautiful and confident up there, waving to us before her part began. She listened politely to the other classes, and she even managed to enjoy the twirliness of her skirt without hiking it up around her waist for a better look.

It sounds like I'm kidding, but I honestly have never been so proud.

*The other families probably thought that their kids were the stars. We'll just have to agree to disagree.

Prodigal

2007-12-14T14:07:00.000-06:00

In your family, do people stay no matter what? Do they show up for the big family functions even when they're mad at somebody, just because they believe it's important for family to be together? Or do they stay away, maybe for years, maybe forever, because something has hurt them, and they can't or won't get over it?

My mom's family, with whom my brother and I spent most of our holidays and special occasions growing up, is the first way. We may not have a good time, but darn it, we are THERE. Through divorces and remarriages and awkward moments and bad memories, everyone just keeps showing up. The difficult things sometimes get talked about, sometimes not, but eventually things even out again and we are glad that no bridges got burned in the process.

My dad's youngest brother has been estranged from us for years. Not a complete break, but enough of one that he was not present at my wedding or my brother's (he was invited). There is a lot of stuff there, dirty laundry that I won't air on a blog, even one as anonymous as this. The point is this: I contacted him again, got rebuffed again, and got angry, and maybe a little reckless. I asked him why -- what could I have possibly done to create this distance?

He answered me. I think we can make things better between us. Not perfect, but better.

Merry Christmas.

'E's Not Dead, 'E's Sleeping!

2007-12-07T13:01:00.000-06:00

Um, Hi. The new job is not perfect. It is better than the old job, but I'm not sure it's enough better, and I am trying to figure out how to make it livable, and the posts I keep thinking of are not that joyful, and while that may be cathartic for me it is probably not that fun to read, and that's why I am not here.

Here is something joyful, though: after helping me stuff our Christmas letters into envelopes, Raisin decided to make out her own, and she spent about 1/2 hour "writing" letters and folding them carefully. "And this one is for Uncle D and Auntie K, and this one is for Auntie J, and this one is for E and A..." And she gave me the biggest stack because she wanted me to have something to read at work.

Missing You

2007-11-28T20:56:00.000-06:00

How old will my children be, when the simple fact of my presence will no longer be enough to bring them comfort in the middle of the night?

When will they grow self-conscious about their bodies? When will we lose that blessed innocence that lets me bathe them, change them, "keep them company" while they go potty (Raisin loves that -- I can't say it's my favorite hobby, but I appreciate the trust)?

When will they stop thinking that I am funny? My humor repertoire consists mainly of zerberts on bellies and knock-knock jokes, but my kids laugh like I'm their pick on Last Comic Standing.

How many more years before my stock of wisdom is insufficient? Already Raisin is unsatisfied with the answers we provide -- needing backup from a teacher or a grandparent. How long before she doesn't even ask us anymore?

How long before my babies aren't babies anymore? How long do I have?

On Joy

2007-11-27T10:09:00.001-06:00

At the end of my last post, I said I was rejoicing over my new job, which I was. The sad truth is, I don't do enough of that. I am, by nature, a worrier. I fret over things I could be doing better (eating healthier, making more time to play with my kids, keeping a cleaner house), over hypothetical situations I couldn't prevent anyway (Raisin getting hurt at school, Jellyman losing his job, a family member getting sick), over anything really. Give me a subject and a couple of minutes to think, and I can probably work up a pretty good case of panic over it.

Thanksgiving is as good a time as any -- better, perhaps -- to take a break from that. We have a warm, safe house in a good neighborhood. We have plenty to eat, and we are both able to work. Our kids are healthy, happy, bright, loving, beautiful. Our extended family takes extraordinary care to make sure we don't sink under. We have luxuries like Tivo and the ability to eat in a restaurant from time to time.

It's true that the more you have, the more you worry about losing it. It's also true, but harder to believe, that the Fruit family could live without most of the stuff with which we're surrounded. We are rich in all the essential things.

I am making an early New Year's resolution, which undoubtedly will need to be re-resolved by the time we get to New Year's Day (hey, let's be realistic here, eh?). Starting now, every worrisome thought is going to serve as a reminder to me: whatever MIGHT happen is less important than what IS HAPPENING.

I am going to spend Advent rejoicing in God's gifts. All of them.

What's New?

2007-11-24T21:22:00.000-06:00

Since the last post, I have:

Eaten two Thanksgiving dinners

Broken my little toe (I think -- it was bent funny naturally, but now it's bent funny and also black and blue and painful)

Slept a lot, but still felt tired

Watched the first snowfall of the season

Found a new job

Quit my old one

Rejoiced

I'm Sorry

2007-11-19T11:32:00.000-06:00

I keep writing down post ideas, but then I never actually post them. In lieu of actual interesting content, will you accept a list of excuses? I thought not, but here they are anyway.

-I worked 35 hours last week. The next 2 weeks are much better, but they keep scheduling me until 11:30 or midnight. I said less than 30 hours, and no later than 11, but I guess they're asking everyone to put in more time for the holidays. They appreciate my flexibility. I am looking for something else.

-Apple keeps throwing up in his crib at night. None of our theories thus far has panned out, so I am starting a journal to look for patterns. And living in fear that he will choke on his own vomit, because he doesn't cry after he throws up, and sometimes we don't know about it until morning.

-Apple and Raisin have coughs at night too. (Yes, I have considered the possibility that the coughing is related to the throwing-up, but he does not seem to cough to excess right before he throws up, so that is not the whole story.)

-I am not getting much sleep.

-I have developed a caffeine habit, and right now my hands are shaking a teeny bit as I type. That is probably not a good sign.

-My house is a mess, I have masses of vomit-y laundry to do, and I haven't showered yet today.

Please send tequila. Thank you.

Two More Things

2007-11-08T11:01:00.000-06:00

... about my job, and then I'll shut up about it unless I have something interesting to say.

1) Forgot to mention the discount. The discount is very, very important, since we spend ridiculous amounts of money at Target anyway.

2) If you buy your groceries at a store where an employee bags them for you, please do not assume that the employee will know how you want them bagged. If you need to have all your cold stuff in one bag, for example, SAY THAT. Because I promise you, 5 minutes ago that same employee was chastised by a customer because they weren't cramming enough stuff into the bags. And before that, there was a customer who didn't even trust her enough to bag the stuff but wanted to do their own. And before that, there was a guy who actually said, "Oh, my God, you can't put those two things together!"*

*NB -- You can have your groceries bagged however you want. It's your call. Just please tell me, because I cannot possibly guess. And also, "oh, my God?" Possibly, you are taking the whole bagging thing a little too seriously.

I Don't HATE My Job

2007-11-06T09:56:00.000-06:00

There are definitely things to like: a relatively flexible schedule, which allows us to keep Raisin in the preschool she loves and to keep all three kids out of an expensive daycare situation. Managers, coworkers, and customers who are mostly pretty friendly. The fact that they pay me -- that's good.

But...

In my pre-twin job, I had the opportunity to build relationships with clients and with coworkers. I miss that.

I am so bone-tired. I hope this will get better as I get used to the new normal. Or, I will spend large portions of my new salary on coffee. Either way.

I think I might be a little bit of a job snob. There is nothing wrong with this work, but I feel like I have to explain to people why I, with my college degree and years of experience, am working as a cashier. I don't like that feeling.

I need to figure out how to avoid coworker R, who evidently thinks he is funny and helpful, but is actually the most insulting, patronizing person I have ever met. Insulting example: I went through his check-out lane to buy some dinner during a break. I dropped a couple of coins while I was digging out my cash, and he called me a slob. Patronizing example: the computers keep track of the speed of each transaction a cashier does, and then spit back a percentage of "good" sales versus sales that are too slow. R said to me, "I can work the system so that I get more "Gs" than "Rs" -- you'll figure it out eventually." Since the percentages are prominently displayed on each monitor, I could see his. It was the same as mine.

Because, because, because, because, because... Because of the Wonderful Things He Does

2007-11-01T14:12:00.000-05:00

Remember when I said I'd be posting here more often? Wasn't that funny? Yeah, I thought so too.

I do, actually, have several post ideas saved up. Of course, by the time I actually write them, they'll be old news. Kind of like how I realized the World Series was going on right about the time it ended. How about 'em Red Sox, huh? Wow.

Why am I so distracted? IF YOU ASK ME "WHY" ONE MORE TIME YOU ARE GOING TO YOUR ROOM.

Did you know 3-year-olds ask a lot of questions? Because when I read about this in child development books, I didn't really understand what they meant by "a lot." Like, babies cry "a lot," but mine rarely cried until I was ready to set fire to my own eyebrows just for a distraction. Or, toddlers say "no" a lot, but I always thought that was sort of cute.

Now I get it. If it were just your average scientific inquiry I could probably still deal. "The moon looks like that because the sun is shining on it." "The trees lose their leaves when it gets cold outside." I could spout answers like that all day and only be mildly annoyed.

Unfortunately, Raisin is also going through a phase (please, please, let it just be a phase) of questioning ME. And perhaps I have some kind of self-esteem issue, because it is making me absolutely bonkers. As in, the 3-year-old doesn't think I'm quite cut out for this job, and I think she might be right!

We have a lot of talks that go something like this:

Me: Are you getting dressed like I asked you to?
Raisin: Yes. Do I need clean underwear?
Me: Yes.
Raisin: Why!? Why do I need clean underwear?

(Please note that a) SHE ASKED ME, b) she DID need clean underwear, and c) if I had answered "no," the next thing out of her mouth would've been "Why DON'T I need clean underwear?")

It probably goes without saying, at least among parents, that I now fully understand the beauty and simplicity of "Because I said so, and I AM YOUR MOTHER!!!!"

Blanyet!!!!!!

2007-10-24T19:20:00.000-05:00

To really appreciate the following conversation, you must understand that it took place while I was cooking dinner. The Jellyman had just finished a bunch of yard work, and was in the bathroom trying to get cleaned up. Apple and Orange were both screeching in their high chairs, which was actually an improvement, since their previous activity had been screeching and holding on to my legs. Ok, carry on:

Raisin: Mommy, what does blanyet mean?

Me: "Blanyet?" I'm sorry, honey, I don't understand what you're saying.

Raisin: Blanyet, Mommy, blanyet. What does it mean?!

Me: Are you saying "blanyet?" Because I have no idea what that means.

Raisin: Yes! Blanyet! Blanyet!

Me: Maybe it would help if you told me where you learned this word. Then maybe I would be able to figure it out.

Raisin: I just made it up.

And that is how my day went. The end.

Stick a Fork In Me, I'm Done

2007-10-21T10:49:00.000-05:00

AKA, The Week That Kicked My Ass

AAKA, How You Can Do Everything Right and Still Be Very Wrong

On the good news side, I am now gainfully employed, pending the results of a drug test and criminal background check. As there is nothing to find in either category, I'm feeling pretty good about that.

Also, my friend is legally married and happy. The last time I was in a wedding (my brother's), Raisin was 4 months old, and I spent the whole day worrying about her, and then fainted during the ceremony. This time I was actually helpful to the bride, and I remembered to eat and drink. Probably also helps that I'm no longer lactating.

Not-so-good-news: This one nap/two nap thing sucks with twins. I mean, it just sucks in general, but evidently it sucks more with twins. On Wednesday, I tried leaving out the morning nap for both Apple and Orange, and it was an unmitigated disaster. By lunch, they were too tired to eat, and both slept fitfully in the afternoon and the next night. Orange MIGHT have been OK if Apple hadn't woken her up so many times.

Since then, they are both back to two naps, and that's working for now, but I realize that I'm going to have to deal with the reality that Orange may be ready before Apple, and I won't have the nice neat option of having them sleep at the same time anymore.

And, finally, Raisin got hurt goofing around with the Jellyman at the wedding reception, so we are now the family with the screaming, bleeding kid. Everyone was very nice about it, and she's going to be fine. Still, not exactly the way the evening was meant to end.

I should be proud of us for making it through this week, for everything we managed to do. Instead, all I am is tired. Too tired to deal yet with the next big problem, which is this blog and whether I made a big mistake by moving back here and putting up the ads.

Stay tuned, I guess.

This Week

2007-10-16T19:38:00.000-05:00

Why, darling daughter Orange, have you chosen this week to be maybe sort of unsure if you really need two naps? This week, with its job interviews, my best friend's wedding on Saturday, and the visit from your Grandpa (who is, to be fair, the World's Easiest Houseguest, but he is still your Grandpa and I like to leave him with the impression that his beloved grandchildren live in an environment that is at least occasionally clean).

GO TO SLEEP. Or, if you're going to be awake, be happy about it. Thank you. Love, Mommy.

We've Come a Long Way

2007-10-15T07:39:00.000-05:00

It's a cute story, but it also struck me how different life is for a child born in 2004 (in the US) than for one born in 1950 or even in 1978.

On Friday, the Jellyman took Raisin to urgent care. She had complained of a sore throat that was getting worse instead of better, but it's impossible to get an appointment at our clinic the same day unless you call first thing in the morning.

I attempted to prepare her for the experience by explaining that she was going to see a doctor, but it would be a new one instead of Dr. F. "OK," she said, "when I see the new doctor, I'll tell her my throat hurts."

Sensing trouble coming, I pointed out that the new doctor might even be a man. She seemed puzzled, but she didn't say anything else until she and the Jellyman were in the waiting room.

When she brought it up again, the Jellyman said she was worried about having a boy doctor. Would he do a good job? Would he be nice? Finally the Jellyman said, "You know, Raisin, D (the husband of a college friend) is a doctor."

"NO! D's a DOCTOR!? I didn't know that!!!!"

That eased Raisin's mind, and we all got a good chuckle, especially D's wife when I told her about it. But it struck me later -- Raisin had absolutely no concept that a man could be a doctor. Her perspective is the complete reverse of the assumptions that existed for our mothers, and really even for us.

When progress sometimes seems so slow, it's comforting to see how far behind us the starting line lies.

Superpowers

2007-10-12T10:02:00.000-05:00

It's funny that the Secret Awesome etc. etc. had the Superpower challenge, because last night I had the idea for a post on the same topic. It's not about me, though, it's about the super things my kids can do.

Obviously, my children are incredible in many, many ways, but they do each have one unique ability that goes beyond everyday brilliance.

Apple's is the funniest: Nuk radar. If there is a pacifier anywhere in the house within his reach, he will find it. Under the couch? Not a problem. Behind the crib? He'll get there. Two rooms away in Orange's mouth? By the time Mommy figures out where he's going, he'll have two Nuks and Orange will be crying. It's astounding to watch.

Raisin's is a more subtle gift, probably because she has honed it with 2 extra years of experience. Since she was a baby, she has charmed everyone in her life. She can negotiate her way into or out of anything she puts her mind to, except with her mean mom and dad.

And Orange? Orange has these:

Job-Hunting Sucks

2007-10-10T21:53:00.000-05:00

Especially when it's limited to part-time, preferably with hours that don't conflict with your husband's day job. There is a very good chance I'll end up in red and khaki (which admittedly is preferable to a royal blue vest*).

Another potential problem: after a full day explaining to Raisin why Saturday comes after Friday and how I am getting older and won't ever be a baby again, my brain is very, very tired. Does anybody know someone who will pay me to watch Survivor and House?

*The Jellyman has just informed me that they don't wear vests anymore. Not that I would know that, since I haven't darkened Wal-Mart's door in years.

Amen

2007-10-09T21:25:00.000-05:00

Today I saw a bumper sticker that said, "January 20, 2009: End of an Error."

I want the person driving that car to be my best friend.

Moving Day

2006-09-01T12:31:00.000-05:00

Whereas there are some things Blogger won't let me do and I waaaant to, and

Whereas I am too cheap to pay for my own domain, and

Whereas the Jellyman hasn't posted on his blog since February but is totally going to contribute to this new one,

Be it therefore resolved that we are starting a new blog here. (Jane! I get to use the Fruit Salad thing! How freaking cool is that!?)

Pretty please with sugar and cherries on top, join us there?

You Have to Ask Me Nicely

2006-08-30T16:06:00.000-05:00

Last night in the library's children's room, a librarian somewhat discourteously asked me to have Raisin refrain from spinning a rotating book rack.

Her request was completely reasonable, and I imagine spending 8 hours a day in that room can sometimes be Just Too Much.

Still. I am 8 months pregnant with twins. Pretty much every day you see me is the worst day of my life (movie reference, not meant to be literal). I would really have liked for her to stand there ... and with her Harvard mouth extend me some effing courtesy (movie reference #2, because it amuses me even if no one else gets it).

In unrelated news, The Cookie Cart today sold cookies with TWO causes. Not only did they help at-risk youth develop workplace skills, but they made a grumpy pregnant woman very, very happy.

How Much Pregnancy Whining Can The Internet Handle?

2006-08-28T11:17:00.000-05:00

Raisin's birth story isn't where I thought it was. I was present at the birth, so reasonably I could reconstruct it out of my own head. But why do that, when I KNOW I saved it somewhere and I just need to find it again? Also, I clearly cannot post the "Where Raisin is Now" story without the "How It All Began" story, and that is why instead of those posts, which are only interesting to me, you are all getting more pregnancy blather which is, um, only interesting to me. Gosh, this is an awesome blog. (The other choices for blog topics today were a debate about whether capris can be formal and Why I Hate My Bra. Really, I think you should consider yourselves lucky.)

I thought I had learned about upheaval when I was pregnant with Raisin. Well, that was the river, this is the ocean, baby.

What surprised me most about pregnancy, version 1 was the way my primal self took over. I shook my head over emotional outbursts that could not be tied, even tenuously, to a Reason. I marveled, especially during the birth itself, at how my body just knew what to do. I have always tended much more toward the cerebral than the physical (read: I sucked at four-square), so it was bizarre for me to dwell so thoroughly in the world of the physical.

In version 2, this immersion is even more complete. I can vaguely recall a time when I could write a to-do list or pack a suitcase all by myself. I would even have gone so far to say that organization was one of my strengths. Now, not so much. I make attempts, I grasp at the straws of logical thought. But then somebody kicks my ribcage, or I have another contraction, or I am just so bloody tired that my shopping list peters out because I have started to sing something I heard on Sesame Street.

My brain has bowed so completely to the needs of my uterus that I actually find it hard to overdo. (That sound you just heard was the Jellyman snorting in disbelief, since virtually every evening I collapse, groaning, as soon as Raisin goes to bed. "How is that not overdoing?" he asks.) But I know better; if my brain were still in command, those piles of baby clothes would all be washed and folded and put away. I also know this is for the best. It is the Triumph of the Uterus that has kept my babies safely inside me this long. Oh, the loss of independence, it chafes, though.

And that, too, is vastly different from my first pregnancy. During the last trimester with Raisin, I certainly wasn't climbing ladders to clean cobwebs from the ceiling, but for the most part my activities weren't all that limited. I cooked, I cleaned, I worked, I managed my life the way I was used to doing.

I'm a Christian, and the church we attend focuses a lot of attention on ministry. There's a whole class, which I've taken, on finding one's personal ministry. What are you good at? What are you passionate about? How is God calling you to use those gifts in service? They don't teach you how to be the recipient. They don't tell you what to say when friends and acquaintances say, "be sure to call me if there's anything I can do to help." (I'm guessing they're not really interested in cleaning our gutters, for example.)

It seems simple on the surface. Fact #1: my friend has offered to help. Fact #2: I am drowning in laundry. Unfortunately, the simple equation fails to account for fact #3: I seem to be incapable of allowing someone outside my family to help me unless I am also gainfully employed. I cannot let her help with the baby clothes unless I spend that time on another project, like Operation Assemble Baby Swing. And then I apologize for the state my house is in, and explain that I'm dressed like a slob because I have to save the maternity outfits that fit for work days, and generally wear myself out faster than if no help had been offered in the first place.

Now, some single parent out there is reading this and wishing they could deliver a swift kick to my ample booty. And they are right. I'm swimming in blessings and complaining that the water is just too wet. My only defense is that the Uterus is in control, and she's temperamental.

Blah de Blah Blah

2006-08-24T10:42:00.000-05:00

Before the babies are born, I'd like to do some posts about Raisin. I want to post her birth story, and just document who she is right now, while she's still the only child.

But all those posts are likely to be sappy and weepy, and I just did one of those, so let's explore some of the other random thoughts floating about in my head. That's always fun!

On the Grape Family Vacation this year, there were 4 kids present: Raisin; my uncle's two boys, ages 6 and 8; and my cousin's son, age 12. (My uncle is 16 years younger than my mom, making him much closer in age to my cousin than he is to my mom and her sister. That's why I have cousins who are younger than my other cousin's kids. Confused? Good, my work here is done.) Anyway, Raisin was very much in awe of the "silly boys," gladly oohing over the frogs and fish they caught and trying valiantly to keep up with them when they'd let her. To their credit, they are all great with her. Still, I think it's safe to blame them for the fact that at dinner one day this week, my adorable princess asked me to pull her finger.

I wake up several times during the night, but usually I'm able to fall back asleep pretty easily. On Tuesday night, I made the mistake of attempting conscious thought before drifting off again. Conscious, not rational. It occurred to me that I have no emergency formula stash, that I haven't sterilized a single bottle, and that I haven't swaddled a baby in two years. Obviously all things that need to be addressed before any more SLEEPING goes on. Honestly. (For those who are concerned, I managed to restrain myself until last night to buy the formula, although I was sorely tempted to send the Jellyman on an early-early-morning grocery store run. I have plans to sterilize bottles this weekend, and to look up the swaddling technique and practice on a doll. Because then I'll be ready for the babies to come. For sure. You know, once the room is painted, the crib's made up, and all the clothes are folded and put away.)

Oh, and I have kind of maybe sort of decided what to do about Apple being breech. I am leaning toward scheduling a C-section during week 38 (4 weeks from now). If I go into labor before that, we will do what seems best at the time. It's not much of a plan, but it's something.

Fish Stories

2006-08-21T14:45:00.000-05:00

Raisin learned the quintessential Minnesota skill last week: she "caught" a three-inch sunfish off the dock (my dad baited the hook, put the line in the water, saw the bobber go down, reeled in the fish, and removed the hook from its mouth, but Raisin was present and may have had her hand on the pole at some point -- that counts!). Then, my dad taught her to say "great big fish!" with her arms outstretched so she could tell the rest of the family about it.

With some interruptions, my extended family has been taking these collective vacations at least since my own childhood. The scenery is a little different -- when I was a kid we camped, now we rent cabins on the other side of the lake. The cast of characters has changed some -- those of us who used to beg to spend all day in the water are now explaining to our kids why they can't.

Most things are blessedly unaltered. Every year, we play the same games and tell the same stories. (Do you remember the time we left the Nerf ball out overnight and a skunk chewed it into pieces? Or when my aunt was SURE another picnic table would fit in the screen tent because she had "measured it with her eye?" I can no longer tell if I actually remember the events, or if I've just heard the stories so often they've become part of my memory.) We mercilessly tease for mistakes made years ago, but we also make each other laugh harder than any of us get to do anywhere else.

These trips formed a backdrop to some of my best memories, my most important moments. These are the people who know the best and worst of me, and who love me no matter what. This is the village that raised me, and now they are raising my daughter, too.

Agenda

2006-08-11T09:44:00.000-05:00

Tomorrow is the first day of the annual Grape Family Up North Vacation Extravaganza.

Raisin's agenda: "Go swimming, Mommy? Go on the boat! Where Mommy lifejacket? I wanna go on vacation NOW!" (Since we've been "practicing" riding in a boat on the couch in our living room, I wonder what she'll do when confronted with the real thing. Also, she believes that one can catch fish a la Ernie: "Here, fishy, fishy, fishy!" I have no comment about whether I have encouraged this belief for my own amusement.)

Jellyman's agenda: Have an occasional beer in the presence of adults who won't whine that they can't have one too.

My grandfather's agenda: Fish. Preferably without my offspring present, as she may have inherited my tendency to drop lucky fishing poles into the lake. Play cards. Quarter antes are acceptable, nickel antes are better.

My agenda: Every few hours, pretend to try to get up out of a chair so my grandma and mother will screech, "What are you doing!? What do you need!? Sit back down, I'll get it!" Also, sleep.

Well, Shoot. Now What?

2006-08-09T14:32:00.000-05:00

People, I am flummoxed. Here are the facts of the case:

The Jellyman and I had pretty much decided that I would not return to work after my maternity leave. It was all unofficial -- I certainly didn't want to give notice before exhausting my benefits, and I was trying to keep an open mind in case all of a sudden going back to work seemed like a really good idea.

Given the costs (both financial and emotional) of finding and paying for a good day care for three kids, though, staying home just seemed to make sense.

Until my new boss told me that upon my return from maternity leave, she is prepared to offer me a promotion, a raise, and a flexible schedule. She can't offer me part-time, but is willing to consider just about anything else.

Also possibly relevant: my new manager was promoted to this position. She is one of my closest friends at work, and until 2 weeks ago was my peer. As my peer/friend, I had told her of the possibility that I might not come back.

Also also: I have done no research into daycare/nanny situations that would suit our schedule and budget.

I have no idea what to do. I don't have to decide today, since the offer won't be final until my leave is over (kinda silly to give a bunch of new responsibilities to a woman destined to crap out on them at any moment).

For now, I am adding this to The List of Things I Will Think About Tomorrow, Because I Am Scarlett O'-Freaking-Hara And I Can. (See also: "weight gain, pregnancy" and "delivering twins, you want me to do what now?")

PS At my OB visit today, I cowboyed up and asked for a referral to a counselor. I don't know if I'll make an appointment, but I feel much better just having the option available. Thank you all for your kind concern.

The Rules

2006-08-07T12:47:00.000-05:00

For the remainder of my pregnancy, I do not wish to discuss the following topics:

1. Whether I am outgrowing my maternity shirts. Honestly, co-worker who suggested this possibility, what were you thinking? Not only am I probably more sensitive about my size than at any other time in my life, but I am hormonal and emotionally unbalanced as well! You are lucky I didn't sit on you. (PS, to the other co-worker who cannot believe that I am having twins because I am so small -- you are my new best friend, and I do not care if you were lying. Lie to me some more.)

2. My work schedule before delivery and my work schedule after maternity leave. No matter how many times you ask me, the answers will still be I don't know and I don't know (Well, technically I do know but I sure as heck am not burning any bridges until I absolutely have to). I am here until I'm gone. The end.

3. I definitely do not want to have this conversation again:

Other Person: You're still here! How are you feeling?
Me: I am tired.
Other Person: Yeah, just think how tired you'll be after the babies are born.

Thank you. I hadn't thought of that! I mean, I totally have never lain awake at night, desperate for sleep, but unable to get any because I am terrified at the thought of TWO newborns who will need me 24 hours of the day. Also, having never parented a newborn before (Raisin having been born 6 months old), I really have no idea how they behave, so it's a good thing you're here to point it out.

4. Projects the Jellyman and I had planned for our house. For example, someone asked the Jellyman last week why The Tree is still standing in our backyard. Except it was phrased like, "weren't you going to get that taken care of?" And I heard "slackers" clearly implied at the end of it. (Might just be me.)

Instead, please let us focus on the freaking awesomeness of the Jellyman. He is currently running our household almost 100% on his own, as I frequently have to lie down after washing one dish, require help carrying a load of laundry up the stairs, and am far too emotionally volatile to deal with Raisin's two-year-oldiness consistently. This is in addition to all his work to move his office downstairs and get the nursery ready for the twins.

And last night he told me, without sarcasm, that he felt lucky to be married to me. This is a prince among men, people, and the next person who implies that he could be working harder is going to get their ass kicked. Right after the mean co-worker from #1, and right before the President.

Forcing My Mind Open

2006-08-04T10:12:00.000-05:00

I have not read Linda Hirshman's book. I have just read about her, for example on Parenting Pop Culture. I didn't like what I read.

Then I saw her on "The Colbert Report" (I know, I know. But honestly, is "real" news that much better?), and I did not hate everything she said.

I still disagree with her, a lot. The whole "marry down" thing makes me throw up in my mouth a little. And, while defending her "all moms must work" theory to Colbert, she said something like, "Just because women choose to stay home doesn't make it right."

Now, feminist isn't the first label I usually slap on myself, so maybe I'm missing something here. But I kind of thought that the point of any civil rights movement was choice. As in, being free means having the right and the opportunity to choose your life. I suppose Hirshman would argue that women aren't really choosing, but I can't agree from where I stand.

Anyway, at the very end of the interview, just as I was firming up my mouth in self-righteous indignation, Colbert suggested that all moms could work "one house over," caring for the neighbors' kids. Hirshman responded, "Well, at least if they did that they would get Social Security."

Huh.

Dear NSA, I Am Only Kidding

2006-08-03T14:23:00.000-05:00

According to "The Daily Show," which honestly is where I get most of my news, the President weighed in at 196 pounds at his recent physical. My first thought was that this is uncomfortably close to my own weight.

Then, I realized, "If it weren't for those pesky Secret Service agents and the fact that I'm toting two extra humans around in my abdomen, I could totally take him."

I know it speaks to some deep-seated issues on my part, but that really made my day.

There Art Thou Happy

2006-08-02T12:44:00.000-05:00

(Romeo and Juliet, Act 3, Scene 3)

Today I am grateful because:

Blog readers send me nice comments when I moan, instead of telling me to get over myself.
I got some sleep.
This zit is FINALLY going away.
It rained.
Raisin didn't have to be asked to give me a bye-bye kiss this morning.
The Jellyman has been working his butt off to get our house ready for the babies.
I have not been banished from Verona.
I can walk outside without fear of heat exhaustion.
I've made it through one more day.

Broken

2006-08-01T11:29:00.000-05:00

I have put off writing this post, because even in my head it sounds unnecessarily whiny. It is, but I have decided to write it anyway. This blog serves as my journal more often than not, and maybe if I just have my whine out, I can move on.

Every afternoon, I fight tears. Every day, I find myself thinking that I cannot do this anymore. I am too tired, too weak, too heavy, too swollen, too sad. Nobody signed up for this version of me. My husband deserves a better wife, my daughter deserves a better mother, my work deserves someone who gives a damn.

We all know I'm not so good with the change. The transition from mother of one to mother of three scares the shit out of me. I think what scares me most is that I might spend the next several months as this woman, the one who is making it through each day -- and that is all.

But I don't want my life to be something I survive. I want it to be something I live and enjoy and love. In my better moments, I imagine myself surrounded by three kids and I am overwhelmed by the joy I feel even at the thought of silly giggles and small confidences and sweet kisses. I believe I will make it to that day and that I will know this was all worth it.

I just wish making it there weren't quite so hard right now.

Help Me, Obi-Wan!

2006-07-28T21:07:00.000-05:00

If anybody out there has an idea why this blog is all wonky when viewed through IE, please help!

Um, until then -- use Firefox?

OB Round-Up

2006-07-28T10:04:00.000-05:00

Now that I am treated to bi-weekly visits to my OB's office, I think I have met most of the doctors who might be on-call when I go into labor. Unless I schedule a C-section, which I'm still undecided about for reasons that will become apparent as we Meet the Docs....

First up, Doctor Newbie, my regular doctor. Well, she's new to the practice, not necessarily to being a doctor -- although she's plenty young, so she can't be that far past her residency. I like Dr. Newbie pretty well. She's confident and knowledgeable, just a teeny bit brusque, but I can deal with that. At my first OB visit, she told me that as a practice, the doctors had all decided to schedule C-sections if one twin is breech. This is important, as we had quite a lengthy discussion about it. She told me that since not all the OBs were comfortable trying a version during labor, they had all agreed not to do it.

Next, Dr. Frownyface. She's got a good 25 years on Dr. Newbie. We didn't discuss labor and delivery because she was too busy freaking me out by scheduling a fetal fibronectin test. It was negative, for anyone interested. (Also, negative is good.) Even though I don't know Dr. Frownyface's opinion on the C-section debate, I feel pretty confident in saying that she would not be my first choice to deliver my babies (not because she ordered the test -- caution is good -- just because I didn't feel comfortable with her).

At my next visit, I met Dr. Man -- the only male OB I've met so far. According to Dr. Man, if the presenting twin is vertex, I can try for a vaginal delivery. Once that baby is delivered, he said, we'd try to turn the other one. (Really!? Reeeeeaaaallly.) His only caution to me was that I'd have to be prepared for a C-section if that baby wouldn't turn. I liked Dr. Man, he was very personable. He did, however, use a portable ultrasound machine rather than Doppler to look for the baby's heartbeats. This, he told me, is because he "has trouble" finding two separate heartbeats with the Doppler. Confidence-inspiring, yes?

Yesterday's appointment was with Dr. Amish. Another young, female doctor, which I appreciate. But... the heat index in Minneapolis has been hovering around 100 Degrees for the last several days. The air conditioning in the clinic, while effective, isn't exactly what I'd call Arctic. Yet Dr. Amish entered the exam room in a crisp white long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to her neck, a wool (!) cardigan, and a heavy black ankle-length skirt. Fortunately she is capable of using words like "cervix," or we might've had a serious problem.

Actually, in one of those ironic twists I so enjoy, Dr. Amish's one-twin-is-breech policy is the most liberal yet. Not only did she assure me that I could attempt a vaginal birth if I so chose, but she even suggested that a breech delivery of the second twin was possible if a version failed. Dude. Their staff meetings must be fascinating.

Next time I go, I'll see Dr. Newbie again, and one way or another she and I are going to have another long discussion about this. I don't feel the need to have my birth plan all set in stone right now, but I would really like to understand how I could've misunderstood her so badly at our first meeting.

As for that birth plan, I have a lot of mixed feelings. I would like to try a vaginal birth if I can. I don't want to have to recover from abdominal surgery while trying to care for three children. On the other hand, I don't want to go through labor and one vaginal birth only to need a last-minute Cesarean. That would mean having to recover from BOTH. Yuck.

There's also the argument that by scheduling the surgery, I would have some control over the timing and the doctor who would preside over the birth. Since they do have such differing opinions, it might be nice to know what to expect. And it might make things easier for Raisin if everything was scheduled. No need for a scene like, "Mommy's water just broke! Um, don't worry!"

Basically, I have no sense of The Right Decision. For now, I have decided not to decide. Procrastination rules!

And the Winners Are....

2006-07-24T08:29:00.000-05:00

Jane, for the twin names of Apple and Orange! (I also loved the idea of Lemon and Lime, but I knew I'd keep forgetting which one was supposed to be which. But thanks to Karen and Jane for that idea!)

And K., because I'm stealing her suggestion of "Jelly" as a name for one of the twins, and turning it into "Jellyman" for DH (you know, like Finding Nemo with the sea turtles -- it's a lot funnier if you say it with the surfer-dude voice).

Jane and K., if you're willing to give me an email address, you will be receiving an Amazon gift certificate as your reward. Please email me at "grapemn AT comcast DOT net" to claim your prize!

Thanks to everyone who sent in ideas. This was fun for me. And really, that's the most important thing, right? Of course right.

It's Amazing

2006-07-21T14:56:00.000-05:00

...what 11 hours of sleep will do for a person. (Well, 11 hours minus all the times I woke up to pee, shift positions, or try to convince one fetus or the other to stop kicking me.)

Yesterday I told my mom I wasn't sure why I'd ever wanted to be pregnant again. My back hurt, my legs hurt, my feet were swollen, my nose was running, I felt feverish (that's probably less from the pregnancy than from the summer cold I have), and the morning sickness was back. When my dad came over last night to help DH finish up the dry wall in our basement, my mom came to entertain Raisin and put her to bed. I myself retired at approximately 6:45.

Today, while you won't find me leaping tall buildings in a single bound, I think I could manage to sidestep a building of Legos. I may even be able to stay awake until after the sun sets. We'll see. (It sets LATE in Minnesota in the summer, ok?!)

Winners of the Baby Blog Name contest will be announced on Monday. Happy weekend!

Name My Babies

2006-07-18T09:54:00.000-05:00

Well, not really. We have real names all picked out already -- names our moms don't even know, so don't try to trick me into giving those away.

But I do need your help with the blog names. To avoid confusion, Raisin will stay Raisin and I will remain Grape. DH and the twins are up for grabs.

And if I pick your name, I'll even consider possibly giving you a prize maybe! Who can resist an offer like that!? Bonus points for names that are vaguely fruity or at least food related because I kind of have this theme thingy going sort of.

Jane and Karen, your suggestions are already in the running.

I Wonder....

2006-07-17T08:48:00.000-05:00

Have I always been this clumsy? Just this morning, I have dropped the following on the floor: my contact case, two washcloths, the cap for the orange juice, the twist-tie for the bread, and my book. Is it really always this bad, or am I just more aware of it now that retrieving the dropped item involves a sumo-wrestler pose and some serious defiance of gravity?

How can we convince Twin A (I'm still working on blog names. So far I've come up with Banana Boy and Berry. Are those too lame?) to flip himself over? His sister is actually the presenting twin right now, and she's vertex, so that somewhat lessens the chance that a C-section will be necessary. Having them both vertex would be awfully, awfully nice, though. Berry seems to be similarly minded; she delivered a swift kick to her brother's face while we were watching the ultrasound on Friday. Just wait until you don't have all those membranes and amniotic fluids to protect you, buddy.

When my mom comes over to help me for a day, and I suggest that she could vacuum up the icky spiderwebs from the laundry room, and she instead spends two hours scrubbing the entire room including the floor, is she really just trying to get things back to the way she "knows" I would want them, or is she subtly pointing out that the room was never that clean even when I wasn't pregnant?

Adaptation

2006-07-13T10:55:00.000-05:00

Once a Plan is in place, I generally prefer that it be left alone. DH views a Plan as a work in progress. He will continue to research options, and if he finds something he likes better, he'll change The Plan. Just like that! Who cares if Plan 2 is better than Plan 1? The point is we had a Plan, and now The Plan is gone. What will become of us? Oh, the humanity! (And you can all just shut your traps with your "logic" and your "reasoning." I ain't buying.)

This is the area of our relationship that is most likely to spark Serious Discussions. For example, we might Discuss which of us is possibly more rigid than tempered steel, and which of us is maybe CHANGING THINGS AGAIN OMG PLEASE STOP CHANGING THINGS. During these Discussions, I am fond of pointing out that I am much more flexible than my parents. Being less crazy than your family of origin is proof of some kind of evolutionary success, I feel. That should count for something, even if it doesn't discount the fact that I am a pathological stick-in-the-mud.

Raisin falls more often into the Today Should Be Just Like Yesterday camp. I can't tell yet whether that is simply a function of being two, or if that's her own personality coming through. If it is, in fact, the latter, then we may have some work to do towards ensuring the continuation of my Evolution Plan.

Case in point: Before we left for California, the hairdryer started making a suspicious noise. My MIL has one for us to use while we visit, so I didn't replace ours right away. On Tuesday, Raisin and I shopped at Target, and I quelled my inner need to buy the exact same hairdryer (they didn't have it), and purchased a replacement. I even used it yesterday morning, and I feel that, in time, the new hairdryer and I may come to be good friends. (See? Positively brimming with flexibility over here.)

Last night was the first time I attempted to dry Raisin's hair with what I now realize is Satan's own hairdryer. It dares to be "chrome" in color. "BLACK ONE, MOMMY!!! BLACK ONE!!! [sobs hysterically]" Also, it is clearly "too loud! Mommy, too loud! TOOO LOOUUUDDD!" (How this can be, given that the old hairdryer was decommissioned because of the suspicious noise, I do not know. Nevertheless. TOO LOUD.)

Any bets on how many days I will spend explaining that the black hairdryer is broken before she accepts this new intruder? And if DH is able to fix the old one (he wants to tinker with it to see if he can diagnose the problem), will it meet with as much resistance if/when it is reintroduced?

Parenthood is so glamorous.

(Oh! That reminds me. I had another story about the glamour, and it's really not long enough for its own post. On Tuesday when we got back from Target, it was already Raisin's bedtime. I decided to skip her bath, until I went to change her diaper and discovered that it was full of sand (MOMMY GUILT ALERT. SHE SPENT AT LEAST 3 HOURS IN THIS CONDITION.). Since a bath was now in order anyway, I asked DH if he thought I should wash her hair, too. "Nah," he replied. "Just rinse out her butt." Now, I ask you, in what other stations in life do you ever get to utter THAT phrase?)

Hello. I'm back.

2006-07-11T16:24:00.000-05:00

For the record, I was going to use this as a title for this post, or this. So it's not my fault that the actual title is so lame; all the good ones were taken.

We got back Sunday, and I spent yesterday catching up with all my blogs -- I mean, important work emails. Now that I know what's going on with you, I'd like to write a brilliant and witty post summing up our vacation. I would like to write a post like that, but I yust can't think of one, so yust forget it. (Stop laughing at me. Stan and Doug are awesome.)

Anyway. Raisin was incredible on the plane. She was thrilled with the airport ("Look, Mommy! Another airplane!!" "You're kidding, Raisin! Where?"), and she handled every leg of the trip exremely well. I think she cried during one landing, but was quickly appeased with a Dum-Dum sucker.

That was just one of many things on this trip that made me realize that I am now raising a child, not a baby. For example, she spent a great deal of time dressing "myself." Also, she loved playing in Grandma and Grandpa's pool. The second day, she realized that if she stayed on the steps, she could "swim alone" and not be carried around by an adult. Offers after that to swim into deeper waters were met with great suspicion. She even slept in Grandma's day bed, and only fell out once (she sleeps in a big-girl bed at home, but we don't have a frame for the mattress, so there's not far to fall).

We went here (courtesy of Go City Kids, courtesy of Jinkies!). If you are traveling to Orange County with young kids, I highly recommend it. All the rides and activities are designed with little children in mind, and Raisin had a blast. Much cheaper than any of the bigger theme parks, too. By the time we left, we were intimate friends with the carousel guy; it was situated right in the center of the park, and Raisin couldn't pass the "horsey!!!!" without getting another ride.

In summary: excellent trip. I am totally hott in a maternity bathing suit. California is sunny and warm. My child is all grown up (sob). I'm back at work, and it sucks. DH and I have already counted the weeks until our August vacation "up North." (About 6, if you're wondering.)

I'm Off to CA, See You in a Week!

2006-06-30T11:57:00.000-05:00

Packing list:

1 DH
1 Raisin
2 Fetuses
4 Boxes Ready-Cut Spaghetti (Hi MIL! We remembered!)
1 Maternity Swimsuit (Is California ready for this? I doubt it!)
1 Letter from OB saying the flight attendants have to be nice to me
1 Diaper bag whose contents will probably keep Raisin entertained for 20 minutes. Total travel time: um, way more than 20 minutes. That's why I need the letter.

Sounds like a vacation to me. Happy 4th, everyone!

Realizing How Apt A Metaphor It Is

2006-06-28T13:50:00.000-05:00

Dear Elephants,

I think it would just be easier for everyone if you stopped pooping altogether. Thank you.

Now, if you'll excuse me, there's an escaped lion wreaking havoc among the acrobats, and the ringmaster is having a panic attack.

Sincerely,

Grape

The Elephant in the Room

2006-06-22T08:36:00.000-05:00

I don't usually write about work here, mostly because it would be insanely boring for everyone involved. Yesterday, though, something happened that might be a little more interesting than normal, and I would very much like to tell the whole Internet all about it. I also would very much like to not get Dooced. I introduce you, therefore, to the Hyperextended Metaphor. Enjoy.

Let's say, for the sake of the metaphor, that I work for a circus. When I started at the circus 6 years ago, I had no experience in the circus industry. I was given a training-type position -- one where I could learn the business and still serve a useful purpose by performing tasks the more experienced circus members didn't have time/didn't want to do. Let's say that one of these jobs was to clean up after the elephants.

Now, I'm sure it's pretty obvious why the more experienced circus performances didn't want to have to clean up after the elephants. The job is monotonous and repetitive, and there's a really good chance that you'll end up covered in elephant crap. There is an element of risk to Elephant Crap Management, however, because if it's not done well, the animals will get sick and the circus will lose customers.

When I first started in Elephant Crap Management, this element of risk was heightened because the equipment -- hoses and such -- that we were using was outdated and in disrepair. Nevertheless, I eventually became pretty good at ECM. I also learned a lot of other cool tricks, and I was gradually promoted to throwing cream pies at clowns and even tightrope walking. Even after being promoted, though, I was still in charge of ECM -- the bosses could just never find anyone else to take it over. (Read: I am spineless, and never insisted that they make the new kid do it.)

Then, a little over a year ago, I got a job in the circus' administrative wing. My first project, fittingly, was to develop a better Elephant Crap Management System. I should note that I was only SLIGHTLY bitter that I had spent 5 years up to my ankles in elephant crap, only to be given the task of making the job easier for the person who followed in my footsteps. Still, I didn't have to spend every day reeking of elephant crap, so it was an improvement.

The ECMS project team worked for about six months developing better ECM equipment, and we came up with a much better system, if I do say it myself. Which I do.

This year, with more project experience under my belt, I saw some things we could've done better. So I told my boss that with funding, I could fix some bugs in the ECMS to make things easier still. The head circus people conferred and gave me the money -- they even gave me extra so we could develop some new ECMS features. (Um, like a disinfectant sprayer thingy? This is where the metaphor gets more and more difficult to maintain.) And ECMS Phase II was born, and that's what I spend a great deal of time on these days.

Which brings us to the current day. (Thank God, sigh the readers who haven't given up yet.) Yesterday, the circus brass found out that the Federal Board of Circus Freaks (FBCF) has revised the Elephant Crap Management section of the Circus Act of 1954 (circus act! ha!) -- section 15(g)(ii). It's not clear yet, but it appears the revised language indicates that ECM is now the responsibility of the elephants themselves, and not the circus. Or something. If that's true, ECMS Phase II will be canceled, and the entire ECMS will probably be retired.

The thing is, I think I've developed some kind of weird Stockholm Syndrome with the elephant crap. I've spent 6 years of my professional life trying to clean up the crap, and now all of a sudden it just might be totally gone. And then what will I do?

Good System

2006-06-19T12:28:00.000-05:00

The WeightWatchers pizza I brought for lunch only made me want real pizza. Which I went out and bought.

What? The babies are hungry.

Balancing Act

2006-06-14T14:01:00.000-05:00

I'm not the only one who had something to say about the NY Times article.

While we're discussing hot-button parenting issues, I've been thinking a lot about this and this.

The hardest thing about parenting for me has been the constant tightrope walking.

Don't introduce solids too early! But don't start too late, either! (I think we already covered the Other Great Feeding Debate.)

Is your child getting enough creative time? Enough active play? Enough time alone? Enough time with other kids?

Why can't she sleep? Is she overstimulated? Understimulated? Bedtime too early? Afraid of monsters?

What the Dooce and Amalah posts have me pondering is this: How can we best reassure our kids that Mommy and Daddy are capable and in control, while still helping them to understand that we are human? Because I think that's a really important lesson for our children, too. Raisin needs to know that Daddy will sometimes need a break, and that Mommy makes mistakes. She needs to know that's OK, so she can give herself permission to screw up sometimes, too.

It feels like yet another tightrope on which I have to balance. And yet, the mechanism to deal with a failure is built-in. It's an opportunity to forgive myself and show my daughter that strength is sometimes just perserverance in the face of weakness.

This weekend, Raisin ran into the kitchen carrying DH's glasses. "No! Raisin, those are Daddy's," I scolded. She looked surprised and hurt as she handed them carefully to her dad. She'd seen them in the bathroom and brought them to Daddy, thinking he might need them. When I thought about it later and realized what I'd done, I apologized.

I hope she'll come to respect our discipline more if she knows we discipline ourselves. That she'll trust us more knowing that we question our own trustworthiness. That if she knows that we are trying to be good parents, she'll be more ready to accept the times when we are not.

God, I hope I'm not wrong.

Oh, Let's Just Call the Post "Boobies." The Google Searches Are Coming Anyway...

2006-06-13T12:35:00.000-05:00

Should mothers be guilted into breastfeeding? According to this New York Times article, some US officials seem to think so.

For example, the piece mentions PSAs depicting a pregnant woman being thrown from a mechanical bull. Her choice to ride is, according to the ad, as risky to her child as would be the choice to formula-feed.

Senator Tom Harkin of Iowa has proposed adding cigarette-style warnings to formula packages.

Here's what I thought was the key paragraph from the Times:

"... Urging women to breast-feed exclusively is a tall order in a country where more than 60 percent of mothers of very young children work, federal law requires large companies to provide only 12 weeks' unpaid maternity leave and lactation leave is unheard of. Only a third of large companies provide a private, secure area where women can express breast milk during the workday, and only 7 percent offer on-site or near-site child care, according to a 2005 national study of employers by the nonprofit Families and Work Institute."

I'd say, given the obstacles facing a new mother, putting a warning label on a formula canister is kind of like putting a Band-Aid on an amputation. If the good Senator really wants to promote breastfeeding in the United States, he and his colleagues can:

1. Make it easier for mothers who return to work to continue to nurse their babies.

2. Do some research. Why are black mothers less likely to breastfeed than Hispanic mothers? When women choose not to breastfeed, or to stop nursing "early," what are their reasons?

3. Use the research to improve the odds for moms who want to nurse. No agendas, no pressure -- that turns people off -- just opportunities.

4. If you're gonna pay for public service announcements, start with the stigma around public breastfeeding. No parent trying to do what's right for their family wants to get a dirty look. (In all fairness, this works in reverse as well. I know some moms feel they've been harshly judged for bottle-feeding.)

I think most moms know that breastfeeding=good. I think we also know first-hand that it's hard. And maybe we could use a little help, instead of guilt and threats.

*Disclaimer: I am lucky. I work for a company that DOES provide a private lactation room. My husband, boss, doctor, and daycare were all supportive of me. They supported me when I attempted to feed Raisin just breastmilk, and they supported me when I couldn't pump that much and had to supplement with formula. Because I'm lucky, I was able to breastfeed until I was ready to stop. My opinions are colored by my own experience. If your opinion and/or experience is different, feel free to share. But be nice.

I Feel Pretty

2006-06-12T15:26:00.000-05:00

I've developed a twitch in my left eye. Watching myself in the mirror, I don't think it's something anyone else will notice, but it's driving me crazy and I feel like my face is one big nervous tic.

Women pregnant with multiples and women pregnant for the second or subsequent time are more likely to start leaking colostrum earlier in pregnancy. Ask me how I know.

My haircut appointment isn't until Thursday. Except for the boy-bangs, now thankfully grown out to an acceptable length, it needs to be cut NOW.

Acne sucks. Being too tired to properly wash one's face, and therefore being partially responsible for one's own acne outbreaks sucks even more.

I knew the stretch marks were coming. I know there'll be plenty more by the time we're all done. Still, bah.

If belly buttons were like those pop-up things on turkeys, it'd be time to head to the hospital. Past time, in fact.

Blah blah life-affirming pregnancy glow blah blah blah.

I Wish I'd Said...

2006-06-07T12:12:00.000-05:00

"Dad, I'm 28 -- two years younger than Mom was when my brother was born. My back hurts because I'm pregnant with twins, not because I'm 'not that young anymore.'"

"Sir, I can see you glancing pointedly from my abdomen to my left hand and shaking your head. It is absolutely none of your business, but I had to take off my wedding ring because my hands swell sometimes."

"You are the first person in two months of informal surveying who has actually given up your seat for me. God bless you." (I DID say, "Thank you," but it felt inadequate.)

"Raisin, I am sorry I spit ice cream at you. But when Grandpa asked, 'Are you a boy or a girl?' and you responded, 'Bird!' it was just too funny and I couldn't help laughing even though I had just taken a big bite."

I Love You, Sears.

2006-06-06T14:33:00.000-05:00

I always thought I'd be much more likely to write a post about my devotion to Target. (And I would not be alone in the blogosphere. I won't try to prove that I love Target more than these people, because I think I would lose. However, I will try to prove my own awesomeness by pointing out that the Target closest to my house was THE VERY FIRST Target. Ever. "T-1," as those of us in the know like to call it. It's not really T-1 anymore, because they just tore it down and rebuilt it as a Super Target. But, really, doesn't that just make it - and by extension me - more awesome? Yes it does.)

Anyway. Target does not have appliances, and Sears does. So just for a little while, I am flirting with Sears. (I still love you, Target!) In fact, Sears has just brought me some brand new, shiny toys. A washer that holds twice the clothes but uses half the water. A dryer that actually maybe will sometimes dry things faster than they'd dry hanging on the line in the rain. A refrigerator/freezer in which ice is made -- and it stays frozen! Revolutionary!

There is a possibility that I am more excited about these arrivals than the coming birth of my children. But, see, when the washing machine was delivered, it didn't hurt a bit.

A Bunch of Posts That Are Too Short On Their Own, All Lumped Into One!

2006-06-01T14:43:00.000-05:00

Eternal Sunshine of the Messed Up Mind

I woke up the other day completely freaked out about how a parent handles the high school graduation open houses of twins. Do they have one joint party? Two separate parties? What's a mom to do!? (For the record, I've decided that we should plan, in 18 years, to offer our kids a choice. If they want a joint party, it can be bigger. If they choose separate open houses, they'll each have to sacrifice a little bit. It's good to have these things settled.)

Who The Heck Were These People?

DH recently destroyed an icky storage shed erected by the previous owners of our house. It violated code and was ugly and useless, so he tore it down. Underneath, he discovered what appears to be the contents of a woman's wallet -- NOT a woman who has ever lived in our house. Fortunately, DH looked her up and she is still alive and well.

You Have to Consider All the Angles

We have finally started to get serious about names for the babies. In fact, I think we might be set, but we're still thinking. You see, sometimes danger lurks in the best-sounding names. We thought we had the girl's name all figured out, and oh, how we both loved the name. It was perfect. Except the initials were KFC.

Perhaps I Eat Too Much Cheese

Theories abound about what precipitated the conception of our twins. There's the family history, and the fact that I stopped taking birth control pills not long before we conceived. And now there's this. (In case you can't see the article: a study now suggests that women who eat dairy conceive fraternal twins at a much higher rate than women who do not, possibly because of the increased use of bovine growth hormones.)

100 Posts, 100 Things

2006-05-25T09:58:00.000-05:00

So, yesterday's lame post was my 99th. Which means this is the 100th post on this blog!!!! {Balloons and confetti stream from ceiling}

In honor of this auspicious (?) event, here are 100 things about me:

1. I can’t stand candy that is sticky or chewy. No Jolly Ranchers, suckers, Rolos, or jelly beans for me – all gross.
2. Raisin seems to have inherited this issue, because she constantly wants to wash her hands when they’re dirty or sticky.
3. I love to travel, but I also love coming back home.
4. I have been to about half of the states.
5. I’d like to visit them all someday.
6. I have also been to Canada, Mexico (technically, although I don’t remember it), England, France, Switzerland, Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and India.
7. I’d go back to any of those places in a heartbeat.
8. I have a long list of other places I’d like to visit, too.
9. I speak a little German and French.
10. I used to be pretty fluent, but now I’m forgetting everything because I never have a chance to speak them anymore.
11. I have never lived anywhere but Minnesota.
12. I met my husband on a Minneapolis city bus.
13. The official story is that neither of us was stalking the other. (He totally thought I was cute and was following me. Really.)
14. When I was in high school, my friends and I memorized entire movies.
15. I can still quote large sections of our favorites.
16. We also had parties where we’d watch a day’s worth of movies, play movie trivia games, and re-enact our favorite scenes.
17. For example, we once made grilled cheese sandwiches with an iron.
18. “…for grilled cheese, I might’ve used a wool setting.” “That’s what I told him!” Never mind.
19. Raisin’s real name means “grace” in my father-in-law’s native language.
20. He’s from India.
21. He and MIL live in California now, right by Disneyland.
22. Our kids are never going to want to leave their house when they get older.
23. My parents live in a Minneapolis suburb.
24. Right by... golf courses and soccer fields. Fun.
25. When I got bored in class, I used to do “free associations” to keep myself busy. I’d write a word, then write the next thing that came to mind, etc.
26. Writing this list is kind of like that.
27. Yes, I know I’m a nerd. I was also in orchestra and academic club. Got a problem with that!?
28. Every spring, I re-read The Secret Garden.
29. If I had a green thumb, my garden would totally be like that. But I don’t, and it’s not.
30. At the time of this writing, I am pregnant with twins: one boy, and one girl.
31. Heh, that just made me think of this sappy Colin Raye song I love.
32. I don’t have snappy Internet names for them yet, but I’m thinking I’ll need something fruit-related.
33. Fraternal twins can run in families. Identical twins technically do not. Dr. Google just taught me that.
34. Yes, I have a family history of fraternal twins. It skipped several generations, so I thought I was safe.
35. I hate ladders. I can never climb up more than 2 rungs.
36. I just thought of that because there’s a window washer suspended outside my window right now. I hate that too.
37. At least he’s cute.
38. Of course, that only makes it more sad that he might be moments away from plummeting to his death.
39. I love mint and chocolate together.
40. Pineapple is the ideal pizza topping.
41. It’s “duck, duck, gray duck,” not “duck, duck, goose.” If you are not from Minnesota, you most likely say it wrong. It’s not your fault, you didn’t know.
42. May 6, 2006 was my first blogiversary.
43. I kind of missed it because I had just found out THERE ARE TWO BABIES IN MY UTERUS.
44. I had a speech impediment until I was about 15. I had to go to therapy.
45. It never worked. Once a teacher told me I’d never get a job because of how I sounded.
46. Then I got my braces off and the problem went away. Go figure.
47. I have a job. So there, stupid teacher.
48. I’ll probably quit after the babies are born.
49. It feels weird that I know that already, but I can’t say anything for several months.
50. Someday I think I’d like to go back to school.
51. Not sure how that’s gonna happen with three kids.
52. I never know what people mean when they explain themselves with their astrological sign. “I’m a Leo, so that’s why I’m….”
53. I’m an Aries, if you care.
54. I had to look up Aries to make sure I spelled it right.
55. I love reality TV like “Survivor” and “The Amazing Race,” but I hate it when the contestants are mean to each other.
56. Apparently, reality to me means that everyone should just get along.
57. I re-read my favorite books over and over.
58. This includes, but is not limited to, Little Women, Anne of Green Gables, and anything by James Herriot.
59. I have many, many allergies.
60. Fortunately none of them are life-threatening.
61. Also, none of them are to food. That would be really bad.
62. I am generally pretty moderate politically, with a definite slant to the left.
63. I believe that one can be a Christian and a liberal, and it drives me nuts when people imply otherwise.
64. I am disproportionately worried about what will happen next year on “Gilmore Girls.”
65. I do not watch “Lost” or “American Idol.”
66. Yes, I am the one.
67. I hate my feet.
68. As a result, I also hate shoe shopping.
69. Someday they’re gonna revoke my girl card for that.
70. I do enjoy pedicures, celebrity gossip, and pretty purses, though. I hope that’s enough to keep me in the club.
71. I don’t usually like sauerkraut, but last weekend I ate some and it was awesome. I’m blaming the pregnancy hormones.
72. I don’t like to write with pencil. Pens only, and they have to be the right kind.
73. My church youth group was once on the news in Ontario because part of our group got lost at Sleeping Giant Provincial Park. I wasn’t one of the lost ones.
74. My other television credits include a two-second glimpse of me when my elementary-school dance group performed at the opening of a bridge, and an interview in my high school’s video yearbook.
75. No autographs, please.
76. I love to go boating, canoeing, and swimming.
77. I don’t like fishing.
78. I am too sensitive.
79. I changed my name when I got married, mostly because I like the idea of my whole family sharing a last name.
80. I do NOT like the idea of being “Mrs. John Smith.” I throw away mail that comes addressed that way, unless it’s from my grandma.
81. She gets a pass because she’s old enough to forget that I dislike that convention.
82. I am already planning to go back on Weight Watchers after giving birth.
83. I refuse to contemplate how much weight I may have to lose (because I refuse to contemplate how much I have left to gain).
84. WW has a nursing mom’s plan – I figure I get extra points for nursing two.
85. I have a hard time admitting I’m wrong.
86. For example, this week a co-worker disagreed with me about the placement of a comma. I looked it up in a grammar guide to prove I was right.
87. I was.
88. I suppose at this point it goes without saying that bad grammar and punctuation bother me.
89. Except, of course, errors that I make.
90. Like “bring” and “take.” I can never get that right without a seriously involved thought process.
91. I hate cigarette smoke. Not just normal hate, but active loathing.
92. I think Minnesota should have a law like that city in California, where smoking isn’t even allowed outside.
93. Usually this would offend my sense of individual liberty, but cigarette smoke is the exception that proves my rule. Plus it smells bad.
94. I have an internal hierarchy to decide who deserves a seat on the bus.
95. I’ll get up for an elderly, pregnant, or disabled person (when I’m not pregnant myself, of course). If you’re relatively young and not carrying anything heavy, you’re out of luck.
96. There are very few people who will give up their seat for an obviously pregnant woman. That really chaps my hide.
97. The list of blogs that I read should really be much longer than what’s on my blogroll, but I am too lazy to make it a separate page.
98. I think “grey” should always be spelled that way, not “gray.”
99. This list has taken me almost 2 weeks to write.
100. My favorite color is blue.

In Search of Interesting Material

2006-05-24T13:55:00.000-05:00

Dear Internet,

Last night I watched "House." It was confusing. Tonight I think I'll do laundry.

My daughter thinks the moral of Five Little Monkeys is that it's fun to jump on the bed while shouting, "NO MORE MONKEYS JUMPING ON THE BED!"

My brain is numb from doing boring paperwork.

Talk to you again soon.

Love,
Julie

Sometimes the Internet is Mean

2006-05-18T16:00:00.000-05:00

I know this has absolutely nothing to do with me. Dooce has never heard of me. But ouch.

Especially when I started to read the comments, including, "this isn't meant to be offensive, so please don't get upset.it is because of people like your sister that i am choosing not to have any children."

Worried

2006-05-18T10:45:00.000-05:00

When acquaintances first find out that we are expecting twins, the response is usually, "Congratulations!" Or maybe something like, "It's a double blessing!"

It is. I know that. I know that women everywhere are fighting with their entire beings to conceive a baby, have a baby, keep a baby, adopt a baby. We're unbelievably, undeniably blessed.

Also, if you're gonna have twins, you really couldn't ask for a better set of circumstances than these. Both sets of grandparents have already offered sacrifices of their time and money that absolutely move me to tears. There's no way we WON'T be OK -- our families will make sure of that.

Still, I worry.

I'm worried that I am going to be too tired and careworn to appreciate my children's babyhood.

I'm scared that I'll go into labor prematurely, or that something will happen to one of the babies. (When I thought I was pregnant with just one baby, I could deal. Now, not so much.)

I am so, so afraid that Raisin will spend the rest of her toddler years playing third wheel.

It's this last one that's really keeping me up at night. (Well, it would be, if I could keep my eyes open EVER.) I was fretting about it anyway, as I'm sure any mom does when her precious, first-born, center-of-the-universe child is about to become "baby's big sister." Now, as well-meaning friends and family point out, Raisin's world will be undergoing an even more drastic change. These assvicers pretty much have me convinced that I've spoiled Raisin horribly thus far, and that there is no question but that I will utterly ignore her once the twins arrive.

But hell, I can beat myself up over my awful parenting, and I can vow that I will do everything in my power to get some one-on-one time with Raisin to help her make the transition. The real question is, what do I do about the strangers who will, apparently, be gushing all over the twins while Raisin is shoved aside? (I don't find this scenario hard to imagine. When Raisin was a baby, a stranger at Target asked me if it would be OK for her to lick Raisin's toes. You can't trust people around babies.)

I'm starting to think that I should wear a sandwich board when I'm out with all three kids. It could say:

TALK TO THE TODDLER, THEN TALK TO THE TWINS.

Or,

DOESN'T MY OLDEST HAVE BEAUTIFUL HAIR!?

Or, the less courteous but more honest

YES, THEY ARE TWINS. PLEASE LEAVE US THE HELL ALONE.

Just Watch What You Say To Me

2006-05-13T20:43:00.000-05:00

Him: I like your pregnant belly. You know that, right?
Me: Do you like my big, fat pregnant butt, too?
Him, sensing danger: Yes?
[stony silence]
Him: I mean, your butt doesn't look any different than it usually does?
Me: So it's always fat?

Raisin's toy vacuum: Oh, boy! This place is a mess!
Me: Shut your trap, Dusty.

I Look Like a Boy

2006-05-12T16:05:00.000-05:00

She said, "Do you want your bangs a little shorter this time?"

I foolishly agreed, "Sure, a little bit."

And then she cut off an inch and a half in one snip.

I've Got Nothin'

2006-05-09T12:48:00.000-05:00

But I'm posting anyway because let's talk about something other than the twins for a little while.

For example, why does Nicole Kidman still love Tom Cruise? Seriously? He hasn't killed that feeling for her yet?

Or, how funny is that Bush impersonator guy that's been on "Meet the Press" and "Today" this week? I especially like his opening line, "First, I'd like to welcome you to xxx. Third,...." Comedy gold.

I hate "The View," but I might watch if I'm on bed rest this summer or while I'm nursing babies this fall. I hear that Star Jones and Rosie O'Donnell hate each other, and I would love to see those two scratch each other's eyes out. Funny! And also probably really good for breastmilk quality, don't you think?

How come every time I read Anne of Green Gables, I forget that Matthew dies in the first book? I always think it's the second book, and then it happens, and then I cry. Unfair.

There. Let's discuss.

The Rest of the Story

2006-05-04T10:31:00.000-05:00

Or, Blogging as Emotional Outlet and Free Therapy

Part I: In which nobody figures out I'm carrying twins until 18 weeks

In retrospect, the "diagnosis" explains so many things: why the "morning" sickness has been so awful; why I'm so, um, large; why I'm extra tired and emotional; why I felt movement so early (and in places I didn't think such an early fetus should be). But denial, she's a powerful animal, and alternative explanations were so easy to come by. Every pregnancy is different; this is the second time, so you'll "pop" sooner; you already have a toddler to care for; maybe it's gas; blah, blah, blah.

The midwife did say that looking back, my uterus was bigger at 13 weeks than "normal." It was just wasn't enough bigger that she got concerned. Plus, they plunked down the Doppler twice and heard a healthy heartbeat -- nobody thought to maybe wave the thing around a little to see what else was in there. And, since we spaced the visits farther apart (at the midwife's suggestion), there was never another chance for an actual professional to say, "hmmm, something's different."

Oh, well. We could've found out in the delivery room, I suppose.

Part II: In which the Discovery is made

We were late for our ultrasound appointment yesterday. I wrote 7:30 in my planner, but we should have been there at 7:15. The witch at the front desk pointed this out to me three times. I apologized the first two.

I apologized again to the ultrasound tech (after all, she's the one who actually had to wait for us). She, of course, was very nice about it, and she assured us there would still be time before my midwife appointment to do the full scan. HA HA HA HA HA HA.

About 15 seconds after she started moving the wand around, she started making faces. That made me nervous, and it didn't help when she said, "Who's your doctor again?" Then she twitched the wand up to the top of my uterus so we could see both heads at once, and said, "Do you see what I'm seeing here?" And then she had to get out the smelling salts. Almost.

She said she got suspicious because she started on the side of my belly AWAY from the bulge, but found a baby anyway. She sneakily confirmed it for herself before showing us the money shot, hence all the frowny faces.

So, there was not time for a complete check-up on either baby, but she hit the high points (heartbeat, placentas, skull circumference, and the sex of the babies as a bonus for us). The Level 2 u/s tomorrow at the perinatal clinic will be more complete.

Part III: In which we realize that this might maybe sort of be OK a little

There was much crying and panicking yesterday when I first got the news. I never wanted a large family. In fact, I made a big deal about not being outnumbered by our kids (again, HA HA HA HA HA HA HA). It's hard to explain the feeling -- I mean, when you see your child(ren!) for the first time, any expectations become irrelevant anyway, right? I was -- dumbfounded, I guess.

Now that I'm recovering from the shock, I am willing to admit to some cautious optimism. My pregnancy is now higher risk, but I am healthy. I will miss my job, but we will all be less stressed -- and the budget will be less tight -- if I stay home for a while. It will be hard work, but our families and friends have already promised an overwhelming amount of help and support. We will be OK.

Part IV: In which we demonstrate that laughter is truly the best medicine

After Raisin retired for the night, DH and I finally had a chance to discuss yesterday's events, including:

One of DH's first reactions: Well, I'll ask the doctor about a vasectomy.
One of my first reactions: Poor, poor Raisin. What have I done?
My favorite new word I learned yesterday: hyperovulation. My ovaries, they are hyper. Calm down, girls, the party's over.

Take a Deep Breath

2006-05-03T16:27:00.000-05:00

Here's what we know so far:
-Each baby has its own placenta and amniotic sac. Good news.
-Best guess is that I'm carrying one boy and one girl.
-Both babies are measuring right on schedule for 18 weeks, and the quick scan the ultrasound tech was able to do looks good.
-I can no longer see the midwives, but I can see an OB in the same office, so hopefully the basic philosophy of care will stay the same.
-I have an ultrasound at a perinatal clinic on Friday so they can do a more thorough check on each baby.

The list of things we don't know is infinite and frightening, but includes:
-Whether I will be able to travel as planned this summer.
-Whether we can afford day care for 3 kids.
-Whether I am going to lose my mind 100% or if parts of it might be salvageable.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

2006-05-03T11:09:00.000-05:00

Oh, and OH HOLY CRAP!

Twins.

TWINS.

I am a complete freaking basket case. There are so many decisions to make, and so many things to think about. I'm off to a good start, though, I think. So far today I:

1) Cried
2) Ate
3) Showed up to work 1.5 hours later than expected

So I can scratch those 3 things off the list. Whew.

Birthday Party

2006-05-01T16:00:00.002-05:00

I am jealous of my daughter. She's got perfect hair and eyes and a stunning complexion. Not fair. And now, she has better toys than I do.

Seriously. My dad built her an entire miniature kitchen for her birthday. There's a refrigerator, a sink, and a range/oven. There are real working lights in the fridge and oven. The fridge has a crisper drawer, the oven has removable baking racks. The tiny utensils my mother-in-law gave her are in way better shape than my real ones. She has stainless steel cookware, people. And itty-bitty oven mitts. And wooden knives with which to cut up her wooden veggies. (Have you seen those things? The ones with the pieces velcro'd together so you really can cut them open? SO JEALOUS!!!!)

DH and I gave her a tricycle. She can't quite pedal on her own, but the model we picked out has a removable steering handle so an adult can push it from behind. Of course, between the rain we had all weekend and the houseful of grown-ups ready to bow to her every whim, she now believes that this is a prime way to get up and down our hallway.

"Mommy turn!" she said to me at one point yesterday.

"Oh, honey, I don't think I'll fit on your bike," I said (NAIVE MOMMY!).

She turned around and gestured impatiently at the handle. "No, Mommy turn push!"

Mm-hmmmm. You're lucky you're so cute, sweets.

Time Flies

2006-04-26T10:18:00.000-05:00

Dear Raisin,

Today you are 2 years old. Yes, you really are, even though you told Daddy last week that you're 8, and even though you refused to let us sing "Happy Birthday" to you this morning. The force of your will is mighty, but I'm afraid it's not strong enough yet to actually influence time.

The last 2 years have been nothing like I expected, and everything I ever wanted all at the same time. I am so in love with you. I love seeing the signs of the person you're becoming. As you leave babyhood behind you, you are showing us more and more glimpses of a girl who is bright, funny, fun-loving, caring, and joyful. I am excited to find out what's next for you.

You might be surprised to hear that, since lately things have been kind of difficult at our house. There is an undercurrent of change that is hard on everyone: in a few months, you'll have a new brother or sister. At the same time, you're learning to sleep in a big-girl bed and learning how to use the potty. You're finding out that you have some control over the things that happen to you, and you're trying to figure out what to do with that control. It's a lot to deal with, and I want you to know that I understand when you get frustrated.

You need to know that your Daddy and I want you to be a strong, independent woman someday. It's just that sometimes we also want you to just let us buckle you into the car seat already. That's why we sometimes get frustrated with your experiments in self-determination -- not because you shouldn't express your opinions, but because we are still used to being parents of a baby who can't make choices on her own.

We'll learn together, Squirt. Bear with me.

In the meantime, please don't grow up too fast. Don't stop giving mid-air kisses with that audible "mwah!" sound, or trying to burrow your way into my chest when you're tired or scared. Please still get excited about every puppy that passes our house. Don't become too mature for rides up and down the hallway in a laundry basket, or to run around the house with your Hello Kitty hamper upside-down over your head. You can be a big girl and Mommy's baby at the same time, OK?

Happy birthday, sweet girl. I love you.

Love, Mommy.

Raisinisms

2006-04-19T09:14:00.000-05:00

After posting yesterday, I thought of a couple more things I meant to record here. This is more for posterity than anything else, so feel free to move on if you're not interested in the internal workings of my daughter's mind.

Her favorite foods are chicken (meaning nuggets), cheese, juice, "kepup" (ketchup), and "syrpup" (syrup).

She's figured out that in a restaurant, you tell the server what you want, and then they bring it to you. Being a toddler, however, she's not keen on the part where you have to wait between ordering and eating. We're sometimes able to distract her with crackers or crayons, but often she'll crane her neck around constantly, looking for the server. When that hapless employee does pass our table, Raisin yells, "My chicken? MY CHICKEN!"

Once we went to a small family-owned place near our house. They were understaffed and really busy, and the poor waitress kept passing our table with trays for other patrons. She started apologizing every time she walked by us, because she was followed throughout the restaurant by Raisin's indignant cries.

Hmmm. I'm sure there was more, but of course I never think of these things while I can actually post them -- always while I'm driving down the freeway. So there might be another installment to come!

The Power of Positive Thinking

2006-04-18T13:53:00.000-05:00

Lately I have often caught myself doing this whole "poor, poor, pitiful me" bit. I flatter myself that I've not inflicted it on anyone beyond my immediate family (and possibly the internet), although there's really no excuse for doing that to Raisin or DH. So, today, we try to move beyond "wah, I'm pregnant and my back hurts and my daughter is so sick and why must God mock me this way?" and try to look at the bright side of life. You know, Pollyanna. Raindrops on roses, whiskers on kittens. Etc.

Really, things are better. The number of hours since either Raisin or I have vomited is steadily increasing. We're hoping to set a new record. Score!

Also, Raisin is unbearably cute despite her trials. She's graduated to the big-girl bed, which she loves. She even asks to go to bed sometimes, although she really has no intention of staying there. She just wants to visit.

Her favorite phrase, "what doing?" has become a constant in our house. Despite our best efforts, DH and I have not been able to convince her that "sleeping" is an acceptable response to this question. If she's awake enough to ask "what doing?" we had better be awake enough to provide an interesting answer.

She loves to play pretend, and she's quite the little housekeeper. She cooks excellent pretend snacks (Grandma and Grandpa are making a mini kitchen for her birthday next week), and she'll stand on a stool at our kitchen sink "washing dishes" quite happily -- sometimes for minutes at a time.

Our family's love affair with ducks continues. There are at least two pairs nesting on the pond near our house, and Raisin loves to visit them. Unfortunately, the path around the pond is designed so that you can't get really close, which leads to a lot of disappointment. She makes up for it by shouting, "HI DUCKIES! QUACK QUACK QUACK! WHAT DOING, DUCKIES?" I'm sure the neighbors love that.

She knows her colors really well, which is a big hit with the grandmas. She's also learning letters, although I think her biggest joy in the alphabet right now is just that she thinks the song is funny. Maybe not, though -- a couple of weeks ago she handed me one of the letters from her bathtub alphabet set, and said, "i!" "My kid's a genius!" I thought. She's reading letters, and she's not even two! Of course, then I handed her an "e," and she called that an "i," too. But still.

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I'm definitely feeling movement from Baby, usually at night. I had a sneezing fit the other day, and the kid most decidedly did not appreciate being jostled. The responsive kicks were as strong as some I remember from Raisin's third trimester.

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And, as a final random thought: At our big family Easter/April birthdaypalooza this weekend, my grandmother (age 79, or thereabouts) showed up with a bright pink frisbee for my uncle's dog. When we arrived, my uncle wrestled it away from the dog to show my mom. "Our mother will not tell me where she got this," he said. We all gathered around to take a closer look; it was decorated with the logo of a Minneapolis nightspot where "girls! girls! girls!" are the primary source of entertainment. We still don't know how my grandparents obtained the frisbee of questionable morality, or why such an establishment would be giving away frisbees.

I feel better now. How about you?

The Trouble With Faith

2006-04-13T10:31:00.000-05:00

Or, How Raisin's Mommy Lost the Last Shreds of Her Sanity in Just 5 Days.

Saturday: urgent care. Diagnosis: pinkeye. Could be viral, could be bacterial. No problem, I can handle this. Either the drops will help, or it will clear up on it's own. I believed.

Sunday: emergency room. Diagnosis: croup. This means the pinkeye is viral. Slightly scary, but doctor says we caught it early, and they give steroids that will hopefully prevent a more serious attack. Should clear up on its own after that. I believed.

Monday: at home. No new problems, so Raisin must be recovering, right? Sure.

Tuesday: at home, fever is 103. No appointments available with regular doctor, so back to urgent care. Diagnosis: secondary bacterial infection because immune system was weakened by the virus. (It seems she has a double ear infection, bronchitis, a new round of bacterial pinkeye, and possibly strep throat. $%&#.) Still, I believed in the power of the antibiotics, and it was a relief to be able to do something more concrete.

Wednesday: at home, still. Again, hoping for a day of rest so Raisin can recover. She starts throwing up, her mommy throws a tantrum. I'm running out of faith, calling the clinic in tears, moments away from insisting that SOMEONE in the medical profession had better $%&#ing FIX my child RIGHT NOW. Diagnosis: it could be a reaction to the antibiotic, but it's too soon to tell.

Then, Raisin looks over at me and says, "Mommy, what doing? I hungry." So she eats some grapes. All of a sudden, she's almost 100% back to normal. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. This parenting thing is, like, hard, dude.

Four Years

2006-04-06T08:44:00.000-05:00

Today marks four years that DH and I have been married. By the numbers: four years, 1.33333333 kids. We're in our 2nd house and our 2nd and 3rd cars. We've travelled halfway around the world together, and had adventures in our own backyard.

Some people think it's romantic to say that they can't imagine their life without someone. I think that just shows a lack of imagination. I can imagine my life without my husband, and that's why I stay. No matter how furious I am that he has left his towel in a sodden heap on the bed AGAIN, I would never choose another life but this one.

DH, happy anniversary! I love you. Thank you for being so good at loving me.

Search Strings!

2006-04-04T14:25:00.000-05:00

I had nothing to write about until... I checked my recent search strings. I'm a real, live blogger now, kids -- I actually have some interesting ones!

life skills class mn: I'm pretty sure I specifically said I have no skills. At all.

playb0y Brooke Shields: I don't even want to think about the kind of traffic that's gonna bring me.

Julie loves Kirby: I just said I admired the guy, OK?

raisin picture: If you're looking for pictures of my daughter, I'm very sorry that I lied to the whole internet. I'll never do it again. If you're looking for pictures of dried grapes, I'm gonna need to know why.

jamba juice pregnancy: Rock on! Just watch out for the "femme boost" -- a snotty Jamba Juice lady lectured me about ordering that one while pregnant.

Things Are... Different This Time

2006-03-31T11:13:00.000-06:00

If it weren't for the physical symptoms of pregnancy, I would not feel pregnant this time around. I mean, it's kind of hard to ignore the puking and the growing belly (they weren't kidding when they said I'd "pop" earlier the second time!) and the constant need to eat -- post-puking, obviously. I could even swear I'd felt movement, if it didn't seem so ridiculously early.

Even mentally, I think it's sinking in that we are having another baby. I keep making lists of things we need to do. I am looking forward to the fall, and worrying about how we'll manage the needs of two kids. I keep telling people I have a "boy" vibe this time (I was right about Raisin, so we'll see....).

Emotionally, though, I'm just not getting it. I'm not experiencing the kind of connection to this baby that I felt with Raisin. Truthfully, I'm not even sure I remember how I felt with Raisin -- maybe I'm projecting the connection I feel with her now back onto the pregnancy? Either way, it's bothering me a little, when I'm not too tired to think about it at all.

I mentioned the feeling to the midwife, and she thinks it's normal. "I wouldn't say a pregnancy can take care of itself, exactly," she said, "but it almost can. Your focus needs to be on your daughter, and that's OK."

Reassuring words, but I could use some more. Did anyone else experience something like this with a second (or later) pregnancy?

13 Weeks

2006-03-29T12:45:00.000-06:00

Dear Used-To-Be-Not-My-Favorite-Midwife, I am heartily sorry for every bad thing I ever thought or said about you. You are wonderful and compassionate, and I think you must've been having a bad day the last time we met. If, in future, you could avoid having a bad day when I am in the middle of a major pregnancy freak-out? That would be much appreciated. Thanks ever so much.

Here are what I thought were the highlights of our time together today:

Episode 1:

UTBNMFM enters the exam room, joking with the "Mid-Husband." (I was positive I had written something about him before, but I can't find it. Anyway, 2 years ago he was the only male Certified Nurse-Midwife in Minnesota. I'm guessing that's still true. I'm sure he totally thinks the mid-husband thing is funny, and he never hears it. We love him immensely, as he is the CNM who took part in Raisin's birth.)

UTBNMFM: Hi, Grape. I was just commenting that I didn't understand why you'd chosen to see this guy in the hallway. [referring to my panic visit a few weeks ago]
Mid-Husband: Well, she was desperate. She was puking. How're you doing now?
Me: OK. Better, I guess.
Mid-Husband: You're still looking kind of pale.
Etc., etc., etc. -- much caring banter and sympathetic suggestions from both CNMs. Grape feels all warm and tingly and loved.

Episode 2

UTBNMFM: I don't like my patients to worry too much about weight gain during pregnancy. Try not to take it too seriously, ok?
Me: Will you marry me?

Episode 3

UTBNMFM: Unless you feel it's necessary, I just don't think we need to do a pelvic exam today.
Me: Seriously, I think I love you.

Also, since this is pregnancy #2, she said it's fine if we spread out the early visits a little more. In other words, no more exams until the ultrasound May 3! (Unless I freak out about something, which we all know will NEVER happen.)

Just Overheard in the Office....

2006-03-28T12:09:00.000-06:00

Person 1 is asking Person 2 about an impending tonsil surgery.

Person 1: Well, just don't end up like my dad. When he was about 12, he went in to the hospital expecting to get a tonsillectomy, but when he woke up, his wee-wee hurt instead! They'd given him a vasectomy too!

Person 2: (confused silence)

Person 1: His mom and dad told the doctors, "While he's out, do the vasectomy too!" He was 12!

Person 2: (more confused silence)

Person 1: Oh, no! Not a vasectomy! A Caesarean! No! I mean, a circumcision.

Everyone in earshot: OHHHHHH.

Message Board

2006-03-28T10:26:00.000-06:00

To the two guys who rescued my Reese's from the evil office vending machine: I know I told you yesterday, but you really are my heroes! (Seriously, I know I was being all nonchalant about filling out the claim envelope for my 70 cents, but inside I was FREAKING OUT because I didn't have any more change and I wanted -- I mean the baby needed -- some chocolate.)

To the gentleman I encountered this morning on the commute to work: Don't you think it was a little early for all the road rage-y scariness, dude? Cut back on the caffeine, or drink more -- whatever you gotta do! Oh, and also? I'm rubber and you're glue.

To the kids in Raisin's toddler class at daycare: I love that you all shout, "Raisin's mommy!" when I come to pick her up. It makes me feel like a giant Norm on a very small-scale version of "Cheers." Of course, "Cheers" will be to you what "I Love Lucy" is to me.... Still, I know Ricky Ricardo, so you should know Norm Peterson. This is your HERITAGE. Be proud.

To the guy at the technology help desk at work: "Help desk," my foot. Thanks for nothing.

To myself: Get back to work.

Monsters

2006-03-27T11:12:00.000-06:00

About two months ago, Raisin found something in her room to be frightened of. We knew she was scared, because she'd wake up screaming every night. Some nights it'd happen several times, and she could only fall back asleep if one of us stayed with her.

She couldn't tell us what she was scared of, though, so I wasn't sure what to do. I didn't want to introduce the idea of scary things (like monsters), because I was afraid that I'd be compounding the problem. But two months later, DH and I are tired and crabby, and she's only sleeping marginally better despite our efforts.

So, this weekend, thanks to a suggestion from Moxie, we turned her harmonicas from KinderMusik into "monster scarers." I might be jinxing it by saying this, but I think it's working. She slept until 6 or 6:30 the last three nights (previous record: 4 am, after which she would only sleep in our bed, while the two of us clung tenuously to the scant inches of space she left us on the edges).

Last night, I'd put her to bed with no problems, and I actually thought she'd fallen asleep right away, since she was so quiet. Then, about 15 minutes later, we heard harmonica playing from her room. A few minutes after that, she really was asleep. I've decided there are 3 possible interpretations here:

1. Heartbreaking: she was scared of monsters, and now she's in there all alone, fighting hell's minions with just the piddly piece of plastic her mother gave her. I am a terrible mother.

2. Empowering: she wasn't sure what she was scared of, but now has a name to put on the fear, and a way to fight it. She is whistling in the dark. I am an awesome mother.

3. Hilarious and adorable: She couldn't give a rat's ass about the monsters, and she's just been crying because she doesn't want to sleep. At least now she can play the "I gotta go to bed" blues. Artistic expression helps her insomnia. I am still awesome.

I Believe

2006-03-24T08:26:00.000-06:00

...that grown women should not carry purple "Hello Kitty" backpacks as their going-to-the-office bag. What you do on the weekends -- well, that's your own business.

It's Possible That My Hormones Are Taking Over, A Little

2006-03-23T09:00:00.000-06:00

There used to be a Jamba Juice in my building, but it closed. I was sad, but there are other Jamba Juices, so I moved on. Then, the building put up signs that said a sushi place would move in to that spot. Yahoo!!! Sushi right outside my door, practically. Jamba Juice could stuff it. I was thrilled.

I only got to eat a couple of delicious sushi lunches before I found out I was pregnant, but I didn't despair (too much). I thought, "Hey, they have California rolls. I'm good to go!"

WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT'S HOLY WAS I THINKING!!!???? Do you KNOW what sushi restaurants smell like? They smell like stinky raw fish, that's what, and they start preparing the damn fish before 8 a.m. every day. Even if pregnant women have to walk right by them just to get in the elevator to the office, they just go ahead putting their fishy fish smells all up in everybody's air space. They have no consideration for these poor women, who must try to hold their breath and dash past so they don't puke on the floor. It's like the sushi chefs DON'T EVEN CARE.

*Sob* I want my Jamba Juice back.

Where Have I Been?

2006-03-21T10:38:00.000-06:00

Well, I'll tell you. I've been in Arizona, and it was lovely. Thank you for asking.

DH and I thoroughly enjoyed our company-sponsored vacation. We relaxed, we ate lunch by the pool, I watched several co-workers drink themselves just a little silly. I had a manicure and a pedicure at possibly the world's most relaxing spa. DH got all dusty on a jeep tour of the desert. I got to see Phoenix and Sedona, two places I have never been.

Meanwhile, Raisin learned so many new things at Grandma and Grandpa's house that I'm a little bit afraid of her. Somehow she has morphed into an honest-to-goodness CHILD; one who uses subject-verb sentences like, "I go potty too"* and "I'll be right back" (complete with an admonitory wave of the forefinger).

Fueling this fear is her new-found resourcefulness. An item placed, I thought, safely out of her reach on the dining room table is now easily obtained. She matter-of-factly hauled herself right up on one of the chairs, which she first had to move away from the table to give herself room. She's also determined to get herself into the bathtub rather than being lifted. She could do it, if we'd let her, but her method is to scramble her legs against the outside of the tub until she gets enough lift to propel herself over. Head first.

I have dreams in which she attempts the same stunt to get out of her crib. She hasn't tried it yet, but a big-girl bed is nevertheless in her very near future.

*She has yet to actually use the potty for its intended purpose, but she is a very dedicated student of the process. She sits, she asks politely for toilet paper, she wipes, and she washes her hands. Any suggestions for ways I can help her to understand that the missing piece is actually quite critical?

Liar, Liar

2006-03-10T08:51:00.000-06:00

OK, it was only yesterday when I was promising to use my newly-discovered picture-posting skills (and by skills, I mean locating the button that lets you post pictures) to post pictures of Raisin.

But last night I had dreams about internet stalkers getting their hands on pictures of my pretty, pretty baby, and now I can't do it.

Yes, thank you, I know I am the crazy. I can't help it.

Confessions

2006-03-09T08:27:00.000-06:00

I figured out how to post a picture on my blog so that I could include a photo of a baseball player. I've never posted a picture of Raisin. I pinky-swear that I will fix that soon.

I told Raisin that I was drinking milk, but it was Sprite.

I got out the maternity clothes last night so I could wear the comfy sweats. In 4-5 months when I'm complaining about being tired of wearing them, I dare you to remind me that I'm the one who wanted to get it all out so early. (Fortunately for my ego, everything else is still too big. But I LOVE those sweats.)

I believe my friend is making a mistake, but I won't tell him that. This is partly because I don't have the right, but mostly because I'm too chicken.

I think Grease is one of the best movies ever made. Shut up.

Grease II is unquestionably one of the worst movies ever made. Maybe the worst.

It's a slow week at work, and I am -- well, I'm taking it easy a little. Shhhh.

I won/earned a trip to Phoenix from work. (I was nominated for a "good job" award, and everyone who gets those awards is eligible for this trip. I was selected.) DH and I go next week, and I'm really looking forward to it. At the same time, I feel guilty because my coworkers don't get to go. Raisin will be spoiled by Baba and Gamma while we are gone -- another source of both guilt and pleasure.

I have possibly thrown up more this week than most of the rest of my life combined. Neat, huh? (Also see, "work, taking it easy at.")

Someone told me yesterday that I was starting to look pregnant. The other people in the conversation took giant metaphorical leaps backward to avoid being associated with her. Ha!

I will probably put on my pajamas right after Raisin goes to sleep tonight. Then I will watch "Survivor" and complain about how much Shane bugs me. I can't wait.

Kiiiirrrrrbbbbbyyyyy PUCKETT!!!!!

2006-03-08T09:19:00.000-06:00

If I had to name 5 members of the Baseball Hall of Fame to save my life, I would die.

If you needed to know who won the World Series in 1988, 1989, or 1990, I would be the very last person in the whole world you should ask. THE LAST.

I can probably only name 2-3 players on this year's Twins team.

But I sure as hell know Kirby Puckett, Kent Hrbek, Gary Gaetti, Dan Gladden, Greg Gagne, et al. I was 9 when the Twins won the World Series in '87, 13 when they did it again in '91 (I thought Chuck Knoblauch was HOTT, and I almost cried when he left us for The Dreaded Yankees).

Kirby is a hero in this state. He led us to two World Series victories. He loved the game, and he taught a new generation of ball players to love it too. (Torii Hunter is one of the few Twins players I CAN name.) He was generous, and he stuck with Minnesota even when he could have made more money somewhere else.

His last 10 years were sad and hard, and now that he's gone there's a lot of debate about whether he deserved that or not. In the end, nobody really cares anymore. This is how Minnesota will remember him. So long, Puck. We'll miss you.

Random On My Mind

2006-02-28T08:47:00.000-06:00

Raisin has developed an aversion to weekend naps, so we are trying to get her to at least have some "quiet play time" instead. Overheard this Saturday during our first attempt at "quiet play time:" "Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Dinah, Dinah, Dinah, Dinah [a reference to her new book about a shiny choo-choo train named Dinah]. Elmo. Baby. Baby Elmo! Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!! Mommy, back! Mommy, Raisin! Mommy, Raisin sad!!! Mommy! Daddy? Mommy!"

It's going well, I think.

The new baby (Raisinette? Craisin? I've got nothin') has a heartbeat! Did you know that in the 8th-9th week of pregnancy, some women experience some normal very light bleeding as pregnancy functions are transferred from the corpus luteum to the placenta? I didn't know that, which resulted in a pretty severe freak-out and a trip to the midwife. (How severe of a freak-out? After being reassured by hearing the heartbeat, my systolic blood pressure went down almost 15 mm Hg.)

Bonus: relief seems to greatly reduce the not-just-morning sickness. The midwife also recommended papaya extract. Anybody tried this with any success?

In Which I Start Out Trying to be Funny, But End Up All Maudlin Instead

2006-02-23T09:30:00.000-06:00

You know what's great about pregnancy? Nobody wants to mess with me. I'm trying not to expect special treatment (except at home, of course -- sorry DH), but damn if I don't get it anyway.

I told a friend that my plan for healthier eating had been shot to hell by the not-just-morning sickness. This friend, a total food puritan, responded, "oh, you just need to pamper yourself right now!"

Last Wednesday, I called DH when I was leaving work. He was supposed to go to class that night, but I knew there was no way I'd be able to take care of Raisin alone -- too sick. So, he skipped class. Last night, he apologized to his group for missing last week, and explained what had happened. They fell all over themselves to say that under no circumstances should this class take precedence over the needs/wants of a pregnant wife. Dude.

I've even had managers at work (not my manager, mind you -- but they still outrank me, so it counts) tell me not to worry about work projects. I'm growing a baby. Work can wait.

To a certain extent, I agree with this philosophy. I know my limitations, and I'm willing to scale back my expectations of myself while my body deals with the stresses of pregnancy. At the same time, I'm scared to think that everyone is giving me this much license. I worry about taking unfair advantage. I worry about lowering my expectations too far. I worry about jeopardizing projects and goals on which I've worked hard, but that now are taking a backseat to what's going on in my uterus.

Fortunately, this time around I have one person who will not (cannot) cut me any slack. Raisin needs Mommy to draw stick figures in soap crayon on the bathtub walls, whether or not I think I'm too tired. She needs Mommy to cut her chicken nuggets into bite-sized pieces, even when the sight of them churns my stomach. (Daddy has different jobs. This post is about me. Me!!!)

She doesn't yet understand what's changed about me, or how it will impact her (that's another post waiting to happen). So for now at least, she just doesn't accept any change in me at all. I think I'm relieved by that. It's like there's a piece of my life that hasn't been completely transformed by this pregnancy, and I guess I really need that, at least until I start feeling better and can reclaim some more of myself.

So Proud

2006-02-16T08:38:00.000-06:00

If DH and I are to disagree about something (in a very civil and I-statement-oriented way, of course), it's likely to be the degree of cleanliness required in our home. I am of the opinion that dishes should be washed, clothes picked up off the floor, and closet doors and dresser drawers closed by the end of each day. DH is of the opinion that my obsession with hiding our mess from ourselves is, um, silly.

Yesterday, while dressing Raisin, DH pushed her dresser drawer closed only 3/4 of the way. Raisin shoved him aside and refused to let him finish putting on her clothes until she had finished closing the drawer.

Then, last night, she spent her entire bathtime "scrubbing" the tub with a washcloth.

I love this kid.

Good Times, Really Good Times

2006-02-14T08:42:00.000-06:00

Ah, the early days of pregnancy. I'd forgotten the joys of becoming nauseated by sounds (and just about anything else). I didn't remember what it was like for my stomach to be hungry while my brain rejects the idea of food -- any food.

And sleep -- sleep is awesome too, what with the not being able to get comfortable, and the getting up to pee in the middle of the night. I'm only 7 weeks along -- I don't even have a belly yet! But I've still had to get out the trusty body pillow, which DH loves (he called it the blockade pillow today, and he's not wrong).

The hormonal emotional swings are also fun for the whole family. Oh, and the exhaustion. Check, check.

I am a delight to know these days. Please come by, you'd be in for a real treat.

The Giveaway Clue

2006-02-06T08:45:00.000-06:00

For the answer to the riddle, we'll turn to another of the 20th Century's great literary minds, Phoebe Buffay:

Are you in there, little fetus?
In nine months, will you come greet us?
I will buy you some Adidas...

A Riddle

2006-02-03T11:36:00.000-06:00

Metaphors

by Sylvia Plath

I'm a riddle in nine syllables.

An elephant, a ponderous house,

A melon strolling on two tendrils.

O red fruit, ivory, fine timbers!

This loaf's big with its yeasty rising.

Money's new-minted in this fat purse.

I'm a means, a stage, a cow in calf.

I've eaten a bag of green apples,

Boarded the train there's no getting off.

**If you figure this out and by some strange fluke know my parents, please don't tell them. We're having dinner with them tomorrow and I want to tell them in person. :)

Justice

2006-01-25T11:44:00.000-06:00

Ok, so today I heard a story on the radio about a woman who left her three children (the oldest of whom is 3) alone at her apartment while she went to try to see a Jerry Springer* taping. After FIVE HOURS, the oldest one knocked on a neighbor's door for help. Police were called, charges filed, and the mother is spending 30 days in prison. (The kids will be entered into the foster care system.)

My question is: 30 days? I know nothing about this woman except this incident. Maybe she's ordinarily a very loving and protective mother. Maybe she understands that losing her kids is the worst thing that could happen to her. Maybe serving 30 days' time will convince her to get whatever help or support she needs (assuming, of course, that she can afford it).

But maybe not. I have to say, my gut reaction to this was that she deserves much worse. If she'd had the care of MY child, I wouldn't be able to think of a punishment harsh enough for abandonment. And why should her children have any less protection than mine?

*The DJ's punchline: "... and now Jerry Springer would like to have her as a guest on the show."

Yesterday

2006-01-18T11:46:00.000-06:00

5:45 am: Decide to get up a few minutes earlier than normal.
5:45 am: Use "extra" time to have peaceful breakfast. Read.
6:15 am: Realize that "peaceful" breakfast has now actually made you later than usual. Curse.
6:16 am: Raisin uses her internal radar to realize that you are already late. She wakes up earlier than usual, demanding attention. Curse (inwardly of course).
6:17 am: Husband takes over with Raisin, allowing you to shower. Relax a little.
6:30 am: Get out of shower and commence trying to dry hair and apply makeup with Raisin underfoot so DH can shower.
6:50 am: Self and Raisin both groomed, but both in pajamas. Dress Raisin.
7:05 am: CURSE CURSE CURSE. Raisin is dressed, but you are not. Work bag not packed. CURSE.
7:06 am: DH offers to take Raisin to daycare. Relax a little.
7:19 am: Finally manage to leave house, clothed and relatively put-together. Relax a little more.
7:40 am: Almost to parking garage. Realize can still be on time to work. Decide day will not totally suck.
7:41 am: Get honked at by idiot who thinks it's your fault he's blocking traffic. Curse.
7:45 am: Watch, shivering, from the bus stop as two buses fly by without stopping. Curse.
8:00 am: Arrive at work.
8:00 - 10:00 am: Work work work, meeting meeting meeting. Feel productive and hopeful. Project may be OK. Cheer up a little.
10:05 am: Attend Weight Watchers weigh-in. Realize have lost 4 pounds. REJOICE AND SING.
10:15 am: Return to work. All hell has broken loose with project. Curse.
10:15 - 2:00: Miss several meetings while scrambling to prepare for afternoon presentation. Project falls down around ankles, but presentation WILL BE READY DAMMIT.
2:00-3:30 pm: Give presentation. Unexpectedly, it goes really well. Cheer up quite a bit.
3:31 pm: Return to desk. Different project has run into problems. Curse.
3:35-4:12 pm: Work out new problems. Relax a little.
4:13-5:00 pm: Catch up on emails and phone calls. Leave feeling cautiously optimistic.
5:00-5:40 pm: Commute home and pick up Raisin at daycare.
5:43 pm: Set Raisin up with TiVo'd Sesame Street while DH cooks dinner and you start gathering trash for tomorrow's pick-up.
5:55 pm: Finish with trash. Head out to trash can to deposit. Trip and sprawl spectacularly across deck. Twist ankle, bruise knee, and scrape hand. Curse.
6:00 pm: Put on pajamas. Cry a little.
6:02 pm: Suck it up.
6:04-6:30 pm: Eat dinner.
6:30-6:55 pm: Clean kitchen. DH bathes Raisin and puts her to bed.
6:57-7:09 pm: Talk to MIL on phone. Feel better.
7:10-8:00 pm: Watch Gilmore Girls on TiVo. Threaten writers that LUKE AND LORELAI HAD BETTER GET MARRIED DAMMIT.
8:00-10:00 pm: Watch TV, yadda yadda yadda.
11:30 pm: SLEEP. Thank God.

Please Give Me Advice, Part II

2006-01-11T15:20:00.001-06:00

My lovely and loving husband recently brought up an interesting point. Raisin is most definitely a mama's girl. DH takes this really well, but it can be really frustrating for both of us. For him, because some days he'd rather just get a kiss instead of, "NO DADDY!!! NO NO NO NO NO!" For me, because some days there is simply no other choice but for Raisin and I to be glued at the hip. It's the only way for all of us to keep our sanity.

Does anyone out there have any words of wisdom about this? We've been told before that there are "mommy" phases and "daddy" phases. So far, her entire life has pretty much been a mommy phase, with definite peaks and valleys -- times, like the last two weeks, when she'll hardly tolerate anyone else, and other times when she's a very easy-going kid. Are the daddy phases still coming?

Also, even during the valleys, I have to admit she's still pretty easy-going. She rarely cries when being left with a trusted caregiver. She enjoys daycare and seems to really thrive there. So, I'm not even sure this really is a problem, or if we'd be creating a problem by trying to force her feelings one way or the other.

Thoughts?

Tidbits

2006-01-10T09:30:00.000-06:00

I have readers! Thank you for commenting!

Scene 1: I am reading in the living room, and DH stops by on his way to get something to drink.
Him: On House they were just doing that CSI camera thing where the camera goes into somebody's body. Except they were going into this woman's nose. And then I paused the TiVo, and now the whole TV screen is filled up with this woman's nostril.
Me: Um...
Him: I just didn't want to be the only one with that mental picture.
Me: Thanks?

Scene 2: DH is fixing dinner, while I settle Raisin in her high chair and set the table. I finish a few minutes before dinner is ready, and Raisin is getting impatient.
Raisin: Mommy! Snack! Snack! Milk! Mommy! (ad infinitum)
Me: Raisin, you're hungry, huh? (yes, stating the obvious is my specialty. shut up.)
Raisin: Hungry!
Me: Well, tell Daddy to hurry up! (didn't think she knew this phrase)
Raisin: HURRY UP, DADDY!!!! (oops, guess she did)
DH, as I collapse in helpless giggles: Nice going!

Scene 3: After dinner.
DH: Raisin, are you all done? (no response, but also no indication of wanting to eat)
Me: Raisin, are you done? (no response, I pull her chair away from the table)
Raisin: No! Mine! Mine!
DH, recognizing this as a ploy: No, Raisin, you're done. Do you want to take a bath?
Raisin: No bath, Daddy! No Daddy, no no no!
Me, surprised: Raisin, are you sure!? You don't want to take a bath?
Raisin: Mommy bath! Yeah.

Scene 4, which I belatedly remembered after Scene 2: My brother is showing us his Napoleon Dynamite toy, which says several phrases from the movie.
Doll: ...It's pretty much my favorite animal. It's like a lion and a tiger mixed... bred for its skills in magic.
Me: Oh, boy. We should probably turn that thing off. Next thing you know, Raisin will be saying "idiot!" all the time.
Raisin: Idiot!
Me: I am the stupidest person ever.

I almost missed it....

2006-01-09T08:43:00.000-06:00

But this is De-Lurking week!

From my stats, I doubt I have a lot of visitors who aren't commenting, but if you are, please comment this week. I'd love to know you're out there!

So tired. So very, very tired.

2006-01-07T18:50:00.000-06:00

Sleep is very important to me. If I don't get the requisite 7-8 hours my body demands, ugly things are gonna happen. I have empirical evidence of that this week, to wit:

--One morning, I got out two spoons with which to eat my breakfast cereal. Once I realized the error, I chose to make use of both spoons because that was easier than returning one to the drawer.

--I had to do math in my head to figure out whether I needed to take the elevator up or down to get from the third floor of my office building to the fifth.

--I nearly cried when a DJ on the radio announced that excessive caffeine consumption can cause ringing in the ears. I don't drink that much coffee, nor do I have ringing in my ears. I just thought it was sad.

--A friend I rarely see is having lunch tomorrow with another friend, and I am thinking about not joining them because it would be during Raisin's naptime, and WHAT IF I NEED A NAP TOO!?

I wonder if I could get me some of those poppies the Wicked Witch of the West used to make Dorothy fall asleep?

Welcome, 2006!

2006-01-01T20:11:00.000-06:00

We rang in the New Year at my brother's house, with his wife, my parents, my cousin, and his wife.

The awesome things about this arrangement: there was lots of booze, and laughter. We don't see much of my dad's side of the family, as represented by the cousin who came, so it was fun to catch up with him. My parents brought fireworks, which we set off in the snow in my brother's backyard. Fireworks look especially bright and beautiful in the snow.

The drawbacks to this arrangement: My cousin and his wife, and my brother for that matter, are crazy mad partiers compared to the rest of us. At first, it is just funny when someone else is drunker than you. Then you realize how old and suburban and parentlike you truly are (especially if you're like me and have always been the boring sibling). Then, it's just plain awkward. At least I was spared the part where my cousin passed out....

Also, Raisin is apparently old enough now to be frightened of sleeping in strange places. She slept fitfully, and DH and I kept missing chunks of the party while we tried to soothe her back to sleep. Finally, after watching the ball drop and toasting 2006, we gave up the party and went to bed with her between us. Not exactly conducive to a good night's sleep.

But, after all, I can't think of a more blessed way to begin my new year. My daughter was snuggled in my arms and my husband was holding my hand. The people I love most were all under the same roof. If the way the year begins foretells something of the way it will progress, then I couldn't have chosen a more perfect beginning.

And if anyone threw up this morning, I didn't witness it. Even better.

Introducing....

2005-12-28T09:17:00.000-06:00

[First, Raisin is all better. I don't think she even remembers being sick or the evil nebulizer. She's 100% herself again. I'm so relieved that my bones get all jello-y everytime I think about it.]

And now, on to the point (that's being generous) of this entry. We have a new member of the family, and we couldn't be more thrilled! He has taken up residence in our bedroom, which is just fine with us. He doesn't use up much space, although I am still getting used to the whirring sound he makes in the middle of the night.

He's a great addition to our household, as he is already really good at figuring out what we like and don't like. I can just tell we're going to be really good friends, especially once the holidays are over and our regular schedule starts again. Then he'll really be busy keeping up with all our demands.

OK, this is lamer than I thought it would be, and I knew it was lame. We have TiVo! TiVo lives at my house! TiVo records Jeopardy! and Whose Line is it Anyway? and Gilmore Girls and all kinds of reality TV shows that I am slightly ashamed of but love anyway.

I bought it for DH for Christmas (and a little bit for myself too). I am the best wife EVAH. And he is the best husband EVAH, because he bought a flat-screen TV for TiVo to live with. (We didn't know what the other person was getting -- we are so meant to be.) TiVo and the TV are now married, and we are all living happily ever after. The end.

I Got Your Christmas Spirit Right Here

2005-12-23T12:55:00.000-06:00

Yesterday I almost bit off a coworker's head. And not with mere words, either. Actual cannibalism was very nearly committed, by me. So, for anyone who prefers that I not sever your pretty necks with my razor-sharp Teeth of Fury, please take note:

1. Do not talk down to me. I'm nice, but my pet peeve is people who patronize (my pet peeve is alliterative, isn't that cool!?), and I will get mean.

2. Do not act as though I'm not doing my job. I am, and I'm doing a good job, and you are not the boss of me anyway. So there. [blows raspberries to demonstrate maturity and professionalism]

3. Do not keep repeating the same question. I answered that question. I do not have time or patience to tell you again that I will take care of it. I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT.

4. Do not offer suggestions if you A) do not know what you are talking about, and/or B) have nothing to do with the project at hand. See #s 2 and 3 above, and know that I AM DOING MY JOB AND I WILL TAKE CARE OF IT.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In other news, Raisin is quite herself again, except for an antibiotic-induced diaper rash with PAIN and SWELLING and REDNESS ouch ouch ouch.

Oh, we need a little Christmas, right this very minute....

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

2005-12-19T10:15:00.000-06:00

Raisin has pneumonia. We spent about 5 terrifying hours in urgent care and the emergency room on Saturday, watching her struggle for each breath. I haven't been this scared since the very first time she ever got sick.

Now that we're two days into treatment, she is doing much better. I may even unclench enough to send her back to daycare tomorrow. (She probably could've gone today, but my mom offered to stay home with her, and I couldn't refuse.)

I, however, am struggling with several layers of guilt that I cannot shake. Empirically, logically, rationally, I know that I did not cause my daughter's lungs to fill with fluid. But that didn't stop me from scrubbing the house top-to-bottom yesterday, or doing laundry every second that Raisin was sleeping or busy. If I'd been a better housekeeper, she wouldn't have gotten sick in the first place, you see. In this same vein, now would be an excellent time to ask me for favors or donations to your favorite charity. Who says Lutherans don't believe in doing penance?

On Saturday morning, I knew she was sick. She had a relatively low fever, she was coughing. She even threw up a few times. Her breathing was more rapid than normal. I did consider taking her to the clinic. DH and I mentioned it several times throughout the day. But we looked up every symptom she had, and none of them seemed to merit a trip to the doctor.

"They'll just tell us she has a virus," I kept saying. "It's better to keep her at home and keep her comfortable."

As the day wore on, she got worse. Her breathing was more rapid, more shallow. She couldn't be comforted by any of her favorite things. DH convinced me that a trip to the clinic was warranted. Oh, God, what if I hadn't listened to him then!?

I completely went to pieces when the PA at the clinic checked her oxygen level and found it to be about 10% lower than it should be. I started to cry (didn't really stop for several hours afterward), and the PA had no idea what to do with me. Or with Raisin, apparently.* She sent us to the ER at Children's, which I now realize was the best thing she could've done.

There, we discovered that Raisin's O2 level was actually fine (whew!). They just didn't have equipment small enough for her fingers at the clinic. A chest x-ray confirmed pneumonia, while a dose of Prednisone relieved some of the irritation in her chest.

Then we settled in for the long haul. The doctors wanted to see how much improvement could be gained after several treatments with an Albuterol nebulizer. Easier said than done, since Raisin would rather have eaten live frogs than have the neb mask on her face. Even though I knew it was helping, restraining my daughter while she cried feebly and looked reproachfully into my eyes was the worst thing I've ever done.

Nevertheless, by the end of the third treatment, the doctor felt she had improved enough to go home. We're now the proud owners of our own nebulizer machine, which ought to be totally fun at parties. Raisin's even gotten used to the sensation; she doesn't fight quite as vigorously any more.

We are all recovering. Raisin is almost back to her usual self, while DH and I struggle to find some grace, forgiveness, and peace for ourselves. We are supremely grateful to the doctors and nurses at the children's hospital. They made our nightmare bearable, and they put my daughter on the road to recovery. My family will be safe and whole for Christmas, and I cannot think of a better gift than that.

*I am sure she was completely competent; she did a nebulizer treatment at the clinic, so she obviously knew what she was dealing with. But her "bedside manner" was nonexistent, and she did not answer any of our questions. There is more to the successful practice of medicine than the medicine itself. Hasn't she ever seen Patch Adams?

Now I've Done It

2005-12-16T09:10:00.000-06:00

I have drawn my husband into the seedy underbelly of the Internet that is the blogosphere. :)

He's totally jealous of my mad blogging skillz and has started a blog of his own here. Because he truly does have some skillz, and is not lazy like me, he has also posted some pictures. So, if you've been dying to know what Raisin and I look like, now's your big chance!

When you're done, please come back and tell me that I'm pretty and that you still love me. Lie if you have to.

Heartwarming

2005-12-06T09:21:00.000-06:00

Oh, so very tired, and oh, so very cold. Why do I live in Minnesota again? It is 3 Degrees here right now. The windchill is -6.

So, peppermint tea in hand, I am going to cheer myself up by listing The Adorable Things My Daughter Does. If it doesn't do anything for you, too bad. I am tired and cold. Leave me alone.

1. While watching a TV show with a dog (her new favorite animal), she cries "puppy, puppy!" every time the dog leaves the screen. Then she grabs the remote and pushes all the buttons, looking for the one that will make the puppy come back.

2. Books, or "guks," as she calls them, are cause for tremendous excitement. Her face lights up anytime she sees one of her favorites. (In other words, the ones with puppies in them.)

3. She is trying diligently to get her tongue around the words "Christmas tree." It's hard work for her, but her attempts are so cute that I keep pointing the tree out to her just to make her try to say it again.

4. She blows on her food when we tell her it's hot. She also blows on the oven and the hair dryer.

5. DH taught her to say "I love you," which comes out in toddlerspeak as "wuv oo." Melts me every time.

6. She knows how to play "Ring Around the Rosey," but she never wants to sing the whole song. Her version involves walking 3-4 steps around the circle, then skipping right to "we all fall down!"

7. She has a flair for mimicry. Most of it's endearing, like when she covers her mouth after she's sneezed, or when she folds her hand to pray. It's hard to enjoy it, though, when I know the day is coming when she'll swear in church or blow her nose in a napkin at a restaurant. Not that I ever swear or blow my nose in napkins, I mean, that's just rude.

8. Somehow she has discovered Elmo -- he must send out some kind of homing beacon to small children. I know WE didn't introduce her to him. She's learning the song: "la, la, la, ELMO!!!" Close enough.

9. When it's just the three of us, we play a dinner-table naming game. She points gleefully at DH, and yells, "Mama!" Then we giggle and she points out the real Mama, then Daddy and Raisin.

10. She swims in the bathtub.

Bad, Stupid, Good, Disturbing

2005-11-25T10:49:00.000-06:00

Bad: I am at work. I was supposed to have the day off, but I am here, trying to prevent a project from becoming a complete failure. It's not looking good.

Stupid: I have been assigned cranberries for Thanksgiving, which is taking place tomorrow in our family. I don't like cranberry salads, but I said OK anyway. I'm actually bringing a cranberry-wild rice stuffing, but now I have the horrible sinking feeling that someone else is already bringing a wild rice dish. Crap.

Good: It is snowing, a very sparkly, fluffy, Christmassy snow. I am including this in the "good" column even though I would much prefer to be enjoying this from my living room, in my pajamas, while drinking hot cocoa. Labeling it "good" involves a complete denial of the fact that even when I do get to go home, I'll be stuck in awful traffic while people try to remember how the whole driving in snow thing works. Asshats. Wait, what was I saying? Pretty snow. Right.

A Little Disturbing: Wednesday night at the bus stop, I endured a 10-minute tirade from one of my fellow transit riders. Apparently, she's quite upset about the date of her b-day (she never actually used the word "birthday," but I assumed that's what she meant.)

Crazy Bus Woman: Just guess! Guess what day my b-day is! Just think what the worst possible b-day I could have would be!

My brain: If you answer her, maybe she won't kill you!
Me: Um, is it near Christmas?

CBW: NO! Why would Christmas be a bad b-day!? Why does everyone always say that!?

My brain: You angered her! Fight or flight? Fight or flight?
Me: I don't kno-

CBW: Just use your brain! Hello? What would be the worst possible b-day?

My brain: I so don't want to play this game anymore.
Me: I really don't know.

CBW: 9-11! There! See!? I have the worst possible b-day. What could be worse than that?

My brain: Today. Today is the worst possible day. Run away, run away!
Me: You're right, that's horrible. Oh, shoot, there's my bus!

Where The Devil Are My Slippers?

2005-11-21T11:16:00.000-06:00

My Fair Lady has the worst last line ever. Of any movie. Bar none. "Where the devil are my slippers?" Seriously!? That's all 'Enry 'Iggins has to say to Eliza? And she's seriously gonna stand there and not retort? She's willing to throw all her hard-earned self-respect down the drain without any kind of explanation or apology from him?

I have never read Pygmalion. Thanks to my friend Google, however, I have just skimmed the ending, and found this:

This being the state of human affairs, what is Eliza fairly sure to do when she is placed between Freddy and Higgins? Will she look forward to a lifetime of fetching Higgins's slippers or to a lifetime of Freddy fetching hers? There can be no doubt about the answer. Unless Freddy is biologically repulsive to her, and Higgins biologically attractive to a degree that overwhelms all her other instincts, she will, if she marries either of them, marry Freddy.

And that is just what Eliza did.

So THERE, Hollywood! George Bernard Shaw got it. But you thought it would be more romantic if she ended up with Higgins. Well, THANK YOU VERY MUCH for RUINING the ENTIRE movie. Hmph.

My husband thinks that I take this a little too seriously. In my personal belief system, however, it is not possible to take a musical too seriously.

Up next, the dream sequence in Oklahoma! How awful is that!?