Justice

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

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

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

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....

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.

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!

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....

[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

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

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

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

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

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?

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!?

Trendsetters

Someone in Kansas, whom I've never met, is going to name her unborn child "Raisin" if it's a girl. That, my friends, is how freaking cool DH and I are. Strangers want to be like us. They want to name their children after our child. Thank you very much, good night.

(Kansas Lady is friends with the mother of another toddler in Raisin's classroom at daycare. This mom, evidently, thinks Raisin looks like she could be the offspring of Kansas Lady, and was therefore telling Kansas Lady about the cute little girl at daycare, Raisin, blah blah. KL decided she loooooovvvveeeedddd the name so much that she wants to steal it. And a naming fad is born, people. Watch for all kinds of little Raisins on the next Social Security popular names report.)

I think it's awesome. DH thinks it's a little creepy.

At least we're well-matched...

Am smart. Turned off comments for ALL posts without realizing it. Have fixed it now. Am sorry. :)

If you had been at the Grape household this week, you might have witnessed the following scene:

Raisin is playing on the floor with her Noah's ark from Fisher Price. She is taking the animals out one by one and handing them to me. I am attempting to turn it into a counting lesson, about which she could care less.

Grape: Oh, thank you! It's a giraffe -- one giraffe! ... Oh, look, here's a zebra. One giraffe, and one zebra. ... Hey, another giraffe! That's two votes giraffe, and one vote zebra. First person voted off of "Survivor: Noah's ark" -- giraffe!

DH: You are such a dork.

Grape: Whatever, it was funny. ... Oh, thanks, Raisin -- a toucan! ... Another toucan, that's two toucans!

DH: Would that be a fourcan?

Grape: Who's a dork!?

So, cast your votes ... of the lame jokes above, which is the lamest!?

Worrywart

*Updated because somehow I turned off the comments and because some of it was too poorly written even for me.*

I am going off The Pill (because if you capitalize it, everybody knows that you're talking about THAT pill, right?). I wouldn't say we are officially trying to get pregnant, but we are getting close -- close enough that I don't want to pay $90 for a 3-month supply of pills. {Politely saves rant about prescription drugs and insurance companies for another time and place.}

Being this close has me thinking a lot about my pregnancy with Raisin -- what went well (almost everything)? What would I change (almost nothing, except it'd be great to gain less weight)? Will I go back to the same midwife practice (I think so)? That kind of thing.

I was very very very very blessed the first time around. From conception to delivery, we only had one major scare. And now that I have discovered the blogosphere and all the scary stories out there, it doesn't even seem that major anymore. However, I come from a long line of worriers, and I just wouldn't be me if I weren't thinking about it again now as I contemplate another go-round.

It started after our first ultrasound, so it must've been at about 20 weeks. The OB who reviewed the ultrasound results was concerned about one of Raisin's measurements. An approximation of the ensuing conversation with the midwife (not-my-favorite midwife, because of a decided lack of what I like to call "personality" and "compassion" -- she was, thankfully, not on call when Raisin was born):

Midwife: So, it looks like the baby has a prominent renal pelvis on the right side.

DH/Grape: {blank stares}

Midwife: See, this {indicates black spot amid many indistinguishable spots} is her kidney. And this is the renal pelvis.

Grape: {trying to be calm and not freak-the-flying-freak out} So, what does that mean?

Midwife: Well, you'll have to make an appointment at the perinatal clinic for a level-two ultrasound. Here's the clinic number and a bunch of other useless information, blah blah blah nothing about the BABY who is suffering from a prominent something-or-another RIGHT NOW in my uterus!!!!!!!!

Grape: OK, but what does that mean for the baby? {gives up and just freaks right out anyway}

Midwife: I can't really say.

And I left it at that.*

I went home and consulted Dr. Google right away. That was a GREAT idea. A prominent renal pelvis (Google tells me that's a tube that connects the kidney to the bladder. If it's too big, stuff can go the wrong way and cause infections) in a 20-week fetus can mean:
1. Absolutely nothing, because they measured wrong.
2. That the dumb thing is just growing fast, and will be normal by birth.
3. That the dumb thing is just growing fast, and will be normal by age 1.
4. That the dumb thing grew too fast, but can be corrected by surgery after birth if necessary.
5. DOWN SYNDROME!!!!!!!!

Yeah. Would it be redundant to point out the FREAKING OUT that was done at this point?

Now, to spare you all any further suspense, in Raisin's case, it turned out to be #2. We found this out to the tune of an additional level-one ultrasound and 2 level-twos with a perinatologist (who, by the way, was the opposite of not-my-favorite midwife, and who is my HERO). These are the sentences he uttered in order to be come Dr. Hero:

"Well, it is a little on the big side right now, but I don't think it's reason to be concerned."

"I see no indication that your baby has Down Syndrome."

"I just took part in a study at the Mayo Clinic about the correlation between this measurement and actual problems after birth. Come see me again at about 34 weeks; according to my study we can't tell anything positive until that point anyway."

And, of course, when we went back at 34 weeks the measurement was in the normal range, and Raisin has never suffered any kind of urinary tract issue. And they all lived happily ever after.

*This is the crucial part of the narrative to me. I don't think I was a passive patient -- I educated myself about pregnancy before and during my own. I asked questions. I tried to keep up-to-date with what was going on in my body and in the midwife practice. But when we hit our little mini-crisis, I let the midwife shuffle me out of the office without any answers.

I got the answers later; I'm OK with that. I got good care from those midwives, so I'm not apprehensive about trusting them again. And I believe that she probably had good reasons for NOT answering my question -- she just should have told me what the reason was. My guess is that as a nurse-midwife, not an MD, she felt she might be treading on iffy legal ground.

I just wish I had asked. I wish I didn't have to guess now. And I'd like, this time around, not to let go of questions to which I feel I deserve an answer.

Questions To Keep You Up At Night

1. Why do the Las Vegas CSIs always use flashlights? Do murder scenes automatically lose electricity, rendering light switches useless?

2. Does the person who left the sushi in our office refrigerator really think it's still good after all this time? Are they going to eat it!?

3. Is George W. ever going to learn to pronounce "nuclear" correctly? Should we just rename those weapons "nu-cu-ler" so that he doesn't sound so freaking dumb?

4. Where should I take my pretty new purse to have the zipper fixed?

5. When Raisin says "ow-ie!" and pats her cheeks, what does that mean? Her teeth hurt? Her ears hurt? She just likes the new word?

These are the serious issues occupying this great brain, people. Once I solve these, I might move on to deeper problems like whether the United Nations can ever really be effective given its current organizational structure. But don't count on it.

An Update About My Pants

You will all be relieved to know that the icky glue-like stuff came off my pants. BMG, you can cancel that check I'm sure you were sending. Although, if it's already in the mail, I'll take it. I can put it towards that Coach bag the universe owes me. See? It all works out. Karma.

More Adventures in Punctuation

Remember "Bizarro Jerry" from Seinfeld? This weekend I saw Bizarro Grape on the Orange Line from downtown Chicago to Midway. She's from Cleveland, and we ran into her and the three friends she was traveling with as we were all on our way back home. She has a Coach purse, though, and she lives "on the lake." There must be some kind of imbalance in the universe, which can only be equaled out by someone giving me a Coach bag and a house on the water. Anyone?

Also seen in Chicago this weekend: The Blue Man Group. AWESOME! FUNNY! STROBE LIGHTS! CAP'N CRUNCH! CREPE PAPER! HAAAAAA! Except they owe me $50 for the pants that got ruined by the icky glue-like stuff that was on my seat (which of course I didn't notice until after I sat in it). (I doubt I paid $50 for the pants, because I am cheap and buy things on sale, but the Blue Man Group doesn't know that.)

Know what else they have in Chicago? Margaritas! And food! And shopping! Extraneous exclamation points all around to indicate reveling and fun! Whee! It was a great trip. We stayed up late and slept in late. We talked and laughed and got caught up and promised to do it again. I missed DH and Raisin, but I wasn't sad about it like I thought I'd be. They had a good time, and I had a good time, and we were really glad to see each other again last night. But it was really nice to not be the Mama for a few days.

And now, Monday. Coffee. Tired. Hate work. Exclamation points broken. Blaaaahhhhh.