A Natural Scientist

Lack of Sympathy

2012-02-01T10:28:00.000-05:00

My dear spouse is almost never sick. He is virtually never ever sick enough to stay home from work.

I, on the other hand, am a walking attack of plague and allergy. For five days in a row, I have enjoyed a sensation like 10,000 tiny needle-footed ants walking over my body. As you might imagine, this makes it exceedingly hard to sleep. In fact, it keeps me awake through a dose of Benadryl that should fell a horse. So I have been laying awake for three or four hours every night full of pain, exhaustion, misery, and frustrated rage.

And then Dr. S had the effrontery to be annoyed when I asked him to go into work a little late. Because I didn't think I could take care of the children on three hours' sleep.

(I'm off to the doctor later so they can tell me to drink more water and moisturize. Inevitably. Gosh! I surely DIDN'T THINK OF THAT MYSELF.)

FMB: Teaching and Toddlers

2012-01-30T08:00:00.000-05:00

1) I worry sometimes, in an overeducated-elite kind of way that my kid will not be smart. He's almost three! His grasp of numbers is still kind of shaky! ("How many are there? (5)" "Seven! Six! Thirteen! Sixteen!") He can't read yet! (I could read when I was 2.5. My mom was... maybe a little pushy about it.)

2) But I don't want to be pushy and destroy his love of books and learning. So I try not to force him to do things he doesn't want to do.

2a) And then I worry that he won't be smart.

3) He can identify all 26 letters, including lowercase.

4) In time-honored fashion, I have provided a concrete reward for number-learning. He has little dishes of treats- raisins, nuts, yogurt raisins, M&Ms- and however many he can correctly count from each dish, he can eat. So far, we've gotten to 7. Progress! Rat and lever! Yes!

Misanthrope: In Which I Am A Snob, Or Maybe Just Lonely

2012-01-24T08:00:00.000-05:00

To avoid going completely insane, I belong to a moms' group here. For the most part, it's nice. Bug has tot friends and playgroups and outings with other kids; I can talk to other adults; we swap kids and have dates with our spouses and toddler-free doctor's appointments.

However! (There's always a however.) The great majority of these other women are not really My People. They don't read, which I find entirely incomprehensible.* They don't make things. They don't save spare screws out of dead appliances. (Okay, that one's a bit excessive.) They don't think XCXD is funny, and when I proposed using a Google Docs spreadsheet as a sign up it was a surprising, new idea. They don't have any scientific background, and they decide suddenly that they're allergic to wheat because they feel tired. (Was a quantity of jam involved, I wonder?) Their kid has a rash for one day, and they go to the doctor!** And then delay vaccination because some idiot pseudo-babble book told them to.

But they are kind, decent people. They live near me. Their children are of similar ages to mine, and they play nicely together. They don't have the kind of random intellectual curiosity or drive to create that I cherish in my friends, but they are what I have right now.

Maybe I want too much.

* Our library recently installed a new catalog, which you can tell to track your check-outs (useful for "who wrote that mystery... with... the trees...). I looked up my history since May. I read two hundred and fifty-three books from May to December. Plus all the ones I already owned, and re-read. And yes, I actually, truly read every single one. Plus Bug got another 250 read to him, about ten times each. I am not exaggerating.

** Without fever, dehydration, or lethargy, you know. Just a RASH. In a healthy 2-year-old. I took Bug to the doctor this week for a rash- which he's had for six months. (Eczema, which is High Billable for "a rash".)

Five Minute Blogging: Housewifery Amid Scientists

2012-01-22T08:00:00.000-05:00

I went to a Christmas party at the house of a postdoc Dr. S knows. Not only was I the only house-spouse there, we brought the only kids. (Who were delightfully well behaved; Bug was kind to the dog, and neither made a mess nor broke any ornaments.) Bug ate salad and told people all about dinosaurs, and Tater mostly slept, and a good time was had by all.

It was weird. Less weird than when I met Dr. S's very-Asperger's coworker who totally condescended to me until I not-so-subtly mentioned that I'd had a PhD for 3 years LONGER than her. But it's weird. And what do you do? I make peanut butter sandwiches and change diapers and wash a lot of laundry, and oh, in my spare time I read science papers and do editing and teach my kid to read. And you?

Pseudonymous

2012-01-20T08:00:00.001-05:00

Little Bit has a new blog name! In fact, he has a new nickname. Dr. S has taken to calling him Nater Potater. So here: Tater. Bug and Tater. Clearly, if ever, IY"H, there should be a third one, he (inevitably, he, statistics be damned) will be Potato Bug.

Favorite Sayings, 2

2012-01-18T08:00:00.000-05:00

Thank you all for your delightful sayings. I adore regionalisms, and I don't care what region.

My parents are (GASP!) Yankees, and my dad's family uses a lot of expressions which I've never thought of as particularly Southern: "Couldn't find his behind in the dark with both hands and a flashlight", for example. "Slower than molasses in January." "Tough row to hoe."

Dr. S (who is from rural southwest Ohio) once said, in lab meeting, to his very famous boss, "Well, Titania, even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and again."

But, actually from the South: "All a' y'all" has always been one of my favorites. This is a peculiarly Southern thing. Where I grew up, "Y'all are welcome to come to the party" was a particularly non-pressing invitation given out of courtesy, but "All a' y'all should come by on Saturday night, we're having a party" meant "I really truly want each and every one of you to show up."

I have heard, but never used "Lower than a snake's belly", and I adore "Doesn't have the sense God gave a chigger." (Chiggers are revolting little bugs, found in high grass in high summer, which burrow into your legs and then die. No, I don't know why.)

Y'all come back, now!

Dys-what?

2012-01-16T08:00:00.000-05:00

I have mentioned it... apparently once before: I have a mild dyslexia where I switch digits, and cannot see the difference. (I think it's not dyscalculia because it's mainly a morbid fear of dealing with investments, and an inability to correctly write down phone numbers.) It's worst with four-digit numbers.

The weirdest part? I didn't notice until I was twenty-five and sharing accounts with my spouse. Before that, I thought I was just worse than the average bear at balancing checkbooks.

(This is prescheduled. My computer still ails.)

This Wasn't A Good Week To Stop My Antidepressants

2012-01-13T08:00:00.000-05:00

Oh, dear readers. My children both have a plague (symptoms: uncontrollable screaming, crankiness, coughing), and so do I (symptoms: fever, chills, desire for a stiff drink at 9:00 in the morning). It is snowing. Aaaaaaannnnnnd.....

....my computer is ill with a virus and some Java ailment and I-don't-know-what in the registry, and possibly a fatal lesion in its hippocampus.

Fortunately, I backed up all 3 GB (!) of child-videos, science-y figures and manuscripts, and knitting patterns. You know, the important things in life. Now I must replace the programs filched from my old lab, because after fifteen hours trying to fix it, it would be easier to buy a new computer.

Alas, I have no money.

Back after I either fix it, or type FORMAT C: ("Do you really mean it?" "YES.")

Why?

2012-01-11T08:00:00.002-05:00

I still keep in touch with a couple friends from high school, including my slowly-cooling relationship with C, who you may remember. C is expecting her third child; her spouse is still in grad school (he STILL!!!! has not finished those papers!) and they are still all four-and-a-fetus living on a humanities grad student's salary, roughly $25,000, in Big East Coast City.

I called her this week, because I wanted to offer to make something for this child. I did for the other two, after all. I asked C if she needed anything, or wanted a less worn/ugly exemplar of something. And she said "Oh... I think some crib sheets would be good, but knit ones because the other kind are kind of cold on their skin, and not flannel because I wouldn't want to use them in winter and I don't have enough storage space, and red, but not too red, or maybe green, but not kelly green or forest green. Perhaps polka dots, but only if they match the red valence that I have, and the ruffle has ladybugs on it but I don't want to do ladybugs* if it's a boy** and... " then I tuned it out.

All I could think was what. the. !@$%****

* WHY NOT? They're so CUTE!!
** Because clearly then he would grow up to be gay.*** Or something.
*** Bug has an eyelet lace dust ruffle on his crib, which I made. It's cute. He doesn't care. If he wants lacy pillowcases when he's 15, I'll make them too. Or cars. Or bugs. Or unicorns. I don't care.
**** After our wedding I wrote a whole series of mendacious thank-you notes for things I returned ("Thank you for the hideous green sheets and well-meant but completely useless tool set;, we already have four hammers." [Not really; I wrote "Thank you for your thoughtful gift" etc.]) because I was taught that one should be GRACIOUS.

Toddler Foods, And Recipe: Optionally Vegan Carrot Cookies

2012-01-07T08:00:00.001-05:00

Bug will no longer eat dinner.

For breakfast and lunch, he can choose his meal: typically oat-e-os and soymilk and then, invariably, PB&J for lunch. For dinner, he can have what's on the table, or nothing. (Unless it's super-spicy, or fish.) This is the child who begs for goat cheese, who- one week- started eating whole sweet peppers, out of the bag, at the grocery; but offer him homemade lasagna and he throws a fit.

I refuse to make food an Issue, so I repeat to myself, "I put healthy food in front of him and he can choose to eat or not." He's eating double lunch to make up for it; afternoon snack has been abolished. He weighs 35 pounds (that's a hearty 2.5 year old), so I wouldn't care except he's hungry and insane for two full hours every single night.

Oh well. Someday he'll grow out of it, right? In the meanwhile he and I have embarked on a microgreen-growing project. Likely he will eat two bites and then turn up his pert little nose. And we bake healthy, protein-y veggie-hiding things together, on the theory that if he helps cook, he might eat it.

Here is a toddler-friendly, low-sugar, high-protein, carrot-containing cookie recipe. Don't expect carrot cake; this is more like the whole-grain breakfast muffin your co-op makes.

Vegan-or-not Carrot Cookies (adapted from Farm Journal Country Cookbook)

1 c flour (white, or half whole wheat)
1 3/4 c rolled oats (quick are better, but I never have them)
1/2 c soy flour
1/4 c sugar
1/4 c molasses
1/2 t baking soda
1 t baking powder
2 t ginger
1 t cinnamon
1/2 t nutmeg
1/2 t salt
1/3 c oil
2 large carrots, finely shredded (use the smaller-grating side of a box grater)
1/2 c raisins
1/3 c water
1/3 c soymilk
1 egg OR 1/4 c boiling water + 2 T ground flaxseed
Optional: chopped nuts, sunflower seeds, shredded coconut

If using flaxseed, pour boiling water over flaxseed, stir, and let cool. Mix dry ingredients together; pour everything else in and mix very well. Drop by tablespoons on a very well-greased cookie sheet, or on parchment paper. Bake about 10 minutes at 375 degrees F.

(I have started making a lot of vegan baked goods because I can no longer bear to buy battery-hen eggs, but them humane-certified free-range ones are expensive and we are poor.)

Sensitive Boy

2012-01-05T16:32:00.000-05:00

Bug has always been a little sensitive, and very attached to Mama. When I was working I never left him for more than nine hours... and since I quit my job a year and a half ago, never more than three hours. (Yes, I do feel like I'm on one of those tethered leashes! Thank you for asking!) I've left him with a variety of responsible friends and relatives, but he would often sob quietly for an hour or two. He was a little afraid of the more aggressive kids, wouldn't talk around anyone but family, and had a fit every time I walked out the door; I joked that he was going to be the kid who cried every day after kindergarten.

Well, suddenly he's chattering nonstop, running around at top speed after his tot friends, and screaming "MINE! MINE!!! I NEED IT I WANT IT IT'S MINE!!!" I dropped him off at a friend's house today and he ran away without his goodbye kiss, never looking back.

Not worried any more.

Lab Accidents

2012-01-03T08:00:00.002-05:00

In the wake of a tragic accident at UCLA, I was thinking about biology labs. (The particular situation in the UCLA accident is not under discussion here.)

(Note: these things are only funny because nobody got hurt. Otherwise it would be really, really sad.)

Now, I used to work in a synthetic organic lab. The two (fortunately, small, no injuries) lab fires that happened while I was there both involved lithium compounds: my boss set the base bath on fire. Twice. Yes, he did know better. He also had an imploded, melted round-bottom flask with molecular sieves embedded in it, fused into a torn-apart heating mantle, entitled "Dumbass Of The Year Award, 1992." (Lots of heat plus melted glass plus vacuum... you can imagine how that would end badly.) And there was that one time with the aqua regia... well, turns out you really, really should add the acetone slowly; picture a small, REALLY corrosive volcano emitting metal-rusting fumes. Let's just say, it's a good thing the fume hood clamped down. Anyhow.

Biologists, on the other hand... I've seen them do a lot of really stupid things. Strong bases stored in glass! (They etch glass.) Oxidizers and reducers stored together, right next to flammable solvents! (Because then, if they break and mix, it would go whoosh and KABOOM.) Our idiot tech touching unpolymerized acrylamide with her bare hands!!! (Neurotoxin.) Amanitin without gloves! (Death cap mushroom toxin!) Phenol everywhere! (Flammable, toxic, also causes burns, liver failure, and DEATH.) And don't even get me started on things that get put down the sink, to say nothing of the Ground Chicken Incident in my former lab. The plumbers probably burned effigies of us.

Seriously. If biology required more than microliters of most of this stuff, biologists would blow themselves up all the time.

Favorite Sayings, Also, Delurk Yourselves!

2011-12-31T08:00:00.001-05:00

One of my favorite Southern sayings: "I wouldn't spit on him if he was on fire."

(There is a less-polite version involving crossing the road, which one ought not repeat in polite company.)

So give me a New Year's gift: tell me your favorite regional phrase! Or just who you are.

Cheers!!!!

Don't Know Much About Psychology

2011-12-26T10:09:00.000-05:00

(I warn you in advance that I don't have much of a point here.)

I have a cousin who is now twenty. His father is 65 (second marriage) and has single-parented him since he was two or three. Now, I have NO qualifications in psych, but a five-year-old could diagnose this child with autism spectrum disorder. (Or Asperger's. Or whatever.) To spare you the long list, I've put it at the bottom of the post. He has... maybe two friends? At all. He creeped out my sister's very sweet, tolerant roommates until he was no longer welcome.

He does all the classic behaviors: avoidance of eye contact, inability to respond to normal social cues, easily overstimulated, stereotypical arm flapping, gross and fine motor issues, poor muscle tone, severe social developmental delays.

My uncle's response? "No! He doesn't have autism/ Asperger's/ anything wrong! He's just a little clumsy." This would be fine, but the kid worships his father, and won't listen to anyone else. We fear that he will never listen to anyone else on this problem; he's old enough to develop his own stubborn opinions. Last year he was in college, the same one as my sister; he failed out. She tried to help: set up appointments with the special ed center, with tutors... he never went to any of them because 'he was doing okay.'

How do you help those who won't help themselves?

(Everyone in my family has a serious mad on about my uncle, too.)

Autism Spectrum Disorder

Must meet criteria A, B, C, and D: (edited by me to include my cousin's issues)

A. Persistent deficits in social communication and social interaction , all 3 of the following:

1. Deficits in social-emotional reciprocity; abnormal social approach and failure of normal conversation through reduced sharing of interests, emotions, and affect and response

2. Deficits in nonverbal communication; poorly integrated- verbal and nonverbal communication, abnormalities in eye contact and body-language, deficits in understanding and use of nonverbal communication, reduced facial expression and gestures.

3. Deficits in developing and maintaining relationships: difficulties adjusting behavior to suit different social contexts, difficulties in sharing imaginative play and in making friends, absence of interest in [most] people

B. Restricted, repetitive patterns of behavior, interests, and activities

1. Stereotyped or repetitive motor movements (simple motor stereotypies, repetitive idiosyncratic phrases).

2. Ritualized patterns of verbal and nonverbal behavior

3. [Obsession with computer games to the exclusion of all else]

4. Hyper-reactivity to sensory input [difficulty with lots of noise or stimulation].

C. Symptoms must be present in early childhood [so very much]

D. Symptoms together limit and impair everyday functioning.

Five Minute Blogging: Holidays And Relatives (While I Ignore My Kids)

2011-12-23T10:16:00.002-05:00

Leviticus 19:15: Do not pervert justice. Do not give special consideration to the poor nor show respect to the great. Judge your people fairly.

Last night we opened the in-laws 'Christmas' (HANUKKAH!!) presents, and a couple from us, despite well-founded theological and personal objections to the idea. Anyhow. We have one rule for toy gifts. It has two words: No batteries.

The in-laws sent Bug two toy gifts. With... right. I was annoyed. They just don't get it! I mean, FFS, they gave us Christmas ornaments as a wedding present. My MIL somehow is unable to comprehend that any dairy at all will make me violently, seriously ill. They expect us to conform to their every whim when we're all in the same place. They aren't trying hard enough!

Suddenly I heard a still, small voice whisper, "Judge one another favorably."

I'm willing to judge my friends and family (and spouse) favorably, with righteousness, because I love and respect them. But I should judge my in-laws as righteous people. They gave Bug those toys because they were imagining his delight. They gave us those ornaments because their own are cherished possessions. Perhaps that's the kind of relationship they had with their own parents.

They are trying.

(P.S. I'm pretty sure that was not the voice of God, but of my conscience.)

Placeholder, For Reflection later

2011-12-18T11:30:00.000-05:00

* Went to a party full of scientists, with kids in tow. Only housewife there. Reactions from amusing to infuriating. ("What do you do?" "I study evolution." "...of WHAT? I edit all of Dr S's papers and grants.")

* Grad school in retrospect; working with my embittered ex for six years sure killed all the good memories from THAT relationship. Also, my advisor seems saner after the fact.

* How much I look forward to a day when I don't feel I neef to pinch every penny until it screams.

*Toddler. OMG toddler.

* Must watch Sesame Street with toddler now GAAAAH.

Little Parrot, Nursing

2011-12-12T08:30:00.000-05:00

One day, I will have to explain to him that boys and girls can do most anything they set their minds too, but he'll find this particular one quite difficult. But not now, because it's just so darn cute.

Forgotten

2011-12-10T23:49:00.003-05:00

I had a great idea- in fact, I remember writing it in my head last night as I fell asleep- but I cannot remember a single word of it. Instead, my brain is filled with possible causes for the persistent GODAWFUL ANNOYING itching on my left boob (you're welcome!), which has now lasted, actually, eight full months, AAAAAGH, and various diagrams of dryer innards, because ours doesn't, as of now, with a full load of wet diapers in the washer, thankyouverymuch.

G'night.

Bug Phrase Of The... Month. Maybe Year.

2011-12-06T09:01:00.000-05:00

Me: "Do you need to go potty?"
Bug: "No."
Me: "Are you having some gas?"
Bug: "No, I just had a burp from my tush."

Lab Report

2011-12-04T09:13:00.001-05:00

I was reading about Miss MSE's lab-teaching joys and it reminded me of when I was TAing

Bear in mind that Snooty U, as an institution, doesn't care about the science TAs and generally ignores them. There is no training, there are no standards, and mileage varies widely. (The grad school has some opportunities for individuals, but it's caveat magister. Or possibly caveat discipulus.)

So I TA'd for a lab course that was, apparently, organized by monkeys. We were given the labs, but no syllabus, no guidelines, and no outline of the accompanying lecture. (Possibly because the lab bore it no resemblance.) This is going to sound really mean, but I took the opportunity to rigorously enforce Good Science Writing. I wrote my students a syllabus with the following criteria:

1) Your first lab report will be marked and returned. I will grade the second version.
2) After the first lab report, you will lose a point for each spelling or grammatical error.
3) You can write as much as you want (in Times 12 point with one-inch margins), but I will stop reading after five pages.
4) Plagiarism will get you a failing grade.

After the first batch of lab reports, which were, with two exceptions, truly appalling, I got nice, concise, five-page, well-organized reports. After the second batch, which lost a lot of points for grammatical errors, they were much better-written. And after a couple weeks of me writing the most appalling errors up on the board(without attribution; however, in genetics, "compliment" and "complement" are very different)... they started proofreading, too.

Low grades are an amazing motivational tool.

In Which I Was Going To Whine At Great Length

2011-11-30T23:21:00.000-05:00

Then I decided, I can summarize my whinyness in a few points:

1) WAAAAAAH.

2) I have fucking RINGWORM on my leg, and some weird itchy rash of six months' duration on my boobs. (Diagnosis from midwives: Here, have some steroid cream.) Still better than thrush, but WTF.

3) My spouse Bug-wrangles when he gets home. I hold the baby for hours. We each resent the other.

4) I have not returned to the midwives because a) I've had enough medical appointments with a toddler to last a lifetime and b) I have no plans to use those parts any time soon. For anything.

5) I long for an hour- possibly two!- without either of my children. Preferably in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a trashy novel, but, at a minimum? NOT AT THE DENTIST. Where I have to go again next week.

In Which I Complain About My In-Laws

2011-11-29T09:31:00.002-05:00

My in-laws are retired with no pets, small children, or elderly persons for whom they are responsible. My FIL is mild and inoffensive but does not prevent the Crazy. My MIL has spent her entire life in two small towns as a teacher, but cannot admit that Dr. S or I know anything, or have had any different experiences. (Her: "All employers are like that about parental leave." Dr. S: "One, you quit your job when I was born, and two, J's [large, industry] employer emailed her once while on leave, to ask what day she'd be back.")

Anyhow.

At first they said they wouldn't visit when Little Bit was born. In October. You know, because it might snow. (Unlike in OHIO where it never snows, or RURAL WEST VIRGINIA, where they were last week.) Okay, fine, whatever.

Then they called on Wednesday and said "Hey, we're coming on Friday!" And I had a fit. One, my mom, who is not retired, had arranged, four months in advance, to take three weeks of vacation and come. Two, Friday was his bris. Three, two days' notice???

Dr. S said "Er... another day?" Friday, they said. "Monday?" Friday. I had another fit and said, any day but Friday, or a divorce, darling. He called them back and said, "I'll be on leave starting Tuesday! How about you come then?" A doctor's appointment, they said. (This could have been prevented by planning in advance, I said.) "After that!" It might snow, they said. So they're not coming. And we are not going there (twelve hours in a car with two small children; think Sartre). And it's just sad.

They're like two-year-olds: if thwarted, they must throw a tantrum. Their way or not at all. But we're adults, it's our family, and they can live with it or... live with it.

P.S. It still has not snowed here.

Sweet Baby of Mine

2011-11-27T23:30:00.000-05:00

Little Bit spent an hour last night jumping up and down on me, cooing, and waving his chubby little arms. It was adorable. It was also four in the morning.

Five Minute Blogging Again: Teaching Difference

2011-11-23T21:38:00.000-05:00

I have three inspirations tonight:

1) An excellent post by Lesbian Dad, which I have not the time to find, about explaining to their kids that most people are either boys or girls but some are in between and some boys are 'girly' and some girls are kind of 'boyish' and so on. I hope one day Bug and Little Bit are interested enough that we can talk about it. So far we haven't gotten past "Yes, our friend M has two daddies." Also, he is only two and a half.

On a related note, I just made Little Bit a purple sleep sack. Not really because I feel the need to impose counter-heteronormative clothing colors on a five-week-old. Mostly because that was the fabric scrap I had. Anyhow.

2) A few weeks ago I saw a 3-year-old ask, "What is that [scooter] for?" And in a spectacular parental FAIL the dad said, "Uh... it's for people... with disabilities!" Yes. Way to give your kid a meaningful framework. I've told Bug in the past "Some people need more help to get around and they use wheelchairs." And so on.

3) Last week we saw a couple who looked like they had achondroplasia. Bug was fascinated: people only a little taller than him, but who were behaving like adults! WHOA!!! And I was completely exhausted and did not know what to do about my child staring. Except... if I had had more energy, I would have gone over and had him say hi- "Look, they have a baby just like our baby; how old is she?" is a good opener. Any other suggestions?

Screaming baby! Time's up! Happy Thanksgiving!

One Minute Blogging: Snark At Spouse

2011-11-20T12:05:00.001-05:00

Specifically, about fatigue. You think YOU'RE tired?? You've slept more than three hours in a row in the last month! Sometimes you get to sleep all night for eight whole hours. (If the baby only wants a new diaper and some milk, there's no point in waking up the milk-less person; I can re-diaper him before the spouse staggers up from the basement.) I know you've been watching the surly toddler for weeks. Thank you.

However.

I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT.

Five Minute Blogging: Housework and Gender

2011-11-18T09:23:00.000-05:00

I have five minutes with two hands! GO!!

Inspired by Alyssa and others: Housework with a working partner and a housewife!!

Before we had children, Dr. S and I split everything pretty much evenly, according to time, talent, and inclination. We grocery shopped together; we traded off laundry; we both cooked and swept.

Now that I'm a housewife, it's a little more uneven, partly because, hey! This is my job now, and partly because there are a lot of stereotypically gendered things I hate. Like taking out the trash. Also, because when the spouse gets home, I'd rather cook than play with the toddler for another hour (I love him, but I've already played all day!).

So Dr. S does: dishes, laundry folding, sweeping, trash, compost, mowing, most of snow shoveling, part of bill paying, all the investments, midnight baby-walking, and anything involving an electric saw. Plus he has a full-time job and all.

I do: meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, procurement of clothing and other items (mainly via the Internet), laundry washing, the rest of the bill paying, mending/sewing, repairs not involving large sharp pointy fast-rotating things, scheduling appointments, midnight baby-nursing*, and a whole lot of child-wrangling.

I think it's still fairly even despite our traditionally-gendered roles, and a lot of the stereotyping really is just our personal preferences. I hate hate hate sweeping, and he doesn't care; he hates shopping, and I hate it less. And although I spend more time per day doing house-related things, I think it's still split fairly evenly for such an asymmetric out-of-home workload.

Five minutes are up: DING!

*Because he lacks the relevant equipment.

Toddler Sentence of the Day

2011-11-15T20:38:00.003-05:00

"Many trucks are driving fast on the highway next to our small car!"

(It's even grammatically correct.)

(Unlike my one-handed typing.)

Family

2011-11-11T09:41:00.001-05:00

Itty-Bitty is named after my father's father, Fred. (It's Ashkenazi tradition to not name after living relatives, or we would have named him for my father.) So before his bris, I called my father and asked him to tell me about Grandpa Fred. Sadly, most of what he told me was not repeatable in polite company, but it was interesting, so I shall share it with you, dear readers.

Grandpa was a first-generation immigrant from Alsace; Grandpa's mother, who was a cast-iron bitch, always made a point of speaking Alsatien when my grandmother was around.

Fred's father had a general store in Russia (pronounced Rooshy!) and as a young man, Fred took around a huckster wagon.

In the Depression, Fred and his cousin went to Illinois to work on the farms. During Prohibition, he and his father ran a still, and they were so good at it that they were contracting bootleggers. Uncle Jughead ran sugar for the Mob, too. (Such reputable relatives!)

During the war, he worked at NCR, which had made cash registers, but switched over to machine guns. There he met my grandmother; he was 40, and she was 20. My mother once asked Nanna how she had convinced the merry bachelor to settle down and if she had enticed him, Nanna replied indignantly, "Certainly not! It was a whole two years before our daughter was born!"

Fred couldn't afford to buy a farm while he was working in the factory, but afterwards he and Nanna bought one, right after their first child was born. It was outside town, and had a wood stove for heat, and Nanna sat right down in the kitchen and cried when she saw it.

And finally, to quote, "Fred was never one to use the word 'manure' when 'shit' would do. He was an ornery little Frenchie."

P.S. Frederick is the baby's middle name. And if you know our real last name, you'll immediately see why.

Bounded In A Nutshell

2011-11-07T22:24:00.002-05:00

Why, yes! When you never sleep more than two hours in a row, you have really strange dreams.

Really, Not That You Asked (3)

2011-11-01T17:14:00.003-04:00

7:30 AM: My contractions slow down to every ten minutes again. "Pitocin!" the nurse chirps, and hangs a bag. I don't care.

Until 10 AM: I think nothing is happening because the intensity never goes past 20 on the LYING BASTARD of a contraction monitor.

10 AM: I start feeling pressure. I don't mention it because I don't want anyone to BOTHER me.

10:45 AM: I decide that perhaps I should mention it. Also, I decide that the contraction monitor has been LYING. The nurse and midwife have a genteel tiff: the midwife is upset that the nurse checked me; the nurse points out that she paged the midwife five times with no response. I ignore them all, including when the midwife tries to coach my pushing.

The rest is pretty mundane. At about 11:15, the baby popped out in the usual eel-like fashion, looked around, and screamed.

The thing is, I already did a drug-free childbirth; this time, I felt like I had nothing to prove to anyone, including myself, and I didn't want to be in that much pain any more. Having done it the other way, I didn't feel like I was missing anything by getting an epidural and a little pitocin. And you know what? It was great.

And I had been in labor for SIX DAYS, too.

Really, Not That You Asked (2)

2011-10-28T20:05:00.006-04:00

4:00 AM: Someone comes and gives me narcotics. I immediately feel a little high.

4:30 AM: I get into the tub to hang out. My contractions slow down. A lot. I can't be bothered to care.

5:45 AM: The narcotics start wearing off. I can't have more yet. Back to sobbing and pain. We call the nurse and talk about epidurals. "I feel so bad!" I weep. "About the epidural? Oh, honey, you don't need to feel bad," she says. "No I just feel awful," I say. I get out. Every three fucking minutes again.

6:00 AM: Anesthesia shows up. I've drawn a resident and her attending. She hits something the first time and tries again. Even in my haze, I think, sweetie, you get ONE more try and then so help me that ATTENDING is sticking me in the spine. She gets it the second time.

6:45 AM: The epidural finally kicks in. Bliss! I can still move, but I'm not in excruciating pain any more. I fall asleep.

7:00 AM: A hammer drill, a circular saw, and a drill start simultaneously outside my window.

Really, Not That You Asked (1)

2011-10-27T16:15:00.005-04:00

When Bug was born, I was at a birth center with a couple midwives and a tub and one (1) ibuprofen. I don't know why I feel the need to share Baby Bug's birth with you, but I do. So here we go:

Sunday, 1 AM: I am woken up by contractions every ten minutes.

Monday: Repeat above. Walking around makes it worse, which only makes me want to lay down.

Tuesday: More of same. 40 weeks. The midwives do a stretch-and-sweep; I am 2 cm dilated, i.e. HA HA HA.

Wednesday: Nothing is changing. I am exhausted.

Thursday, 11 AM: My water breaks in an entirely undramatic, dribbly fashion. I go for a sulky 90-minute walk. Every five minutes.

Thursday, 7 PM: Every five minutes, lasting almost a minute. Still sulky. If I lay on the couch, I can pretend this is happening to someone else.

Thursday, 1 AM: Every three minutes for a minute. Instead of being afraid of giving birth in a hospital, I actually want to go. I call the midwife again and decide to meet her at L&D triage.

1:45 AM: Every three minutes and I am doubled over with pain. Back labor! Again! The midwife examines me, but thinks my water has not broken. 2 cm. I am in intense pain and clearly, it is doing NOTHING. What the hell? She suggests that I walk around for a while.

We see a young`couple come in. "I just don't like this leaking, it's so gross!" she says cheerfully. A first child, I think: if you think a little clear fluid is gross, wait for childbirth! And after! Also, she is waaay too cheerful to be in labor enough to be admitted.

2:30 AM: I hear them sending the cheerful lady home with polite instructions to come back when she is in real labor.

2:45 AM: I am walking up and down the corridor, doubled over and sobbing my eyes out every time I have a contraction (every three minutes). "Should I call the midwife?" the nurse asks. "No, [SOB SOB SOB], I'll just keep walking [SOB SOB SOB noisy nose-blowing]", I say. "Er... I think I'll give her a call," the nurse says.

3:15 AM: The midwife examines me again. 3 cm. Again, what the hell? She looks at me having a nervous breakdown and vanishes. Five minutes later, she comes back and says, "Your water definitely broke! Let's admit you." I wonder if she has written "Reason for admission: 3 cm, ROM, completely losing it."

(More to come.)

Skeptical Baby

2011-10-23T16:16:00.000-04:00

Well, thank heavens THAT'S over. (I was in labor for almost six days.)

Birth Stories

2011-10-16T21:25:00.000-04:00

I have just been traumatized by hearing yet another birth story from a woman in her seventies. All the ones in my vicinity feel the need to share about giving birth in the fifties and sixties. Oy! I barely know you people! We make polite conversation about the weather, and then this? (Though tonight, the husband said "And he was nine pounds, six ounces!" The wife: "Nine pounds, SEVEN ounces! And I still remember all the havoc he wreaked on my parts!" Me: "...ow.")

It reminds me of Dr. S's female relatives telling me about all their reproductive difficulties at our second wedding reception. Look, I am all for shining a light on the facts of life, but I had met them all, for the very first time ever, not five minutes previously.

My Mother Says:

2011-10-14T16:30:00.001-04:00

Capybaras:

look just like Rodents Of Unusual Size.

Right Now

2011-10-13T08:59:00.000-04:00

I am 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant. I have no attention span and my everything hurts. I wish to offer violence to persons who mention my whale-like proportions.

If you want to know how I feel, use your imagination and then add a lot of swearing.

A Helpful Hint

2011-10-10T20:04:00.000-04:00

Last week, when I got to the midwives' office, the two check-in kiosks were down. To accommodate this, there was one (1) extra registrar.

Since humans read aloud slower than they read a screen, the line was 30 people long. It took 15 minutes; most people had planned to check in at the kiosks, so I, for example, was there 2 minutes before my appointment. The building houses 22 different clinics, seeing hundreds of people per hour. Every single one of them was running 15 minutes late.... at 9 AM.

Hint to the clinic: Your operational planning needs work.

Unanswered Questions

2011-10-09T20:53:00.000-04:00

Q: Am I nauseous, in pain, and miserable because BABY is imminent, or... not, waaaah?

Q: Why is my toddler suddenly peeing in his pants all the time?

Q: Are we going to survive this?

Q: What was I thinking?

A: Who knows.

Not A Toddler

2011-10-07T09:00:00.000-04:00

Sometimes- well, often, actually- I worry that my dear spouse will be unhappy with how little control he has over what goes on at home. What's for dinner? Whatever I say. What is our toddler doing all day? Whatever I say. Are there carrots today? No. Need new clothes? I buy them. Will he please put up my coat rack? Now? Thank you.

As I write it out, I realize that although these seem momentous to me- what the hell is for dinner tonight, anyways?- in an adult's life they're fairly insignificant. He goes off to work all day to do whatever he wants. As he frequently tells me, he couldn't care less what's for dinner, he loathes shopping, he thinks it's lovely that I cook, and besides, likes everything except shredded coconut, and Bug seems quite happy.

I worry that he will feel infantilized, removed from control, treated like a two-year-old and told what to eat. What I need is the ability to accept my spouse's sincere assurances that I am making his life more convenient and that if something is important, he will tell me. But I can't help but feel that if our positions were reversed, it would all drive me a little crazy.

And this is why we marry people who aren't exactly like us, right?

I would just like to say

2011-10-06T08:23:00.000-04:00

... I want my MOMMY.

(She'll be here in seven days.)

How Others See You

2011-10-05T10:25:00.000-04:00

A mom-friend recently said to me, "You always dress so modestly!" I was taken aback, because after that unfortunate frum period, it hasn't been something I often consider. Yes, I always wear an undershirt; I don't want my stomach hanging out in public. Yes, I own a slip; I prefer skirts to be opaque. Aside from that, my wardrobe has a timeless un-stylishness springing from both indifference and poverty.

And then I went to shul this week and a 14-year-old girl was wearing... a really short, tight skirt. I was scandalized. Great she's at shul, but inappropriate! And a ten-year-old (boy) was wearing a t-shirt and shorts... with a blazer. Also inappropriate!

My assumptions, examined, seem to be that, during religious services where "jeans and a flannel shirt and a guitar" are not the norm, persons of the female persuasion should wear garments which at least reach towards the knee, and nobody should wear shorts, t-shirts, or garments through which underwear can be seen. Nor do I wish to examine anyone's collarbones and clavicles in their entirety. There's a woman who wears a nice, tailored suit every week*: very appropriate. The Mrs. Rabbi** wears lovely fitted dresses sometimes, and they're very flattering, but not club attire. The small tots wear whatever was in the closet and hork-free: also fine.

Anyhow, the whole exchange made me wonder how I look to others. That weird chick who makes her own apple butter and is always wearing a knee-length skirt? (In summer. It's cooler.) That person with a messy house and crumbs everywhere? Tired frumpy mom chasing a toddler? Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen? Who knows.

So what does it take to outrage your sensibilities?

*At first I couldn't decipher her gender, because I hadn't ever heard her talk, but she was called up for an aliyah: Rachael bat Sarah v'Malka [not her real name]. (Translation: she is a very butch lady, who also has two moms.) Kind of cool. Now I want to know what she does for a living.

** The rabbi is male, and his wife is also a rabbi. They are Mr. Rabbi J. Smith and Mrs. Rabbi L. Smith. (No, their names aren't really Smith.)

Religious Education

2011-10-04T17:12:00.000-04:00

Since we've finally begun dragging ourselves to shul, Bug goes to the tot service on a fairly regular basis. And he loves it. I, on the other hand, find it just a tiny bit disturbing how deeply the lessons have sunk in.

The messages being conveyed are hardly offensive: be kind to others, respect the Earth, help your parents, take good care of animals. But we had to make hamotzi on Friday night (bad Jews: we weren't planning to have any bread) because after I said kiddush, Bug started singing the camp song that we do ("We give thanks to God for bread.."). Today he requested that I sing the "Hallelujah song" in the car. He regularly gives us a somewhat mangled rendition of Ma Tovu. Yesterday he told Dr. S that something was a mitzvah (being nice to your friends, or something like that). Every time we drive down a certain road, he says "We're going to shul!!!"

I said all this to the spouse, who replied, "What did you think was going to happen?"

(Dr. S is a Presbyterian, but he's the one who told me it was time Bug got him some religion. I'd been a bit lazy about it.)

Crazy Nesting Pregnant Lady

2011-10-02T21:18:00.000-04:00

Today: I pulled up half the garden (the dead half) and finally put up all our mezuzot, while Dr. S made the third custom threshold (router! table saw! MORE router!), vacuumed out the car, and raked. Then we went and got wood for a bookcase, installed the second carseat, and made dinner. In a little while we are going to fold six loads of laundry.

I am due in two weeks. I think 'nesting' with one's second child is closer to "blind panic about not getting anything done for months."

No Brain, No Patience

2011-09-27T17:04:00.000-04:00

I am, as my midwives put it, tired and cranky. ("How are you feeling?" "Very pregnant." "Ah.")

Bug is feeling very Two, i.e. unable to transition from anything to anything, no matter what warning is given or what the circumstances; defiant; moody; generally intolerable. Also with the hitting, refusing an opportunity to try again, and the time-outs.

I have the attention span of a flea, and about an equivalent amount of patience for other people's horrible children and/or their horrible parenting. For example: you give your kid three Oreos, he throws a 20-minute screaming, throwing, hitting tantrum because they are all gone: then about 18 minutes ago was when to LEAVE storytime, lady. (This one's horrible parenting all the way: the kid was two.)

Now I have to go wake up my equally cranky toddler and cook dinner. Ta.

Less Responsible

2011-09-25T23:28:00.001-04:00

We are now on day three of Wrathful Post-Nap Peeing (On Pants). Since he holds it for ten hours at night and gives up a mighty piddle every morning... it's just a bad case of Two. With screaming tantrums. Trust me on this one: it's behavioral, not biological. Bribery, threats, leaving in room, rational talking, and incarceration in bathroom have all been tried; all have resulted in Wrathful Peeing On Pants.

Excuse me, I have to do another load of laundry now. Ye gods, how I love this age.

Responsible

2011-09-22T22:16:00.000-04:00

I know very little about Montessori philosophy; however, I am lazy.

Therefore, I have taught my child to handle ceramic and glass, use the refrigerator himself, and draw only on paper. I figure it's less work in the long run. Bug is allowed to use tools for their purposes: he helps cook, pour, stir, put away, etc. He can get his milk out of the fridge, and when he's a little older we'll work on how to open yogurt. He gets big-people silverware (he always preferred it to kid spoons; I don't care) and real dishes. One day he'll throw one on the floor and it will break, and then he'll help me clean it up. The markers and crayons sit on the counter, in boxes; he knows that to use them, he can ask, and I'll give him paper. He paints in the kitchen, and helps me wipe up the floor afterwards.

Sometimes, however, I forget to put all the not-toy things away before other children come over. The lure of a 25-pound bag of rice is, apparently, irresistible, as is the box of screws, the not-really-locked lazy susan cabinet, and the silverware drawer. Ack.

Fall

2011-09-19T17:01:00.000-04:00

Dr. S: You look concerned. Is something wrong?
Me: I'm considering apple logistics.
Dr. S: Apple orchards have apple logistics. Farms have apple logistics. I'm not sure we should have apple logistics.
Me: ... but I really like apple butter....

(There are some abandoned apple trees around here. I forage.)

A Right Thing

2011-09-17T08:17:00.000-04:00

I got an email a little while ago from my acquaintance who had, very sadly, had a stillbirth. She said that they were very moved that several people had made donations in memory of their lost babies and she and her spouse were also making a donation.

So I guess it was one of the right things to do, after all. I'm glad.

Booooooring

2011-09-15T22:49:00.002-04:00

And without even pictures to amuse you, because my camera is giving up the ghost. (I dropped it on a tile floor; strangely, it hasn't been the same since.)

Dr. S is applying for academic jobs. Perhaps I should also buy a lottery ticket.
I have been editing teaching statements, manuscripts, research proposals, and cover letters for him until my eyes are ready to bleed. (And if I say "Why do we care?" one more time, you may shortly hear about my divorce.)
I made Bug finger paint today. It was the best Bug thing ever.
I also made a paint smock, nine dryer balls, a Cold-State-weight winter baby hat, another changing pad cover, a car blanket, and two kick-a-ball fabric balls. Since Sunday.
The ice-pick headache has mainly disappeared, with regular applications of narcotics. (Thank you, midwives!) The sparkly things are worse, but mainly annoying. I'll take it.
Tonight I went to a mandatory water-birth class. Had I not already had a water birth, it would have been more enlightening. Instead, I was reminded that I want to never watch another birth ever again. Possibly even if I am giving birth.
Dr. S is very amused at my touching faith in people's scientific knowledge. This manifests as continual disbelief that People Don't Know Things.
The people at this class (not the instructor, mercifully) were all under the mistaken impression that humans are sterile. (Edit: As in germ-free.) Like, ever. After we're born and all.
Two words: IMMUNE SYSTEMS.
One more word: SOAP.

Because I Can't Say It To My Spouse

2011-09-13T23:51:00.000-04:00

Or, more accurately, because I already said it to my spouse and he found it extremely annoying: I TOLD YOU SO.

(Crazy bosses don't get less crazy, and then was, perhaps, the time to stomp down a foot and say "!@#$ you.")

On the other hand, if someone's consistently screwing me over, I'm likely to take a Colin Powell approach: analyze the risks and benefits, then strike with overwhelming force. WHAP. (I refer to this as the Flyswatter Doctrine.)

Yet again, we have demonstrated that I am unsuited to academia, and that my spouse is a much nicer person than me.

Interpretation

2011-09-11T20:43:00.000-04:00

Last Friday our synagogue had a service-and-potluck in the park. (It was lovely. The people here all like beer and football, and so Dr. S gets along great with them.)

I was sitting at a picnic table with another family we know and their 4.5-year-old. The father, who is Israeli, said something to the child in Hebrew.

"We have that conversation almost every night," I said. "This is the only dinner you will get! There are no snacks after dinner!"

He stared at me. "Your Hebrew must be excellent," he said.

"Oh, no," I said, "it's practically nonexistent. But that's what it sounded like."

At Least, I Was Happy

2011-09-05T21:21:00.001-04:00

Six happy years! Today, as it has turned suddenly cold, my dear spouse marked the occasion of our anniversary (well, one day late) by celebrating the first of the two seasons here: Road Repair.

I celebrated by baking two apple pies, collapsing in exhaustion, and taking a three-hour nap.

And he married me anyways!

[Best conversation this week:
Me: I didn't peel the apples. I hope you don't mind.
Dr. S: You know, when we were first married, I didn't really like apple pies with the peels on.
Me: You could have told me!
Dr. S: I got used to it. Besides, what would you have done?
Me: Stopped baking you apple pies.
Dr. S: Exactly.]

Nervous

2011-08-31T23:28:00.000-04:00

Today we toured the Newly! Renovated! Hospital Birth Center! I suppose... it used to be more depressing.

I guess they're trying. But a class before you can even think about a waterbirth? Anyone for a rousing chorus of LIABILITY? And that inevitable hospital-antiseptic smell. And a model of care that involves being wheeled about whilst in labor. And... and... and... I want someone to take away the scary surgical-looking lamps and the ugly hospital bed and the weird birthing tub thing. I want my other midwives and their big comfy bed and jacuzzi and jangly ankle bracelets and peculiar love of moxibustion.

I expect, when the time comes, I'll be too busy having the baby to really care. And I like these midwives.* They are doing their best to provide low-intervention care in a high-intervention environment. I understand that they can color inside the lines, or take their toys and go get fired.

I am also, I confess, a tiny bit nervous about this labor. With Bug, my water broke at 2 PM, I was having serious contractions about 5 PM, and he was born at 10 PM. "Faster" doesn't sound like a whole lot of fun.

Whine, whine, whine.

(It could be a lot worse.)

* With current insurance: other midwives $4000, these midwives $0.

Eats Well

2011-08-28T21:58:00.002-04:00

Today for lunch, Bug had: green onions, olives, and anchovy with potato. Today for dinner, Bug had: marinated green beans.

My kid eats everything. But on any given day, he may only eat crackers. Toddlers are so weird.

(Monday: Lunch of ground cherries and smoked cheddar, by request. Seriously.)

I Shall Cease And Desist

2011-08-24T08:36:00.000-04:00

In brief: I was the youngest person at the ophthalmologist by a good 30 years, and I probably have the best vision of anyone they've seen all month. Nothing is wrong enough to notice.* Good: I'm not going blind this week. Bad: I still have an ice-pick headache that wakes me up several times a night.

My options now are A) wait and see; B) get a spinal tap. I think we'll go with Option A. I'm not that curious.

Official diagnosis: You Have A Headache.

Now we will move on to more interesting topics, like... suggestions?

*My distance vision is a little blurry in one eye at very far distances, but it's still 20/15, so... um... they totally think I'm making it up.

Make Lemonade

2011-08-22T12:50:00.001-04:00

I strongly suspect that weird-double-vision thing is coming back. The constant scintillating scotomata and the never-ending headache might be a clue!

The sole advantage is that instead of being afraid, I'm now just frigging ticked off.

Neurology will not even take a message because - wait for it- I'm not a patient! No, I am waiting for a referral. I have been waiting for two weeks while they incompetently failed to get my old medical records (I had to call various persons five times to effect this simple operation) and then, as far as I can tell, incompetently failed to read them. Now, apparently, they are waiting for my midwife to call them back. Why? Who knows. They are part of the same healthcare system and have the same damn EMR and she wrote it all down.

All I want is for someone to first pay attention, and then do something about it. This isn't a chronic condition; this is something that is getting worse and worse, and is caused by pregnancy. I am going to call the midwives over and over until someone does something. Soon. Now.

Addendum: I just talked to the midwives' triage nurse and they were all like OH SHIT, that is not good, we'll talk to neuro and call you back TODAY.

Now With More Aargh

2011-08-19T09:48:00.000-04:00

Maybe it's the weather: something to which I am violently allergic is blooming, so the outdoors is torture.

Maybe it's the two-week-long headache and generalized sense of OOOOT. Constant pain rarely improves one's mood.

Maybe it's the cranky, sick toddler and the constant screaming.

Maybe it's hormonal? I feel full of wrath, intolerance, and a general sense of discontent. It is sunny and pleasant out-of-doors, I have chocolate cake, and I just want to crawl into a closet and weep.

Unreasonable

2011-08-18T12:55:00.005-04:00

Here is a helpful hint: if you are having a mild disagreement with someone you have just met, screeching in complete seriousness"Are you RACIST?" in the middle of the conversation will distract mightily from whatever valid point you may have had. In fact, it will convince your auditors that you are a complete lunatic.

No Relation Of Mine

2011-08-17T22:30:00.000-04:00

Dear Mother-in-Law,

When you say to us, "Well, I don't think I can visit you after the baby's born because I'm driving to a quilt show [two hours away] and I can't afford to also drive up to Cold State so I'm going to the quilt show"... you might have wanted to, first, consider on how many different levels that is offensive.

As my grandmother, may she rest in peace, used to say, "At least she's no relation of mine."

At least we don't expect any better from you.

Yours,

Not A Relation

Away

2011-08-16T10:31:00.002-04:00

Dr. S recently spent the weekend away, at a friend's wedding. (I told him to go, so I don't really get to complain - much - about the utter misery of a rainy weekend, an angry toddler, and a truly epic headache.) It was all lovely except for the following:

When he got to the city in question, the hotel clerk said, "Um... yeah. so we have your reservation here. For tonight. But we... don't have any rooms."

"You can see how I would think that's your problem," Dr. S said.

(They found him a room at a very fancy hotel and charged $ rather than $$$. All was well.)

Could Have Been Worse, Could Be Better

2011-08-15T09:00:00.007-04:00

My former advisor had a small number of extremely reasonable questions (How much of this reagent? What species? For how long?) which took about 15 minutes to answer, including the hunt through boxes for an old lab notebook. Fortunately, all my old lab notebooks contain an index in the front and are surprisingly clear and detailed. It's almost like I did it on purpose. Yes, I know most labs have you leave your notebooks; my old lab had everybody take them, because it took me 15 minutes, but it would take someone else an hour or two to figure out. Also, most people don't bother with an index.

The headache persists and I foresee some thrilling times ahead.

So True

2011-08-13T23:28:00.001-04:00

On a related note, my old advisor would like me, my toddler, my thwompy fetus, and my nail-through-cranium headache to edit my !@#$% paper. Which I haven't seen in two years (Bug was a newborn, and I was dictating to Dr. S while nursing).

My father's summary of Dr. S's thesis defense neatly encapsulates my entire memory of my graduate work: "Things Do Things To Other Things."

Oh, Eeek

2011-08-11T14:20:00.001-04:00

Someone asked a question that reminded me: when Bug was a baby, he gained a pound per week for the first ten weeks. Which is about 1000 calories a day of BOOOOOB. (Then he slowed down to a pound every three weeks, and then, a couple months later, we started giving him people food out of desperation.) I had almost forgotten how hungry I was. Time to stock up on almonds and chicken, or something.

Oh, Bugger

2011-08-09T21:52:00.002-04:00

Last night: searingly painful, wake you up three times in the middle of the night headache.

First sign of weird-double-vision-thing: searingly painful, wake-you-up headaches.

Next stop, neurology. My favorite part of this is that it's so rare that I get to tell the doctors all about it. Except the wonderful neuro-opthalmologist, who is no longer covered by my insurance: he already knew. My second favorite part is that neurology alone cannot diagnose it- though I suppose they can tell me "I think you might have MS!" again- so why the heck am I going to see them anyways?

My third favorite part is the nervous/crazed look in my midwife's eye today, which read as, "If you develop this, I am handing you off to a high-risk OB faster than you can say BOO."

Now With A Side Of Pass The Pregnant Lady

2011-08-08T10:02:00.000-04:00

My midwives, quite sensibly, want me to go see my PCP for asthma management.

This would be a better idea if I had seen my actual PCP in the past year. Instead, I get whatever doctor has a slot that day- if I'm really lucky, a resident! How is this better than the midwives?

Anyhow. We get to go back for Round 3 tomorrow, I think. ("What are they going to do?" asked my mom. "You're the medical professional; how should I know?" I said.)

Can't. Breathe. Waaaah.*

*Don't worry, I can breathe well enough that my O2 sats are probably around 95%, I just feel like I can't breathe. I can tell the difference, promise. Besides, if I go to urgent care, they're going to give me albuterol and send me home. I have albuterol here.

Things My Child Does

2011-08-07T08:32:00.000-04:00

That I do not love:

Throws screaming fits on a regular basis
Hits (me)
Asks for something and then changes his mind three times
Wants to steal everyone else's trucks

That I love:

Asks for naptime
Pees on command
Eats practically anything
Throws his little arms around my neck and says "I wuv you too, sweetie-pie!"

Grief

2011-08-05T09:48:00.000-04:00

My acquaintance of the recent loss has developed an annoying Facebook tic (yes, I know, this is why nobody should ever use FB; however, it is convenient). Anyhow. I assume that it is a manifestation of her grief, because it's, er, new, and so of course I don't say anything. But it's still kind of annoying. This is it:

Any time anyone posts anything the least bit negative about their children (even something along the lines of "Some days it's hard to deal with the endless tantrums in a positive fashion" or "It's difficult juggling X and Y".... she feels the need to add "But please don't forget to be GRATEFUL for your children!"

Okay, yes, fine. But not while he's kicking and screaming in the middle of the store, okay? Would overall do? Can we have a quota of generally-but-not-specifically grateful, each day? As in, I'm very glad overall to have this child, but at this very moment, I would like to lease him to the circus for the next hour.

Much like I don't think infertility condemns someone to be endlessly grateful while throwing up in the toilet, I also don't think loss (or awareness of loss) means you have to love every single annoying thing a child does.

Blind Faith

2011-08-03T14:03:00.000-04:00

I know another mom-of-toddler who's also pregnant. She did the 1-hour glucose tolerance test and 'failed' marginally. "What did you do?" she asked.

"I read all the recent articles on it, and declined it," I said.

"I don't want to do the three-hour one," she said, "and I read a whole bunch of articles about it and I'm low-risk and I didn't have GD last time... but I'll see what my doctor says. I'll probably have to do it anyways."

Um.... what? The premise that Doctor Always Knows Best is fundamentally flawed, and the premise that every intervention should be accepted is also flawed. And this isn't a high-risk situation, either. (Her last kid was 7 pounds.) I will never understand this (culturally conditioned) impulse to accept a doctor's word as wisdom from on high.

Of course, during the whole unfortunate double vision saga, one particularly stupid ER doctor said cheerily to me "We think you might have multiple sclerosis!" and I thought "Like hell I do. 'Rule out' is not the same as 'you have', moron."*

*What I actually said, because I just wanted to get an MRI and leave, was "Mmm-hmm. We'll see." But what I thought was "Fuck off and die, idiot." Lo and behold, I did not have MS. Or a brain tumor. Or whatever other horrible but unlikely thing the idiot resident suggested.

In Which I Am A Complainy Pregnant Woman

2011-08-02T08:00:00.001-04:00

You have been warned.

Look, I am grateful that I'm having an uncomplicated pregnancy healthy baby blah blah blah. However, even if a person's been trying to have a baby for N agonizing years, I firmly support every woman's right to be miserable when being kicked simultaneously in the bladder and the round ligaments, okay?

This baby is posterior and Bug was posterior and I don't care what that stupid baby spinning website says, I could lean on a yoga ball eight hours a day and this baby would not turn around. Just. Not. I can feel the kid turn cartwheels in there, and he is never, ever anything but posterior.

There is an endless fount of well-meaning but extremely irritating advice from my in-laws, who define the words 'irresponsible' and 'unreliable'. Many other well-meaning people ask every day how I'm feeling.

How am I feeling? I'll tell you how I'm feeling. I'm in constant pain, near-constant nausea (for 26 weeks running, thank you very much, and I'm only 29 weeks pregnant), and every time I bend over it hurts. I wake up every night because something hurts. Every time I pick up my toddler he pokes me somewhere painful. If I take a walk I get dizzy and if I don't take a walk, you got it, something hurts. My lungs are being squashed, I can't breathe, and this child kicks me for 9 of 12 waking hours.

I feel GRUMPY. Now everyone stop asking.

Keeping The Romance Alive

2011-07-31T22:00:00.000-04:00

Even after six years of marriage, I can still surprise my spouse!

Today, I caught three baby bunnies with my bare hands.

(They were in my garden.)

(They're in a prairie now. Hop away, little bunnies! Also, mama bunnies, STOP having babies in my FENCED IN GARDEN!!)

Panic Meter Set Too Low

2011-07-29T09:01:00.000-04:00

This week, I cut myself while cooking. You must understand that our knives are heavy steel and extremely sharp. So, I cut through my thumbnail and sliced a nice bit of thumb.

And then I stopped the bleeding and superglued it back together, stabilized by gauze cannibalized from a bandaid.

Afterwards, it occurred to me that perhaps this was not a normal response.

Hoping

2011-07-26T22:20:00.001-04:00

Someone I know had a stillbirth a few months ago, followed by a recent miscarriage. We went to grad school together, but I haven't seen her in years. She and her spouse are very, very far away, and there's little I can do for them in practical terms.

So I made a donation in memory of her babies, and emailed her to say, I'm thinking of you both, I'm sorry for your losses, and I hope there are better times ahead.

I hope it was the right thing to do. I hope it eases her heart just a tiny, tiny bit.

I don't know what else to say.

What Urge Is This

2011-07-25T08:21:00.002-04:00

I don't know why, but today I had an overwhelming urge to cook something complicated. So I:

Went to the park and picked grape leaves
Cooked them
Went to a different park and picked mint leaves
Made chicken broth from odds and ends compulsively saved in the freezer
Made rice with the chicken broth
Made it into dolmades
Made a nondairy yogurt sauce and baked fish in it
Served the entire ensemble to my toddler, who ate two bites of grape leaves, two bowls of rice, two bites of fish, and three bowls of weird almond yogurt

The end.

Excuses, Excuses

2011-07-21T13:48:00.001-04:00

My mother-in-law's latest excuse for not coming up after Tot 2 is born? "But.. it'll be the first week of November! There might be snow!"

They live in Ohio. And even here, in November, there's never snow on the ground. We're talking the equivalent of driving in a drizzle, people.

Lame excuses aside, I don't think it's sunk in for her yet: when we said "We are no longer driving to Ohio with the child/children, as of now, until the youngest is about 4".... we really meant it.

Vagaries of Memory

2011-07-20T13:31:00.001-04:00

Do you ever look back at a memory and wonder "Did that really happen?"

Mine was from college. The pot-smoking hippie crowd used to hold a variety of strange concerts. One night, a bluegrass band played one of the best shows I've ever heard, in this tiny rebuilt pine-scented barn in the middle of the Great Lawn. And in my memory, they were Old Crow Medicine Show (a now-extremely-famous modern bluegrass band).

Later, I thought that couldn't possibly be right. Why on earth would they play a college town, population 2500? But I just asked the Internet. And they were really there. That really happened.

Annoyance By Proxy

2011-07-18T21:53:00.000-04:00

Dr. S's boss, as I have mentioned before, is a mildly psychotic tinpot tyrant.

They are trying to get a paper published. They submitted it; the rejection came back today. They agreed to consider their options for a day. Dr. S and I talked about it; he would have to do a lot of reformatting, but he wants to submit it to Appropriate Respected Journal, one of whose editors has already told him, in person, at a conference, that they would be very interested. He went downstairs to email his boss and try to boot her into action (her turnaround time for editing papers is eight months because she is insane; normal people do this in two to four weeks).

She had ALREADY submitted it to Third Tier Completely Inappropriate Journal- without Dr. S's consent. If it is published in TTCIJ, his job-application prospects go down by an order of magnitude. Also, it's a journal full of unicycle-repair diagrams, and this paper is about how to grow orange trees in cold climates: completely inappropriate. He's upset, I'm upset, and I don't see any way this is going to end well. He can and will withdraw the submission, but then it needs to go somewhere else, and will she take another eight months just for spite? Probably.

And people ask me why I don't miss academic science.

Birth Memories, 5

2011-07-16T20:00:00.002-04:00

The midwives fish the placenta out of the birth tub and show it to me. It looks like a cooked jellyfish mated with a large steak. "Do you want it?" they ask.

"NO!!" I say, and completely involuntarily, I put out my hand to push away the idea. I am grateful that it functioned well for nine months; now we are both done with it. Please, go set it on fire somewhere else.

Birth Memories, 4

2011-07-15T20:00:00.002-04:00

I am having back labor, because the baby is posterior. I am sitting in the tub, in a great deal of pain. My mother is somewhere in the room, crying. My spouse is sitting next to the tub, looking worried, possibly also crying.

I cannot possibly handle anyone else but me being upset in this moment.

I wrap myself in three towels, ask the student midwife for some ice cubes, and hide in the bathroom, where I stay for the next two hours. I come back out right before the baby is born.

Birth Memories, 3

2011-07-14T20:00:00.002-04:00

I am in the neuro-ophthalmologist's office, waiting to be squeezed in between 80-year-olds with cataracts. People almost never have neuro-opthalmological emergencies without pointy objects or head trauma. However, I have managed! I am SPECIAL.

I am having contractions every ten minutes... nine. Eight and a half. Dr. S asks if he should tell the receptionist that I am in labor. "I don't KNOW!" I say, and bend over the chair. I am, like most women in labor, neither fully rational nor fully there. He looks at my mother, who says YES! Now! Nownownow!, then goes and talks to the receptionist.

Thirty seconds later, the doctor and all five nurses pour out of the exam rooms, looking extremely worried. They offer me food, water, a washcloth, a chair, and some tylenol. They bite their nails. Thirty minutes later, we walk back out the door, reassured that I am not, at least for now, going blind.

Birth Memories, 2

2011-07-13T20:00:00.004-04:00

The baby's been born. I'm laying in bed with him, and the midwife asks, "How's your vision?"

"I can see my hand, and I can see you, and I can see the canopy outside the window, but I can't focus past that," I say. And everyone laughs, because apparently, it's foggy as a London pea-souper and nobody can see outside.

Later, I don't even remember this.

Birth Memories, 1

2011-07-12T20:00:00.003-04:00

I once promised Belle I wouldn't post a birth story (plus, it's pretty boring: I went into labor, eight hours later my kid came out, then there was a lot of lidocaine, the end). But I keep reading Bionic Mama's highly entertaining and only mildly horrifying birth story and remembering bits and pieces. So here's one:

I'm in the giant tub at the birth center. Or maybe I'm leaning on the bed, or in the shower, or hiding in the bathroom; I wasn't exactly present, if you know what I mean. There is a midwife, in her late forties, immensely experienced and a little sarcastic, and a sweet, blonde student midwife. "Is the baby coming soon?" I ask the older midwife.

"No," she says, "it's going to be a little while."

"Can't you just LIE to me?" I say, exasperated.

"No," she says, "I generally make it a practice not to lie to my patients."

"You could make an exception here," I say.

Much later, I ask her again. "Yes," she says, "very soon."

"Well, now I know it's true, if you finally said it."

Public Service Announcement

2011-07-11T14:13:00.000-04:00

It turns out that Advair Diskus does, in fact, contain medically relevant amounts of milk protein. Well! I'm so glad we settled that empirically! Nothing like some itchy ears and headache to round out the weekend. Turns out that one should NOT inhale finely powdered substances to which one is severely allergic!

I have calculated: there are no more than 10 micrograms casein per dose.* However, I have also had bad reactions to eating no more than one milligram of milk protein. I calculated that, too, from past experience.

It also turns out that the contraindications-and-interactions database used by most medical practices does not list 'milk' as an ingredient in this medication. (The company includes it, as I said before, at the very bottom of the labelling.) I would complain, but true dairy allergy is so rare in adults that they'd probably ignore me.

Let me add (though I've probably said it before): it drives me crazy when I say "I'm allergic to milk" and people say "Oh, you're lactose intolerant." No, that is not what I said. I said allergic. Wheezing, coughing, itching, hives. Nobody gets "Oh, so you hate kitties?" when they say "I'm allergic to cats." The pharmacist informed me that a lactose-intolerant person would probably need to inhale 3 grams lactose to get a reaction. That's nice. ALLERGIC. Wheezing, coughing, itching, goddamn HIVES, people.

Also, let me add that this same random Giant Chain Pharmacy pharmacist, even though he clearly thought I was off my rocker, called the company three times until he got a real answer, then called me back, then called my doctor's office and got it fixed. Bless his responsible little heart.

*If I had been willing to stay on the phone with GSK for, oh, forever, I'm sure I could have eventually gotten hold of someone who had the spec sheet for the !@#$ lactose. (I estimated using this.) However, it's much like calling bio suppliers: you get a receptionist, then a person who's qualified to answer the equivalent of "I can't find the RETURN key!", then two people reading off same spec sheet you're already holding, then someone in the wrong department, then put on hold for ten minutes, and then, maybe, a half-hour later, a competent tech.

A Little Learning

2011-07-08T13:42:00.000-04:00

This morning, I read through all the prescribing information on my New Magical Asthma Meds- you know, that enormously long sheet in tiny print that they include for the delectation of the medical professionals and professionally curious among us. At the very, very end, it says "Contains lactose (contains milk proteins)."

I have a severe dairy-protein allergy. So what I need to know is: does it have a legally-relevant quantity, or a biochemically-relevant quantity?

The pharmacist is confused why I am asking this to start. The company says "Ahh... it's USP grade?" My doctor says "Well, you took it before [NO, I took the HFA-propelled version] and the lactose protein* probably isn't relevant."

None of these people has inspired me with confidence.

*Lactose isn't a protein.

Atypical

2011-07-05T20:35:00.000-04:00

Sunday, I was talking to my mother. "We sent you a little something," she said. "Let us know when you get it."

(Usually this means a toy truck or a pattern or a toddler cup.)

Today, I opened an envelope from my parents. It had a check for $1000. I nearly had a heart attack.

This evening, I called my parents and said, thank you very much, and also, have you been ABDUCTED BY ALIENS recently?

(My parents are nice, normal, financially stable, responsible human beings who gave us this with no expectations attached. "Your father's business has been doing really well," Mom said, "and we thought it would be fun to send it to you!" Well, we think it's fun too. Just unexpected.)

Dear 4th of July,

2011-07-04T22:35:00.000-04:00

Now that I have small children, I hate you. Next year, I am going to Canada. Or I am getting a magical device that will allow me to log your address, then wake YOU up at 2 AM, 4 AM, and 6 AM.

With fury and too many fireworks,

A New Canadian.

Dear Spouse,

2011-07-03T15:49:00.003-04:00

No, you cannot finish your lunch before you take the toddler to the bathroom.

Sincerely,

Your Loving Wife

Dear Toddler,

2011-06-30T09:32:00.000-04:00

There is a relationship between how much you scream and how much I don't give a toss. It is not linear. It is exponential.

Sincerely yours,

Your Loving Mama

Signs Your Toddler Is Ready For The Potty, But You Are Not

2011-06-29T08:17:00.000-04:00

Loathe mopping with a burning, burning passion
Am uncomfortable bending over repeatedly
Do not wish to pay for toddler underwear
Am a cranky, cranky pregnant lady

He:

Repeatedly asks to go to the potty
Promptly does his toddler business
Usually has a dry diaper when he asks
Asks for a clean diaper when necessary
Insists on wearing the MATER THE TOW TRUCK!!! underwear
Thinks the entire thing is awesome

Oh, save me from the peed-upon floors. (I know, I know. My toddler is asking to be potty-trained, and I'm complaining??? Insert obligatory smack.)

Wait For It

2011-06-27T19:28:00.000-04:00

Spouse to me:

"Do you want some more coffee?" (After he has poured it all into his cup, with milk, to which I am deathly allergic.)

"Can you watch Bug for a few minutes while I put this away? [Door slam.]" (While I am in the kitchen, covered to the wrists in gooey dinner-making.)

"Is it okay if he has raisin bran for dinner?" (After he has already offered it to Bug.)

"Do you want me to clean that up?" (Something which he has not cleaned up, every night for three weeks.)

In related news, my patience has taken off for parts unknown, perhaps in search of sunny weather.

Conditioning

2011-06-25T13:57:00.001-04:00

"Stimulus, response! Stimulus, response! Don't you ever think?"

My parents, who both have degrees in psychology (among other things), were trained by a bunch of Skinnerians. It's not entirely surprising that I have, to some extent, operant-conditioned my child.

However! I have used my powers for good. Bug says please and thank you, mostly unprompted, because he is lavishly praised for being polite, plus he gets what he wants. I ignore him when he's annoying me, and sometimes it even works. He asks to go pee in the potty (because he gets a yogurt raisin). And he stopped biting me in the nipple, around six months old, after about the tenth time I screamed and flicked him in the cheek.

But my favorite of all is now bedtime. Now, remember that I nursed this child to sleep every single night for 23 months. It took about two hours every night, and sometimes longer. It took four months to re-condition him. Through a long series of replacing nursing with other things, we now: Read a book, hand him teddy, put a blanket over him, sing one verse of a song, pat him on the back, say "Night-night, sweetie-pie, I love you" and close the door. It takes five minutes. He goes to sleep and wakes up when his light comes on in the morning (it's on a timer). There was a lot of screaming, and wailing, and unhappiness, but oh. my. goodness. It was worth it.

I don't think every child can be conditioned in the same way, with the same stimuli - but I do think behavior, especially within the normal-small-child range, can be modified by conditioning. After all, what else is a time-out for?* Or praise, or rewards for good behavior.

(I'm not so sure about the whole homunculus thing though.)

*Aside from "get out of my hair before I sell you to the circus."

Very Random

2011-06-22T14:18:00.000-04:00

Now with completely incidental re-coloring so I could fix my HTML code! Anyhow.

1) Pregnancy. Ouch. Whomp whomp. Ouch.

2) Thomas the Fricking Tank Engine gave my toddler a nightmare. Apparently there was a "scary owl! In a tree! Scary! No watch Thomas!"

3) Starting to panic about the Endless List Of Summer Home Improvements. Included: fix 2000 small things, polyurethane everything we haven't polyurethaned yet, and do something complicated so the roof won't drip in the winter. PANIC!!!!

This One's For Mary

2011-06-21T13:16:00.002-04:00

RSS comment testing. If you get a comment (in your feed), it's working.

Also: Per Bionic, if you have other complaints about my code, now's the time. :)

Skepticism

2011-06-18T08:17:00.000-04:00

The point of the elevator/door story is, of course, that scientists are trained skeptics.

It never fails to amaze me when people just take their doctor's word for something insane. I could give examples all day ("Your kid won't use a fork! He must have something wrong with him!!" Or... he's two). Or when they simply believe something insane (vaccines cause autism! sinus infections are contagious! homeopathy is not the placebo effect!) that is contrary to all evidence.

I know that I spent ten years being trained to evaluate evidence. I know that my already-high level of skepticism is now at the top of the scale, and that respect for authority, including medical, is ingrained in kindergarten, along with standing-in-line.*

But I always think of that line from The Wizard of Oz: "But they have one thing you haven't got: a diploma."

*Such a truly American thing, our patient and orderly line-forming. Or possibly, legacy of British Empire.

Scientists

2011-06-16T09:00:00.003-04:00

I used to work in a tall-ish building with hot, dim, smelly stairs, entirely filled with labs and scientists. (Everyone took the elevator.) So Dr. S and I have a long-running not-quite-joke: A scientist is someone who, seeing N people standing in front of the elevator, will still go push the "up" button.* Independent observations are key!

The other day Dr. S and a colleague went to a seminar. Two guys were standing outside. "It's locked," one said.

The colleague walked up and tried the door handle. It opened.** Dr. S laughed, and the other guys looked miffed.

A scientist is totally someone who will push the button again. Just in case.

*To be fair, the light was broken. But also, if ten people were waiting for the elevator, the 11th person would still push the button.
**Turns out they remotely unlock the doors right before the seminars. Anyhow.

Minor Irritations

2011-06-13T18:56:00.003-04:00

Every time someone makes a comment to imply that I don't look Jewish, there's a tiny part of me that screams.

Of course, I'm blonde and middle-height and have an Anglo-Saxon last name, and no, I don't look Jewish. And our congregation has both an Indian-American gentleman (and blonde wife, and two children) and an African-American family, and a lovely redheaded lady who, I'm pretty sure, is transgendered and converted*, and I'm sure they get even more annoyed. Still.

Your irritation of the week? Don't be shy, now.

*Converts, rather poetically, take the Hebrew name of "son/daughter of Abraham and Sarah".

Miss Manners

2011-06-10T08:00:00.000-04:00

My mother's all-time favorite Miss Manners column, republished in one of her books, runs something like this:

Q: Someone else's child is doing something intolerable and dangerous to persons or property, and the parent is either physically or mentally absent. How can I politely discourage this dreadful behaviour?

A: Grab the child by the arm and say, "Now, dear, you really don't want to do that. Someone might get hurt." And give a gentle pinch so that the child is in no doubt about exactly who might get hurt, and by whom.

This week at the library, someone's wretched seven-year-old was drop-kicking foot-long plastic blocks towards the babies. (For fifteen minutes, while her father ignored it.) And I did. I grabbed her arm and said, "This is not a soccer field, this is a library. That is not safe. [PINCH.]"

You know what? I didn't do her any lasting harm. And she stopped. She may even think twice next time.

Academics Can Be Real Jerks

2011-06-08T10:07:00.000-04:00

Not you, dear reader. Dr. S's boss. She epitomizes the petty-fiefdom ideal, complete with serfs of varying castes.

Dr. S has just departed for a week-long conference. In general, his boss refuses to pay cab fare. But! She will pay for parking at the airport!

We have one car. So:

1) I drive 3 hours, with angry toddler, to and from the airport. My gas, time, and annoyance are not recompensed. I must leave the house at, respectively, 5 AM on a Sunday and 8 PM on a Friday, which is Shabbat, when I don't !@#$ing roll.

2) We park the car at the airport all week, leaving me on foot, or by deeply-inconvenient bus. (It takes a bus hour to go 15 minutes away. Don't even ask.) I can walk to: the drugstore, the library, the gas station, and the hardware store. I cannot walk to: anywhere useful.

3) Dr. S takes the bus. For 3 hours. Each way.

4) Dr. S, his luggage, and his poster ride his bike 14 miles. Each way. At 4:30 AM, and then back in the dark.

Or, what we actually did:

5) He takes a damn taxi anyways, and harasses his boss until she pays him back. And if she doesn't like it, SHE can a) lend me a car all week or b) take my spouse to the airport herself.

This is so amazingly unprofessional. How do academics get away with this? (No, I know. It is rhetorical.)

And How Was Your Morning?

2011-06-07T08:00:00.000-04:00

It was every bit as awesome as it looks. My house smells like a citronella bush exploded inside a geranium.

And I yelled at the poor little guy ("NO CUDDLE! Mama has to wash the floor! NOT a good plan! You made a REALLY BIG MESS!!") and now I feel really, really, really terrible about it.

Bug probably feels not as terrible: he's enjoying the sleep of the righteously exhausted toddler while I sob in my bed alone.

Edge

2011-06-06T12:25:00.003-04:00

I am seriously considering poisoning the neighbor's dogs. (All right: half-seriously.) I can only be woken at 2:30 so many times before really losing it. I can also only tell them to keep their dogs inside at night so many times (every other month for a year).

What I have already done, however, is programmed the police number into speed-dial. I hope the cops wake them every night that I call. Maybe after three or four times of being woken by the police, in person, in the middle of the night, they'll get the message.

Of course, they are dumb as ROCKS, so maybe not.

Insubstantial

2011-06-04T08:00:00.003-04:00

I have decided: I will stop feeling guilty about having Dr. S watch Bug so I can sew. I rarely sew anything just for fun: I make Bug clothes because he needs them, I mend pants, I make myself maternity clothes so we don't have to spend money.

This is my contribution to the household economy. This is part of the work that I am doing so that we can afford to live the way we do (nice house, one parent at home, healthy food, car that runs, !@#$ expensive dentistry). I make dinner, I economize mightily, I sew.

To wit: I have made the following in the last 2.5 months:

Wedding present for lovely SIL

Birthday present for one of Bug's tot friends

Maternity skirts, made from other skirts

Maternity shorts, courtesy of the local thrift store + some fabric

A frickin' lot of diapers. I still have 7 more to sew.

Plus three pairs of toddler shorts, two pairs of toddler pants, two aprons, and a complicated harness (these last three items on commission, in exchange for babysitting). No wonder I'm tired of sewing.