a happy halloween

It's amazing what a year will do. My tiny baby chili pepper has grown into quite the little chicken nugget...

(I've grown a bit myself, compliments of the bun in the oven :-P)

We had a fun and happy halloween. We carved pumpkins.

We went trick-or-treating.


And although Steven didn't dress up as his sexy pirate-self this year, I had this picture of him fondly in my mind...

Maybe next year I can convince him. After all, L will be another year older, we'll have another addition to our family for a character role (he'll be 8 months by then - yikes!), and it would so much fun for us all to all dress up. Better yet, with a theme. I mean, look at this cool family!

strategic holiday planning

Something dawned on me yesterday while carving pumpkins. Call it an epiphany of sorts, one that I am sure plenty others have stumbled upon already and I am now just realizing. Nevertheless, in the midst of pumpkin guts it occured to me that just as summer left us and the days have grown shorter; just when things felt damper and bleak, a holiday has arrived. And although insignificant to a degree it has managed to brighten my spirits.

And is it no wonder that when autumn takes hold of our country that we also have successive holidays approaching? October: Halloween, November: Thanksgiving, December: Christmas.... are these intentional plannings to counteract the seasonal blues?

Well, all I know is that carving pumpkins last night certainly helped lift my spirits. And now I am anticipating Tuesday evening's experience. Some light trick-or-treating with L and passing out candy to all of the kids and seeing what they've dressed up as. It will be a welcome night full of smiles.

first tattoo

L was given a temporary tattoo from my doctor after a visit at her office this morning. She was very fond of the picture of a duck on a little piece of paper. When we got home I transferred the duck from the paper onto her arm. This she wasn't so thrilled about; at least initially. Not only was the duck stuck on her arm and not coming off, but the picture of the duck on the paper was no longer there.

No worries - she has since adjusted and has come to terms with her new tattoo.

And as for me, I'm around, just not in the best of spirits lately. I'll be back sometime later to write. When... as for now, I don't know. Hopefully sooner than later.

the 15-month-old

Hello, friends. I realize that my posts have been more than serious lately, and perhaps even slightly cynical, so I would like to throw in a post of fresh air.

And what's more refreshing than this face?

Okay, I know; I'm biased.
But let's just talk about my little "L" for a bit.

Now 15 months, and nothing-but-toddler, she is becoming her own individual person, with her own independent ideas, which are unmistakably apparent as small battles of wills emerge.

I continue to explain things to her: we have to change your diaper before we can go out to the car; you need to hold mommy's hand in the parking lot if you want to walk, otherwise I need to carry you; pet the dogs gently like this, see? they like that much better... and so on.

I even talk to her about her unborn brother on the way. I read somewhere recently that children this age most strongly identify with animals, so I'm eager to get my hands on some "mommy dog & baby dog" books to help get the concept through to her. She is in love with dogs. "Doggie!" is a common exclamation from her mouth whether it's at the park or on the tv.

Right now her favorite stuffed friend is the Mickey we got in Disneyland this past August. She affectionately calls him "Diddy" and this makes me smile as it inevitabley reminds me of P. Diddy.

She now wears a size 4 shoe and is in size 18-month clothing. Some new words are: pretty (which sounds like "pwee"), hot (which sounds more like "dot"), okay, duck, and juice. (The latter two aren't too new but are more commonly used these days.)

I've succumbed to occasionally turning on the Sprout network to allow myself 10 minutes here and there to get things done. She squeals with utter glee when "Lucy" the firefly makes an appearance. For those of you who have never watched Sprout, don't bother asking.

And I'm sure I can think of a billion other little things but I'll save those for her memory book :o)

lithotomy position

This kills me. Infuriates me. This country, its medical system, and its practices are so screwed up. (See exerpt below. Original from wikipedia here)

The Lithotomy position is the position of lying on the back with knees bent and elevated above the hips with the thighs apart.

As a birth position, it has been popular in the past with obstetricians as it allows a good view of the birth process. However, the position is not conducive to a smooth labor as it constricts the birth canal, puts pressure on the coccyx, prevents the fetal ejection reflex from occurring, and does not allow the mother to move during the process, therefore increasing pain in labor. Today, few birth centres or labour wards in Western countries use the lithotomy position for active labour. One notable exeception, however, is the United States, where the lithotomy position remains common for active labor.

A friend of mine who is also pregnant is currently having trouble deciding where to have her baby. As a nurse herself, who works in the NICU at a local hospital, she wants to birth somewhere other than her workplace to maintain her privacy. She is appalled, however, that no OB or hospital will even entertain having her birth with them without a mandatory IV. Not to mention, most places she has queried has told her it is unlikely she'll be allowed to move about freely during labor, even if she is a healthy, low-risk, normal candidate. They like to keep women tied down to their beds hooked up to monitors and IVs and whatnot.

Ugh. That is exactly why I stayed away from the hospital. Not to mention I normally can't stand hospitals in general. I seem to always get light-headed and feel like I can't breathe in them.

on employment

I consider myself extrememly lucky to able to be L's full-time stay at home parent. I couldn't imagine missing out on the countless priceless memories and experiences she has provided me. I couldn't imagine how difficult it would be to drop her off at a daycare in someone else's charge.

To let someone else witness her first steps and other such milestones and react ho-hum-ly to it;

To let someone else have the responsibility of staying on top of her diaper status, under which some inevitable negligence or lack of immediacy in changing would increase incidences of rashes.

I feel extremely fortunate to know that I'm the one in charge of providing her with the care she needs and knowing what's going on in her life. How she got that bump on her head. Why she's afraid of frogs. What the new sound she's making means. I am grateful I don't have to rely on someone else and worry about trusting their report of her day.

And I realize that not every parent is afforded this luxury. Then again, not every parent considers it a luxury; some moms I know couldn't wait to get back into their stimulating work environment. Regardless of the choice, everyone who has a choice should consider themselves fortunate, as not everyone has a choice.

Though I can't help but to admit there is some sort of pressure. Be it societal or what, there is a pressure to be more; do more. Parent-, homemaker-, businesswoman-, lovemaker -EXTRAORDINAIRE. Be it all; do it all. If not, you're short of a real woman. I know it's a load of crap but the images and messages in the media are clear.

I had a monthly graphic design gig where I'd design a newsletter for a university back east each month. It paid well and it afforded me the convenience of working from home. To be exact, I technically still have the job, it has just decreased in frequency. I don't know when I'll be contacted for the next issue; it could be months. This really bums me out because it was a little extra income that paid for a utility or two and also gave me the sense of contributing financially. That felt really good.

I also started doing Mary Kay back in February to additionally supplement my contribution. It was a logical choice because once again I was able to work it around my schedule and still be with L. And I loved and used the product... bonus :o) But to be truthful, it is a lot more work than it lets on to be, and hasn't proven as fruitful as I'd hoped. I knew from the get-go I wasn't a sales-type of person, but thought if I could just get a good-sized dependable costumer-base who liked the product and wanted to purchase it through me, I'd be all set. Well, didn't pan out. And if I wish to increase my costumer-base it means putting on my sales-face and getting out there. And like I said before, I'm not the sales-type person. So I'm at a cross-roads of trying to decide what to do as far as that is concerned.

Steven is supportive of me staying at home and taking care of L. But once in a blue moon something will slip from his lips that is conducive of an attitude that seems the contrary. It happened this past weekend, which is why all this is on my mind. And being the pregnant, hormonal, over-sensitive and sad person I've been, it got to me. He was quick to comfort me and assure me he is happy with me raising our little girl and our upcoming little boy, and that the remark that slipped was more of a light-hearted and not-so-serious comment. He was sincere; it's true. I'm just way too serious lately.

So while I don't have to worry about employment for five years, I'm still distressed and fretting where I will fit into this world so far as a job goes.

confessions & complaints

Happy Friday the 13th.

I love waking up early before my sweetpea gets up. Sipping coffee, checking e-mail, reading blogs, and writing if I'm afforded the time.

Okay, that's the extent of the happy-go-lucky natured material for this post. Don't read on if you can't handle it.

Last night I had my grad class over at the university. I dropped L off with her daddy at 3:45 and drove over for my 4:15 class. Last night I also had "centering" - my monthly prenatal check up. It's called centering because it's not just me but a whole group of women at the same gestation who meet for the prenatal check-up's together. I like it because it provides a sense of community; opportunity for friendship and support.

(Confession coming...) I was there one month ago and was reading my chart regarding previous visits. I had met with a midwife I didn't know firsthand at the practice at the beginning of this pregnancy. Likewise, she didn't know me. Apparently there's a protocol for notating information gathered at initial appointments that follows the format of S.O.A.P. Anyone know what that acronym means?

Well, I had left that appointment feeling good because I thought we got a long quite well and shared some great words with each other. However, reading my chart last month I got the opposite impression and didn't like some things she disclosed. Apparently she thought I was "sweet" but "difficult to examine." WTF? I'm sorry, but I have a very close relationship with the other midwives there and nothing to that extent of b.s. has ever been notated or communicated even suggestively.

So last night I brought a Liquid Paper Dryline White Out with the sole intention of whiting out her bizarre and irrelevant commentary. I know I'm probably complaining and overly sensitive, but I don't want that crapola in my chart. I know the other midwives know differently but where did she get off being so damn subjective and arbitrary? And I can't even fathom where she'd derive such speculations from! I know most normal people would let it go, or even better yet actually confront the person who wrote the commentary, but I just wanted to make it go away quietly. So that's what I did. I took it into my own hands.

And now I feel better.
*Sipping coffee*

I think I have a problem with caring too much about what people think. I also think that this stems from the fact that some people are just downright malevolent. When I woke up this morning to come downstairs, I saw a couple walking their schnauzer past our house. We had worked on some front yard landscaping this past weekend and it is still coming together. Some of the irrigation is still above ground and the plants are small and need to become established. It's a work in progress.

Well, the woman turns to her partner and points critically at our yard and makes a sneer that's undeniably obvious even from several yards away inside our home. As if she were saying, "How appalling." Why is stupid crap like this so infuriating to me lately? I should be able to shake it off and comment to myself, "Just wait until that loser sees it when it's finished," but something's broken in me. And stupid shit is making me upset, which in turn makes me sad.

In other complaints, my golden retriever has me at wits end. First off, I have little hands-on experience with the breed. I grew up with westies. I know westies inside and out. I know their quirks and characteristics and how to cater to them. But Shadow the golden is an enigma in many ways to me. She is certainly no terrier. Steven wanted a golden. I read great things about them and agreed it would make a great addition to the family. But I have no clue what I'm dealing with.

I adore her, but she drives me bananas sometimes. First off, I can't walk her. She pulls every which way and she's just too big of a dog to handle that kind of behavior with. I've tried constructive discipline and instructive walks but honestly don't have the time, energy, or patience. I also have a stubborn part of me that wants Steven to do it since he was the one who was all-about-a-golden.

I walk Tatum everyday. She's a joy. She heels and pays keen attention to me. She doesn't startle.

Shadow is also the biggest scaredy dog I've ever known. And I admittedly have no sympathy for it. If we are walking down the street and a car goes by, kiss composure goodbye. Ugh. It's just too much drama. I really feel bad not walking her because she really needs the exercise but I dread the drama.

A neighbor is having a pool put in behind us and my recent source of grief is I can't get Shadow to go outside to go to the bathroom. I literally have to drag the very big girl out the backdoor, after which she will whine, whimper, and scratch at the backdoor to get back in. It's sadly pathetic. I exhibit patience and kindness to her but I am seriously losing my mind. She is terrified of the bulldozer and it's making life difficult right now. If only I could walk her to get her to use the bathroom... but right now she's terrified to even leave the house to go outside.

Help... anyone?

oh, snap

Do you remember the first time you snapped?
The first time you were pushed too far and completely lost it?

I do.

It was in the 2nd grade. It was during recess. And the recipient of my unforgiving rage was a boy in class. Jason Clark(e?).

I remember him being a husky, borderline chubby, unkempt, stereotypical trailer home looking fellow (no prejudice here; my aunt lived in one when she was alive; he probably didn't even live in one anyway), who seemed as though he never washed his face or hands, had matted dirty blond hair, wore hideous tacky A Team t-shirts (or shirts of that nature) and was considered "not cool" by his fellow peers. He wasn't one of the school natives (as in having been there since kindergarten). I think he had moved to CT from FL.

It's amazing how much we are capable of remembering when we stop to think about things. I had no clue I knew all that.

Anyway, it was recess, and I can't even remember what it was that caused me to lose it completely. All I know was that my antagonist's bait was verbal in nature, and most likely some sort of bedeviling, and I had downright had enough. It obviously wasn't a one time incident. Whether from him or others previously as well, it had accumulated enough for me to reach the point where I couldn't take it anymore. As the saying goes, it was the straw that broke the camel's back. I needed to release.

I opened up a can of whoop-ass on that dumbass.

And man, while I tried my hardest to hurt him the best I could, he held it together pretty well. But it was a façade. He was hurting hard on the inside. He tried to fight back but I was relentless. I went for his face. I tore it as hard as I could with my fingernails. I wanted to hurt him.

I remember our teacher having a shock-like-reaction to the brief yet intense incident, just standing there out of absolute disbelief and not really knowing what to do. She was probably alarmed that the quiet and socially handicapped girl - who was routinely passive when people made fun of her or walked all over her - was actually was retaliating.

After the altercation we went back inside to class. Don't remember anything after that.

But I do remember the phonecall that came that night at home.

It was Jason's mom. She was furious. And she completely unveiled the truth behind the "tough" front Jason put on that day. She told my mom how he was emotionally scarred, terrified and crying uncontrollably "from what your daughter did to him". I'm sure there was some truth to it but I also think she overreacted and embellished a bit. She went on and on about the scratch marks he bore, which probably wasn't exaggerated.

My mom confronted me after the phone call.
Remember that feeling?
The "Oh shit - here it comes. What am I gonna say? What is she going to do to me?" feeling?

I lied.
I made up some story to make it all his fault like he deserved it. Not like any story would justify my actions, but a second-grader's reasoning isn't exactly that advanced. That's probably why I don't remember what really provoked me. I don't even remember the lie. Mom gave me the "it wasn't right" speech and I can't remember if I had to apologize on the phone or not - probably did (I'd put money on it; my mom was like that) - but don't remember much of the consequences of that day.

Memory is funny like that sometimes.

phone is ringing, oh my god

Phone is Ringing, Oh My God
Get It Together
See What's Happening
BEASTIE BOYS

My dad called last night. It was a bit past 8 p.m. (which meant 11 p.m. his time - east coast) and I was in the middle of changing a diaper. Of course I put things down for a second to grab the phone (it was a non-poopy, therefore a non-threat to the sanitation of our living room, diaper) because Steven was up in Phoenix and I thought he was calling to say g'night. Nope. Dad.

Sigh.

He was driving home from a golf thing he had been at all day. Something about pars. Something about Milford Bank. "Good job." "Aw, too bad." "Well, at least you had fun." It really wasn't about calling to talk with me. It was calling because he was on the road driving home and it was convenient. Something to do. Someone to talk to.

All I had to do was grunt an occasional "uh huh" into the receiver, pressed between my cheek and shoulder, diaper in one hand, restraining child in other, and my dad seemed pleased. Almost unaware. He had an audience. He could listen to himself talk about things that were important to him and I was there to listen to these things. That was what was important.

He talked about his parents and mom-in-law. Bashed my mom's brother per usual for riding his motorcycle too much and not helping his mother - or my mom help their mother. Praised my mother for being such a hard worker, which she is, and deserves.

Did the usual pity-me speech about how he does nothing but good for his son - my brother - and yet he hates him and makes his life miserable. Swears at him. Swears that he will get my father kicked out of the house my any means possible.

Dad told me my brother recently jumped out of his car going 40 mph because he couldn't stand being near him anymore.

The funny thing is, I did the same thing once, too. I wonder if my father remembers.
I remember.
He called me crazy and went on and on and ON about how I needed serious help. It's his goings ons that makes people want to jump out of cars.

I'm venting. And I've known it since I started. And I haven't stopped because I frankly don't give a damn. Sometimes we need to vent.

never put stuffed animals

in the back window of your car.

bounce wit me

Ever get a draft or two going but just can't seem to get them on their feet to publish them? Seems I can't write about anything very well lately. And I don't mean dotting i's and crossing t's and all the grammar stuff, but just being able to comprehensively express an idea through writing. Everything seems jumbled and complex. Like it won't come together.

It's 6:40 and Steven just left for work. Packed his suitcase last night. He's going up to Phoenix today. The grand opening of new college of medicine campus is tonight. Of all trips we should have arranged to go up together for, this should have been one... but after our last trip to Phoenix it proved more trouble than worth, considering his work load, hours, and the effect it has on us all being up there. (It was fun, in most respects, but in others it was just difficult with a 14-month-old.) We collectively decided it would be best, especially for L, to stay here at home.

So today we're going on an inflatable date. No, not with one of those dolls; to one of those places. Some indoor inflatable wonderland. Going with our neighbor and her 22-month-old.

Hoping we can bounce all our troubles, worries, and sorrows away.

theatric oranges & apple picking

Things have been a bit busy lately and I haven't had much of an urge to purge my thoughts down on paper - or rather on white glowing template.

We came home Thursday from Phoenix. First of all, my sincere apologies to wannabe, I completely forgot about getting in touch with you about us coming up. And I had intended to do so the next time we were spending a legitimate amount of time up there. I suck. Next time. Yes: next time, we meet in Phoenix, baby. This'll give me some time to brief myself on Grey's... a show the whole world seems to watch (at least 99% of my girlfriends) except me.

Onward. We got home from Phoenix in the nick of time for my evening grad class. After our regular scheduled class we went to the campus theatre to see a play as a requirement.

That was the best damn requirement ever.

The name of the play was called For the Love of Three Oranges. It was adapted to entertain children as its primary audience.

Seriously, I need to go to the theatre more often. It is amazingly good for the soul. I walked out of there feeling so revived. It was a liberating experience to see all of these people assuming whimsical roles of characters and acting out with no inhibitions. Inspiring. Awesome. And that spiritual "fix" only cost $4.00. Oh yeah.

Saturday we got together with some friends and drove two hours east to Willcox to pick apples at Apple Annie's. I haven't gone "picking" anything for quite a few years; the last time was when we lived back east.

A great time was had by all. And before we knew it, the day got away, and before we knew it again, the weekend had vanished, and before we could believe it, the week was upon us and I found myself here reflecting upon it all. I guess that old saying is true: Time flies. Quite honestly, I believe it does so whether you're having fun or not. I think it's more of a question of busy.