Off To Paraguay

So a few weeks ago I caved to the demands of my pal L and signed up for Facebook. It's been an interesting experience, I think half of my high school is on there. Since I skipped my reunion I got to have all my "WHAT THE FUCK HE HAS SIX KIDS?!" moments at home like God intended. And I didn't have to hit the gym or diet. AWESOME.

And it's been largely a fun experience. I've had lunch with an old friend, one I had forgotten how much I used to enjoy. I get to see adorable pictures of everyone's kids. It's a low committment thing.

But today an ex-boyfriend friended me. And I accepted automatically.

I wish I could take it back actually. I didn't mean to hit accept. And now, with the conventions of Facebook, I can't take it back without making it a Thing. Something that has more meaning than it really does. God am I mindfucking this much?

This person was mean to me. That seems like a small thing doesn't it. But he was cruel and really messed me up for a long time. I don't know that he meant to be, I don't care. I am over it but I don't really want to deal with him again. Not even in my social networking life.

Really, I should be able to launch him to Paraguay with just the powers of my mind. That is the kind of skill a girl should be able to cultivate.

And Now I Love Cher

I am socially stupid. I don't make small talk well, am actually reserved when I first meet some one (and then cannot stop talking once we are friends) and wow I just don't like to put in the time for a lot of friends (WOW I AM AN ASSHOLE). J juggles dozens of friends but I can't manage it and it gives me hives just thinking about it.

I do have girlfriends. But my best friend lives in Denver. And a lot of my friends live far from me or are in the same situation as I am--super busy with small children. So it's not like we are out boozing on Saturday nights.

But J bought me tickets to go see Kathy Griffin and he really didn't want to go. So he devised a scheme to get me to take a friend of his' wife. Which she and I have met and I genuinely like her but still. Did my husband fix me up on a date?

YES HE DID.

And it was awesome. Just the right amount of small talk. Wickedly funny show. And look at me staying up to a big girl bed time on a weekend. Sounds like MoMo didn't even miss me.

Plus, Kathy Griffin did an awesome bit about Cher!

PRILF

Aw I do love the way the internet gets all worked up on a Sunday afternoon.

Her Bad Mother, Mom 101 and Moxie are just a few throwing their two cents in. But Twitter was all . . . well a twitter with the whole Motrin debacle.

To catch you up, if you do not follow internet mommy drama, Motrin has a new ad out (view here ). It is a rather unfunny ad that is semi-insulting to it's target (moms). The internet has viewed the ad and BAM. Motrin is getting killed via the blogosphere (and have since removed the ad I think).

As much as I did not get offended and insulted by the ad as many did, I do see their point. Mainly because I am tired of the Momification of everything. Jonniker wrote some interesting things on this last week but damn I am tired of being marketed to, spoken to, and treated exclusively as a Mom. It started during the election, when I realized that I was in that coveted Middle Class White Mom demographic, that I started feeling insulted by the crap I was supposed to be moved by. Now I notice that almost every damn commercial is targeted to me. Talking condescendingly about how busy I am, how stupid my husband must be, how CHOOSY I have to be about everything in my house. GAH.

The internet is no different. And while I find Mommy Blogs compelling and interesting (some of them anyway), and am glad that women have found ways to earn money and respect through this medium sometimes it feels so overwrought. The Momversations thing (which I am not linking) and that kerfuffle over Johnston and Johnston's junket a while back. It's all just more commercials and cynical bullshit. Honestly, you don't have to put a white lady in capri pants with an exasperated look on her face to sell me something. I am interested in the same things other people are. Books, music, politics, good food, something to make my ass look smaller and my boobs higher and well yes--something to clean my house with that doesn't kill the baby. Companies that have products that cater to that and don't treat me like I am silly and stupid would get my business.

But I am oddly not annoyed with Motrin. It's all been done before, even more tastelessly. The whole Milfy Cougar shit makes my blood boil a lot more. I wish that there was a way for a woman to be not hyper sexualized or asexual in our culture but for the moment there really isn't.

Motrin might have been better off with the Tagline "Pain Reliever You'd Like to Fuck" at any rate.

Sad How Little a Jackpot I Need

Some one is some sort of mothering genius and will undoubtedly (and dude I hope you do!) comment with a brilliant solution to this, but when I go to pick up the baby from her swimming lesson (which makes it sound like we chuck her into the water and let her sink which is what my mother thinks but NO J takes her) I get fucking SOAKED taking her into the locker room to change. I know it is because of the swim diaper which holds about eighty pounds of water (we use a containment diaper instead of disposable swimmer. Those are more convenient for us but god I just get drenched just carrying her in.

Other than that the swim lessons are brilliant. She loves the water, loves the attention and it is something fun for she and J to do together. Plus she is worn out afterwards and I am pro-anything that makes my baby sleep hard all night. I have to admit it's really adorable that she has somehow mastered a bit of a frog kick. I know it is largely an accident but still awesome and cute.

My swimming lessons (did I tell y'all about my swimming lessons) are even more fabulous. I could swim well enough that I wouldn't drown but not well enough to really swim for exercise. But that is really changing now. I cannot recommend YMCA adult lessons enough. I've really improved a lot in a very short amount of time and now my routine is to swim an hour and a half twice a week.

I want to model healthy behavior for Mo. I am a pitiful athlete and I still really struggle to see myself as an active person. It's hard to change your once you are grown. I hope that she will find something that she is passionate about that will keep her healthy and strong.

Also, it's baby free time. Rewarded with time in the steam room afterwards. It's like the mommy lottery.

Wild Weekend

We don't entertain much. So it always sends me into a tailspin whenever we have people over. I am not sure why, since it's not like anyone expects Martha's house or anything. But having guests makes me steam clean the floors and worry about air fresheners. It's messed up but at least the floors are clean.

We hardly ever see these friends and it was great fun to catch up and just let the kids play. I fried steaks in butter (delicious) and we just sat around. When you have small kids this passes for a wild Saturday night. Sadly, about ten minutes before they arrived my head started buzzing with the beginnings of a migraine.

I fought and fought it off and was managing until it was getting late and the baby was screeching (up way past her bedtime and tired of being good) and their daughter was crying because she was up past her bedtime and oh I was at the end of my rope. By the time I was feeding the baby before bed my scalp was cracking I swear (why didn't it occur to me to ask J to put her to bed? NO IDEA I AM BRILLIANT).

Ten minutes later I was weeping on the floor because I couldn't relax enough to lay down. J rubbed my neck and I just shook I hurt so much. And then I went and barfed up my steak. I took a couple of Tylenol PMs and PASSED the eff out. At eight at night. All night I ached and ached and had messed up dreams. Dreams where I was being held by the CIA and there were tunnels and WOW I CANNOT EXPLAIN THIS. Let it be said that sleep aids plus a migraine = shit that should not be dreamed.

This morning I woke up all hung over. Which is especially unfair since I was the only one not drinking a thing. I swear, it was like J stayed up late and smacked the crap out of me with a crowbar. My parents were over this afternoon and I passed out on the couch while they played with the baby. I was just a wrung out rag all day.

Pathetic. My wild weekend.

And We Ate Cake

Today I am just feeling joy and excitement. I feel so hopeful for this country. I feel so connected to my community. I am so proud of all of us.

I recognize that for so many, yesterday did not go as they had hoped. But I hope that they too see our country moving toward rebuilding itself. And that we all try to push forward and create something special.

This is a time for celebration and hope. And I am not (too) embarrassed to admit how much I have cried in the last twenty-four hours. I slept peacefully last night (until awakened by the tiny dictator in the next room who doesn't care about history) and awoke trying to figure out what to do with all this productive energy.

J and I watched the returns with excitement and fear. We didn't blink because we were afraid it would stop happening. And we ate cake.

Vote

Like a lot of people I am just emotionally spent by this election. I believe J started obsessing about it in November 2004 and WOW. I need it to be over. I do not think it is an exaggeration at all to say that this is the most important election of my lifetime. I believe this is a time when our country will turn a corner. Regardless of how you feel about the candidates, please vote your conscience on which way that turn should go.

Until it is over my anxiety is cranked up to eleven. I know the pundits are calling it my way but I felt hopeful before and actually that isn't helping. I still think it could be stolen. I am like a ball of freak out.

J is staying home tomorrow to drive the elderly to the polls and then drinking himself silly (either way). I am just trying to stay calm. And maybe when it is all over we can talk, think, dream about something else. And the headache that I have had for a month will go away.

I am going to tell my daughter about tomorrow. I just hope it's the beginning of a great story.

Happy Halloween

When I was a teen it was considered cool to go to Haunted Houses on Halloween. You would pay ten bucks to go into a dark warehouse full of strobe lights and a guy with a chainsaw who would jump out and chase you down a hall. Scared the shit out of me. And I hate being scared. I don't like horror movies or even mildly startling ones. I don't like roller coasters. I don't like surprise endings.

And I hate haunted houses.

My idea of Halloween fun is the kind for little kids. I like costumes that make you look fuzzy and mini Kit Kat bars. Anything else is beyond me.

Today I dressed my baby as a skunk (free costume from a friend of mine's son). And damn she was cute. We went to a downtown Everett Trick or Treat event so she could look at all the kids in their costumes. And damn, we will totally do that again. Lots of kids, lots of candy all wrapped up in a festive non-scary atmosphere. I hope we go again next year.

I'm already planning the family costume.

Beautiful

Ramona is beautiful. This is, understandably, not the most objective statement I have ever typed. And yet I think it is hard to deny. She has a big smile and huge blue eyes. But also a sparkly personality--she flirts and waves and grins at everyone she meets.

I am aware that people pay attention to babies. I am a baby gawker myself--I stop and make faces, admire their outfit, make an ass of myself. But we can't go anywhere without people tripping all over themselves to talk to Ramona. At the Y, when we go for her swim lessons, everyone comes to admire her. The other baby in her class only gets attention from his mother and the teacher. I have lost count of how many people stop me to tell me she should be in commercials. How many people emailed me Gap's Baby Model contest demanding that I enter her.

She clearly loves the attention and, for now, I think it is good for her to interact with so many people. And who wouldn't enjoy having their baby be almost universally admired (GOD, could I sound like even more of an asshole)?

I do worry. See, I was that cute baby before (though I don't know that I ever got so much attention). But I outgrew those looks and became a completely ordinary person. Since, my husband is just on the handsome side of normal and I am the plain side of normal I doubt that Ramona will grow into some sort of raving beauty. The world is kind to those who are especially beautiful--but I can't help but think that her being just plain normal isn't a bad thing either.

What I do worry about, probably prematurely, is that she is admired so much for her looks. That she will be sad when that attention is gone, but also be more upset than is healthy. I want my daughter to know that she is beautiful but I hope that she grows up and realizes that it really isn't that important. I don't want her to value looks above everything else. I don't want her self-esteem to crash down around her ankles during the awkward years to come.

There is also the gender issue. Would everyone focus so much on her appearance if she were a boy (probably)? I am ridiculously careful about complementing her skills (you sat up so SO LONG without falling down, you got stuck under the coffee table again but you DO IT SO WELL) instead of just her prettiness. It's like this ridiculous circle of stupid. But I can't help worrying about it. I have to admit that I am worried that she will be this beautiful child and grow into a less than gorgeous adult and WOW. Self esteem crush.

I am sure she will be fine. We all will be. And one day she will morph into a plain little girl. And I will still tell her she is the most beautiful girl in the world.

Because Yes Seattle Is Still One Big Grungy Cliche

This week J and I went to another concert--Kings of Leon this time. When we plan to go out now, there is always a strategy session. Usually it is just me because the other general in this army doesn't care and doesn't try to figure this shit out. So I came up with a plan where his mom could stay with her and still get enough sleep and I stayed home from work a couple of days. In the planning stages, all of this work never seems worth it. I am a homebody and why can't we just stay home and watch a movie or order pizza? Or just go places that take babies?

The answer is that I always feel 80% more human after a night out, like I am not just the taxi service bringing the cute baby places. I am more than just Mommy.

It's hard, because beyond my job and the baby there isn't much going on in my life to talk about with J. And what is the point in going out without the baby if you are just going to talk about her the whole time? But I think it was worth it to go and spend time together. To be adults. To eat a meal without a deranged Fraggle screeching for more Baby-Yo or goldfish crackers.

That concert made me feel OLD though. It was half people our age and half kids in their late teens, early twenties. Really drunk girls in tube tops. I didn't even envy their fun I just wanted to make them wear sweaters.

Everyone like us (old) watched the concert with respectful head nods (anything more than that at shows we normally go to gets your ass whooped) but the kids were out there waving their hands and dancing like they were in the club. Also, most of them videoed the whole show on their cell phones--something I will never understand. I felt very "damn kids! out of my rock concert!" about it.

The defining moment was when Eddie Vedder came busting onto the stage. He stole a drag off of the guitarists cigarette and then sang half of the chorus with the singer and ran off. Everyone old is going APE SHIT because EDDIE! and all the kids are like "who is the hairy roadie? and why is he wearing flannel?"

Anxious

In 2004 J and I jokingly said that we would move to Canada if Bush won. Of course he did win and we did not move but I found that we were not joking as much as we thought we were. I felt broken open inside, like I didn't know this country anymore. J jumped right back into politics but I kept back. I wasn't ready and in many ways I still don't feel ready. We didn't leave because how do you leave a piece of who you are? This is our home, we just felt we couldn't abandon it.

I am very tired of being told that I am lesser. That because I live in a city (or really a suburb) I am not a REAL American. That because I work in an office, at a computer, that I am not a hard working person. That because I am a Jew that I am not part of this country.

It's happening now. With a VP candidate talking about the "Pro America" part of America and a Congresswoman calling for McCarthyesque witchhunts for anti-American ideals (which actually that is anti-American).

I desperately want to be a part of this country again. To be part of the solution, to help us rebuild. And I believe that we can. I believe we are better than the ugly shit that is on display right now. Better than the thinly veiled racism at rallies and Pat Buchanan's ugliness. Better than racist, anti-Semitic men hanging an Obama doll in effigy (with a Star of David painted on top).

We are broken as a nation right now. Our economy is just barely sputtering along, we are not safe, we have an energy crisis, we are still at war. There is a lot of work to do.

Today we drove to Tacoma to see Joe Biden. Ten thousand people were there, the largest crowd for him ever. We put the kid in her backpack and took her along, we took pictures and waited in line and talked to other voters and we were there. I believe that this is an important point in history--we have to rebuild ourselves. This election will really decide my daughter's future.

Tonight I put Ramona to bed and told her a story. About how today we went to see some one we hope we will be the next Vice President. That right now the race of his running mate is considered very important but I hope that when you are a big girl it won't be anymore. We hope that things will be better for you then they are for us, that you will grow up in a place that values you and wants you to succeed. And that we wanted you to be a part of it because this is when the world changed.

In a couple of weeks we will know if the rest of the country agrees.

I confess that I am fully of anxiety of the voter suppression and intimidation efforts by the Republican party. I am afraid they will steal this. I love this country--I really don't want to leave.

You're Next

Julie and Cecily said it more brilliantly than I ever could.

I am not going to lie. I cried during the debate last night. I cried when John McCain mocked all women. When he doubted our abilities to make medical decisions with our doctors and loved ones. When he discounted whether our health was important at all.

I had a difficult pregnancy. I never came close to dying. I never got very sick. But I am not going to lie that I was afraid of that every second I was pregnant. That I had already had a loss heightened this problem. I knew but did not know until I was pregnant how dangerous it was. How it all could have gone terribly wrong at any second.

I did feel safe, trusting my doctors, having talked these out with my husband before. We had access to a lot of great care.

I don't really care about how you feel about abortion. I think how we talk about this issue in this country is stupid. Because I think most of us feel the same way--we don't like them. We don't want anyone to die. We never want to have one. It's how the rest of it is managed that divides people into camps. Camps that don't change anything.

I didn't really believe until last night that there was anyone, anyone in this country at all that really believed that the mother wasn't important at all. But John McCain does.

I wish I could force people to read Cecily's story, even though I know that people discount her experience and do not believe her or her doctors (because strangers on the internet know more than her personal physician). But I feel a little smaller today, knowing that the country cares so little for me, for my gender, for my life, that a man running for President can go on TV and tell me that my health is not important.

You're next.

Kids These Days

Ramona slept through the night two nights in a row. The reason I am telling the internet this, knowing that this will jinx the fuck out of it, is because I didn't really benefit at all from this. Last night she stayed with my mother while we went to a concert and the night before J was supposed to take the middle of the night shift. But still, sleeping through the night is a big deal and I am sure I will properly appreciate this milestone when she duplicates it again some time in 2011.

Those following me on Twitter would have noticed some increasingly pissed off missives concerning our concert last night. The headliner, Weezer, was fantastic. But the opening act Angels & Airwaves was the biggest waste of arrogant emo shitheadedness ever to grace a stage. Much exaggerated gesturing, I believe some jazz steps and some seriously boring music. And I think I might have made violent threats to their lighting tech at some point since I am pretty sure that shit gave me a seizure. Assholes.

Best moment of the night was Weezer's encore. They covered a Nirvana song and all of the sudden you could instantly tell who in the crowd, which was an amazing mix of ages (people older than my parents down to the little eight year old playing air guitar in General Admission), parted between Old and Young. All of us who were old were going crazy because well it was Awesome and the kids were confused.

What the hell do they know anyway? They were rocking out to that Angels & Airwaves emo weepy black eyeliner bullshit.

Yom Kippur

Last night I rushed home to make our Erev Yom Kippur meal. I roasted potatoes and carrots and made a pepper oil tender loin. We ate and drank wine and yes, I cheated because the baby went down right before sundown and damnit I deserved ice cream so I ate that just after sundown. I woke up this morning with a raw throat and a head ache and sounding a lot like Marge's sisters from the Simpsons. So a lot of my good intentions didn't happen for observing the holiday.

But I really enjoyed my ice cream this afternoon. I earned that man.

And Then Be Hell On Wheels Sunday

I realized today that Ramona is thirty-eight weeks old this week. And since I delivered her at thirty-eight weeks well . . .she's been out as long as she was in. Which is probably surreal only to me. But it is surreal all the same.

My gorgeous girl has not been her most charming the last couple of weeks. She is hitting a lot of milestones (she hasn't crawled again which her grandmother and father seem to think is pure laziness but I think she is kind of like I've done that) and learning a lot of stuff and trying to pop eighty-seven teeth all at once. I suppose that would wear anyone down and my girl is no exception.

She has already started to throw tantrums which are both alarming and hilarious. It seems that she inherited the worst of both of our tempers which means the toddler years are going to be interesting. I think it's mainly frustration but I see a lot of years of trying to calm her ass down while we try to teach her to get a grip on her emotions.

Until then we are white knuckling this stage. I think once the teeth that have caused her gums to swell up in knots pop through or she finally starts crawling or I don't know she pulls that stick out she will be just fine. In the meantime it is just waiting it out and being kind to one another.

She is spending Saturday night with my parents. What do you want to bet she will be a perfect angel?

Anxiety

I feel like I am drowning. It's not any one thing--it's the sum of a lot of things. A swirly clusterfuck of things. The economic stuff is just making my head spin and I have to admit I have been doing some 2am disastering. Our 401Ks are shot but man my parents were supposed to retire in a couple of years, there may not be time for them to recover. I'm dealing with a lot of changes at work--including a new boss. And my business is not the most fun to be in during tough economic times (though what is? the unemployment industry?). And the baby is trying to get all of her top teeth at once which I am sure this is efficient but fuck efficient. She is just in a terrible mood and I don't blame her. Her mouth is all swollen--her gums look like we took a crowbar to them. And the damn teeth still haven't cut.

It just feels so overwhelming. And none of it is anything I can really do anything about--it's all out of my control. So it is just there above my head, swirly and worrying. Making me sick to my stomach. Waking me up at night.

I can't stop worrying. Can't get control of it all. My face is broken out. I have weird bruises on my arms. Bags under my eyes. I feel battered.

I just have to get through this, I just have to hang on. I am that freaking inspirational poster of the damn kitten holding on by a paw goddamn it. But if I fall I won't land on my feet. And there is nothing there to catch me.

Shana Tovah

After listening to Chicken Littling all day which lead to the first Anti-Semitic Jew banker remark I've heard in just ages I am Done with the banking crisis.

Shana Tovah, Happy New Year everyone.

Go Cubs Go

Like a lot of people I am struggling right now. The economy. The election. It's all so overwhelming. Layered on are issues with my job, my family, everything. . .it's just a lot. I am nothing special or unusual and sometimes I just look around and can almost see the cracks in the people around me. We are all just walking around half broken.

So I am trying to take a break from this and focusing on something that is so very important. The Cubs playoffs! I will immerse myself in all of the ups and downs and really shitty calls that this is bound to provide. We've ordered garb for the whole family. I am pretty sure there will be crying. Actually, there will definitely be crying.

But it's a beautiful distraction, one that I need desperately.

God I love baseball.

Call It Sleep

I'm about to write something that is the height of blogging idiocy. I am going to admit to the Internets that I let my baby cry herself to sleep tonight.

Of course this is the advantage of having a small (but loyal!) readership. The tens of you that come here probably are not going to set fire to this site. And on the whole, you are a level headed wonderful lot.

Mo used to have the easiest bedtimes in history. From basically three weeks old when she went into her own room, I'd change her, nurse her and put her to bed. No muss no fuss. But a couple of months ago she had a growth spurt/teething fiasco had me rocking her to sleep. Even this was a simple routine with only an occasional issue.

But in the past couple of weeks I've figured out that I have taken a baby who happily put herself to sleep and coaxed her into not wanting to do that anymore. I'm not really blaming myself, I think she needed that for a while, but now she needs to go back to putting herself to sleep. I know she can do it (this is very different than some kids who just are not ready to do this and I understand why this doesn't work for everyone).

Last night was the first night and a brief and minor crabby fit was it. She went to sleep, woke to eat (early, unfortunately) and then again at 3 this morning (and had to cry herself to sleep again). Not a great result but not horrible either. I'd heard from many people that the second night was much worse so I put the baby to bed and got in the shower (so I wouldn't have to listen). And she didn't make a peep.

Until twenty minutes after I got out of the shower. And she had a meltdown. It was so very hard not to go and pick her up. So I gave myself a mental deadline and luckily she fell asleep before that.

So many of my friends have done this and I have encouraged them. I have never judged them except to think that they were obviously doing what they thought was best. But I have to admit I was judging myself because GOD I was weak about it. I knew she was just mad, not scared, not needing me. I knew she would give in and sleep. I knew she could do it. But it felt so very strange not to go to her.

But she hasn't made a sound in hours. That is a very good sign.

Of course not only did I just tell the internet I let her cry it out. But I also just jinxed her sleep.

BRILLIANT

Elizabeth and Jessica NEVER Have to Deal With This Shit

I am so angry. I honestly gave consideration to taking up a career as a dominatrix--might as well make a nice side income off of punching people in the balls. I don't know how one gets into that line of work exactly but I would even squeeze my ass into pleather. I mean I am guessing that the hours are flexible?

These problems are not the kind that I can talk about here since I like paying my mortgage so that ends that. But I think everyone has had these problems, the kind where there really is no solution--at least nothing I can control--and I just spin and spin and make myself crazy because I can't change anything. It's this circular problem that I cannot seem to get acceptance with or move forward or do anything but the same shit over and over again. And I hate that feeling. Of knowing that it is useless to obsess over it but endlessly rubbing that worry bead over and over. I've worn the finish right off of those beads trying to make sense of everything.

I've failed.

I think in my mind I thought adults didn't do this. They didn't have problems they couldn't solve and they didn't obsess about things that they couldn't change. But I've been an adult for a long time now and I suppose it is time to admit that I have both of those things going on.

Somehow being a grownup is way less about staying up late and being able to read Sweet Valley High novels than I thought it would be.