And maybe every once in a while, a Good Recipe, a My Journey on Weight Watchers and/or a Whatever Else Comes to Mind Blog?
I'm so addicted to house blogs. I'm thrilled that Aaron and Jeannie of House in Progress started HouseBlogs. It means I can get my fix all in one place. Well..that and I do still check out what's happening at Drue's place on Brickman House. And and also over at Enon Hall. I'm in awe of folks like Teague and Mindy of Fixer-Upper or Ryan and Lisa of Raise the Ranch who, as far as I can tell, have no business renovating like they do. They appear to be your average, normal people who have no more construction background than I do. And yet they plunder ahead and work on their homes as though they know exactly what they're doing - even when they don't. I love it. It gives me hope.
My home is completely devoid of character. I mean I like it. The neighborhood is great (there's a pool and a playground - neither of which is all that great all the time because we live in Pittsburgh). There's tons and tons of space for the kids to play. But...let's face it. It was built in 1966. Does that explain it all? Your basic, average, suburban development house built in the late 60s. We were fortunate in that the prior homeowners replaced the roof, the air conditioning, the driveway and the furnace! Yeah! What they didn't replace was miles and miles and miles and miles of wallpaper. And high gloss shiny white paint...everywhere there isn't wallpaper. Including the ceiling. The mind boggles at all the shininess. But there is no character to the house. None. Nowhere. I've checked. It's devoid of character. Which I knew when we bought it but still ... sometimes I miss my old house built in 1948 with big, wide moldings around the windows. 6" baseboards with the electrical outlets actually in the baseboards. Crown molding in all the rooms. Plaster walls (well, I don't really miss those that much. It was always a bitch to hang anything). The cobblestone street in front of the house....sigh.
And now...my daughter's wailing has reminded me that I am a Mommy. With very little time to renovate. And so maybe it's good that I live in my characterless suburban house from the 60s. I can inject a little more character into it slowly but surely. And I can catch snippets of house renovators on House Blogs...
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
An M by any other name still smells as sweet
Bathtime girl
My little M just loves bathtime. To tell you the truth, it's second only to that early morning nursing/cuddling session for me. The whole ritual starts with us peeking around the corner into the mirror in the bathroom. When we spot our reflections in the mirror, we have to squeal with delight. Well, I squeal. M's smile spreads quickly across her face and I'm treated to her big gummy grin.
We sit down on the edge of the bathtub and turn on the water. M starts bucking back and forth with excitement. Makes it somewhat of a challenge to get her clothes off. We finally do and she practically leaps into the tub.
In the tub, she's like a Weeble Wobble. She teeters back and forth on her bottom eagerly reaching and grabbing for her toys. Everything, and I mean, everything goes into her mouth. Every once in a while she slaps the water and looks so surprised when the water actually splashes her in the face. And then...she hurls herself backwards completely trusting that I'll be there to catch her. While she's lying back she tries to roll back and forth completely enjoying the feeling of the water shooshing through her hair. And every time I try to sit her back up, she hurls herself back.
The only thing better for M than bathtime with Mom is bathtime with her brothers, A and J. There's just ain't nothin' better as far as she's concerned.
After the bath is over, I wrap her up in a big bath towel and dry her off. And then I make sure she's covered completely in lotion (we have such a problem with eczema in this family). And once she's in her jammies and her soft, fine hair is dry...then..well, then it's my favorite part. I just hold her and smell her. And there just isn't anything in the world that smells as good as my M after a bath. I'm willing to lay bets on that.
Monday, February 21, 2005
He's 5!
When the hell did that happen?
J is 5 (well, truth be told, he's 5 and 2 months). That means that kindergarten is looming upon us. That means I have to grow up and be an adult. I don't think I'm ready. Ladies in the PTA scare me. Do you watch Desperate Housewives? Did you see Lynette take on the bully PTA lady?. I'm not as ballsy as Lynette. Sure, I talk a good game. I can puff up with the best of them. But when it comes right down to it. I. Am. A. Wimp.
Kindergarten registration is next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! I'm not ready. I have to have things like his immunization records (he's had three pediatricians in 5 years - any chance, all his records are in one place?) and his birth certificate! What?! I think it's in our safe deposit box.
Because we live in a fairly well-off suburb, I'm assuming that there will be all these perfectly-coiffed and manicured mothers stepping out of their SUVs with all the appropriate paperwork in color-coordinated binders. They'll know exactly which door to enter the school and which hallway to go down to find the right room. They'll already have all the appropriate forms filled out and checks in hand. Me...I'll be a bumbling idiot. I'll forget that I have to pump until about 30 minutes before registration starts. I'll come racing in with breastmilk stains on my shirt and likely, my nursing bra, will be unlatched and one of my colossal breasts will be flailing around in the wind (what a picture, no?). I'll go in the wrong door and get hopelessly lost trying to find the office. I'll probably get detention.
I hear all these horror stories about school. Moms who keep their precious Juniors back because they're sure he can't handle kindergarten. Moms who bully the principals into getting their kid into morning (or afternoon, whichever is better) sessions. Teachers who are scary. I mean, how am I supposed to navigate all that and still be a semi-sane mom?
My parents were very hands-off when it came to school. If I got detention or otherwise in trouble, it was assumed that the teacher was right and I deserved what I got. If I needed help on homework, they pointed me in the direction of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My mom did help with math but only to explain terms or to check my work. But never...and I mean never...would they have done my homework for me. They had better things to do than their kids' homework. And more importantly, it was my homework, not theirs. They attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and recitals but I don't think they ever volunteered in our classrooms (a fact that I'm sure I greatly appreciated as I got into junior and senior high school). And my mom could have done so. She was a stay-at-home mom and/or a work-from-home mom for my entire childhood. She just didn't feel it was necessary.
I'd like to be the same way but I'm sensing from friends that have older kids that that's not the way that it is anymore. A colleague routinely, and I mean routinely, does his son's homework for him. The kid is 10 and, I think, should be responsible enough to pack his own backpack up every night and make sure his homework is in there. He doesn't. His parents do it. This colleague told a story one time about how a teacher admonished his son for not having a particular piece of homework in his bag. My colleague was indignant and called the teacher and proceeded to blast her because she should have been yelling at him, not his son, as he packed his son's bags. Um...when is he going to learn personal responsibility?
Anyway. The registration is on Tuesday. I'm quite sure that it will be anti-climactic but still...I'll be up worrying about it until then. (Well, I'll be up but that's probably because we're trying to get A to understand that while we love her dearly, her presence in our bed is really starting to affect our marriage negatively and it's starting to affect my psyche very negatively and we would really appreciate it, please, if she would start sleeping in her own crib. Or at least start out there...I do really enjoy those early morning cuddles and nursing sessions).
J is 5 (well, truth be told, he's 5 and 2 months). That means that kindergarten is looming upon us. That means I have to grow up and be an adult. I don't think I'm ready. Ladies in the PTA scare me. Do you watch Desperate Housewives? Did you see Lynette take on the bully PTA lady?. I'm not as ballsy as Lynette. Sure, I talk a good game. I can puff up with the best of them. But when it comes right down to it. I. Am. A. Wimp.
Kindergarten registration is next Tuesday. Next Tuesday! I'm not ready. I have to have things like his immunization records (he's had three pediatricians in 5 years - any chance, all his records are in one place?) and his birth certificate! What?! I think it's in our safe deposit box.
Because we live in a fairly well-off suburb, I'm assuming that there will be all these perfectly-coiffed and manicured mothers stepping out of their SUVs with all the appropriate paperwork in color-coordinated binders. They'll know exactly which door to enter the school and which hallway to go down to find the right room. They'll already have all the appropriate forms filled out and checks in hand. Me...I'll be a bumbling idiot. I'll forget that I have to pump until about 30 minutes before registration starts. I'll come racing in with breastmilk stains on my shirt and likely, my nursing bra, will be unlatched and one of my colossal breasts will be flailing around in the wind (what a picture, no?). I'll go in the wrong door and get hopelessly lost trying to find the office. I'll probably get detention.
I hear all these horror stories about school. Moms who keep their precious Juniors back because they're sure he can't handle kindergarten. Moms who bully the principals into getting their kid into morning (or afternoon, whichever is better) sessions. Teachers who are scary. I mean, how am I supposed to navigate all that and still be a semi-sane mom?
My parents were very hands-off when it came to school. If I got detention or otherwise in trouble, it was assumed that the teacher was right and I deserved what I got. If I needed help on homework, they pointed me in the direction of the Encyclopaedia Britannica. My mom did help with math but only to explain terms or to check my work. But never...and I mean never...would they have done my homework for me. They had better things to do than their kids' homework. And more importantly, it was my homework, not theirs. They attended parent-teacher conferences and open houses and recitals but I don't think they ever volunteered in our classrooms (a fact that I'm sure I greatly appreciated as I got into junior and senior high school). And my mom could have done so. She was a stay-at-home mom and/or a work-from-home mom for my entire childhood. She just didn't feel it was necessary.
I'd like to be the same way but I'm sensing from friends that have older kids that that's not the way that it is anymore. A colleague routinely, and I mean routinely, does his son's homework for him. The kid is 10 and, I think, should be responsible enough to pack his own backpack up every night and make sure his homework is in there. He doesn't. His parents do it. This colleague told a story one time about how a teacher admonished his son for not having a particular piece of homework in his bag. My colleague was indignant and called the teacher and proceeded to blast her because she should have been yelling at him, not his son, as he packed his son's bags. Um...when is he going to learn personal responsibility?
Anyway. The registration is on Tuesday. I'm quite sure that it will be anti-climactic but still...I'll be up worrying about it until then. (Well, I'll be up but that's probably because we're trying to get A to understand that while we love her dearly, her presence in our bed is really starting to affect our marriage negatively and it's starting to affect my psyche very negatively and we would really appreciate it, please, if she would start sleeping in her own crib. Or at least start out there...I do really enjoy those early morning cuddles and nursing sessions).
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
Random things I think about
I was reading Indigo Girl's post about ODP v CDP (of which I am most definitely a CDP) and I started thinking about an old boyfriend who was an ODP! Horrifying. He used to call me into the bathroom to chat while he was ... taking care of business. And while he was, and I'm sure still is, a nice guy, I resolved to never ever ever date anyone again who was an ODP. Luckily, my sweet husband is a CDP and in fact, we're both CD Pee'ers as well....and that's how you really know if you're compatible with someone.
Then that got me thinking about work. I work in your basic office park building - five stories. Male and female bathrooms on each floor. I have NO idea what men are like when they use a public restroom to take care of ... um ... #2. Women, however, would just as soon pretend that they're doing anything else in the stall than pooping.
There is nothing worse than getting to the bathroom to take care of business and finding out that the bathroom is not empty. Worse still is getting to the bathroom, finding it empty, getting ready to ... well ... release and then someone comes in. And then, the waiting begins. If you're lucky, the other person just needs to pee and will be done in a jiffy. If you're not, you and she are going to have to duke it out, so to speak, to see who can outlast the other one. I've yet to lose. Then I start giggling wondering if anyone's ever sat there so quietly for so long that the motion-sensor lights in the bathroom have turned off and left them sitting there on the throne in the pitch black.
These are the things that amuse me.
As an update: I declined to interview for the position that the headhunter called me for. I told him that if they'd consider some type of flex arrangement, I'd be happy to talk to them but that I really didn't want anything full time right now. They clearly weren't interested because he then asked me if I knew of anyone else who could fill the position.
Then that got me thinking about work. I work in your basic office park building - five stories. Male and female bathrooms on each floor. I have NO idea what men are like when they use a public restroom to take care of ... um ... #2. Women, however, would just as soon pretend that they're doing anything else in the stall than pooping.
There is nothing worse than getting to the bathroom to take care of business and finding out that the bathroom is not empty. Worse still is getting to the bathroom, finding it empty, getting ready to ... well ... release and then someone comes in. And then, the waiting begins. If you're lucky, the other person just needs to pee and will be done in a jiffy. If you're not, you and she are going to have to duke it out, so to speak, to see who can outlast the other one. I've yet to lose. Then I start giggling wondering if anyone's ever sat there so quietly for so long that the motion-sensor lights in the bathroom have turned off and left them sitting there on the throne in the pitch black.
These are the things that amuse me.
As an update: I declined to interview for the position that the headhunter called me for. I told him that if they'd consider some type of flex arrangement, I'd be happy to talk to them but that I really didn't want anything full time right now. They clearly weren't interested because he then asked me if I knew of anyone else who could fill the position.
My new nail guns...ain't they purty?
I get to be a Jane.
My sweet husband got me a nail gun for Valentine's Day. And not just any nail gun - a whole nail gun kit that comes with a brad nailer AND a staple attachment. I'm so excited. I'm running around trying to figure out what I can nail first...he's hoping it's him (yuck...yuck...yuck)
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Are you a Jane?
I soooo want to be a Jane.
www.be-jane.com
I seriously want a table saw or a nail gun for Valentine's Day.
www.be-jane.com
I seriously want a table saw or a nail gun for Valentine's Day.
What do I want to be when I grow up
So I get a call from a head hunter who had previously recruited me for a job with a tech company in Boston. This was in the fall and they were all "Hurry up and get up here. Have to meet you. Want to interview you." So I did.
And it was no small feat. I had just returned from maternity leave with no vacation days to my credit. B was going out of town. M was only 4 months old. I'd never left her overnight. So, my Dad drives from Connecticut to Pittsburgh to watch the kids. B goes out of town. I leave on the absolute last flight out of Pittsburgh to Boston. Get in around midnight after the Red Sox won their division championship. Pump with a pathetic breast pump in the hotel. Interview all day the next day (pumping in between interviews!) and then take a flight back. And then....nothing. That's right...nothing. Not even a "Thanks. We hired the other candidate." Nothing.
So, the head hunter calls because they have a position open that would report to the position for which I'd previously interviewed. In all fairness, the first position was kind of a stretch for me in terms of experience so I don't know that I'd feel weird about working for a woman with whom I competed for a job.
But here's the thing. Since I interviewed with that tech company I finagled a new work arrangement at my current job. I work 3 10-hour days and have two days off. And I like that. I like having two days to get all those nitpicky things done around the house that need doing. You know...laundry. Drycleaning. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. I don't know if making a whole lot more money is worth it.
In other news.
J makes me laugh.
J: "Mom, can I please watch Buzz Lightyear.
Me: "J! No. I'm sick to death of you sitting on your bum watching tv, or playing video games or playing computer games. You need to move around and play. No more tv!"
Cut to 5 hours later.
J: "Mom. Could we watch a Buzz after dinner?"
Me (exasperated): "J!"
J: "What? I'll stand up."
Me: "Huh?"
J: "You said you didn't want me sitting on my bum anymore"
And it was no small feat. I had just returned from maternity leave with no vacation days to my credit. B was going out of town. M was only 4 months old. I'd never left her overnight. So, my Dad drives from Connecticut to Pittsburgh to watch the kids. B goes out of town. I leave on the absolute last flight out of Pittsburgh to Boston. Get in around midnight after the Red Sox won their division championship. Pump with a pathetic breast pump in the hotel. Interview all day the next day (pumping in between interviews!) and then take a flight back. And then....nothing. That's right...nothing. Not even a "Thanks. We hired the other candidate." Nothing.
So, the head hunter calls because they have a position open that would report to the position for which I'd previously interviewed. In all fairness, the first position was kind of a stretch for me in terms of experience so I don't know that I'd feel weird about working for a woman with whom I competed for a job.
But here's the thing. Since I interviewed with that tech company I finagled a new work arrangement at my current job. I work 3 10-hour days and have two days off. And I like that. I like having two days to get all those nitpicky things done around the house that need doing. You know...laundry. Drycleaning. Grocery shopping. Cleaning. I don't know if making a whole lot more money is worth it.
In other news.
J makes me laugh.
J: "Mom, can I please watch Buzz Lightyear.
Me: "J! No. I'm sick to death of you sitting on your bum watching tv, or playing video games or playing computer games. You need to move around and play. No more tv!"
Cut to 5 hours later.
J: "Mom. Could we watch a Buzz after dinner?"
Me (exasperated): "J!"
J: "What? I'll stand up."
Me: "Huh?"
J: "You said you didn't want me sitting on my bum anymore"
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