Letting Go

I got home from work last night and, after 1/2 hour of thumbing through old quilting magazines, decided I needed a nap. Kevin was sitting on the couch and was about to get up, but I told him to relax! there's enough room for both of us. I laid down and put my feet on his lap. Get this--he started massaging them!

I ask you, dear reader, is there much that is better than dozing off to the sound of your husband and son conversing about miscellaneous topics while your feet are being rubbed and the green glow of the Christmas tree lights and the warmth of the fire linger on the edge of your senses?

I persisted there, in a state of relaxed bliss, for a good 45 minutes. When I rustled back to the surface, Stevie was sitting beside his daddy, getting his own feet rubbed. There is something about little kids getting their hyper-flexible and super soft little feet massaged that is just too cute. Then Kevin made Stevie some dinner and got him ready for bed! All while I either laid there or, later, sat in my chair, reading. Remember a few posts ago when I was about to go ballistic because I was doing too much? That has changed. And it's lovely.

Women Get Woolly, Lord Knows They Do Get Woolly

Just got back from the Doc. He says that I am 60-70% effaced . . . but still only 1 cm dilated. Argh.

So I'll go in on Friday for another nonstress test, and I'll see him next Tuesday as usual. Argh.

Still, it's not all frustrating. The fact that he is no longer on track to be huge is good. Inducement carries its own risks. He's progressing normally if a bit bigger than average, but I'm bigger than average and Doc thinks that I'm perfectly capable of handling it all. So I may go to 40 weeks after all, but I really won't go past 41 weeks because of the extra risks to the baby. So I have less than 3 weeks, TOPS. And I have a project to do at work that can be started and then passed to the next person to finish. So, really, all is well.

Argh.

On Thanksgiving, Part II

I love Thanksgiving! Four days off, chilly weather, and lots of goins on--but not too many. Here are the highlights:

Thursday:
Awoke in a leisurely manner. Took time getting ready, but needed to be out of the house by 9:30 to get to brother and new sister-in law's for dinner at 1. They live near Akron. This is normally a 2-hour drive (I'm relying on past visits to the general area--I've never been to their house) but, thanks to a pretty bad snow storm and heavy traffic, took nearly 3 sometimes perilous hours.

The menfolk were living up to stereotypes. Found them in the garage, huddled around the turkey fryer, attempting increasingly dangerous ways of heating up the oil in the teen-degreed weather, drinking ice cold beer. They were given one directive by the lady of the house--have the turkey in the oil by 11 a.m. It was 12:15 p.m. and the oil wasn't nearly hot enough.

Inside, my new sister was busy getting EVERYTHING ELSE ready. Sure, some of it had been pre-cooked, but it's still a scramble to get everything on the table, hot, at the same time, and that was her job. Let's see . . . she does roughly 80%, the boyz do 20%, she's ready and we're contemplating a Thanksgiving dinner with ham but no turkey. Everyone in amazingly good spirits, though!

Dinner was very good. The turkey made it into the oil and was out before we finished our first plates. It was delicious!

We left soon after dinner--I'm pregnant, the house was cramped with all the folks and the big dogs, and the birds were bugging me. For the life of me I don't understand why people want big birds in their house. There are 4, all in the family room. Mostly, they were quiet. But when a semi-strange dog showed up one of them started screeching in that awful way that big green birds screech and I just can't take it.

The trip home was pleasant and much safer, and we chilled that evening.

Friday:
Nice, calm day. Hung out in pjs, wrapped a few presents, watched a movie or two. In the afternoon, Stevie and I got ready and headed out with my mom and stepdad to a Blue Jackets game. My stepdad had won four awesome, rich person seats through work. We went to a quirky, family-style Italian restaurant beforehand. The food was good and the atmosphere was really fun. Then to the game, where the home team got trounced. Still, the seats were fantastic--50-yard line, 11 rows up, perfect view of the loss and the little people in the cheap seats. Good times.

Saturday:
I actually went to Wal-Mart. Before you pelt me with things, listen up. I received a gift certificate to WM from a dear friend and, after using most of it, had a little bit left on the card. Wanting to get out of the house, get some more Christmas stamps, and get a book from the library detailing how to build bluebird houses, I decided to go there and use up the rest of the card so I would never have to go again. I used it up.

For the rest of the day I did exactly what I wanted to do, which was pretty much nothing. I watched "The Upside of Anger" and the only upside to the film was when it ended. Really bad! I usually love talky dramas but Joan Allen's character gave me nothing to sympathize with--she was just an asshole. And then to find out that it was all a big misunderstanding! Hated it! D-

And because I didn't do it sooner, I'll review "Fever Pitch" which I watched earlier in the week. Surprise! I really liked it! Sure it's formulaic, but the scenes highlighting Jimmy Fallon's Sox fanaticism were really funny, and it's an all-around easy crowd-pleaser. Solid B, maybe a B+.

Sunday:
The day started in a promising way. I made biscuits and sausage gravy. I began to finish the last of the rag quilts I'm making for too many damn people. Then I got the call from the folks. Seems that little Mabel, the dog I gave them 9 years ago after raising her wild in the Meigs County woods, was found that morning by the garage in an apparently unending seizure. They had been at Med Vet all morning while they ran tests on her. I went back to my thang and received a call from my sobbing mother a few hours later. They had ruled out everything except a brain tumor, which may or may not be operable, and euthanasia was the likeliest option. Would I be on standby to run them down there so that they (or just mom) could be there while they put her down? Of course. Jumped into the shower. Jumped out and got the call. Went to pick up the folks and we drove to the animal hospital.

They put us in a conference room and they brought her in. She was still in a continuous seizure, but one tempered by valium. She was laying on her side on a table and her eyes and ears and weird little Beagle body with German Shepherd coloring was softly twitching. We all pet her, but mom's constant touch and gentle whisper really did make a difference. Mabel closed her eyes and her breathing rate slowed. Soon after they administered the drugs and she peacefully slipped away. Really, it couldn't have gone much better. She probably wasn't in pain, she probably didn't know that she was at the vet's, and she got to go out with her family right next to her.

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm really sick of dogs, after a lifetime of owning them and loving them. But Mabel was a sweet and cute little dog. During her time with me she lived out at the cabin. She tore through those hills like nobody's business, a crazy badger-dog. One time as we walked up the trail toward the cabin, she suddenly tore off in front of us. We saw her cut to the left and heard her run a few yards and then stop. When we caught up to her, it was very quiet except for a little crunching sound. Seems as though she had remembered a previously killed and stashed squirrel, and she was calmly munching a squirrel leg. This was a dog--a little lap dog--that killed and ate squirrels, tore into deer carcasses with the ferocity of a rabid coyote, lived in the wild with the hippies. After my mom and stepdad got her, she was a might bit sissified, running to the basement during storms and stuffed with Beggin' Strips and people food. Still, she was a charmer--never obnoxious--and I appreciate that in a dog. R.I.P. you rotten pig of a dog.

Got home, finished another quilt, watched a bit of a football game, called it a good weekend.

On Thanksgiving

I woke up at 4:15 this morning and noticed that my husband wasn't in bed with me and that there was a light coming from the living room. Lately, Kevin and I have been going to bed at sometimes vastly different times. Last night he was staring at the bowls he had made (and the new one he had just finished) while I was on my way to dreamland. I asked him to shut the bedroom door if he was going to drift off on the couch with the TV on, because if I wake up during the night and see a light on I can't get back to sleep. I like it dark, with the exception of the light of the moon. And even that is too much at times.

He did drift off in front of the TV, and he did shut the door, but I had to potty so I got up anyway. There he was, conked out on the sofa, covered by one of my not-quite-done rag quilts. And who's on the TV? None other than Sam, the world's ugliest dog. They were doing a news story on this newly deceased little lap dog, whom I just found out about yesterday. His title rings true because if he wasn't the ugliest dog in the world then there is a hound of hell living amongst us, somewhere. Really--if you haven't seen him, google him. Don't be scared. He's dead now.

I turned off the TV and returned to bed, wondering how long it would be before Kevin and I had separate bedrooms. It seems like I've been a little loud lately, what with my pregnancy induced stuffy nose (even more than usual!) and Stevie's occasional, disruptive trips to our bed early in the morning. If we go to bed at the same time and I read a bit to get to sleep, Kevin mildly complains, but is always snoring 3 minutes later! Then, when I shut off the light, I have to nudge his snoring self and tell him "turn on your side, please", which he does just long enough for me to drift off and tune him out before he starts snoring again. We have a king-size bed because neither of us likes sleeping too close to another person--it just gets too hot! So, as I returned to my big, empty, comfy, quiet bed, I pondered if having separate bedrooms would be a bad thing. There are pros: no disruptions, being able to decorate as you please, only being responsible for your own mess. And there are cons: Would the marriage somehow suffer if there was a physical distance between us when we slept? Would our kids think it was weird? What about the extra square footage and bedding materials required? Pretty neutral, but I'm thinking that we won't go there for now. Notice that I didn't mention the sex thang. That's because there are other places and times to have sex, so it's not really an issue. Wanting to have sex at the end of a long day when you went to bed to sleep? I can think of more seductive scenarios.

And then I thought "Hey! Our 6-year anniversary is this weekend!" Six years. While I don't feel like writing a real lovey-dovey post like last year's, (check out the November 2004 archives--"Shelter from the Storm") I did want to mention it. Big doin's this year, with the baby and all. More pressure than last year. But just as much love and gratitude.

I still think that I'm damn lucky to have married him, and my confidence in the strength of our marriage and commitment to each other is as high as ever. We don't have a lot of time to "grow as individuals" these days, though we've both developed strong creative hobbies--he woodworking, me quilting. It's funny that those hobbies are so similar in so many ways. Both involve cutting up perfectly good objects, rearranging them in patterns, and putting them back together with a combination of hands and just a few simple tools. Both take a shitload of time! And they are so sex-segregated! He goes to the Man Zone workshop, I sit in the house and sew. Pretty funny for such a "liberated" couple!

This past year has really been about us as parents. First with the whole adoption thing, which did not turn out like either of us wanted but, luckily, we wanted the same things and trusted each other enough to follow through with what was right for us--no matter how excruciating. And we continue to relish our role as Mommy and Daddy to Stevie, the world's most perfect child (to us!) and soon to Mark, the world's other most perfect child. I know that we both feel extremely fortunate to have pretty much identical parental philosophies and style. We just don't have the friction and dischord that too many parents have. Again, trust. And, in the midst of some pretty bad parenting situations--in two cases, nightmarish situations--that we see around us, it is a huge relief to have had children with a man who is such a wonderful, loving, funny, affectionate father. Can you ask for much more for your children than that?

Once again, I find myself most thankful for my husband and children on this most thankful of holidays (and I don't have to cook this year! Hooray!). They have made my life better than I ever imagined.

So I Talked to the OB . . .

Argh! Hoping for a birthdate, all I got was another appointment next week. I'm still only 1 cm dilated, though I am 50% effaced so something is happening!

I'm pretty cool with it. There are risks to inducement and, as long as the baby isn't abnormally huge, it's fine for him to ripen up and come out on his own time. Of course, I was hoping to be done with work by next week, but I can deal with it. It will be soon, and I really don't think I'll still be at work on the 12th!

I hope not, anyway--I have a job (with pay and everything!) wrapping presents and you all know that I much prefer that to this. Who wouldn't?!

It All Just Makes Me So Tired

I had what I hope was my last ultrasound yesterday. We fully expected little Marky to weigh-in at just under 8 pounds (they grown about 1/2 pound per week at this stage), which would mean talking inducement with the OB today, which would possibly mean that tomorrow would be my last day at work.

He only weighs about 7 pounds, 3 oz! Meaning he grew only 13 ounces in 3 weeks! I don't know if that's bad or not--the ultrasound doc didn't seem distressed. He said only that babies can grow in spurts and perhaps Mark had decided to slow down. He's still 75th percentile, which is quite large. Stevie was only 2 oz. bigger when he was born.

What it could mean is that the birthday might be closer to the actual due date (12-12) than I'd hoped. I'm really ready to have him, to get out of here for a few weeks, to walk normally again.

I got home a little earlier than usual because of the afternoon appointment. I figured I'd be very productive with the "extra" time and get some quilts sewn or some work work done. Instead I laid on the couch and watched Oprah. She had an audience full of "Katrina heroes"--people who had volunteered during that crisis. And she was giving them thousands of dollars worth of presents--her "favorite things"--to thank them. That's all well and good, but it was a bit distressing to see an entire audience going NUTS over a Sony Vaio laptop and the video iPod and other vastly overpriced consumer goods. It's cool that they got it, but their reactions to this STUFF made me wonder if they would've been happier if all those dollars had gone to Katrina in some way--or not.

So I laid around, watching Oprah, ate peanut butter crackers, took a little nap, then watched another movie (Kicking and Screaming--the could've-been-a-lot-better Will Farrell "soccer dad" movie. D+.), and got a little down because I did nothing to move my agenda forward. Later I realized that it was because I was tired and let down at the prospect of being pregnant for longer than I was hoping for.

Today I'll talk to the OB and see.

Lulu's Movie Reviews

I've been meaning to do this, so don't think I'm totally copying off of Burb! I have watched an unusual number of movies this past week and feel a slight need to comment.

National Treasure
I didn't go to the theater and see this with my friends because, well, it just seemed too cheesy. I was right--it is. It would take a thousand bodybuilders/fleet of zeppelins/flotilla of meat hooks to suspend all of the disbelief that this movie required. Truly Indiana Joneseque. BUT, still entertaining (and pretty child-friendly, too), and isn't that what movies are all about?

Two things bothered me overly: 1. Jon Voigt's awful acting--my lord! He was bad. 2. When they first steal the Declaration and have Dr. Chase, the National Archives gal, in the van, the misogyny goes wild! They talk to her like she is a child--"you're yelling" "are you incapable of being quiet" "she's talking again!"--all the old cliches. Here's a clue for ya, boys--she has a right to be pissed. She is the head of the National Archives and you have just stolen the Declaration of Independence and it almost cost her her life. I saw no reason for the disrespectful vibe.

It could have been better, but for Entertainment Lite, it was pretty fun. C+

Office Space
I saw this movie a long time ago and liked it, but didn't love it. Same feeling now. It nails bosses--esp. the manager of the TGIFridays-ish place, all worried about flair. And I love the skinny white boy singing gangsta rap in his subcompact on the way to the office, self-consciously turning it down when a black person approaches the car. Worth viewing. B-

Walk the Line
This is the biggie. The one that made it all worth it. LOVED IT! Love Johnny Cash, love Reese and Joaquin (whom I never loved before), loved the sound, loved the acting, loved the story, love Johnny Cash. The only let-down? Driving home after I JUST took all the CDs out of my car--including Johnny's "Unchained", which I listen to a lot and think is one of the best albums ever. I brought it to work today, if you're interested. I was trying to find something--anything!--worth listening to on the entire trip home. All crap. All tripe! A bunch of tinny, jangly garbage. And that made me so mad that I wanted to shoot all of those DJs and "singers"--just to watch them die.

Pampers

Ha! It's not what you think! Well, sorta.

I've been total Erupta Girl! lately. It really is the hormones, but I'm sure it's exacerbated by the pressure of getting everything done and ready, and almost all of that is my doing, which doesn't make the doing much different from all my other doings in more normal times. Still, I am prone to losing ALL of my patience almost immediately and at the slightest thing! Most of the time, I'd like to think that I'm pretty easy to live with. Lately? Hmmm. Not so sure.

Setting this up . . . there's a lot to think about and get done, my patience is minimal and its lack is often accompanied by loud outbursts, and my perfect husband is, well, a teeny bit imperfect lately.

I went to bed last night all irritated. It's partly because yesterday was a pretty hectic day. Let me spell it out:

1. Got ready (insert Sideshow Bob shiver of irritation here). Loaded up the car with kid, dog, breakfast, items needed to get through day.

2. Dropped off the dog (who grows more irritatingly impertinent each day) after listening to her slide on Stevie's art masterpieces all the way into Hometown, masterpieces which Stevie had ceremoniously put on the floor of the backseat, yet this fact did not stop him from whining about Dottie putting her dirty feet on them. Implored Stevie to stop whining, yelled at (deafening) dog that she was driving me crazy for doing something she could not help doing.

3. Got gas. But only after dumping the contents of my tote bag on my already overloaded passenger seat. My open wallet had emptied into my tote bag and the only card I couldn't find was my frickin' credit card! Found it, got gas, griped about knowing that one of my tires was lower than the others but there's no air pump and the air pump I tried to use at another gas station a few days before actually sucked air OUT of the tire.

4. Ran through the bank to withdraw $20. Thankfully uneventful.

5. Dropped Stevie off at school. His classroom is the absolute furthest one from the door, and Stevie likes to "drag" himself against the walls of the long hallways all the way to it, slowing his progress significantly.

6. Got to work. Got through it.

7. Left work at 1:40 to go to the OB. Kev called from the road around Mansfield, saying he would drive in and see if I was still there. I let him off the hook--he got home at 3 and started gluing his newest bowl together instead of cleaning the house and making dinner. Mixed feelings.

8. Endured the doctor cramming fingers into cervix and telling me that, nope, I'm "maybe" 1 cm dilated. Still, elated at his "promise" that I would not go to term. Baby no more than 2 weeks away!

9. With time to kill, went to Old Navy to buy straggling Christmas presents. Lamented that the girls had all the cute clothes and I have boys. Reflected that I will be happy about this in the years to come.

10. Picked up Stevie at school. He dragged himself down the length of the wall, and then pointed out that the construction paper bats on the school "tree" had "fuzzy noses! Touch them, Mommy!" Touched a bat's nose, exclaimed at its fuzziness, tried to remain patient because I know that children need "transition time" between activities and dragging him to the car would be bad form.

11. Stopped at Blockbusters and grabbed the first 4 movies that appealed at all, bought a few gift certificates for my 1/2 brother, felt lame that I was getting him gift cards when I was making my other brother something for Christmas, got over it, bought Stevie a Star Wars popcorn tin.

12. Went through Wendy's to get Stevie some food and indulge in some fries. Had minor traumatic episode when I discovered that pretty much every ketchup packet in my console thingy was covered with a sticky substance (honey?). Considered just how pissed I would get if, somehow, ketchup (catsup?) was transferred from anywhere to the gold and white jacket that I had just purchased for Nova's baby. Moved the bag because that is JUST the sort of thing that would happen to me. Wondered why the Wendy's worker told me that she would "be sure" that there would be lots of ketchup in the bag when there was none! Secretly glad that rude teenager at a McDonald's long before had urged me to keep the copious packets that I hadn't asked for "just in case", even though I swore long ago to never keep packets of ketchup in my car. Pulled out, ate a fry, quickly surmised that fry was in quasi-done condition. Knowing that I would only get worse if I gave in to the crappy fries, I quickly pulled around (spilling Stevie's fries) and got fresh, new, fully-cooked fries--for both of us. Contemplated just how lucky Wendy's was that I didn't have to wait in drive-thru line for the new fries.

13. Went to Stevie's doctor to discover the cause of his coughing. After 45 minutes, found out that he, indeed, had an ear infection.

14. Popped around the corner to pick up the dog and some too-hot frozen chicken wings from my parent's house. Dottie nearly refused to jump into the car under her own power. Grew increasingly frustrated because I don't want to help her--she CAN do it--and I shouldn't be deadlifting 60-pound dogs at this point in my life.

15. Drove to the dreaded CVS pharmacy to fill Stevie's prescription. Missed having a Target nearby. Spent 20-30 minutes milling around the store, waiting. Ever waiting. Bought tissue paper for presents and a cleanser/moisturizer combo for my sensitive skin. Ignored Stevie's pleas for a tabletop pinball machine, despite its retro charm and my own pleasurable pinball experiences. Happy with purchases, distraught over growing mess in car.

16. Drove home (25 minutes). Kevin actually doing dishes! No supper, but bowl was glued (Phew! That's a load off!). Asked him to "do ONE thing"--unload and PUT AWAY dry clothes and put wet clothes into dryer. Dry clothes made it to a pile on the couch, unfolded. Decided to ignore it (though my subconscious didn't), made a PB, honey, and banana sandwich. Watched "Office Space", which was funny, yet irritating because Kev and Stevie were being rather loud (including crying) and our DVD player sucks so the volume has to be all the way up so you can barely hear it, so I was trying to listen to a movie but Kevin and Stevie were being loud (including crying) . . . . Had mild outburst, got visually scolded by husband.

17. Showered. For a looooong time. Grew increasingly pissed at husband's lack of shoulder rubs. After all, he's spent maybe 20-25 minutes rubbing my shoulders, spread out over three rubs, and only then after I had apologetically asked for the massage! Yet he has no qualms about spending HOURS in the barn. HOURS! And here I am, in pain pretty much all the time, and I have to ask for backrubs and then feel a little guilty because I have no intention of reciprocating soon, and he can see how maintaining the house in its usual condition pretty much cripples me, yet I'm still doing all of my regular chores, preparing for the holidays, AND preparing for the baby and I'm getting NO BREAKS from this! Growing as steamed as my bathroom mirror. Remembering that I've said very similar things many times in the past and nothing much has changed. Who's a gal gotta blow to get some pampering around here?! Decided that I wasn't in the mood to give husband what he wants when he wasn't giving me what I want or even NEED, according to the pregnancy book that said that I should really not be doing all that I regularly do, as in housework and stuff. Decided to go to bed mad.

18. Laid in bed, mad, trying to read book that deals with Vlad the Impaler. Vlad the Impaler has always freaked me out. In those moments where I was actually 'in' the book, wondered why I was reading something that was sorta scary and dealt with the evil that folks do to others in this blessed fucking (baby and holiday) season, as my Dear Mother always says. Perhaps I should be reading something more cheerful.

This Morning's Moment of Truth:

Husband (Kevin) says "good morning". "I suppose" was my annoying reply. After being prompted, voiced my complaints, which centered around needing more help around the house, and just being a little bit needy. I don't feel bad about being needy because I'm usually not (and he's damn lucky. Note that I let him off the doctor appointmentS hook just the day before!). And my dear Kevin's reply? "You're right. I'll try to do better." Reminded him, in a friendly and Yoda-like manner, that there is no try while giving and receiving a long hug. Felt better!

True Meanings

One thing I really like to do at Christmastime is make my list. And Kevin's. And Stevie's, too.

At my age, making a list is pretty stupid because most of the people who buy me presents don't buy me presents anymore. For instance, my mom and Dave buy for grandkids only. My dad usually buys something, but he never pays heed to lists. Same for my grandmother, who further claims that she isn't buying for anyone this year save for her growing brood of great-grandsons (6 this year, up from a mere 3 last Christmas!). Ted always buys us too much, but he usually follows a theme of some sort. He decked me out with "bar" stuff a couple of years ago. This year, who knows what he'll buy? The only people who really buy for Kevin and me are Kev's parents. My mother-in-law LOVES Christmas and loves to splurge and, thankfully, loves to splurge on adult children, too. So, mostly, the list is for them.

So what did I ask for for myself? Quilt store gift certificates and Smartwool sox. That's pretty much it. I put the same things on Kevin's list as I always do--Levi's 501s and Carhartts, size 32 X 34; wool sox, interesting wood. Our "team" list is more extensive. This is partially because we don't buy for each other as we share all incoming funds and can usually take care of our own individual gifting needs--such as fabric and cheap tools. And we hate buying electronics for ourselves, so at least one electronic thing usually ends up on our co-list. Last year we got XM radio. This year we're either putting a dishwasher or a digital camera on the list. Not sure yet.

Our #1 most-wanted item is new tile for the kitchen floor. Our kitchen is large and the tile we want is $2.25 a square foot. It will cost about $1000 to do the entire floor. We figured we could ask for tile, see how much we get, and fill in the rest, much like more conventional couples do when they register for china and such. This gives interested parties the opportunity to spend as little as $2.25 or as much as $1,000! On us! Isn't that wonderfully thoughtful and oh so flexible? Of us?!

This all sounds OUTRAGEOUS, I'm sure, but it's within the bounds of what other people have established. Christmas lists are always a tricky thing, given their intrinsic gimme nature, but the fact is that people are going to buy us stuff, just as we are going to buy/make stuff for them, and we're all pretty practical Midwesterners who figure that if you're going to spend money you might as well spend it on things people want and need rather than on stupid tripe like overpriced "past, present, and future" diamond necklaces, and--ew--clothing, and stuff you already have. I must admit to being a bit annoyed when people don't have their list ready when I'm ready to buy stuff. That would include everyone this year. Fine--no problem. Just remember that I'm not quite as charitable to those who annoy me. . . .

Stevie's list is a masterpiece. He checks out the Sunday circulars and the toy catalogs that we get that we never asked for, cuts out those items that are most desirable, and--at my request--tapes them into a notebook. This gives the gift-givers, of which there are MANY, not only a picture and catalog number and price and, at times, coupon of the items he likes, but a good general picture of the KINDS of things he wants, so they can feel relatively confident of substituting those goods that can't be found.

And it's hilarious to see what he cuts out. Gender stereotypes, activate! He skips over all the "girl" pages and thankfully, many of the electronics pages, and heads straight for the building toys. His few notebook pages are packed with anything and everything Legos and Star Wars, but almost always it's the dark side of those toys--Knight's Kingdom Legos and evil droid-form Bionicles and anything with a dark and busy box cover. I don't get the covers of boy's toys. The design concept is so totally bewildering, so mystifying, so out-of-proportion that I stand in the aisles holding the box, reading the words upon it, and still wonder, often aloud "What the hell IS this thing?!"

Whatever it is, Stevie would like it, please. I bought him the Knight's Kingdom Legos, and some Magnetix, and a microscope. He's taped many more such items in his notebook-of-want, along with some rather peculiar things. For instance, for the second year in a row he has cut out the pink "tower of puppies" from the Lillian Vernon catalog, along with the New! Kitty Tower that he says I can have. He also cut out a fuzzy hive of bees with numbers on the various beehive holes. That's for Mark. And he also cut out something for his Uncle Ted which I will reluctantly buy because I have been unable to find it cheaper elsewhere and the notion that my sweet 5-year old chose several appropriate items for other people is too damn adorable to ignore. THAT is the spirit of Christmas, my friends!

So anyway, there you have it. What are WE getting for others? Kevin abhors the holidays although he does nothing but profit from them in the form of copious gifts and food he didn't have to cook, so we've agreed to increase the quantity of homemade items to cut down on the commercialism. Don't be fooled, though--it's not necessarily cheaper to make stuff, especially if you're making bowls with teakwood and ebony and quilts with fabric that generally runs $9.00 a yard. Raw ingredients are still purchased goods, and it all adds up! But there is something to be said for giving something handmade. And, honestly, giving IS the best part of the whole holiday. I enjoy the stuff, but I much prefer watching someone else open a quilt that I spent dozens or even hundreds of hours working on, or even something that I bought that turned out to be just The Thing, and presented in a joyously wrapped package. I love wrapping.

God I'm domestic.

Thoughts on this process? I'm always interested to hear what people have to say about their gift-giving/receiving traditions. Always have I talked of changing the whole concept of the holiday--keeping it, mind you, but changing it--so that it is focused solely on giving. I guess it pretty much is, save for those folks who really want to buy us stuff and want to know what we want/need.

I believe there's an achievable balance for the kiddies. I want my kids to experience the joy of giving AND receiving! Just like I'm not going to send them around on Halloween collecting pennies for UNICEF without collecting candy, too, I don't expect them to spend their Christmas Eve in a soup kitchen and be perfectly thrilled with a wooden choo-choo and an orange. I got to revel in it, so will my kids, and no amount of liberal guilt will stop me! There are 364 other days in the year to cultivate kindness and generosity in them and, hopefully, they will take advantage of their own advantages on those days instead of just being paraded in front of the needy one day a year only to ignore them the rest. Golly! I sure do have an opinion on THAT, huh? : )

Anyway, thoughts on this process? Are you a budgeter? Do you spend lavishly and joyously? Is Christmas your thing? If you're religious, how do you work the religion into what has become a very commercial thing for pretty much all?

And, yes, I know it's not even Thanksgiving yet.

Truth is I've had nothing to write about lately!

Yep. Things are pretty slow around the old fort. I put up my Christmas tree this weekend and wrapped all of the presents that I have so far. Usually I start Thanksgiving weekend, but the baby, you know. I need to be READY.

And now I have relatively little to do to complete Christmas preparations. Which is satisfying! There are a few more presents to buy and wrap, a few more rag quilts to make (they're easy, but time-consuming). I also have to fill out the innards of the Christmas cards, lick, and send--I am waiting until Mark is born or until the week after Thanksgiving, whichever comes later. But I'm not cooking any big dinners or--God forbid--traveling anywhere, so I'm feeling good!

I went to a party with work people over the weekend that was really fun. Enough said. Except for this: When I contemplate the pretty-much mandatory move to Missouri someday, I think about those folks--you folks--and painfully realize that we're building a pretty solid life here and there's no way that that sort of network of people can be reformed in Missouri. Nope, in Missouri it will be family, mostly, and mostly one person in that family, whom I love but whom is quite overtly religious and that fact, possibly, could limit our friendship. I hope not, though. And then I'm not in as big a hurry to leave. Better to soak it up here and move when we're--I'm--ready. Because once we move it is thought of by both of us as the last time we move. Of course, you never know what the future will bring, but we see it as the digging in portion of our life. I'm rambling. And, sometimes, scrambling to find a similar piece of land here. Nothing wrong with having TWO parcels of land, right?

One day I may write about the 180 acres that will be parceled out to the family in a most-likely wildly unfair way due to things that happened years ago that only one person can put "right" now, and that person is unlikely to do that. The reason I mention it at all is twofold: 1. ya'll know how nuts I am about wanting land and 2. a good chunk of land gained through an inheritance might change some plans (yet again). We'll see.

That's it for now, dear reader.

Letting the Days Go By

I am listening to this awesome song right now and it is inspiring a blog. (Yeah, I know it's called "Once in a Lifetime" fascist. You don't have to tell ME that--I'm a rock snob.)

Last night I cleaned off my desk, went through my wallet and tote bag--you know, organized. Long after I was done, I found myself still sitting there, like some sort of freaky chess genius, assessing every possible near-future move. There are several players--Mark's arrival sometime within the next 5 weeks (but who knows when? 'tis a mystery), Stevie's move from private K to public K (and the extra $162 a week that will create), Christmas present plans--both buying and asking, the limited fundage/many bills to pay conundrum, Kevin's job schedule after my leave is over, packing for the hospital, my bonus-of-unknown-amount that will come in April, the exciting new health plans at work, my cavity-filling appointment--you know, vital, crucial things. WHEN will I do THIS? WHEN will I pay THAT? If THIS happens, what THEN?

I don't know how those fancy Buddhists do it. Live in the moment, that is. Every once in a while I can catch a glimpse of that world. Last night it did cross my mind that my bank account is pretty much empty until I get paid early next week, so planning what gets paid (land? or credit card?) before it fills is just silly. SILLY! And for one fleeting second I was calm. And then I wasn't. Because, let's face it, most of us need to think ahead a little bit! The thing about having a party is this: It's not like you do much more to prepare for a party than you usually do in a typical week--you clean, you cook, you gussy up a bit. It's just that when you have a party, everything has to come together at exactly the same time. That's where we are right now. Everything hinges around this kid. I have to be at a logical stopping point at work (where and when will I blog?!), which involves a good amount of preparation. I have to be "pre-ready" for the holidays and the inevitable visitors and surprises (oh shit! did we get beer for the garbage guys?). I have to pre-pay my benefits and cell phone at work. (Now I'm listening to "Life During Wartime" and the lines "This ain't no party, this ain't no disco, this ain't no fooling arouuuuund." No kidding, Jack.)

This is nutty. All of this stuff will work itself out and none of it is important enough to fret about. I know this. And I'm not adversely impacted, outside of a little PMS-ish crankiness at times. It's just kinda funny. And I never tire of this Talking Heads record.

And thank you, Burb, for throwing in your two cents on the seminal song list. Those were good and thoughtful choices.

A Day in the Life

I forgot the other thing I wanted to write about today! Right before I woke up, I was having a dream about being a teacher again. Not only that, but I was in front of a class containing a few of my favorite students, teaching my beloved "Music in History" course. The topic of that day's lesson was a short primer on the Beatles. I'm listening to someone's iTunes right now and "A Day in the Life" just played, reminding me of it.

Unfortunately for my dream school, I was awakened while trying to get students to guess the first big hit for the Beatles, which I'm pretty sure was "I Want to Hold Your Hand". I didn't even have time to get into the really good stuff they wrote, why they retreated to the studio, the love-for-the-ages of John and Yoko, and that tragic day in 1980. I miss teaching.

Every once in awhile in the real class, I would dim the lights, flash the lyrics on the overhead, and loudly play a seminal song of some sort. This was a great deal of fun and the students usually got way into it. When I taught the Beatles in the real class, I played a lot of Beatles, but the seminal song--THE Beatles song that I featured, well, what would you play? Coming up with THE song for the Beatles, or the Stones, or Bruce Springsteen, or broader musical categories like Punk . . . these were a great deal of fun to hash out and I had plenty of help with Kevin around.

I played "A Day in the Life". That song, above all other Beatles songs, is the Beatles firing on all cylinders--it's trippy, musically interesting, with dreamlike Beatles lyrics and plenty of studio wizardry.

I remember playing it for a class for the first time. It was first period and it was a very gray, rainy morning--the kind of morning that begs you to stay home in your room and listen to records. I played the song at the end of the class, and there was total silence during and after. That's what happens when you take the time to really focus on a great piece of music. The students read the words, listened to the music--I especially like the piano during the "woke up, got out of bed . . . " part--and most of them fell in love with the Beatles that morning. Song over, pause, lights on, bell rings, students linger. One says, "I just want to go home and listen to music for the rest of the day."

Sweet.

So what would you play? If you wrote a music dictionary and could only include one song under your favorite band/singer/genre, what would that song be? Just FYI, I played "Thunder Road" when talking about Springsteen and students in another setting and another state had a similar reaction to the above. For Pink Floyd, it was "Time". For punk, I played snippets of lots of stuff, but I threw up (ha) the lyrics to "Hyperactive Child" by the Dead Kennedys. The children enjoyed them thoroughly:

I'm tired of kissin' ass
I can't sit still all day
You know I know your school's a lie
That's why you dragged me here

'You're a hyperactive child
You're disruptive, you're too wild
We're going to calm you down
Now this won't hurt a bit'

Drag me to the floor
Pullin' down my pants
Ram a needle up my butt
Put my brain into a trance

'No more hyperactive child
Got too much of a mind
Wouldn't you rather be happy?
Now this won't hurt a bit'

Cameras in the halls
No windows, just brick walls
Pledge allegiance to a flag
Now you will obey...

I love that Jell-O Biafra, the brains behind those lyrics, ran for president under the Green Party label (and mayor of San Francisco, too). That's so punk rock.

So go ahead--come up with some songs!

Quickly Now . . .

Surprisingly, I'm wanting to get to work this morning! I actually experienced a touch of boredom yesterday (Sunday). There was plenty to do, but I didn't feel like doing any of it. Truth be told . . . I just want to go shopping. Christmas shopping. I like seeing all of the new stuff. But, alas, almost all of my Christmas shopping is DONE! That's right. And all of my Christmas cards are addressed and stamped. For some reason, I feel this sense of urgency--must.get.things.done.

So I'll tell a little kid story: Kevin and I never tire of having Stevie around. It's amazing to watch this little person grow up right in front of us. Of course, we see a lot of ourselves in him, but his personality shines through, too. The fact that he is such a happy little guy is very rewarding--a joy to see. He was in rare comic form yesterday. During bathtime, his father elegantly asked him "Did you wash all the stink out of your butt?" "Yeah." Then Kevin said something like "I'm going to wash the stink out of my butt when I take a shower later" and Stevie said--I swear--"There's not enough water in the Pacific AND the Atlantic to wash the stink out of YOUR butt!" Chip off the ol' block, that one. Later, he asked for macaroni and cheese for dinner. When we said "sure", he got excited and started walking all robotic like and finally "bowed" for macaroni, saying "I bow for macaroni" in a very stiff, Japanese way! It was hilarious.

That's all for now.

Mommy's Little Monster

According to the ultrasound doc, my baby weighs 6 lbs, 6 oz., placing him in the 95th percentile in size, about 2 weeks ahead of schedule, growth-wise, and on-track to be induced early.

Hooray!

Stevie was 11 days early and weighed 7 lbs., 5 oz. If he had stayed in those 11 days, he might have topped out at a little over 8 pounds. Little Marky, on the other hand, is projected to grow to 9 lbs., 6 oz. if he decides to stay until the official due date of December 12. (I was 9 lbs., 2 oz--pretty big for now, but really big for 1970. Sorry, Mom.) That's a pretty big baby to push out, and a huge size increase--about 30%!--in the course of 6 weeks. So far my belly has escaped intact--no stretch marks, no popped bellybutton--and I'd kinda like to keep it that way.

So I go in for another ultrasound in a couple of weeks and my OB and I will talk then about the possibility of induction. I was very hippy-dippy with Stevie and wanted everything all-natural. This time, I'm very willing to discuss an actual planned date complete with an epidural and anything else modern medicine can offer me for comfort. This has been a very uncomfortable third trimester and I'm due for some relief.

And, oh, by the way, Kevin and I have decided for sure that this is it. According to Kevin, two babies "is enough for any man". Poor thing.

The Joy of Bills

It sounds insane, but there really is a joy to paying bills. When you have the money to cover them, anyway. Which, with the exception of a few dark, dark times, we have.

It's been awhile since I wrote a post on the state of our little but mighty union. What's the plan, Lulu? you might ask. Or not. We still plan on getting out to our land one day. Every time I see a horse I envision my two dappled grey Percheron draft horses pulling a Christmas sled through the countryside . . . . I wonder about what it will be like to pretty much completely change our lifestyle to one of a more homesteading nature. Will we have the guts and the commitment to really do it and do it right? What will we do for money? Teaching? Fancy segmented bowl making? Will our kids get any kind of decent education at the tiny podunk school? Will we be able to buy up our neighbor's land and be rid of them?

We have five more payments to go until that land is "ours" in the legal sense of the word. That's just $1,624.50. It's all I can do to distribute our money to the two credit card bills and the daycare and the other places. I want to just pay it and OWN IT.

But we have other bills to pay, and I mustn't put our finances in a pinch right before Christmas and little Marky Mark.

[2-6-06 This post severely edited for good reason. If you really want to read the rest, let me know. Lulu]