June 2005 Archives

Argh. I have all these half-baked blog entry ideas clogging up my head that I keep meaning to write down, and plenty of life admin to accomplish, but what did I spend my precious hour and a half of personal, non-kid time on tonight? Trying to figure out how to make my brand new fancy flippy cel phone (yeah, I lost my old one in a taxi in NYC last week, dammit) download Star Wars ringtones. I'm hopeless in so many ways I can't even write them all down here.

But now if you call me I'll hear the Cantina music. Ha! (Unless you're my boss or my coworker, in which case I'll hear the Imperial March. Heh.)

Better blog entries coming soon, I hope. Yes, I know I've said that before. But this time I meeeeeeeeeaaan it.

Holy friggin' funcakes, Batman, I'm glad that's all over with. I survived New York. I survived the flight there and back with a 3 month old baby (who did surprisingly well, considering); I survived jet lag and sleep deprivation and the general physical and mental exhaustion of standing on my feet talk-talk-talking for 8 hours at a stretch, 3 days in a row; I survived being savagely thrust back into the uncaring work world while simultaneously trying to juggle my baby's need for food, comfort and attention (thanks Josh! You're a rockin' baby sherpa!). And goddamn it's good to be home, with my partner back, easing back into something remotely approximating a normal routine. I'll get to enjoy this for approximately two and a half more weeks before Josh takes off for Comic-Con in mid-July and I'm back to single parenting again. (He'll also be gone again the first week of August at yet another conference...maybe I should just go ahead and kill myself now. Sigh.)

Surprisingly, even with all the juggling and the exhaustion and all that, I kind of liked being at this trade show, and I'm looking forward to jumping into the follow-up fray when I'm back at work on Monday. Because at least it wasn't/won't be boring, and it was/is work I feel competent at and (at least somewhat) excited about doing. Once again all those years of retail selling, theater training and teaching come in handy--I can chat with people and pitch my clients alllllllll day long (and I did).

Of course there's more to say, but I want to go catch up on sleep more than I want to get all philosophical here. At least I'm starting to get back into the blogging habit, little by little. So watch this space. Thoughtful thoughts coming soon. Really.

Ok, today there will be no whining about how flat out beat I am, or how crazy the day has been. Today is all about love, sweet love, and the person with whom I have been honored to share the last ten--that's right, count 'em, TEN--years of married life with: my Dear One, my sweet honey, my Joshie. (If you can't take the mush, click out of here now. Now, I say!)

Big ol' gamer geeks and fantasy addicts that we are, we've always talked about our relationship as a great adventure in which we, the hero and heroine, do great deeds and collect treasure(s) along the way. A decade of marriage--that seems like a real heroic accomplishment to me, especially in this day and age where good old-fashioned commitment seems to often be hard to come by. And hey, if being conscious parents of two kids while at the same time working full time isn't incredibly heroic in and of itself, I invite you to tell me what is. We've transitioned from our twenties to our thirties together, from students to working grownups, from childfree to parents (of two! Talk about treasures...).

Together, we continue to develop our own life (and relationship) groove, a rich and complex rhythm that bops us around the dance floor of life with only a few, generally survivable mis-steps here and there. Someday we'll have this groove down so well that the whole dance floor will clear for us and everyone will circle around us, clapping and cheering, while we shake, shimmy and shine--but for now sometimes I feel a bit more like George and Mary in "It's A Wonderful Life", entranced with each other and dancing obliviously towards (and into) the pool during the dance competition. But like them, even when we dance ourselves into a place we shouldn't be, we manage to get out of it, and with our senses of humor largely intact.

And my Joshie? My soulmate? My true companion? So far, he's just the best dance partner a girl could hope for. Yeah, sometimes he steps on my foot, but I step on his too, and he's pretty gracious about it most of the time; yeah, sometimes we seem to be each hearing a slightly different song, causing us to tug each other in opposing directions until we get back in our shared groove; sometimes it's hard to hear the music at all, but we keep on dancing together anyway, trusting that it will come back and guide us when we need it. And you know what? After ten years together, I feel pretty confident that it always does come back, and it always will.

Enough with the flowery metaphors and extended analogies now. It's been ten years and I'm still in love with my husband. He's a big-hearted, brilliant, funny, wise, loving, squeezably hunky mensch and I'm so glad I married him (and that he wanted to marry me). Here's to the next ten years, and the ten after that, and the ten after that, and so on and so on (until we drop dead on the dance floor).

Happy anniversary, honey. I love you.

I was trying to come up with some clever, jokey way to talk about how hard it's been this week, doing the whole single parent thing while Josh is gone in Hawaii, while simultaneously enduring super mega tradeshow prep stress during my first week back at work. Because who wants to read a bunch of whiny, feeling-sorry-for-myself complaints? But I just can't do it. I got no jokes in me right now. It hasn't been funny. It hasn't been fun. Really, these last 4 days have just sucked, overall, and I find myself sitting here tonight just barely alive, pushed uncomfortably close to my endurance limits with one day left to go before Josh comes home. Yes, my kids have been clothed and entertained and fed and transported back and forth; yes, I got all the prep done that needed to get done for the tradeshow. The pets are still alive and the house is reasonably clean. But me personally? I'm a wreck.

Mentally, I feel mostly numb right now (with a touch of weepy). I've planned, and I've executed those plans, pretty damn well I think. But I am reaching my limit for compartmentalizing and taking care of details. My brain just does not want to hold another thing, and yet I can't stop obsessing about getting things done, both at home and for work. I'm trying my best to fill up each day so that the time goes by quickly (at least being freakishly busy at work has one good thing going for it: it makes the day go by really fast and I don't spend time worrying about how the baby is doing in daycare...). But today I was home alone all day with both kids (other than a few hours with Daphne, who was so helpful and cheerful I almost broke down and cried), and tomorrow I'll be doing the same thing (Josh doesn't come home until late tomorrow night).

Physically, I'm falling apart. Not enough sleep, and too much schlepping of baby in car seat and other stuff. (Yesterday I found myself carrying out to the car: my lunchbox, eli's lunchbox, the baby's lunchbox, my purse, the pump and my laptop. I had to take the baby separately, I just couldn't carry it all at once. No wonder my ribs, neck and shoulders are pretty much permanently knotted.) And guess what? Today I have a sore throat. Goddamn IAS/NADM. Stupid stress/immune system relationship. Just what I needed: to be sick right around the time of the most important tradeshow of the year, while traveling with a baby. Yeah. That ought to put the icing on the cake. Maybe if I'm really lucky, the baby will get sick too and he'll develop into an ear infection right when we get back, and then Eli will get it too. And Josh too, so I'll have to take time off work right when I should be working my ass off doing tradeshow followup, thus showing my boss what a valuable member of the team I am. Yeah. That'd be great.

Sarcasm: the last defense of a way, way too tired and overwhelmed brain.

I. Am so. Fucking. Tired.

Bone-sucking tired.

Suck-it-up Olympics platinum medal-winning tired.

My head literally feels like someone took a chisel and cracked off the top of my skull, scooped out my brains, pounded them enthusiastically with a meat tenderizer and haphazardly poured them back into my head, and then attached the top of my skull back on with big rivets from a loud power tool. Am I making myself clear?

To say that it was kind of overwhelming going back to work yesterday is a bit of an understatement. Not only did I arrive back at work in the midst of a maelstrom of freakout over our upcoming big tradeshow next week (for which Josh, Isaac and I are all traveling to NYC for 4 days), but most of the day yesterday was taken up with a 6 hour client meeting, so it's not like I got to ease into anything slowly--you know, spend some time puttering around putting my desk and my computer back in order or anything. I barely had time to get a hug from my boss and coworker, and put my new picture on my desk and my lunch in the fridge before I was off and running. I barely had time to pump (and I'll save the rant on how much I hate pumping at work for another post). Ugh. Emotionally it felt kind of weird and I admit I called my daycare lady a couple times (and yes, everything went just fine with the baby, thanks for asking) but hey, at least it was distracting being so busy. (I'd write more about all the emotional stuff, in more detail, but I'm TOO DAMN TIRED. Sigh.)

The good thing about yesterday was that after picking up both kids and getting home and putting the baby to bed and feeding Eli dinner, Josh and I got to go out for a lovely fancy schmancy dinner at Farallon in the city, in honor of our 10th anniversary (which is actually not until Saturday, but Josh won't be here then). Even though I was draggingly tired, the oysters, calamari, lobster bisque, soft shell crabs and devil's food cake managed to revive me. Although the entire bottle of Stag's Leap Petite Syrah (one of our very favorite wines) that we shared did cause me to pretty much pass out in the car on the way home. You know, from tiredness.

Today was a little better in terms of emotional weirdness, but just as exhausting in terms of juggling life logistics as well as trying to do actual work (as in, the kind I get paid for). It didn't help that I'd taken the wrong set of keys with me this morning so I had to take an hour off and drive home at lunchtime to swap keys. But at least I got to see and nurse the baby (who's having a hard time taking a bottle, just to ratchet up my stress level a little). And just to make things extra fun and interesting this week (and I mean interesting in the Chinese curse sort of way), Josh left this afternoon for 5 days in Hawaii. (For WORK! Can you believe it? Sheesh.) So I'll be single parenting all week, with twice the kid logistics now that Isaac is going to daycare too. At least my mom is around to help me in the evenings the next few nights (she was here tonight too, bless her).

So if you hear a loud explody-skull sound one of these evenings right around, oh, dinnertime, or perhaps a shrill siren-like wailing one of these next couple of mornings right around, say, breakfast time, it's probably me. Say nice things about me at my funeral, ok? Don't tell everyone about how I was totally off my glass-half-full, silver-lining rocker to think that this week wouldn't be so bad.

I can do this. I totally can. I am a rockstar gold medalist mama.

I'm going to bed.

Due to some emergency car issues (a severe lack of oil and completely--and I do mean completely--bald tires) discovered during what I thought was a routine quickie visit to our local Jiffy Lube, I spent 3 and a half hours at the mall today. Alone. (Well, yeah, I had the baby with me, but he doesn't quite count as company, and besides he was asleep for a good chunk of the time I was there. Thank God.) Just me and a zillion other moms and grandmas with small children and babies, wasting time inside on a lovely June day. I was there so early that the kids and teenagers hadn't woken up from their summer vacation-induced stupor and made it down there yet. So the whole place had an almost hushed feel to it, at least until lunchtime approached. Ever been in a mall when it very first opens? It's so quiet, with only the employees getting ready for their days and a few stroller pushing mamas or strolling seniors treading the slippery fake parquet. It was surreal. And for extroverted me, kinda lonely. And boring.

There are so many weird stores in the mall. Department stores, clothing stores, toy stores, shoe stores, jewelry stores, body care stores, maybe a token book or video or music store, these are normal. But a candle store? A furniture store? A store that only sells gifts for your pet(s)? And the kiosks, oh man--the carts full of plastic tchotchkes for your hair, the different accessories for your cel phone, the "spa products"--who buys this stuff?

I was there for 3+ hours, and I didn't even buy anything. Ok, well, I bought one thing. But only because I was so. Bored. And I'm someone who actually likes to shop. I rarely ever get to just wander around a retail establishment for any length of time--these days I have to do the surgical strike approach (I have 45 minutes, and I need some new pants. I'm going to these two stores and trying things on faster than a speeding bullet and making a decision immediately and I'm outta there.) The problem was, with Mr. Baby in tow, I didn't feel I could really concentrate on trying on clothes or shoes, and I didn't really need anything specific. I had no gifts to buy, no errands to run. (And besides, having just blown over $400 on my car, I didn't feel like it'd be a good time to spend money on random frivolous stuff.) It was weird to be wandering through this shiny shiny temple to the almighty shopping gods with its artificial "Buy me! Want me! Be me!" atmosphere, yet not really being drawn to anything in particular. Maybe this is just not "my" mall (these particular stores don't call to me as much as others). Maybe I just wasn't in the mood. Maybe I'm just too wise to the wily ways of advertising and retail now.

Anyway, I finally rescued my poor car (which, I must say, sounds and drives much better now) and headed back home to nurse, bathe and change the baby before bringing him over to our daycare lady for his first couple of hours "dry run". Monday is my first day back at work (yikes!) so I wanted to have her take Isaac for just a few hours to see how it went. I was smart and scheduled myself a luxurious 90 minute massage (ohhhhh how I love massages, and how badly I've been needing one these last few months, given all the baby schlepping and breastfeeding backaches I've been experiencing, let alone all the leftover body trauma from childbirth) for the time I'd be gone, so that I'd have something else to concentrate on.

As it turned out, the baby did great, my massage was fabulous, and Josh was actually home for dinner and family time tonight. So even though it started out a bit surreal (or at least unexpected) it's actually been a good day. Hmmm, I wonder if I can actually go to bed on time tonight and get some decent sleep? Better not push my luck.

Well hello, gentle readers. Miss me? Yeah. I thought so.

^ Jen and Isaac (this one's for you, Suzanne--thanks for the hat! We love it!)

So today I went to visit my friend Jen and her baby Alexandra up in Petaluma, and while I was there, I decided on the spur of the moment (and yes, because I was trying to fill time, a common tactic for me on these long babycare days that seem to drag out endlessly unless we go out and about) to go visit my dad at work. I knew that a) he'd be glad to see me and the baby, but more importantly, b) he'd want to show off his new grandson to the entire company (he's the owner, so he can do stuff like this with impunity). And I was right--my dad was so excited that he met me out in the parking lot (complete with precautionary umbrella because it was--gasp--drizzling! and he didn't want his sweet as sugar grandson to "dissolve") and immediately commandeered the stroller with Isaac in it. I wound up trailing him as he paraded Isaac around to every cubicle, every office, and even the lunch room, proudly showing off his grandson and introducing us to everyone in the company. He was so happy. It made me feel good to be able to give him such kvelling.

But it also made me think, again, about how different families have different responses to grandchildren (and nieces/nephews, well, all children, for that matter). There are some for whom grandchildren are the absolute end-all, be-all, the boastworthy bright and shiny center of their lives. Pictures are proudly displayed (or whipped out at the least provocation), cute anecdotes are fondly (and sometimes endlessly) related, and every opportunity for time with the grandchild(ren) is seized with alacrity. The children are fussed over, indulged, and constantly told how cute/smart/talented they are. My family is like this, and watching my dad in action today reminded me of just how satisfying this kind of grandparenting is to me. (I fully intend to become this type of grandparent myself, assuming at least one of my boys fulfills their unwritten contract and gives me some grandkids. I'm already working on being this type of aunt.) Maybe it's a Jewish thing, I don't know (though I've seen it in other ethnic cultures too), but I really think that kids *should* be kvelled over, at least by their grandparents and uncles/aunts, if not their parents (who have to play bad cop too). Sure, it can go over the top, and this approach certainly has its dark side practicioners (Sith grandparents? Talk about mixing your metaphors...yikes), but overall I think it's a good thing for kids to have people in their lives who are just unreservedly wowed by/proud of them.

Not every family is like this. Josh's family isn't. They are content to sit back and wait to be invited to come see their grandchildren, and when they do show up, they just sort of sit back and watch the kids do their things, they don't really interact much. You certainly don't hear them telling their friends and family about their genius grandson, how he can already color so neatly in the lines, and have you heard him sing? Like an angel. I think it's kind of sad, especially because it's indicative of the distant type of parents they were/are.

The moral of this story? It's all about the unconditional love, people. We all need as much of it as we can get, and although grandparents are/can be/should be an excellent source, we should all be more grandparent-y towards each other. Go kvell over a friend or relative today--even grownups need a little kvell aimed their way from time to time.

As of our visit to the pediatrician this morning, Isaac, at the doddering age of 11 weeks, weighs 15 lbs, 13 oz. This puts him at something like 97th percentile for weight at this age. I fully expect him to have doubled his birth weight by the time he's 3 months old. Such a difference from Eli at this age, who although generally not scrawny, was never this, well, chunky. We give him endless nicknames: Fatty Fat Boy, Biggedy Big Boy, Mr. Plumpy, Plumpalicious, Chubba Chub, Chunky Chicken, Mr. Squishy, Bubba, Hugemongous. Isaac doesn't just have extra chins, wobbly jowls and delightful rolls upon rolls at every juncture (wrists, ankles, thighs, knees, elbows)--he's like some enormous juicy peach, literally close to bursting, but with solid, dense flesh underneath that yummy smooth taut baby skin, instead of juice. It makes him almost rubbery in his plumpness, there is so little give to his full-to-bursting skin. But oh, he is so much fun to squish (in a loving way, of course).

Here are a couple of choice chubba pix from the last few weeks:

^This one's so cute I used it for my computer wallpaper.

^Now *those* are some jowls. This picture slays me. It should be done in fuzzy black velvet or something.

^Here's a good view of some of those wrist rolls. Why am I suddenly craving sausages?