If you don't have HBO, I'm sorry, but the Flight of the Conchords is probably the funniest thing on TV this summer. I have a weird sense of humor, and it cracks me the hell up.
See for yourself?
Friday, August 10, 2007
Monday, August 06, 2007
Stupid Mondays
Monday: Taco Salad for grown ups / Taco "Bowls" for Kiddos (In scoop doritos)
Tuesday: Red Beans & Rice & Sausage
Wednesday: Crock Pot Chicken & Green Beans
Thursday: Mac & Cheese & fruit for kiddos w/ babysitter (Mom and Dad OUT for anniversary)
Friday: pizza
Non-menu related rant. Mondays are tough enough already without a 2.75 year old screaming and crying, "I want daddy" and "I don't want to go to school, I want you to stay home." I was thisclose to coming in to resign today, except that I'd have to deal with said 2.75 year old drama queen all day, EVERY DAY. To moms with babies - if you think leaving an infant is hard, just wait until they can talk and tell you exactly what they're thinking.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Menu Plan Monday
I do it anyway, I thought I might try posting it.
Monday: black bean quesadillas & salad
Tuesday: whole wheat waffles & fruit
Wednesday: seefood / out to see Mimi
Thursday: grilled ham & cheeses w/ fruit & chips
Friday: pizza
Can you tell it's summer and I don't want to cook? LOL
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Learning mommy
The days have been slipping by. E had an ear infection, them M. E is 95% potty trained, M is 95% walking. Some days they look so big. I've been telling E stories about when she was a baby, she did this, or that. She thinks its funny that she used to kick mommy from inside the tummy.
I haven't journaled or blogged about M the same way I did about E's babyhood. Lack of time, fear of showing "favoritism", I'm sure a thousand other reasons. I need to start. I need to write things down to remember how she crams food in her mouth, how she clutches her blanket at nighttime, and lays her head on my shoulder when I sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to her. I need to remember her sweet disposition and how she's already chasing and playing with her sister. I'll try to do better, baby.
And now some words from another mommy that I found in my inbox. I love this piece. I need to find out if Anna Quindlen really wrote it. ;-)
An Essay by Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.
When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago pouring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.
Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, and matter-of-fact - I was sometimes over the top.
And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.
I haven't journaled or blogged about M the same way I did about E's babyhood. Lack of time, fear of showing "favoritism", I'm sure a thousand other reasons. I need to start. I need to write things down to remember how she crams food in her mouth, how she clutches her blanket at nighttime, and lays her head on my shoulder when I sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to her. I need to remember her sweet disposition and how she's already chasing and playing with her sister. I'll try to do better, baby.
And now some words from another mommy that I found in my inbox. I love this piece. I need to find out if Anna Quindlen really wrote it. ;-)
An Essay by Anna Quindlen, Newsweek Columnist and Author
All my babies are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.
Everything in all the books I once poured over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach, T. Berry Brazelton, Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories. What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations -- what they taught me, was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.
Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout. One child is toilet trained at 3, his sibling at 2.
When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow. I remember 15 years ago pouring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk, too.
Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the, "Remember-When-Mom-Did Hall of Fame." The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I include that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I include that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?
But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them, sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night.
I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.
Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be. The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, and matter-of-fact - I was sometimes over the top.
And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me. I was bound and determined to learn from the experts. It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
22 hours after I got the book, I'm finished. All 730-something pages of it. Thanks to my husband, who took E out this morning, while M had her first nap, and thanks to all of them for napping this afternoon, I had some quiet time today.
It was sooooo good. I'm sad it ended, but it was an awesome ride. Thank you JK Rowling!
I will start the re-read Monday morning, during my commute!
It was sooooo good. I'm sad it ended, but it was an awesome ride. Thank you JK Rowling!
I will start the re-read Monday morning, during my commute!
Monday, July 16, 2007
I'm no Little Ball of Hate
My recent column.
One of the most interesting things about having a semi-regular column in the paper is the mail I get afterward. Usually, it's pretty polite, and pretty supportive.
Today, I got this:
"You need to understand something. The only thing people want to hear less from (more than a lawyer) is a female lawyer. Do your best to try to stay quiet."
Which just really makes me laugh.
Someone else accused me of being high. Which also made me laugh.
Then I was copied on an email by a city manager, to another concerned resident. The city manager forwarded this other person my column, and said he was sending it to the city council.
I guess he hasn't heard that he shouldn't listen to FEMALE lawyers.
One of the most interesting things about having a semi-regular column in the paper is the mail I get afterward. Usually, it's pretty polite, and pretty supportive.
Today, I got this:
"You need to understand something. The only thing people want to hear less from (more than a lawyer) is a female lawyer. Do your best to try to stay quiet."
Which just really makes me laugh.
Someone else accused me of being high. Which also made me laugh.
Then I was copied on an email by a city manager, to another concerned resident. The city manager forwarded this other person my column, and said he was sending it to the city council.
I guess he hasn't heard that he shouldn't listen to FEMALE lawyers.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
making plans
People come up to me all the time, asking me, "Legal, how do you and your husband stay together, year after year?"
My answer, "We spend lots of time apart."
No, not really. But ever since we were dating, we do respect each other's need for space. Now that we have kids, the "need for space" requires planning and marking each other's calendars several months in advance. We send each other Outlook requests when we want to go out. Seriously.
So a certain person is having a girls' fiesta next Friday (con margaritas - Yo amo margaritas) and then the next week is a boys' birthday celebration. We trade off, you see, and it works well for us.
Imagine his reaction when last night over dinner I told him I'd need him to watch the kids for "approximately 48 hours next weekend." "You have a party next Friday night... is it for 48 hours?" he asked with that edge in his voice.
"No, but the new Harry Potter book is coming out, and I require some uninterrupted reading time. Thank you!"
Hmmm... my suggestion was not taken well. But I'm still working on it. This ONLY comes once in a lifetime, right?
My answer, "We spend lots of time apart."
No, not really. But ever since we were dating, we do respect each other's need for space. Now that we have kids, the "need for space" requires planning and marking each other's calendars several months in advance. We send each other Outlook requests when we want to go out. Seriously.
So a certain person is having a girls' fiesta next Friday (con margaritas - Yo amo margaritas) and then the next week is a boys' birthday celebration. We trade off, you see, and it works well for us.
Imagine his reaction when last night over dinner I told him I'd need him to watch the kids for "approximately 48 hours next weekend." "You have a party next Friday night... is it for 48 hours?" he asked with that edge in his voice.
"No, but the new Harry Potter book is coming out, and I require some uninterrupted reading time. Thank you!"
Hmmm... my suggestion was not taken well. But I'm still working on it. This ONLY comes once in a lifetime, right?
Friday, July 13, 2007
Momentous Occasions
Yesterday was such a huge day. E started the 3 year old class on Monday, and yesterday wore big girl panties -WITH-NO-ACCIDENTS-...!!!!! She also went poopy on the potty ("but just a little bit, mommy.") If she does it again today, I'm taking her out for ice cream, or something.
Also, M walked. Repeatedly. Granted, it was like 3 steps, fall down, Mommy pick up, 3 steps, fall down, Mommy pick up, but still. She knew what she was doing too, I could tell. For the past few months, I've been trying to get her to "walk to mommy" since she is the biggest mama's girl ever and who does she finally walk to, last night? E, the big sister, who was brushing her teeth and running around having a grand time. J doesn't believe me, as he worked late last night and didn't see it, and she wouldn't repeat the feat this morning. But I think we're off and running.
What else is happening? I get to close out a case that was reassigned to me when I returned from maternity leave... from my first baby. This was not a complicated case, but still rather huge and one of first impression. We got a signed commitment from the recipient last night, and I get to tell the person who filed that it's finally over. Yay me.
Also, M walked. Repeatedly. Granted, it was like 3 steps, fall down, Mommy pick up, 3 steps, fall down, Mommy pick up, but still. She knew what she was doing too, I could tell. For the past few months, I've been trying to get her to "walk to mommy" since she is the biggest mama's girl ever and who does she finally walk to, last night? E, the big sister, who was brushing her teeth and running around having a grand time. J doesn't believe me, as he worked late last night and didn't see it, and she wouldn't repeat the feat this morning. But I think we're off and running.
What else is happening? I get to close out a case that was reassigned to me when I returned from maternity leave... from my first baby. This was not a complicated case, but still rather huge and one of first impression. We got a signed commitment from the recipient last night, and I get to tell the person who filed that it's finally over. Yay me.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
So Together
Honestly, since my Pocket PC died this spring, I am leading a far more organized life. I switched to a paper planner, and it took some time, but I am back in the swing of things organizationally-speaking, far more so than I had been in the last few years.
Want proof?
It’s 167 days until Christmas.
And I have lists started to prove it.
Boo-yah.
Could more frequent blogging be next? Oh my!
Want proof?
It’s 167 days until Christmas.
And I have lists started to prove it.
Boo-yah.
Could more frequent blogging be next? Oh my!
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
'08
I was just telling my like-minded friends at work yesterday, how torn I am about the prospects in '08. One speaks to my heart, and one to my head.
Then one does something like this which is so fun, plus... Bill!
I know it's all over the place this morning, but for a political person and a Sopranos fan, it's pretty cute: www.hillaryclinton.com Click on the video. Enjoy.
Then one does something like this which is so fun, plus... Bill!
I know it's all over the place this morning, but for a political person and a Sopranos fan, it's pretty cute: www.hillaryclinton.com Click on the video. Enjoy.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
1 Year
A year ago today I was tired of being pregnant, excited to find out if my baby was a boy or a girl, nervous about how E was going to handle it all... I'm going to cry a lot today, tomorrow, the next day. Happy Birthday Margaret. Your mommy loves you very much.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
My Song of the Summer is...
Maroon Five, Makes me Wonder. It's fun, it's disco-y, it says "fuck" and it's sung by a hot guy.
What's yours?
What's yours?
Friday, May 25, 2007
Links for Friday
My new celebrity love: Maggie Gyllenhal for breastfeeding in public.
Also, in case you hadn't heard, 18% of Texas high school seniors failed the TAKS test and therefore can't graduate. Never mind this means that they can't pass a test of BASIC skills, they're upset that they can't put on a cap and gown and walk across a stage with their friends. Here's an article about it. Check out the protestor's sign. Classic, no?
Also, in case you hadn't heard, 18% of Texas high school seniors failed the TAKS test and therefore can't graduate. Never mind this means that they can't pass a test of BASIC skills, they're upset that they can't put on a cap and gown and walk across a stage with their friends. Here's an article about it. Check out the protestor's sign. Classic, no?
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
The San Francisco Treat
So when the husband tells me that his company is sending him to Java One (a "geek-conference") in San Francisco, and asks if I would like to go spend our first weekend alone together after the second kid, I answered "HELL YES." I've always wanted to go to San Fran and if the husband's flight and some other stuff is paid for, there's nothing to debate.
While he spent Thursday and Friday at the Geek Conference (I attended the Thursday night "java bash" disguised as a coworker named Dimitri and there I publicly accused the husband of sexually harassing me. It was very amusing at the time), I shopped. A LOT. Then Saturday and Sunday we got to do the touristy thing.
Here are some pictures! Enjoy!
Monday, May 21, 2007
Feminist Monday
A few articles that I found interesting...
Michelle Obama quits her job to do the expected thing. Sorry - I think she's a very attractive woman, but that picture makes her look like a Jedi knight.
The marriage - industrial complex - the modern American wedding and how it's become a monster.
Michelle Obama quits her job to do the expected thing. Sorry - I think she's a very attractive woman, but that picture makes her look like a Jedi knight.
The marriage - industrial complex - the modern American wedding and how it's become a monster.
Friday, May 18, 2007
It's Friday!
Here's the latest column. I actually like it, although I realized after I turned it in that I spelled Gayle King's first name wrong, and my editor didn't catch it either. Oh well.
For those of you that tune in from time to time, I apologize for not blogging more frequently. I want to be a good blogger, I do. I just am frequently overwhelmed with how much information I have to share, and overwhelmed with the amount of things I have to do in a day. Typical working mom complaints, yes?
Another thing to take you into the weekend. If you (hypothetically) inadvertently feed a baby a tiny little bit of very very hot salsa, you will feel really really bad when she starts wailing, but you will also be trying not to laugh at the way her face turned red like a cartoon character. So heartbreaking. Hypothetically, of course.
For those of you that tune in from time to time, I apologize for not blogging more frequently. I want to be a good blogger, I do. I just am frequently overwhelmed with how much information I have to share, and overwhelmed with the amount of things I have to do in a day. Typical working mom complaints, yes?
Another thing to take you into the weekend. If you (hypothetically) inadvertently feed a baby a tiny little bit of very very hot salsa, you will feel really really bad when she starts wailing, but you will also be trying not to laugh at the way her face turned red like a cartoon character. So heartbreaking. Hypothetically, of course.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
HURRICANE Winds, y'all
Last night was a big storm for us. BIG. DH and I were standing at the windows, watching our trees lean over at a 45 degree angle. One baby tree in the back yard is wired to the fence, so as it bent over, we worried that it would take the fence with it.
But no trees were down this morning, the kids slept through, and we only lost power intermittently, enough to make my husband cuss repeatedly at the computer, and me just to give up on watching Lost.
Driving through our neighborhood this morning, everything looked normal, until I crossed town and went into the neighborhood where our daycare is. Every single tree had branches down, stop signs were uprooted. I saw fire men standing outside of the firehouse, looking at the roof that had been blown off. When we pulled into the daycare, the playground that E plays on has trees uprooted, and suncovers pulled off the covered areas. E said, "My playground! Broken!" Apparently we are lucky the daycare was open, as the whole section of town behind it still didn't have power.
One of the bitches was in a bathroom last night when the tornado sirens went off. One had a tree fall on her house. I think Mrs. DallasK and I live on the calm side of town.
But no trees were down this morning, the kids slept through, and we only lost power intermittently, enough to make my husband cuss repeatedly at the computer, and me just to give up on watching Lost.
Driving through our neighborhood this morning, everything looked normal, until I crossed town and went into the neighborhood where our daycare is. Every single tree had branches down, stop signs were uprooted. I saw fire men standing outside of the firehouse, looking at the roof that had been blown off. When we pulled into the daycare, the playground that E plays on has trees uprooted, and suncovers pulled off the covered areas. E said, "My playground! Broken!" Apparently we are lucky the daycare was open, as the whole section of town behind it still didn't have power.
One of the bitches was in a bathroom last night when the tornado sirens went off. One had a tree fall on her house. I think Mrs. DallasK and I live on the calm side of town.
Friday, April 27, 2007
Something fun for Friday
I want a pair of Eleanor Grosch Keds. Because they look cute and comfortable. Because the designer is really hip and cool and therefore I will be too, if I wear them. Because I want to support hip and cool and talented women named Eleanor.
I was going to wait until they went on sale, but I'm a bit paranoid that by the time they do, they will be sold out. So.... Which pair do y'all like best?
Thanks!
I was going to wait until they went on sale, but I'm a bit paranoid that by the time they do, they will be sold out. So.... Which pair do y'all like best?
Thanks!
Thursday, April 26, 2007
On Stopping Crazy Homicidal Maniacs
Even though I am currently mulling over ways to revamp this blog (to make it less “smart”, to include fewer “links”, to write more “often”), I am going to write another post that no one wants to read.
If you’ve talked to me IRL, you may have heard me rant about this already but here goes the electronic version.
Virginia Tech. 33 Dead. Crazy person w/ a gun. What went wrong / what should have been done / what could make schools safer?
Not much. A crazy homicidal maniac won’t care too much if he breaks a law when he obtains a firearm. Yes, it may make it harder, but guns, like drugs and abortions, will always be available to desperate people with cash.
We can close campuses, but we can’t close campuses to um... students, which above referenced crazy homicidal maniac was.
We can get police some turbo packs so they can fly really fast to the scene of a crime but see above: crazy homicidal maniac with gun. Oh, and chains to chain doors together.
See my point? Crazy people will do something crazy if they have their mind set to do it. So we have to stop the crazy.
I’m not in any sort of counseling / psychiatric / pastoral field. I’m sure people who are will have lots of insight and wisdom and advice on how to address potential craziness in people.
But I am a lawyer, and I know *something* about laws. Here in Texas, where I am licensed, we have some laws to prevent child abuse. One law is, if you are someone who works with a child (teacher, social worker, day care teacher, etc.) and you have a good faith reasonable belief that the child is or has been abused you have 24 hours to report that to authorities. If you do so, you are immune from civil liability, meaning a parent can’t sue you for making a false claim. If you do not, you are not only immune to civil liability, but you are subject to criminal liability for failing to protect a child. Anybody else in Texas also has civil immunity if you have a good faith, reasonable belief that a child is being abused, and you report it to authorities.
Maybe it’s because I’m a lawyer, but with this Cho guy, I’m hearing a lot of people who saw the warning signs, even administrators at VT, but for whatever reason, their hands were tied, or they were scared to do something.
We need similar laws to the child abuse reporting statutes, for potential school violence. Not only do we need to give civil immunity to those who report potential crazy homicidal maniacs to police, but we need to MANDATE school administrators to do so.
I’m still not sure the Chos of this world can be stopped, but we need to give ourselves the opportunity to do so.
If you’ve talked to me IRL, you may have heard me rant about this already but here goes the electronic version.
Virginia Tech. 33 Dead. Crazy person w/ a gun. What went wrong / what should have been done / what could make schools safer?
Not much. A crazy homicidal maniac won’t care too much if he breaks a law when he obtains a firearm. Yes, it may make it harder, but guns, like drugs and abortions, will always be available to desperate people with cash.
We can close campuses, but we can’t close campuses to um... students, which above referenced crazy homicidal maniac was.
We can get police some turbo packs so they can fly really fast to the scene of a crime but see above: crazy homicidal maniac with gun. Oh, and chains to chain doors together.
See my point? Crazy people will do something crazy if they have their mind set to do it. So we have to stop the crazy.
I’m not in any sort of counseling / psychiatric / pastoral field. I’m sure people who are will have lots of insight and wisdom and advice on how to address potential craziness in people.
But I am a lawyer, and I know *something* about laws. Here in Texas, where I am licensed, we have some laws to prevent child abuse. One law is, if you are someone who works with a child (teacher, social worker, day care teacher, etc.) and you have a good faith reasonable belief that the child is or has been abused you have 24 hours to report that to authorities. If you do so, you are immune from civil liability, meaning a parent can’t sue you for making a false claim. If you do not, you are not only immune to civil liability, but you are subject to criminal liability for failing to protect a child. Anybody else in Texas also has civil immunity if you have a good faith, reasonable belief that a child is being abused, and you report it to authorities.
Maybe it’s because I’m a lawyer, but with this Cho guy, I’m hearing a lot of people who saw the warning signs, even administrators at VT, but for whatever reason, their hands were tied, or they were scared to do something.
We need similar laws to the child abuse reporting statutes, for potential school violence. Not only do we need to give civil immunity to those who report potential crazy homicidal maniacs to police, but we need to MANDATE school administrators to do so.
I’m still not sure the Chos of this world can be stopped, but we need to give ourselves the opportunity to do so.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Yesterday
Yesterday was a bad day. I started off depressed by the Virginia Tech massacre. Then I went to a college campus for work, and had to talk about Virginia Tech and its implications for all colleges. The woman I talked to then mentioned that she had lost her husband in the Oklahoma City bombing, and her son the year before, so "this kind of thing" affected her more. I almost started crying right then and there. Our computers and phones were all messed up at work, the parking garage attendant asked me if I was pregnant with my first baby.... Grrr.
I picked up the kids a little early to spend time with them before going over to Mrs. Dallas K's for a little shindig to celebrate MommyMe's first day of her new job. When I went over, the day turned around completely....
they surprised me with an early birthday surprise party! I got a card, and presents, and cake, and lots of yummy totally diet-friendly food, and of course, my bitches. I even got to see Cop's Wife, who has been too busy with mothering and working and getting a MASTERS' degree to see any of us lately. And Football Widow had such a good time, I felt like I was drunk while talking to her.
Thanks my bitches! Y'all helped make my 30th year so special, I can't wait to spend my 31st getting into more trouble with you!
Pics at Mrs. Dallas K's, as usual.
I picked up the kids a little early to spend time with them before going over to Mrs. Dallas K's for a little shindig to celebrate MommyMe's first day of her new job. When I went over, the day turned around completely....
they surprised me with an early birthday surprise party! I got a card, and presents, and cake, and lots of yummy totally diet-friendly food, and of course, my bitches. I even got to see Cop's Wife, who has been too busy with mothering and working and getting a MASTERS' degree to see any of us lately. And Football Widow had such a good time, I felt like I was drunk while talking to her.
Thanks my bitches! Y'all helped make my 30th year so special, I can't wait to spend my 31st getting into more trouble with you!
Pics at Mrs. Dallas K's, as usual.
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Odds
Conversation at my house yesterday upon our first viewing of a Veggie Tales episode:
Me: They have no arms!
Jeff: Sara, They're vegetables.
Me: Well, they talk, don't they?
Other exclamation at my house yesterday: Holy shit, I ran a 5K! It's all due to Football Widow, MommyMe, and Mrs. DallasK. They told me to run ("train") and made sure I registered and didn't buy my crap about me wanting to make sure my leg wasn't broken and all. Thanks gals! I'm hurting in weird places today, but I feel so great about beating my goal time by 4 minutes! Yay me! Pics at Mrs. DallasK's, as usual.
This month's contribution to the printed word found here.
Me: They have no arms!
Jeff: Sara, They're vegetables.
Me: Well, they talk, don't they?
Other exclamation at my house yesterday: Holy shit, I ran a 5K! It's all due to Football Widow, MommyMe, and Mrs. DallasK. They told me to run ("train") and made sure I registered and didn't buy my crap about me wanting to make sure my leg wasn't broken and all. Thanks gals! I'm hurting in weird places today, but I feel so great about beating my goal time by 4 minutes! Yay me! Pics at Mrs. DallasK's, as usual.
This month's contribution to the printed word found here.
Monday, April 09, 2007
He Who Shall Not Be Named
See this guy?
I will not speak his name, but we all know who he is and what he has done. He has disappointed children, and dashed the dreams of young and old.
Karma is a bitch.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
Good times
Every day when we leave day care, I let E pick up two or three packs of crackers for the ride home. Yesterday, she gave me one and as I was holding it, M grabbed it from me and started gnawing on it. I tried taking it away from her, but she pouted, and I caved, since I had made her cry when I first walked in yesterday. (I was at the front desk signing the kids out, and she happened to see me from her room. Literally, there’s one spot where she could sit and see me, and she was there. I heard a kid crying quite loudly, and I thought, “my, that’s one pissed off baby…. That kinda sounds like mine.” I turned around and there she was, crying that she could see her mama and her mama wasn’t coming to get her. It broke my heart. Therefore… crackers.) So E got to get two more crackers.
We’re in the car, and E has finished her crackers and gets all pouty about something, and starts kicking my seat. I say, “look at that temper tantrum right there!” And she says, “I wanna see!”
“What?” I ask.
“I wanna see temper tan!”
“You want to see a temper tantrum?”
“Yes!”
“Right there! You’re the temper tantrum!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO. I WANNA SEE TEMPER TAN!”
It was pretty funny, and nothing I could do could convince her that a temper tantrum wasn’t something really cool outside of the car that she was missing.
She calmed down a little, and saw M still gnawing on the pack of Club crackers (yes I’m a horrible mother for letting her do that, I know). “I want Aggie crackers.” (E calls M “aggie”)
“You want Maggie’s crackers?” I ask.
“Yes.”
”No, baby, you had your crackers, those are Maggie’s crackers.”
“I want to share.” She pouted.
So freakin’ cute. She gets sharing! Kinda.
We’re in the car, and E has finished her crackers and gets all pouty about something, and starts kicking my seat. I say, “look at that temper tantrum right there!” And she says, “I wanna see!”
“What?” I ask.
“I wanna see temper tan!”
“You want to see a temper tantrum?”
“Yes!”
“Right there! You’re the temper tantrum!”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOO. I WANNA SEE TEMPER TAN!”
It was pretty funny, and nothing I could do could convince her that a temper tantrum wasn’t something really cool outside of the car that she was missing.
She calmed down a little, and saw M still gnawing on the pack of Club crackers (yes I’m a horrible mother for letting her do that, I know). “I want Aggie crackers.” (E calls M “aggie”)
“You want Maggie’s crackers?” I ask.
“Yes.”
”No, baby, you had your crackers, those are Maggie’s crackers.”
“I want to share.” She pouted.
So freakin’ cute. She gets sharing! Kinda.
Wednesday, March 14, 2007
Wired Wednesday
Once again, I’m all over the place this morning.
1) General Pace. WTF were you thinking? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You can (and should) have your own religious beliefs. BUT. You are a SECULAR leader, not only to the military, but to our nation. You cannot call an entire portion of our society “immoral.” I know conservatives decry political correctness, but there is a reason for it. It’s also called common courtesy, showing respect, not trying to tick people off for stupid reasons. You and I agree on one very large thing: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is an idiotic program. But in 2007, the military’s got some larger problems on its hands right? Women are getting raped, harassed and beaten in the military, never mind what’s happening to Iraqis, Afghans and detainees. What two consenting adults do off the job is no one’s business, and should not even be on your radar right now. Take care of some of these other items, then we’ll let you tell Americans what is “immoral.”
2) It’s Spring Break. Parents and tourists, do NOT ride the light rail during rush hour, or I will hate you and give you and your croc-wearing, denim short-sporting, Teddy Graham-eating self the evil eye. People use the rail to get back and forth from WORK. We value our quiet time. We do not want to hear your children asking “how many more stops until we get home?” And, “What’s the stop where we get off?” for the 100th time. I don’t want to hear your theories on the “inner city” and how “they should do something about that old building [Dallas High School].” I REALLY don’t want to hear you tell your preteen son (who’s old enough to stand up and let someone take his seat, BTW) how smart he is every time he COUNTS the number of stops on the train map.
1) General Pace. WTF were you thinking? I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. You can (and should) have your own religious beliefs. BUT. You are a SECULAR leader, not only to the military, but to our nation. You cannot call an entire portion of our society “immoral.” I know conservatives decry political correctness, but there is a reason for it. It’s also called common courtesy, showing respect, not trying to tick people off for stupid reasons. You and I agree on one very large thing: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is an idiotic program. But in 2007, the military’s got some larger problems on its hands right? Women are getting raped, harassed and beaten in the military, never mind what’s happening to Iraqis, Afghans and detainees. What two consenting adults do off the job is no one’s business, and should not even be on your radar right now. Take care of some of these other items, then we’ll let you tell Americans what is “immoral.”
2) It’s Spring Break. Parents and tourists, do NOT ride the light rail during rush hour, or I will hate you and give you and your croc-wearing, denim short-sporting, Teddy Graham-eating self the evil eye. People use the rail to get back and forth from WORK. We value our quiet time. We do not want to hear your children asking “how many more stops until we get home?” And, “What’s the stop where we get off?” for the 100th time. I don’t want to hear your theories on the “inner city” and how “they should do something about that old building [Dallas High School].” I REALLY don’t want to hear you tell your preteen son (who’s old enough to stand up and let someone take his seat, BTW) how smart he is every time he COUNTS the number of stops on the train map.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
I'm back with a new friend
I’d like to introduce you to my new best fantasy-friend, Mindy. (There's also a link over there to Things that I've Bought that I Love.)
Most of you know that my old best fantasy friend is Tim Gunn from Project Runway. And I still love him, but while I totally want to have coffee with him everyday and discuss all sorts of things, he will never, in spite of his orientation, be a true girlfriend.
That’s where Mindy Ephron/Kaling comes in. I discovered her blog a few months ago, and now between that and her acting/ writing on The Office, I think she may be my new best fantasy-friend, taking over from the illustrious line of Isaac Mizrahi, Ellen DeGeneres and Tim Gunn. (Yes, there’s a pattern there, and it’s not a good interview and a love of a well-cut jacket. I may be breaking the pattern with Mindy, but maybe she’s just a closet case like in all those blind items. Whatever, I don’t care.) Everyone knows that the basis of a truly meaningful, deep friendship is a shared interest in superficial things. Mindy’s blog makes me laugh and makes me want to shop and write about things I love, and I know that during my next shopping trip I will be having a deep, thoroughly superficial, thoroughly imagined girl-chat with her.
Right now, she won't take my comments. Is that the fantasy world equivalent of not taking my calls?
Most of you know that my old best fantasy friend is Tim Gunn from Project Runway. And I still love him, but while I totally want to have coffee with him everyday and discuss all sorts of things, he will never, in spite of his orientation, be a true girlfriend.
That’s where Mindy Ephron/Kaling comes in. I discovered her blog a few months ago, and now between that and her acting/ writing on The Office, I think she may be my new best fantasy-friend, taking over from the illustrious line of Isaac Mizrahi, Ellen DeGeneres and Tim Gunn. (Yes, there’s a pattern there, and it’s not a good interview and a love of a well-cut jacket. I may be breaking the pattern with Mindy, but maybe she’s just a closet case like in all those blind items. Whatever, I don’t care.) Everyone knows that the basis of a truly meaningful, deep friendship is a shared interest in superficial things. Mindy’s blog makes me laugh and makes me want to shop and write about things I love, and I know that during my next shopping trip I will be having a deep, thoroughly superficial, thoroughly imagined girl-chat with her.
Right now, she won't take my comments. Is that the fantasy world equivalent of not taking my calls?
All over the place
Back to the princess phenomenon: See how I'm not the only parent to resist, and how totally commercial, contrived and evil it is? And how parents will have to eventually justify the tiaras as some sort of post-feminist reclamation of grrrl power? Oy vey.
Here's my latest in the paper. I'm not all that proud of this one, but whatever. It's published. It's got my name on it. I better get proud.
Many of you that are on Google Talk have seen my away/here message and asked about it. Yes, someone ate my burrito. And yogurt. And healthy choice frozen dinner. There's someone at work that steals food. They've stolen food from me before in my 3 years here, but never this much, all together. I alternate between being royally ticked off to just feeling kind of sad that not only has someone stooped to this level, but that I have to work with that kind of person. Plus, Mrs. Dallas K told me a story about someone who purposefully set out to steal the food from an officemate who they didn't like, just to f#ck with them, so I'm trying not to get paranoid about that.
Here's my latest in the paper. I'm not all that proud of this one, but whatever. It's published. It's got my name on it. I better get proud.
Many of you that are on Google Talk have seen my away/here message and asked about it. Yes, someone ate my burrito. And yogurt. And healthy choice frozen dinner. There's someone at work that steals food. They've stolen food from me before in my 3 years here, but never this much, all together. I alternate between being royally ticked off to just feeling kind of sad that not only has someone stooped to this level, but that I have to work with that kind of person. Plus, Mrs. Dallas K told me a story about someone who purposefully set out to steal the food from an officemate who they didn't like, just to f#ck with them, so I'm trying not to get paranoid about that.
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Y'all gon' make me lose my mind
Ok, first of all, what’s up with me not getting carded… twice yesterday?
I bought wine yesterday at two separate stores and there was NO request to see my identification. WTH.
And if the “buying wine” item isn’t enough to tell you that I’m ready for my husband to come home, here’s another clue.
I was telling Football Widow last night that I suspected my brain had stopped working, and I needed another adult around the house. For instance, I could not come up with something for dinner last night. Nothing sounded good to me, and though it was tempting to let E have an all-cracker meal last night, as she suggested, I literally stood in front of the fridge, waiting for inspiration. Finally, I came up with eggs and toast (brilliant) but it took me way too long to think of that. I suspected something was amiss with my brain.
This morning, I was got E and M dressed, putting great effort into keeping everyone happy and moving along. I got everyone dressed, fed, downstairs, got the dog out, got my shoes on, got the bottles in the bag and was taking M out to the car when E said, “I go poo poo mommy.”
“Oh, really? Really? Um, can you hold it until you get to school? NO! I mean, don’t hold it, hold it. Just, wait, ok?”
I’m still on my one track mind, and I get M out to the car and strap her in. I come back to get E and she says, “I need go potty poo poo NOW mommy.”
Remembering that she’s been making significant progress on this front, I decide that I really can’t ignore this quite clear and quite insistent request. I run out, and put the garage door down and lights on in the garage so M doesn’t freak out, then come back in and quickly take E to her potty.
As soon as I start unbuttoning her pants, I notice something.
She doesn’t have a diaper on.
“E! Mommy didn’t put a diaper on you this morning?” “No diaper mommy.” “Ok, well you sit down on the potty while mommy runs upstairs to get your diaper.”
I run upstairs in my heels, and find E’s diaper, where I left it on her bed this morning. I have no idea what happened. I have put a diaper on that child every morning for the past 2+ years. This morning? I lost my mind.
I run back downstairs (in heels) and into the bathroom, terribly cognizant of the time clicking and M sitting by herself in the car. I bend down, E says, “No poo poo mommy.” Damn. All that and no poo poo. I start to take off her pants to put the diaper on, and I realized a second thing. Her pants are sopping wet. I tell her I’m going back upstairs to get new pants for her, and tell her to try again with the poo poo (we need something positive out of this situation, right?)
I run back upstairs (slipping off the heels) and get some new pants. Back down, changing the kid in a Guinness-worthy moment, jumping (literally) back into the heels, telling E to “run run run!” out the door to the car.
I’m tired just typing it all again.
So yes, I need, no, deserve wine. And my husband comes home on Saturday. Expect my brain to start working sometime after that.
I bought wine yesterday at two separate stores and there was NO request to see my identification. WTH.
And if the “buying wine” item isn’t enough to tell you that I’m ready for my husband to come home, here’s another clue.
I was telling Football Widow last night that I suspected my brain had stopped working, and I needed another adult around the house. For instance, I could not come up with something for dinner last night. Nothing sounded good to me, and though it was tempting to let E have an all-cracker meal last night, as she suggested, I literally stood in front of the fridge, waiting for inspiration. Finally, I came up with eggs and toast (brilliant) but it took me way too long to think of that. I suspected something was amiss with my brain.
This morning, I was got E and M dressed, putting great effort into keeping everyone happy and moving along. I got everyone dressed, fed, downstairs, got the dog out, got my shoes on, got the bottles in the bag and was taking M out to the car when E said, “I go poo poo mommy.”
“Oh, really? Really? Um, can you hold it until you get to school? NO! I mean, don’t hold it, hold it. Just, wait, ok?”
I’m still on my one track mind, and I get M out to the car and strap her in. I come back to get E and she says, “I need go potty poo poo NOW mommy.”
Remembering that she’s been making significant progress on this front, I decide that I really can’t ignore this quite clear and quite insistent request. I run out, and put the garage door down and lights on in the garage so M doesn’t freak out, then come back in and quickly take E to her potty.
As soon as I start unbuttoning her pants, I notice something.
She doesn’t have a diaper on.
“E! Mommy didn’t put a diaper on you this morning?” “No diaper mommy.” “Ok, well you sit down on the potty while mommy runs upstairs to get your diaper.”
I run upstairs in my heels, and find E’s diaper, where I left it on her bed this morning. I have no idea what happened. I have put a diaper on that child every morning for the past 2+ years. This morning? I lost my mind.
I run back downstairs (in heels) and into the bathroom, terribly cognizant of the time clicking and M sitting by herself in the car. I bend down, E says, “No poo poo mommy.” Damn. All that and no poo poo. I start to take off her pants to put the diaper on, and I realized a second thing. Her pants are sopping wet. I tell her I’m going back upstairs to get new pants for her, and tell her to try again with the poo poo (we need something positive out of this situation, right?)
I run back upstairs (slipping off the heels) and get some new pants. Back down, changing the kid in a Guinness-worthy moment, jumping (literally) back into the heels, telling E to “run run run!” out the door to the car.
I’m tired just typing it all again.
So yes, I need, no, deserve wine. And my husband comes home on Saturday. Expect my brain to start working sometime after that.
Monday, March 05, 2007
weekend update
So I could write about how E put herself into time-out on Saturday after sitting on her sister's head. (I yanked her off, yelled something like, "WE do NOT sit on the baby's head!" Then she put her head down and said, "Time out" and headed to the time out corner. Then I said, "No, MOMMY puts you into time out, not E. (pause) Go to time out!")
I could write about how M now pulls herself into a sitting position from laying down, and how she's *almost* crawling. Or how she talked our ears off this weekend. Bah bah bah bah bah bAH!
I could write about how E thinks Daddy's bringing home an elephant from India.... and I may, but right now I want to write about the three (yes, THREE) movies I saw on Saturday night.
We (Mom and Dad came for the weekend to help w/ the kids) started with For Your Consideration. I usually heart Christopher Guest's movies, and of course I will recommend this one to anyone, but it's not his finest work. Maybe I'm just not a Hollywood insider to get the jokes, but I don't frequent dog shows and I got the jokes in Best in Show. (Which I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend)
Then we moved onto Jesus Camp. My mom cried. I got angry, and I laughed at Ted Haggard. Seriously. It was a scary show.
Dad went to bed, and mom and I decided to push through the night with one more: Shut up and Sing about the Dixie Chicks. These were two very interesting movies to watch back to back since they are both about the "culture wars," if you will (hate that term, but too early to think of a better description.) My mom, who cried about what was done to the children at the Jesus Camp, and who naively wondered aloud, "I wonder if the Bushes know about these people" still carries a sizeable animosity against Natalie Maines, and the movie did not change her mind.
Me? I love the Dixie Chicks. In 2003 I was annoyed with Natalie for the way she handled the situation, but I love how they came back. I love that they are strong, talented, smart, opinionated women who have put their families and careers first. The movie doesn't always paint them in the best light, but I still heart them and wish I had been able to go to their show. I'm probably going to watch it again this week.
I could write about how M now pulls herself into a sitting position from laying down, and how she's *almost* crawling. Or how she talked our ears off this weekend. Bah bah bah bah bah bAH!
I could write about how E thinks Daddy's bringing home an elephant from India.... and I may, but right now I want to write about the three (yes, THREE) movies I saw on Saturday night.
We (Mom and Dad came for the weekend to help w/ the kids) started with For Your Consideration. I usually heart Christopher Guest's movies, and of course I will recommend this one to anyone, but it's not his finest work. Maybe I'm just not a Hollywood insider to get the jokes, but I don't frequent dog shows and I got the jokes in Best in Show. (Which I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend)
Then we moved onto Jesus Camp. My mom cried. I got angry, and I laughed at Ted Haggard. Seriously. It was a scary show.
Dad went to bed, and mom and I decided to push through the night with one more: Shut up and Sing about the Dixie Chicks. These were two very interesting movies to watch back to back since they are both about the "culture wars," if you will (hate that term, but too early to think of a better description.) My mom, who cried about what was done to the children at the Jesus Camp, and who naively wondered aloud, "I wonder if the Bushes know about these people" still carries a sizeable animosity against Natalie Maines, and the movie did not change her mind.
Me? I love the Dixie Chicks. In 2003 I was annoyed with Natalie for the way she handled the situation, but I love how they came back. I love that they are strong, talented, smart, opinionated women who have put their families and careers first. The movie doesn't always paint them in the best light, but I still heart them and wish I had been able to go to their show. I'm probably going to watch it again this week.
Monday, February 26, 2007
One good story and one bad
My parents gave E some knock-off crocs for Christmas. She’d been asking to wear them, but (1) they were a little big for her and (2) they had holes in them, and it was very cold outside. Then I noticed some little girls in her class wearing them, and I figured they probably were very practical for day care life, and it got a little warmer, and her feet are bigger, so I broke them out last week. My mom also sent me a pair of mary jane crocs for Valentines Day, which are green like E’s. I HAD to point that out to her, and now every time she’s wearing hers, she wants mommy to wear her green shoes, like E.
So we were fighting that battle yesterday, when she got out one of my Coach purses that I had left out. “Bye bye mommy, see you later,” And she walked around the house with it, pretending like she was going on a trip. She even put in her tube of Burt's Bees lip balm (hers because she used it while sick with the plague.)
Then the real stylist moment came when Jeff came out without his pants on. Back up… he had showered, and dressed. He had a shirt on, and boxers, and had come into the living room to get his jeans out of his suitcase. “Pants on, Daddy, pants on!”
Our little stylist – green crocs for mommy, coach purse for her and pants for daddy. She’ll be dressing Jessica Biel before you know it.
So that’s my fun bit for today and now for the heartwrenching part. And I’m having difficulty writing about it, but I want you, my readers, to learn something from my pain.
Falling at Costco? Not my most embarrassing moment anymore.
Yesterday I served as assisting minister at church. It was my first time. I was terribly nervous. I read the gospel, lead the prayers of the people. All was well. I assisted at communion and spilled the chalice of red wine all over the organist.
Go me.
I wiped up what I could and had to go on. I started getting a little hysterical during communion. I’m sure most of the people who accepted wine from me (this time in the little cups in the tray) hadn’t seen the chalice debacle, but I still imagined them cowering in fear, “Don’t spill it on me!”
I put on a good face and walked with the pastors to the back of the church at the end of the service. The pastor put his arm around me and said some things to make me feel better, then made me go shake hands with the congregation.
After I was done, I ran back to the sacristy to grab my purse and a $10 bill. I found the organist, a nice woman who has, however, always intimidated me. I pressured her to take the money for cleaning her SUEDE JACKET. (Oh, I didn’t mention that detail?) She was extremely gracious, and declined, and forgave me. I started crying, and cried all the way home.
The rest of the day distracted me, and the pastor called me again last night to tell me it was fine, that he could tell me horrible stories about things he had done and seen during worship. I told him that it was more than just me being embarrassed about a mistake. My experience at the communion table was a big reason why I joined our church, why I even became Lutheran. It means a lot to me, and the fact that I could have detracted from someone else’s experience distressed me.
What could he say? “Well, that’s a good reason to feel responsible, but just brush it off, and next time you'll be fine.”
“I’m invited back another time?”
He laughed, “Of course.”
I’m still not over the mortification, or the guilt, but his and the victim’s graciousness says a lot about them, and about our church family.
I’m still taking a few months off from the job, though.
So we were fighting that battle yesterday, when she got out one of my Coach purses that I had left out. “Bye bye mommy, see you later,” And she walked around the house with it, pretending like she was going on a trip. She even put in her tube of Burt's Bees lip balm (hers because she used it while sick with the plague.)
Then the real stylist moment came when Jeff came out without his pants on. Back up… he had showered, and dressed. He had a shirt on, and boxers, and had come into the living room to get his jeans out of his suitcase. “Pants on, Daddy, pants on!”
Our little stylist – green crocs for mommy, coach purse for her and pants for daddy. She’ll be dressing Jessica Biel before you know it.
So that’s my fun bit for today and now for the heartwrenching part. And I’m having difficulty writing about it, but I want you, my readers, to learn something from my pain.
Falling at Costco? Not my most embarrassing moment anymore.
Yesterday I served as assisting minister at church. It was my first time. I was terribly nervous. I read the gospel, lead the prayers of the people. All was well. I assisted at communion and spilled the chalice of red wine all over the organist.
Go me.
I wiped up what I could and had to go on. I started getting a little hysterical during communion. I’m sure most of the people who accepted wine from me (this time in the little cups in the tray) hadn’t seen the chalice debacle, but I still imagined them cowering in fear, “Don’t spill it on me!”
I put on a good face and walked with the pastors to the back of the church at the end of the service. The pastor put his arm around me and said some things to make me feel better, then made me go shake hands with the congregation.
After I was done, I ran back to the sacristy to grab my purse and a $10 bill. I found the organist, a nice woman who has, however, always intimidated me. I pressured her to take the money for cleaning her SUEDE JACKET. (Oh, I didn’t mention that detail?) She was extremely gracious, and declined, and forgave me. I started crying, and cried all the way home.
The rest of the day distracted me, and the pastor called me again last night to tell me it was fine, that he could tell me horrible stories about things he had done and seen during worship. I told him that it was more than just me being embarrassed about a mistake. My experience at the communion table was a big reason why I joined our church, why I even became Lutheran. It means a lot to me, and the fact that I could have detracted from someone else’s experience distressed me.
What could he say? “Well, that’s a good reason to feel responsible, but just brush it off, and next time you'll be fine.”
“I’m invited back another time?”
He laughed, “Of course.”
I’m still not over the mortification, or the guilt, but his and the victim’s graciousness says a lot about them, and about our church family.
I’m still taking a few months off from the job, though.
Monday, February 19, 2007
Poor Britney
By now everyone knows that Britney Spears shaved her hair. I am probably the only one who thinks the 'do looks good on her (as good as a bald head could look) but I still think the girl's got issues. This morning on the Today show (yes, I'm a SAHM today thanks to Mr. Presidents Washington and Lincoln) some psychologist was saying that Britney clearly does not have many close friends or a support system to help her through this time.
Well, after this weekend, I'm glad to say that I have bitches that would never, ever, let me shave my head. Not only would they talk me out of it (clearly with some profanity) but then they'd probably make sure someone was taking care of me. I'll post more about the birthday girl later, but you can read about her celebration (and see the pics) at Mrs DallasKs blog.
Well, after this weekend, I'm glad to say that I have bitches that would never, ever, let me shave my head. Not only would they talk me out of it (clearly with some profanity) but then they'd probably make sure someone was taking care of me. I'll post more about the birthday girl later, but you can read about her celebration (and see the pics) at Mrs DallasKs blog.
Friday, February 16, 2007
And the answer is...
Benign! But "changing." They want to check it out in 3 months.
As I told Jeff, they have to make their big doctor bucks, and I want to make sure I don't have cancer, so we all win.
My PSA for the day: Skin cancer is totally (well, 98%) preventable. Use sunscreen, go show a doc some skin. It's so easy, you would feel really stupid if you got it. You would say, "hm... Sara told me to get that mole checked out, I'm an idjit and I deserve melanoma." (Well, you wouldn't deserve it, because no one does, but you would regret not going to the doctor 10 years earlier.)
Ok, and weird moment of the day yesterday. I went in to the day care, and saw E's class playing in the big front room (it was too cold to go outside). I heard someone say, "Look, E, who it is." E ran over and yelled, "Mommy!" And I just had a moment - who am I? I'm that little kid's mommy? The one who can run and yell and is so freakin' cute? I knelt down to hug her, and she turned around to all her little friends and said, "My mommy!" I don't know when it happened, but I am her mommy. Wow. How did that happen? How did I get that blessed? Where does the time go?
As I told Jeff, they have to make their big doctor bucks, and I want to make sure I don't have cancer, so we all win.
My PSA for the day: Skin cancer is totally (well, 98%) preventable. Use sunscreen, go show a doc some skin. It's so easy, you would feel really stupid if you got it. You would say, "hm... Sara told me to get that mole checked out, I'm an idjit and I deserve melanoma." (Well, you wouldn't deserve it, because no one does, but you would regret not going to the doctor 10 years earlier.)
Ok, and weird moment of the day yesterday. I went in to the day care, and saw E's class playing in the big front room (it was too cold to go outside). I heard someone say, "Look, E, who it is." E ran over and yelled, "Mommy!" And I just had a moment - who am I? I'm that little kid's mommy? The one who can run and yell and is so freakin' cute? I knelt down to hug her, and she turned around to all her little friends and said, "My mommy!" I don't know when it happened, but I am her mommy. Wow. How did that happen? How did I get that blessed? Where does the time go?
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Big baby
Oh, I forgot to mention that M was 21 lbs at the doctor's office yesterday. What does that mean, besides the fact that she's HUGE? She's too big for the bucket (what we call the infant seat) and it's time for Jeff and I to get off our butts and decide w tf we're going to do about that. See, E is still in a convertible seat. Do we buy two more for M (one for each car?) One more? No more, and move one of E's to my car?
Right now we have a seat for E and a base for M in each car, so Jeff can drop off, and I can pick up. If we move to one car, one person has to do both, and it will be me, because Jeff has to work late more often than I care for our children to be picked up late.
We're cheap and lazy (which is why I breastfeed) but rest assured, we'll do the right thing. Eventually.
Right now we have a seat for E and a base for M in each car, so Jeff can drop off, and I can pick up. If we move to one car, one person has to do both, and it will be me, because Jeff has to work late more often than I care for our children to be picked up late.
We're cheap and lazy (which is why I breastfeed) but rest assured, we'll do the right thing. Eventually.
Starts w/ a Bi...
Of all the wonderful things to post about, let's start with my magic word of the day. Starts with a bi, ends with an opsy. Bi - opsy.
It's no big deal, just when little ol' me, all strawberry blond and freckled, goes into the dermatologist's office, they're on high alert, right? So I KNOW it will be fine, but it's somewhat unsettling all the same, especially after Jeff had his pre-pre-cancerous whatevers removed last year.
The thing that's bothering more than the biopsy, are the two "dry scaly" patches on my face, that she told me to keep an eye on, 'cause they may need to be frozen off. I don't know what she's talking about. I nodded, listened to her w/ great interest, put my fingers on my face. When she left, I got up and looked in the mirror. I still don't see them. She said in someone with my complexion, they're more worried about spots like these, than the big black spots, because someone like me doesn't get big dark spots. Yeah, I'm definitely worried if I can't see them.
Gah.
On to more exciting topics. Baby M is up on her arms and knees! She had done it previously, when she was pissed off about something. This weekend, she started doing it more, and started combining it with her backwards scooting. I predict she'll start crawling while Jeff is in India in a few weeks.
While I was feeding her applesauce last night (from an actual baby food jar - note to new moms. Don't buy the baby applesauce after they've had it 1 time. Go for the no-sugar-added regular applesauce. It's the same stuff, but half the cost), I wondered something. When I feed her pears, the jar says, "Pears." The other foods are "Carrots" and "Peas" or "Peaches." Why does baby food say "Applesauce" and not just "Apples?"
Hm?
AND why do I get absolutely glowing reviews from E's teachers at the end of the day (Her manners are perfect, she's helping, she's cleaning, etc.) and then she HITS me for putting her in her carseat? Then she becomes an angel when we get home? Oh that's right, she TWO. (Our answer for everything these days)
AND (last one, I swear) WHY do we have the arctic polar winds again? I thought we were experiencing Global Warming?
It's no big deal, just when little ol' me, all strawberry blond and freckled, goes into the dermatologist's office, they're on high alert, right? So I KNOW it will be fine, but it's somewhat unsettling all the same, especially after Jeff had his pre-pre-cancerous whatevers removed last year.
The thing that's bothering more than the biopsy, are the two "dry scaly" patches on my face, that she told me to keep an eye on, 'cause they may need to be frozen off. I don't know what she's talking about. I nodded, listened to her w/ great interest, put my fingers on my face. When she left, I got up and looked in the mirror. I still don't see them. She said in someone with my complexion, they're more worried about spots like these, than the big black spots, because someone like me doesn't get big dark spots. Yeah, I'm definitely worried if I can't see them.
Gah.
On to more exciting topics. Baby M is up on her arms and knees! She had done it previously, when she was pissed off about something. This weekend, she started doing it more, and started combining it with her backwards scooting. I predict she'll start crawling while Jeff is in India in a few weeks.
While I was feeding her applesauce last night (from an actual baby food jar - note to new moms. Don't buy the baby applesauce after they've had it 1 time. Go for the no-sugar-added regular applesauce. It's the same stuff, but half the cost), I wondered something. When I feed her pears, the jar says, "Pears." The other foods are "Carrots" and "Peas" or "Peaches." Why does baby food say "Applesauce" and not just "Apples?"
Hm?
AND why do I get absolutely glowing reviews from E's teachers at the end of the day (Her manners are perfect, she's helping, she's cleaning, etc.) and then she HITS me for putting her in her carseat? Then she becomes an angel when we get home? Oh that's right, she TWO. (Our answer for everything these days)
AND (last one, I swear) WHY do we have the arctic polar winds again? I thought we were experiencing Global Warming?
Friday, February 09, 2007
Thursday, February 08, 2007
Let's Give her a Horse's Laugh
Alright, to the non-Aggies out there, you might not understand this title or
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
Homos
Welcome to Homo Wednesday, where we discuss the most ridiculous gay stories of the day.
One. Ted Haggard, that fundy preacher in Colorado who was exposed as a man who also likes naked gay massages and meth? He says he's thought about it, and now he's pretty sure he's not gay.
"He is completely heterosexual," Ralph said. "That is something he discovered."In investigating Haggard's assertion that his extramarital sexual contact was limited to male escort Mike Jones, the board talked to people close to Haggard and found no evidence contradicting him, Ralph said."If we're going to be proved wrong, somebody else is going to come forward, and that usually happens really quickly," Ralph said. "We're into this thing over 90 days and it hasn't happened."
So because no one else has come out and said, "I gave this guy a totally gay massage," that means he's not gay.
Look, I don't even care. I just want him to be healthy and happy and honest with his WIFE and people who look up to him. But we live in a country where apparently if two men's lips happen to touch while eating the same Snickers, they have to rip their chest hair out and club the other one with a tire iron. So Mr. Haggard, if accidental lip touching makes you gay, then naked gay massages might too, even if they were with just one guy (monogamous, as it were). Just a head's up.
One. Ted Haggard, that fundy preacher in Colorado who was exposed as a man who also likes naked gay massages and meth? He says he's thought about it, and now he's pretty sure he's not gay.
"He is completely heterosexual," Ralph said. "That is something he discovered."In investigating Haggard's assertion that his extramarital sexual contact was limited to male escort Mike Jones, the board talked to people close to Haggard and found no evidence contradicting him, Ralph said."If we're going to be proved wrong, somebody else is going to come forward, and that usually happens really quickly," Ralph said. "We're into this thing over 90 days and it hasn't happened."
So because no one else has come out and said, "I gave this guy a totally gay massage," that means he's not gay.
Look, I don't even care. I just want him to be healthy and happy and honest with his WIFE and people who look up to him. But we live in a country where apparently if two men's lips happen to touch while eating the same Snickers, they have to rip their chest hair out and club the other one with a tire iron. So Mr. Haggard, if accidental lip touching makes you gay, then naked gay massages might too, even if they were with just one guy (monogamous, as it were). Just a head's up.
Friday, February 02, 2007
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Because Kami asked me to
One of my favorite movies of all time is Christopher Guest's amazing, hilarious, awesome Best in Show. Love it. And one of my favorite scenes from the movie is when the characters played by Eugene Levy and Catherine O'Hara are checking into the hotel in Philadelphia, and their credit card is rejected. "Try this one," Cookie says. "That's the good one." The card is declined. "No, no, that's the good card, it's only on the 2nd notice."
That line (although inaccurate as I report it) cracks me up every time. It is not as funny, however, when it is YOUR card that is declined, as my husband's was in Costco on Saturday.
Picture this, me and DH, each holding an increasingly fussy child. A cart full of stuff like dog food and frozen broccoli. A busy Saturday in a store that ONLY takes debit cards, Amex, or Costco credit cards. Of those three, we ONLY have a debit card that would not cover our dog food and broccoli.
Oh, I'm sure you can imagine the feeling, right? Thankfully, we had another debit card that worked. We start our way out the door, with the husband fighting with the 2 year old about her sitting in the cart, when, in front of the lunchtime crowd eating their hot dogs and churros, I inexplicably FALL. I was carrying M, and managed to keep her upright. I did this by twisting my body into an unnatural position and landing on my right knee.
Every eye in Costco was now looking at the mom on the floor with the baby, and the dad fighting the toddler. Two kind men came over to help me up. I thanked them, then limped back to where husband was standing with the cart and crying toddler.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Just. Go." I muttered.
I struggled to look as serene and as in-control as possible as we walked out, passing the busy service desk where every.one had seen me bite it and are now analyzing me to see what type of a mother would fall while holding a baby, like Britney Spears. Husband is muttering something about the bank, I'm thinking about the bruise forming on my right knee, and kids are now screaming.
Now that is a fun Saturday.
That line (although inaccurate as I report it) cracks me up every time. It is not as funny, however, when it is YOUR card that is declined, as my husband's was in Costco on Saturday.
Picture this, me and DH, each holding an increasingly fussy child. A cart full of stuff like dog food and frozen broccoli. A busy Saturday in a store that ONLY takes debit cards, Amex, or Costco credit cards. Of those three, we ONLY have a debit card that would not cover our dog food and broccoli.
Oh, I'm sure you can imagine the feeling, right? Thankfully, we had another debit card that worked. We start our way out the door, with the husband fighting with the 2 year old about her sitting in the cart, when, in front of the lunchtime crowd eating their hot dogs and churros, I inexplicably FALL. I was carrying M, and managed to keep her upright. I did this by twisting my body into an unnatural position and landing on my right knee.
Every eye in Costco was now looking at the mom on the floor with the baby, and the dad fighting the toddler. Two kind men came over to help me up. I thanked them, then limped back to where husband was standing with the cart and crying toddler.
"What happened?" he asked.
"Just. Go." I muttered.
I struggled to look as serene and as in-control as possible as we walked out, passing the busy service desk where every.one had seen me bite it and are now analyzing me to see what type of a mother would fall while holding a baby, like Britney Spears. Husband is muttering something about the bank, I'm thinking about the bruise forming on my right knee, and kids are now screaming.
Now that is a fun Saturday.
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Mea Culpa
It didn't hit me until my commute home that I might be a tad bit of a hypocrite about something.
See, last week I picked up E at day care, and Miss J, her teacher, told me that she needed more diapers. I asked how E's pull ups were working. Miss J said, "fine" then paused. "But... all the other little girls have princess pull ups and E keeps asking why she doesn't have princesses on her pull ups."
My first reaction was pure pain, for my little 2 year old who wanted to have princess pull ups like the other little girls. I don't even know what her other pull ups had on them - Dora? Tweety? I hadn't even checked. And even though I have a long-standing and perfectly reasonable dislike for all things "princess" I told E that I would get her princess pull-ups.
And I did.
I've thought about that decision several times since, and not just after what I posted earlier today. I'm not really regretting it, it's just a diaper that she's peeing and pooping in, and if anything makes her more enthusiastic about the potty learning process, I'm all for it, even if it means collaboration with the evil princesses. I've just been thinking about how sad it is that I'm already having to deal with peer pressure, with commercialism and branding.
Anyway, I just felt in the interest of fair and balanced journalism, I should come clean about my hypocrisy. Kinda.
See, last week I picked up E at day care, and Miss J, her teacher, told me that she needed more diapers. I asked how E's pull ups were working. Miss J said, "fine" then paused. "But... all the other little girls have princess pull ups and E keeps asking why she doesn't have princesses on her pull ups."
My first reaction was pure pain, for my little 2 year old who wanted to have princess pull ups like the other little girls. I don't even know what her other pull ups had on them - Dora? Tweety? I hadn't even checked. And even though I have a long-standing and perfectly reasonable dislike for all things "princess" I told E that I would get her princess pull-ups.
And I did.
I've thought about that decision several times since, and not just after what I posted earlier today. I'm not really regretting it, it's just a diaper that she's peeing and pooping in, and if anything makes her more enthusiastic about the potty learning process, I'm all for it, even if it means collaboration with the evil princesses. I've just been thinking about how sad it is that I'm already having to deal with peer pressure, with commercialism and branding.
Anyway, I just felt in the interest of fair and balanced journalism, I should come clean about my hypocrisy. Kinda.
Fight the Princesses
This should touch every woman who has ever felt that she wasn't good enough, or pretty enough, or skinny enough. It's one reason why I HATE the (Disney) princess phenomenon, which tells little girls they have to be pretty and... well... that's pretty much it. If I feel like it will be a struggle to raise my girls in this world, I can't imagine what women of color struggle with.
No child should feel that they are ugly or bad based on what they look like. Boycott the princesses. That is all.
No child should feel that they are ugly or bad based on what they look like. Boycott the princesses. That is all.
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Brr!
Well that sucked.
What, you say?
Getting up on a snowy morning. Getting your kids dressed, getting yourself dressed, driving 25 mph to the train station, slipping and sliding along the way. Getting on the train, going to work, only to find a sign on the door that the office is closed today. Damn.
Getting back on a train, slipping and sliding on the way home, 3 hours later coming into my kitchen to find a message from my supervisor that indeed the office had closed.
The time the message was left? 7:50 am. The time I'm supposed to be at my desk? 7:30 am. Granted, I didn't get there until 8:20 this morning because of the aforementioned slipping, sliding, and 25 mph, but still.
Dallas is not supposed to be cold and icy and snowy. We're just not cut out for it. See Mrs. DallasKs blog for more information.
And the part I feel worst about, is that my kids are in day care. They're having a normal, fun time, I'm sure, but Mr. Illegal and I decided that his 4WD should transport them today. So. Here I am, with an unscheduled day off, snow and ice, hours of my days wasted on a unfruitful commute, no immediate plans, and a large sleeping dog at my feet that just emitted a very foul smell.
Fun, right?
What, you say?
Getting up on a snowy morning. Getting your kids dressed, getting yourself dressed, driving 25 mph to the train station, slipping and sliding along the way. Getting on the train, going to work, only to find a sign on the door that the office is closed today. Damn.
Getting back on a train, slipping and sliding on the way home, 3 hours later coming into my kitchen to find a message from my supervisor that indeed the office had closed.
The time the message was left? 7:50 am. The time I'm supposed to be at my desk? 7:30 am. Granted, I didn't get there until 8:20 this morning because of the aforementioned slipping, sliding, and 25 mph, but still.
Dallas is not supposed to be cold and icy and snowy. We're just not cut out for it. See Mrs. DallasKs blog for more information.
And the part I feel worst about, is that my kids are in day care. They're having a normal, fun time, I'm sure, but Mr. Illegal and I decided that his 4WD should transport them today. So. Here I am, with an unscheduled day off, snow and ice, hours of my days wasted on a unfruitful commute, no immediate plans, and a large sleeping dog at my feet that just emitted a very foul smell.
Fun, right?
Friday, January 12, 2007
Internet Spelling Vent of the Day
When you are pregnant, and are about to go into labor, your cervix DILATES.
It does not DIALATE.
I will so go off on someone if I see this again.
Like LOOSE vs. LOSE. Since when does an extra letter make it easier to spell?
Yes, I know this makes me a spelling bitch, or nazi, or whatever, but it just irks me to no end.
And do NOT get me started on the incorrect use of possessive apostrophes.
It does not DIALATE.
I will so go off on someone if I see this again.
Like LOOSE vs. LOSE. Since when does an extra letter make it easier to spell?
Yes, I know this makes me a spelling bitch, or nazi, or whatever, but it just irks me to no end.
And do NOT get me started on the incorrect use of possessive apostrophes.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Three punches
Some days it just seems to come in waves.
First, I'm reading a great book, Marie Antoinette by Antonia Fraser. This morning a passage of a 7 year old princess's passing just got to me. I thought, I could *never* have lived back in the days of high infant mortality. Never.
Then, I read an e-mail from my mother, and she says something about one of her friend's three-year old daughter, Hannah, who was born the same month my first pregnancy was due. "She's three," my mother writes, and that just brings tears to my eyes. I could have three year olds. My eyes quickly went to my pictures of E and M, that surround me every day. I know things turned out ok, but they kind of sucked for a while, and my tears are for the days that sucked.
Finally, the tsunami. News of a miscarriage after a loss. Damn. I want to throw up. I want to say, "I know how you feel," but I don't, not really. I cry anyway, but nothing I do can make it better. As my first two waves show, even time can't take away the pain. It just dims and transforms into something different, something subtler and harder to define. It may make us tougher. It may make us wiser. It may make us more vulnerable. It definitely makes us more compassionate. But it just never goes away.
First, I'm reading a great book, Marie Antoinette by Antonia Fraser. This morning a passage of a 7 year old princess's passing just got to me. I thought, I could *never* have lived back in the days of high infant mortality. Never.
Then, I read an e-mail from my mother, and she says something about one of her friend's three-year old daughter, Hannah, who was born the same month my first pregnancy was due. "She's three," my mother writes, and that just brings tears to my eyes. I could have three year olds. My eyes quickly went to my pictures of E and M, that surround me every day. I know things turned out ok, but they kind of sucked for a while, and my tears are for the days that sucked.
Finally, the tsunami. News of a miscarriage after a loss. Damn. I want to throw up. I want to say, "I know how you feel," but I don't, not really. I cry anyway, but nothing I do can make it better. As my first two waves show, even time can't take away the pain. It just dims and transforms into something different, something subtler and harder to define. It may make us tougher. It may make us wiser. It may make us more vulnerable. It definitely makes us more compassionate. But it just never goes away.
Monday, January 08, 2007
Financial advice
To the man sitting behind me on the train this morning, who stated he wanted to sell his house and start renting so that he could "save" $20,000 on property taxes over the next few years, who said he'd rather have that money in "his pocket."
Um, what?
You sounded like a nice person. You're a single dad of a teenager and obviously, you talk really loud on the train. If I'd had a financial background, or the business card of a financial adviser, I would have turned around and given it to you, because frankly, you're either full of sh!t or completely clueless.
The person who owns your new rental house? S/he might be writing the check to the tax office, but rest assured, you're paying the taxes. And you've lost your equity.
Or am I missing something?
Um, what?
You sounded like a nice person. You're a single dad of a teenager and obviously, you talk really loud on the train. If I'd had a financial background, or the business card of a financial adviser, I would have turned around and given it to you, because frankly, you're either full of sh!t or completely clueless.
The person who owns your new rental house? S/he might be writing the check to the tax office, but rest assured, you're paying the taxes. And you've lost your equity.
Or am I missing something?
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
my dreams
It's the height of self-absorption, apparently, to blog about your dreams, but this one I found particularly interesting the other night.
I was somewhere, and President Bush was there. Some kind of official reception or something. I was perfectly polite and shook his hand, etc. Then he came by my table where I was standing. He said, in a kind of belligerent cowboy way, "I know you have something negative to say to me."
This was my chance to tell him what I thought, what's been on my mind. And I burst into tears. I said, "I'm sorry Mr. President. I don't want to be negative. But ever since I had my babies, my heart can't take the way this world is run. I can't believe in war, when other mothers are losing their babies. We have so many things to fix. I mean, what kind of schools are my babies going to go to? You have daughters, can't you understand that?"
In my dream, I just sobbed and held his hand. I don't remember if he said anything.
I don't put a lot of stock in dreams, necessarily. I've had a few that have been very meaningful to me, usually about my babies, but this one was interesting. I keep thinking about it and I've realized that the state of the world has probably affected me more than I realize.
For more on the state of the world, I enjoyed this article: 2006: The Year in Sex - So Long Sugar Tits I wished I could write that. Pretty funny and pretty sad. Again, here's to 2007.
I was somewhere, and President Bush was there. Some kind of official reception or something. I was perfectly polite and shook his hand, etc. Then he came by my table where I was standing. He said, in a kind of belligerent cowboy way, "I know you have something negative to say to me."
This was my chance to tell him what I thought, what's been on my mind. And I burst into tears. I said, "I'm sorry Mr. President. I don't want to be negative. But ever since I had my babies, my heart can't take the way this world is run. I can't believe in war, when other mothers are losing their babies. We have so many things to fix. I mean, what kind of schools are my babies going to go to? You have daughters, can't you understand that?"
In my dream, I just sobbed and held his hand. I don't remember if he said anything.
I don't put a lot of stock in dreams, necessarily. I've had a few that have been very meaningful to me, usually about my babies, but this one was interesting. I keep thinking about it and I've realized that the state of the world has probably affected me more than I realize.
For more on the state of the world, I enjoyed this article: 2006: The Year in Sex - So Long Sugar Tits I wished I could write that. Pretty funny and pretty sad. Again, here's to 2007.
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