What We've Been Up To

This is our daughter at the Tae Kwon Do party. She was part of the demo team, and her job was to take down a little boy. Heh. Tough girl.

Mom recently sent me my own baby pictures. Wasn't I freakin' adorable? I mean really.

Our boy-child had this "school" picture taken at day care earlier this month. Beautiful baby boy! Then he was summarily kicked out of day care for being a non-compliant napper. I should hang my head in shame for not towing the party line, but I'm sort of proud of him for being a non-conformist. Let's hope he colors outside of the lines, too.

Wishing We Were Renters

"We are landed gentry," we stated with pride. "Behold, our livestock!" my husband gushed with a sweet of his arm toward our 3 fat cats. At that time, owning our own home seemed so right, so exciting, so grown-up and responsible. Now, eight years later, I'm wishing we were renters instead.

Yesterday morning, after all had showered and I was beginning my weekly wash, I heard a strange gurgling sound from our master bathroom. Thinking our daughter had forgotten to close the door in what should have been a private moment, I marched indignantly to the bathroom. There, instead of a seated and half-naked little girl, I saw a fountain bursting forth from the shower drain and water seeping from the toilet onto the tiled floor. It was anything but pretty. Turning off the washing machine helped matters a bit, but here it is 36 hours later and my dirty clothes are still sitting in standing water, unable to drain. We dumped all kinds of magic gook down the drain, and even thread the "snake" through to about 20', but still no improvement. We ran the dishwasher to check the progress. There wasn't any. This time-saving device, too, had to be turned off mid-cycle. Tonight we were forced to--gasp--wash our dishes by hand! It's like pioneer days out here. Tomorrow, if things don't seem any better, we'll be calling the plumber. Ch-ching.

Dear readers, this is December! It's already an expensive month: Christmas, husband's birthday, my birthday, plane tickets, Hannukah, higher heating bills. I will be unemployed on January 1st. I will have to buy a computer and a car, as my current ones are company-owned. I'm overwhelmed. I'm stressed. I'm disappointed. I want to call a kindly landlord, who will refer me to the building super, who will immediately know what to do and fix the problem while the family and I see a Broadway show followed by a fashionably late supper. I will bring him homemade cookies on Christmas Eve as a thank you. Then, come tax-time, I will wish I were a homeowner who could claim the interest on the mortgage.

Her Opinion of Herself

I am constantly in a state of wonder over how highly my daughter thinks of herself. I waffle between being thoroughly pleased with her inner strength and somewhat concerned that the Big Bad World will someday knock it out of her. I don't remember having her fortitude at age 8. I was full of self-doubt and concern with larger issues. Not her. The other day we were walking through the forest and she wanted to talk about who she will marry. This is rare, as she finds romantic love "dis-GUS-ting." I was trying to impart upon her the importance of choosing a life-long partner, not just falling for the first fool who winks at her. So I told her that she is so smart, strong, and beautiful, that there will be a lot of boys who want to date her. "I know," she states. Duh, Mom. Then today I sneaked a peek at her spelling sentences. My two favorites:

"I am a wild girl."
"I bring delight to the world."

Please, God, may this attitude last!

In a completely unrelated topic: I just saw James Lipton in a Geico commercial! I love it!

The Interview Part III

I was stumped for a good long time with this question. It's darn difficult to come up with deep thoughts at a moment's notice. In my case, it has proven difficult to come up with deep thoughts over a period of weeks! Draw whatever conclusions you must. Finally, last night, it occured to me. Here is the question:

If you could give the twenty-year old you a piece of advice, what would it be?

Dear 20-year-old Amy,

Relax. Be yourself, which is a fun, smart, somewhat quiet person, and that's ok. It's enough. You don't need to prove anything.

Also, don't become a teacher. Avoid it like the plague. It will only bring you heartache.

Finally, you have so much to look forward to! You are going to have the cutest, sweetest, most wonderful children even born on this great, green-and-blue earth. You will have a loving husband who will hold your hand through the ups and downs. You are so lucky! Enjoy the ride.

With love,
35-year-old Amy

Writing for the sake of Writing

Writers block, thy name is Amy. I blame Nutmeg: The next question in the interview has me TOTALLY stumped.

Last night was ugly. Steve and I went to bed pretty early, but the baby woke up teething at midnight, and I went to him to re-Tylenol him. Then I couldn't get back to sleep. I tossed. I turned. I watched The Real Housewives of Orange County (and may my children never grow up to act like their children). I finally fell asleep on the couch at 4 am. I am tired.

Obsessing about Daycare

Happy Monday. This is the day I like to think of as my ramp-up to high anxiety. On the weekends, I wouldn't be working anyway, so I get to immerse myself in joyful family life (another post, another day) and ignore my impending status as "unemployed." Now it's the start of the "work week," and I am in my jammies still (brand new from Costco! so warm and fuzzy!), serving as someone virtual assistant until the company kicks me off its payroll. This self-imposed dress code serves as a reminder that I am not at an office, Regis and Kelly on TV remind me that I am not working very hard, and the pit in my stomach reminds me that that soon I will not be making any money or have health insurance. All this leaves me with lots of time to obsess. The object of my obsession right now is my son's day care situation.

Baby Boy has some bad-ass reflux, poor kid. We really have to stay on top of it all, what with his meds, when he eats, how he is positioned, and now what he eats. He has an allergy to dairy (including cheese and yogurt) and soy. He started day care on his first birthday, September 24th, and of course, we told them all about these issues. We provide his rice milk, and normally they are very careful with him. We are grateful. However, something seems to happen around 3 pm. That is when the children are consolidated into a different room, the new shift comes to the day care and the regular and well-trained classroom teachers go home.

Friday I arrived a few minutes after 3 to pick him up. He was seated at the little table, having a grand old time pouring his dixie cup of milk on his screaming friend, then taking his friend's cup and pouring his all over himself. I was amused, and a little concerned that someone thought it was a good idea to give toddlers dixie cups instead of the easier-to-contain sippie cups.

Then I went home, slept and woke up still thinking about the incident. It occurred to me that the milk in his dixie cup was regular cow's milk, not his watery-looking rice milk. That's when it hits me: Baby's been waking up at night in pain for the past month because his afternoon snack includes cow's milk! Sure enough, Friday when he dumped his milk instead of drinking it, he slept great all night through. Same thing Saturday. Same thing Sunday. Not a coincidence, methinks. I hope this problem is solved.

So this is me with too much time on my hands. Is my laundry done? No. Is my house clean? No. Have I decided what we're having for dinner? No. I spend my time worrying instead.

The Interview Part II

Clearly, when I said I would answer question #2 tomorrow, I was speaking metaphorically. I think when I posted the answer to question #1, it was the week of baby's pneumonia. That's my excuse.

You picked a card from the pile of life that says, “Do not pass go. Move directly to another country.” Where would you move?

This is a TOTAL no-brainer. France. Anyone who knows me could have written this for me, actually, and the answer would be the same. France in a heartbeat. I don't even need a card to tell me to go! I just need a willing husband to go with me.

For those who don't know me, I will now explain why I would move to France. I started studying French in 7th grade. In 11th grade, I was a Rotary exchange student to Nogent-le-Rotrou, France, for 10 months. It was a very difficult year for me. I was young, both emotionally and chronologically, and was terribly homesick. I gained a lot of weight. However, I made some very good friends, became fluent in the language (to the point where people actually thought I was French), and loved the culture. Later, I became a French teacher, led student trips to France, and took my honeymoon in France. I am currently reading a book on the origins of the French language. In a nutshell, then, I am folle for France and all things French.

For those who do know me, I will now explain where in France I would go. Paris is fun, but fun for visiting, not living. It's a lot like New York City for me in that way. The South of France is where I would go, preferably to a village in the suburbs of Nice. I much prefer small-town life with easy access to big city restaurants and theatre. The people in the South are pretty laid-back and friendly. I love lavender, which is grown primarily in Provence. The history all over France is fascinating, but I really like the evidence of Roman influence along the Midi. Finally, as I now live in a coastal town, I am quite accustomed to living by the ocean. It suits me. My daughter declared last year, "We're beach people," and she's right. Finally, it would be lovely to live someplace warm for a change.

Believe me, if there were any way to a) convince my deeply here-rooted husband, and b) find a good job there, I would move to France in an instant. No passing go.

The Interview Part I

Fellow blogger Nutmeg offered to interview me, and I accepted. She has asked me five questions, to which I will respond in segments because my brain can't sustain the concentration required for five whole questions at once. Here is today's question:

Why do you blog? What have you learned from the blogging experience?

I started blogging as a way to hold myself accountable in my writing. I have written in a journal since the earth cooled (aka the 1980's), but it ended up being a very boring and tedious recounting of activities in my life. Then Al Gore kindly invented the internet, and soon blogging took hold. I found that if I blog, I need to focus on actually having a point and practicing the discipline of saying it well. At the same time, it is not so formal that I need to stress about how I write. That is to say, I can "publish" without being perfect. Blogging is forgiving. It has taken a few years to be comfortable with the practice, and now I'm more ok with sharing my writing, so it has turned into a way of staying in touch with family and friends, although they never post comments and I don't even know if they are still reading this (ahem... DAD). I'm still nervous about letting my husband read it, strangely enough. He knows I blog, but I haven't given him the url yet. That's probably because he writes for a living.

The question of why I blog is different than why I write, but I will answer that one, too. I write because my head will explode if I don't. And a headless me would not be a pretty sight. My good skin is probably my best feature, and with no head for it to show, there aren't many redeeming qualities left. Seriously, now... The aforementioned Dad, a lifelong editor, wonderful advice-giver and all-around good guy is fond of saying "Writers write." I've read of many a famous author saying that it is a feeling of being compelled, and this is certainly true in my case. It's like trying to describe the feeling of wanting to have children. You just do. Then you go through the labor of actually writing, and the delivery of the work. Me, I choose an early epidural that is blogging. Not so painful as having to go through too much editing or agonizing.

What have I learned through blogging? Three things, mainly.

1. The blogging community is so interesting! You read other people's words, you post, they post on yours, and it is a new dimension of friendship and support. It is so cool!
2. I am learning, as per said father's coaching, that I need to write with a beginning, middle, and end. I'm still working on this one.
3. I've always said that I long to write, but I have nothing to say. I still don't have much to say, but that's ok. I've been reading authors like Annie LaMott and Elizabeth Gilbert, and am finding that their paths and their thoughts are interesting. Fascinating, even. My experience my not be that different than others, but my journey is my own, and my way of reflecting on it is good enough.

Thanks, Nutmeg, for this question. Stay tuned for Part Deux tomorrow.

It's Friday, and I'm Rambling

Today I shall bore you with loose ends. Read on...

1. The end is near! No, not the end of the world, the end of the diarrhea! Baby Boy's little body is now free of soy, and the grossness has ceased. Monday we will reintroduce soy to see if the symptoms come back. If they do, we add soy to the list of allergens.

2. As I am job hunting and getting more discouraged by the day, I'm realizing how much I've loved my 2-year stint in the publishing industry. As I told a colleague recently, doing this work was like meeting family for the first time. I'm looking at all sorts of other jobs, but nothing perks me up like publishing: sales, marketing, and especially editorial. Unfortunately, I live about as far away from the publishing center of the US (New York) as possible, and there are too few publishing jobs out here, especially in educational publishing. Here's my conclusion: THERE IS NOTHING ELSE I WANT TO DO. Nope. Nada. Nothing. I want to make books. That's it.

3. We've been thinking a lot about our daughter's education. We live in what most call a stellar school district, but she consistently brings home work WAAAAAY below her ability level. We are now almost 2 months into school and she is still reviewing work from 1st grade. Then I read Nutmeg's post today about her experience in the public schools, and am even more fired up about this issue. Daughter K says she finishes her schoolwork early and spends the rest of the time helping her peers. I endured that very fate when I was in school, and it's really a waste. I'm working on coming up with a plan to keep K engaged in learning at school, and will suggest it at Thursday's parent-teacher conference. Now, at t-minus-six days, I have no earthly idea what that plan would be. Might it be:

• Move to the family farm in North Dakota so I can afford to stay home with my children and homeschool them?
• Send "homeschool" worksheets with her to school to be completed after she does her regular work?
• Sell a kidney so I can afford to send the girl to a private school?

Warning: Grossness in this entry

Baby Boy is now on day 17 of diarrhea. Oy. There have been two "clean" days wedged in there, but otherwise, 17 delightful days of brown goo. Nay, smelly brown goo. Nay, lingering, smelly, slimey brown goo. It's so uncomfortable for him! He's been on the B.R.A.T. diet since Thursday.

An aside: I hate the name "BRAT" diet, even though it is an anachronism for Bananas, Rice, Applesauce, Toast. I just don't like that term, and I hate hearing it come out of my mouth although I am referencing the child's menu. It's the same reason I do not like those wide-eyed dolls, and won't have them in my house. OK, back to poop.

So here's the pattern: Preceding clean day #1, he had had birthday cake, then two ick days and a bread-y diet. Then a clean day. This time around, he had a clean day on Saturday, and had had no soy milk for 2 days before that. Then we reintroduced soy milk on Sunday, and whammo, a major ick day today, but worse: diarrhea plus slime. It's very possible he has an allergy to both cow's milk and soy milk. Double oy. Is there light at the end of the tunnel? Will there be a time when I do not end my day with a shower to hose off the poo and throw-up? Might we sleep through the night without being woken by a shriek or wail from our precious son, only to not be able to console him because we lack the ability to reach inside his tummy and straighten things out?

What I Learned Today

Today I learned that if you give a sick 12-month-old slightly undercooked rice for lunch in his high chair, and if he chooses not to eat it, but spreads it all over the tray for effect, and if you get distracted and have to hold said lethargic baby on your lap for many hours, and do not clean it up for the whole rest of the day, it dries out and is really easy to sweep into the garbage.

Why I love my husband

Last Friday was a rough day, and it hit me with no warning. Even hurricanes give a little bit of a heads-up. I sat down to my computer in the morning, the last day in my regular position after having been laid off due to a corporate merger. Then it hit me. So I took a deep breath, thought to myself, "Oh, wow, ok. That's normal, I suppose." And moved on. Then I got an email from a soon-to-be-former customer telling me that she'll miss me, that I was great to work with, that sort of thing. After a couple more emails like that, I gave in to the tears.

Meanwhile, I have been job-hunting. There was one job that was with a Christian organization that I love, and I had three great interviews. I didn't get the job because of circumstances out of my control. I cried again. Then I sucked it up, took another deep breath (by this time I am well-oxygenated) and called Steve to let him know that this job was a no-go. He made the foolish decision to ask me how I was doing. Unfortunately, he heard my voice quiver when I answered, "I'm fine." (Why did I try to cover up my feelings and not tell him how I really was? Because the requisite pep talk to follow would have done me in, and I didn't want to open up the flood gates while he was at work.) He told me he loves me, that we would get through this together, and he'd see me later at home.

Flash back 2 months: I got the phone call that with this corporate merger, I would be "unassigned" (no job for me after Sept. 30). It was 9 am, and Steve was on his way to work half an hour away. After my phone call I called him and told him (we knew this phone call was coming, just didn't know the outcome). He turned around and drove home to hug me. It was 60 seconds that made all the difference. Then he went to work.

Back to last Friday. Around mid-afternoon, he came home! Two hours early, and with red wine and chocolate! I chatted up a storm with our usual every day banter, avoided eye contact, and scurried around the kitchen. Then he strided right through all those barriers (aka coping mechanisms) and hugged me. I cried some more, and he held me tighter.

That night, before I got ready for bed, I told him, "Today sucked." He knew I wasn't up for a pep talk. He answered, "Yeah. Today sucked." Good man.

Thank you, God, for my wonderful husband. He is just what I need.

Her Dreams

When our daughter was 2 1/2, she wanted to be a pig farmer. She was a pig for Halloween for 3 years straight. As expected, that dream went by the wayside in favor of wanting to be a librarian, although her love of pigs has remained. We were at the fair again on Sunday, walking through the cattle barns, and she told me this:

"Mom, do you want to know the plan for my life?"
"Yes, honey, please share."
"I am going to be a farmer."
"OK, what animals will you have?"
"Well... pigs, of course. And cows that I will milk by hand."
"Sounds like a lot of work. Anything else?"
"Goats. What else should I have?"
"Sheep?"
"Yes, sheep. Then I can knit their wool."
"What about being a librarian?"
"Farmers like me like to read. I will finish my work early then go read books. I will have a lot of books that my neighbors can come borrow."
"Make sure you write your name in your books."
"OK."

I guess this means more trips to North Dakota are in store. Sigh.

To My Son on his First Birthday

I love you, my little man. There are so many things I love about you, but here are a few:

1. Sometimes, in the back seat, you'll be completely quiet until a funny thought comes across your mind, and you laugh.

2. You have the most expressive face I've ever seen. Your eyebrows speak volumes.

3. You have the sweetest disposition. You are content and satisfied.

4. Your sister and you have a very special bond. Maybe it's because she prayed for your existence, but you look at her differently than you look at everyone else.

5. You are a manly man! You thump your chest and grunt, and then look very pleased with yourself.

6. You give the BEST baby kissies in the world! Now when I ask for them you are starting to respond. They used to be happy surprises, but now, with increased understanding, you know what giving kissies means.

7. At bedtime, after the bath, book, and bottle, you lay your head on my shoulder...but only for a moment! After a couple of seconds you perk up to look me straight in the face and grin as if you've told the best joke ever! Then you lay back on my shoulder... until pop! The grin! Back and forth, back and forth, until you start lunging for your crib.

8. I love that you are a great sleeper.

9. After all the health crapola you have gone through, you are resilient. The meanings of your names suit you so well: "rock," and "son of my right hand." Your other name, "supplanter," fits in that your life has supplanted the fear in my heart with joy.

10. I love your husky voice.

I could go on and on, of course, because I am over the moon for you. You're the best surprise I've ever received, evidence of pure grace. Thank you, my sweet baby boy. I love you. Happy First Birthday.

Flesh and Bones

I am obsessed with my body. I'm not talking about the shallow, unidimensional, "do I look fat in this" sort of persona. I've grown out of the 20-something hatred of every lump and curve. I've birthed two beautiful, healthy babies--one delivery was slick and easy, the other was work like I've never known. Still, my body did it. I gained a lot of weight as a homesick teen living in France and lost it again. I broke my left leg early in my life, then my right wrist in mid-childhood, then my left wrist a few years ago, and this year my left leg snapped, too. No limb of mine has remained whole! And yet, I've recovered. The human body--my human body--is a wonder.

I am indeed still recovering from the worst of all my breaks, which occurred in April. I was getting better-better-better, through sheer determination and will, with the help of doctor-mandated physical therapy. Then it was all left to me to keep it up. And have I? No. You've heard the expression, the mind is willing but the body is weak? In my case, the body is willing but the mind is weak. With every passing day, now, I wake up creaky, and it's downhill from there. The limp is back. I ooh and aah, and not in the good way. I notice every little twinge of pain, not just in my leg. I wake up in a bad mood. I've become a wimp.

And yet, in my mind's eye, I am an active, sporty, energetic momma. I know exactly what I need to do in order to get myself back to smooth sailing. While I have great respect for this body of mine, I live in the world of thought and not action, ideas instead of activity. I do not like this about myself. It's like I'm waiting for my brain to tell my body to get up and move. I'm passive. Oh, dear. As I write this, I realize it's worse than I had thought! So here is the crux: If I do, indeed, respect my body, then that respect must translate to action. If I do not take action, I am showing real disrespect for my body and God's creation. Some who are avid exercisers sometimes talk about how using their bodies in healthy ways is like a prayer. I am sitting here wishing I could get into that mindset. I see now, though, that if I wait on "right thinking," I'll never get around to "right doing."

Ideas, Please

Alright, dear readers (are there readers out there?). I need your input. As you know, I was recently the victim of a corporate merger, and have been unceremoniously scootched out of a job. Sadly, publishing jobs are few and far between here in the Pacific Northwest. I love-love-love the idea of making books. The world of ideas is my homeland. If I could live my life with my nose buried in words, I would.

What now? I have to work to keep us afloat, so staying home with my children is not an option. I've been doing sales for the past few years, but I just don't know if that's where I want to be. I'm good at it because I enjoy people, but it doesn't really seem like ME. I like having projects. Something I can organize and deatils I can break down. I love studying, especially theology, but working in a church isn't so much fun.

Somebody help me, please! We have until January 1 to find me a new job, and hopefully with it, a new career. I'm tired of jumping around, I'd love to fall in love and commit to meaningful work. I just need some creative input.

People who Overreact

My job involves talking with instructors and helping them find the right textbooks. They are always professional and well-mannered. Occasionally I get a student posing as an instructor trying to get answer keys. Because of this, I usually don't invest too much time on them until I have met the instructor or can verify that they are employed by one of my schools. The other day I got this email:

hi amyi'm looking for a book on autodesk inventor, intermediate and advanced have looked allover and can;t seem to find them, I need them to be 2008 but I would consider 2007.Tkanks Kevin

Usually those who teach use at least minimal punctuation. I was dubious. So I asked a few more questions, such as, "What school to do you teach at?" I got this response:

HI Amy
thanks for getting back so promptly, just as soon as school starts i will send you a e-mail with my .edu, also this is just in the planning stage now see i have 20 -30 students in the beginning inventor class and a lot of them want to go on but every time they try to set up a intermediate class there isn't a large enough turn out so my thought is to offer the classes every quarter then i will have beginning intermiteate and advanced inventor all in one the same lab. this might not even get through the dean so i don't know if you want to give me book so how about a list of the books and a price list
Thanks Kevin

OK, I'm still not convinced. No answer about his school affiliation, and it's not even a for-sure class yet, so it's not like he's in a time crunch. So I politely refer him to our online catalog. He says,

you should look at your catalog i did and there is only one title for inventor thats why I sent you a request for intermittent and advanced inventor books. after four e-maile you send me back to the catalog right where I started you an IDIOT

Wha-huh? First of all: no punctuation! C'mon, man, throw us a bone! And then: "intermittent" inventor books? Now really, who's the idiot here? I just had to laugh.

Two Unrelated Topics

1) I just got back from Orlando, where are national sales meeting was held. It could not have been worst if they tried! Fun times included: food poisoning, being included but not included, and suffering the world's most negative person. (I know you thought I held that title, but no, this person is worse!) I'm so glad to be home, and not in Florida (aka The Surface of the Sun).

2) Baby Boy took two more steps this morning!!! He'll be walking by the end of August, I'm sure of it. Dang, he's cute. And Little Girl continues to amaze. Last night she wouldn't admit she was tired. She yawned, and when we caught her, she said that she wasn't yawning because she was tired, it was just to "get air out of my body."

Whoa, Nellie!

Baby Boy is now pulling himself to standing without any help! Walking is right around the corner. Yikes!

Reading Material

One of my favorite things about being a mother is watching behavior and finding meaning in it. For example, my little baby boy is drawn to one of the bookshelves in the living room and loves to pull the books off. He then proceeds to eat the pages before mommy comes screaming, "No! Stop! Ack!" But I must say, his choice of material is fascinating.

For the longest time he went after Kathleen Norris' book, The Cloister Walk. Clearly, this boy is contemplative. He has also sampled What Paul Meant by Gary Wills, and, in my proudest moment, Perelandra, by the esteemed C.S. Lewis. Not the easiest C.S. Lewis to start with, but if he wants to dive right in, who am I to stop him? Oh, the literary journeys he and I will take in future years! The great discussions of spirituality! The ruminations of the state of the soul!

In a fit of folly, the boy did choose some Moliere yesterday. I'm glad to see that he has a sense of humor, this child, and can appreciate the occasionally caustic irony and even the knee-slapping comedy that Moliere offers. And, it was a collection in the original French, so I really have no choice but to endorse his selection.

Maybe I should go add some money to his therapy fund. I'm sure, with this mindset, the poor child is doomed to some sort of complex due to his mother's expectations.