Spectacularly Normal

Ta-da!

2006-05-08T15:54:00.000-04:00

I'm up and running at the new address. It is possible to automatically redirect from this site to the new one, which has been happening throughout the day, but I've turned that off temporarily because I need access to the old posts in order to reformat them on the new blog.

I won't be updating on this site anymore. Instead, you can find new posts HERE.

I hope you will all continue to join me.

Kiss,
I.

So much to tell...and sorry for all of the sap

2006-05-04T16:03:00.000-04:00

This is what I found when I came home last night: John had gotten back from D.C. and gone out to Brooklyn Chinatown on his snappy new bike to get ingredients for dinner. Dinner was already made and delicious. John bought me a lock for my bike. He was thrilled that I found a great pair of Jeans, regardless of the cost. He'd burned the first six episodes of the last season of Arrested Development, which I didn't even know we finally had. He asked me to close my eyes, then showed me a screen on his computer which displayed the following:

Boo. Whatever you do, do not click here.

Yes, that is my very own domain, which John registered and set up for me. I have to play with the layout and make it look like something I would want people to see before I actually start posting there, so please keep coming here for now. Eventually, when I'm ready to "launch," I'll probably be able to work out a set-up which will just automatically redirect readers from this blog to the new site. I can't tell you how thrilling it is to have this enormous, overwhelming thing that is my very own. I don't know what I'm doing yet, but learning is going to be a lot of fun. There's also a chance that I can get my employer to pay for coding classes, but I'm not positive.

Additionally, having already said all kinds of wonderful things about John the night before, it was acceptable for me to jump up and down with glee instead of saying anything resembling a proper thank you.

Moving on, I saw my shrink this morning. We're going to try adding Lithium to my Depakote. It's a small dose and I'm trying it out for three weeks to see what happens, but I'm still a little freaked. It's a totally irrational concern, but it's Lithium for christ's sake and that's a scary word to me. On the other hand, I'm resigned. Things aren't working and as disciplined as I might be about the sleep...it won't be enough apparently. According to my doctor, there is no way that I can stay out even one night a week. Every day I should be in bed by 10 and up by 5:30. What kind of life is that? Never mind the business I'd eventually like to have and the baby John and I will make. So for now, it's worth a try, particularly since I have John to look out for me if anything starts to go awry.

My jeans are ready to be taken home and I can't wait to have John photograph my butt, so that you can all see how fabulous these jeans are...and how big my butt actually is.

Something else that I'm really excited and happy about is my relationship with my cousin. I haven't mentioned it before only because it's never occurred to me to do so, but Heather has been a really great part of my life. During the last few months in particular, we've gotten close in a way we've never been and we truly are sisters more than anything else. I guess it just goes to show that sometimes family works better when you get to pick it (or when your cousin picks it for you, at any rate). I suppose it's also evidence that when one door closes, another one really does open, because it was during the crisis with my mother that Heather and I started to understand and communicate with each other on a whole other level. Her mother is crazy too...okay, her mother is actually crazier. I know that Heather reads my blog daily and I know that she knows this already, but the fact is that there isn't a day when I take her friendship for granted and I love her dearly. Now all of you know it too.

Not the perfect mom and proud of it

2006-05-03T16:42:00.000-04:00

My cousin sent me a link to an article that I think every woman and mother should read just because it's the kind of reassurance we often need, but rarely come by. It's not the best piece of writing, but the author is really hot, so that's something too.

This is why I really shouldn't be allowed to leave the house with anything resembling a credit card

2006-05-03T15:39:00.000-04:00

Okay, so it wasn't credit exactly; it was a checking card. So I paid for my purchase outright. But still.

I finally found and bought the best jeans ever today. They're some fancy issue of True Religion and I bought them at Henri Bendel. I've been feeling pretty sick most of the afternoon about having bought these jeans, because they were so expensive, but now that I think about it, I would have paid as much for the experience of barking "I don't work here lady" at the crabby old rich woman who mistook me for a sales girl while I was waiting for the real sales girl to bring me another size. She apologized, looked at me like I should hop to it anyway, then walked off in a huff claiming that it was because I looked so efficient.

What does that even mean, I looked efficient?

So, finally, my quest is over. However, out of a need to replace balance in the universe, a very fine, unremovable hair or fiber has placed itself in my left eye and is obstructing my vision.

I did manage to read the large neon yellow sign held up by a man standing outside of the store that read: LOOKING FOR WEALTHY WOMAN TO BE MY WIFE.

Everyone has a dream.

What started out as a post about nothing, but became an ode to John

2006-05-02T20:22:00.000-04:00

John has been in D.C. since yesterday. The house feels empty without him. I'm finding that me time often involves some sort of housekeeping that's goes undone when John is home; yesterday it was a sink full of dishes, tonight it's laundry to be folded. It's really strange to realize how much of ourselves we unthinkingly give up when we join our life with another's. It's not a bad thing and it's not a sacrifice and it's different for everyone, of course, but it's inevitable. I know that I always have the option to just hang without John...to break away and do my own thing...but when you've met someone with whom you really enjoy spending your time and with whom you share such a multitude of interests as John and I do, well, it seems stupid to do the same things separately. Which is not to say that we don't go out without each other or spend time alone with our friends. We just don't do it as much as we did when we were single.

The other thing that's weird (but not at all surprising) is that when he's here I think about my life before him nostalgically. I remember what it felt like when no one needed me other than Sophie and it seems like a quieter time. But then John goes on one of his business trips and I'm so glad that my life is not like it was before him. What I forget when John is home is that I was bat-shit crazy most of the time and that carrying a sleeping 35 lb Sophie home from the subway in kitten-heels was no small feat. I forget that the bed wasn't as warm to sleep in and the apartment was too quiet without conversation. I forget how much time I spent on the phone because I didn't like the quiet and how much better quiet is when someone else is breathing in it. When John is here I fail to take into account the more base things like: how hard it is to pay full rent on a fairly small income by yourself. Or buy groceries. I overlook the fact that I would be $40,000 in debt rather than $20,000 if we hadn't gotten together when we did.

There is no way to articulate what this last year and a half has been like for me. I went to a party one night to get laid and I met the one. Now, I don't believe in the one, but shit John's the one. All of the things that I love him for the most are the things that challenge who I am, which, for his edification, includes his sense of humor. He's an incredible spouse and care-giver, a terrific father, an amazing lover, a brilliant teacher and an emotional guru. The last being particularly impressive because his mother and I have often referred to him as The Robot. The last 7 months since my diagnosis have been harder than I could have imagined, but John has lovingly stood by me and supported me and reassured me without ever asking anything in return. When he was sick, he still did what he could to put my needs first; even when I insisted he shouldn't. But that's the kind of man that he his.

A The One kind of man.

So if he happens to be reading this, which at some point I know he will be, thank you John for being everything you are. And thank you for who I'm finally managing to become.

Weekend up-date, including some things I learned about me

2006-05-01T14:19:00.000-04:00

Starting the weekend off early, we went to the Gowanus Yacht Club last Thursday under the auspices of trivia night. Apparently Captain KnowItAll didn't actually know that it was a Thursday when he woke up that morning, because no trivia actually took place. We had a fun time anyway and here are pictures to prove it:

As you can see, we are drinking beer. We drank lots of beer that night in order to drown our woes over the lack of trivia. The most significant thing to notice about this photograph is that we are sitting.

This is Uncle TJ. He is the world's most perfect uncle because he is not actually related to us by blood. Sophie picked him out all by herself and she will be the first to tell you that she has impecable taste.

This lovely woman is Johnsmom, also known as Mom, also known as Gramma Lawwa. Here she is learning to use her camera so that she can take pictures of Sophie at the Botanic Gardens the following day.

This is the smooth and cool expression of a man contemplating his next beverage option.

John shows us all up by never letting his attention wane, even after the sun goes down and his belly is full of grilled meats.

We were also joined by dear sweet friend Sonesh, but by then too much beer and hotdogs had been consumed to operate the camera properly.

Friday night we went to Me Bar atop the La Quinta Hotel in Korea town to celebrate my ex's big 3-1. We ran into lots of people, toasted the birthday boy, and got into a little verbal scuffle on the way home that led to my disposing of all the alcohol in our apartment. It was a selfish, unfair move on my part, mainly because it was done out of my own need for control in my life. It was symbolic and expensive and even a bit histrionic, but it was what I needed right then.

Saturday we ran around all day shopping for jeans. I haven't bought a pair of jeans in years and I was ready to go high-end if it meant finding a really nice pair that fit well. What I have learned as a result is that my body is not of this planet because jeans do not exist that will actually fit onto it. It was extremely discouraging and I came away feeling amazingly fat. Fortunately, we stopped at Target where I bought two pairs of gauchos in my miracle fabric: cotton spandex. Now I can feel fat, but comfy.

We also decided that we are going to Greece. Now I have to lose some weight so that I can run around half naked with a lesser feeling of disgust. One thing that is important though is that while I'm desperate for some kind of quick fix, I'm not willing to starve or vomit anymore. This leaves me with only one odious possibility: exercise.

Alas! On Sunday we bought bikes. They are brown and ugly. They are his and hers matching. His has a little Chips style mirror on the handle bar, hers will soon have a straw basket on the front. And I am so fucking stoked!! I love my new bike. I haven't owned a bike since I was twelve and to have just randomly come across these while we were walking in the hood feels like kismet.

Is it too much to expect the bike to solve all of my problems?

Johnsmom wuz here

2006-04-30T19:45:00.000-04:00

Now she is gone and I have time, once again to resume my regular postings. And how better to do so than to memorialize the best gifts my mother-in-law has ever brought us by publishing photos of them here?

These are some new friends of Sophie's. Last night I heard them pillow talking while she was asleep about overpopulating her room and then taking control of the world. Or maybe it was our apartment.

This is a book that will be extremely useful now that John and I have decided to give up drinking for a while. Much like the bread maker that we got for Christmas from Johnsmom (note: we don't eat bread), it is a gift that will keep on giving.

I have nothing funny to say about this gift because I am a crossword junky and this book totally rocks my world.

Much the same can be said of this record...yes, that's vinyl people and I have a turntable on which to play it...because it's fucking Richard Pryor for god's sake...on vinyl.

This is for Amanda

2006-04-30T12:46:00.000-04:00

Dear Amanda,

I hope you'll forgive my responding to your post on my blog, but I'm hoping that other people who have experienced any of the things you and I have, might find some sort of comfort here.

First off, I think you have to stop putting so much pressure and blame on yourself. While on the one hand mollycoddling yourself all the time won't make the situation better, you have to remember that you've got a condition that is in a large part out of your control and that it's going to take baby-steps to find an appropriate pace at which to move in your life. You need to think about what's right and necessary for you to feel good about the world around you: what kind of stimuli set you over the edge? what kind of environment are you most comfortable with? are there changes in activity or diet or sleep that might support a higher level of functioning for you? do you need more time with friends who love you, but in smaller doses? could you make a deal with yourself to go out one night/day if you had friends in the night/day previous to that? Does any of this make sense?

For me, the process, which is clearly still very much a process, has been one of understanding how to construct the right conditions under which I can overcome the limitations imposed by my bipolar diagnosis. As we've recently found, sleep is a big factor...huge factor. Alcohol, I believe, is also a factor. Spending too much time in crowded places with too much stimulation is also overwhelming. These are just a few examples of what I meant in my questions above.

I can certainly understand your fears and concerns about meds. The first time the question of meds was raised was last summer when John and I were in India for a wedding. We were there with all of our friends, as well as Johnsmom. One morning, after a long night of celebrating, John suggested that maybe I would be more consistently happy if I looked into meds. I didn't smile as much anymore, or enjoy the things that had once brought me so much pleasure. He was right, of course, but I'd been doing such a good job of convincing myself that if I just lost another 7lbs or another 5 lbs everything would be better, that it never occurred to me that there was anything else wrong in my life. I should say: wrong in the way I felt about my life.

Needless to say, when he brought the issue up, I refused to consider it. I was terrified of meds. I had totally irrational presumptions that I would end up a fat emotionless vegetable if I started taking something. And that my brain wouldn't belong to me anymore. Worse yet, I was raised to believe that people who needed medication or had any kind of chemical imbalance were sick freaks that were discountable. That people like that were weak. Now, let's be perfectly clear, I didn't believe any of those things myself, but this is back when I was still talking to my family (for the most part) and the thought of their response to my taking meds was enough to close the issue. When my brother was 15 or so, he was diagnosed depressed and put on Prozac, then Zoloft, and my father acted like my brother was a pariah. Only when my brother went off his meds did their relationship start to mend. When, directly preceding my own diagnosis, my brother was diagnosed bipolar, my parents totally wigged. It was a good three months before I confessed to them that I was undergoing treatment for the same condition, but I refused to talk to them about it. If I told my mother I was having a bad day, she would suggest that my meds needed to be adjusted. If I told her I was feeling great, she acted like the issue had never existed. I swear, it was as if I was a dog who was learning to stop peeing on the floors...bad girl, good girl, here's a treat. Ridiculous. In her own way, I believe, my mother was trying to be supportive and even innocuous, but the best thing she could have done was to actually learn about my disorder.

I don't know what kind of relationship you have with your parents, but maybe (if they haven't done so) your parents could read about your anxiety...suggest that they read some of the same books that you are. They should make the same attempt to understand what your experiencing in the world that you are. I would guess that their questions about your condition are very similar to your own and that their behavior towards you is bred of ignorance. I don't know, I could be wrong since I don't have full back-story. I know that (in leu of my parents) having the support of a family (which is, of course, largely comprised of my friends) that I do makes a huge difference for me. It's what gets me out of bed when I can't do it on my own. I believe as well that if my parents were actually available in my life, really available, then the quality of this struggle would be, and have been, incredibly different.

Now, as far as meds go...again...I have friends who take (or have taken) them. One of my closest friends has found her way back to life through Zoloft. I mean to say that she was in the darkest hole I've ever witnessed and for her Zoloft was the light she needed to find her way out. I know that sounds dramatic, but it was. Another of my dearest friends takes Wellbutrin. He, like me, didn't realize that the emotional dips in his life were indicative of a long period of functional depression. Wellbutrin has worked remarkably well for him without side-effect...at least none that I know of. Unfortunately, the medication side of a clinical condition really is a total crap-shoot. I know that isn't very reassuring or inspiring, and I know that it will be even less so when I say that I do believe what a doctor prescribes often reflects what the pharmaceutical reps have encouraged them to sell, but...and this is an important but...if you have a doctor you can trust, that shouldn't be an issue. I know that my shrink, for instance, favors Depakote. She's had a great deal of success with it, so it's her typical go to drug when the condition and potential recovery of the patient seems to warrant that as a prudent choice. I know, however, that if the Depakote wasn't working for me she would try something else because my relief is more important than a pharmaceutical perk.

Something that stuck out for me in your post was that you're seeing a therapist, but it's your internist who's responsible for monitoring your meds. You may find better guidance with a psychiatrist to prescribe this sort of medication to you since that's their specialty. More importantly, a psychiatrist will meet with you monthly in order to make sure that the medication is doing what it's supposed to and not messing with your system in some unexpected way. Most (or many) shrinks don't do the actual therapy work, so you'd probably be right to stay with the woman you've formed a relationship with (assuming you're happy with her) so that you have someone to continue talking this out with (you know, who's better at it than me).

Now, this is totally silly, but when you were a kid did you read the Little Miss and Mister books? Do you remember Mr. Jelly? He's petrified of everything in the world around him and thinks that every leaf falling from a tree is the world coming to an end or a band of ruffians out to get him? Well, towards the end of the book he meets a tramp who tells him that the answer to overcoming his anxiety is to count to ten every time he feels like he doesn't have a handle on things. I know, I know, it's so inappropriate to bring up a children's book when you're going through something real and serious, but Sophie was "reading" this book to us the other day and I can't get out of my head how true that is. How taking a few seconds to reevaluate and calm down can make a difference.

I don't know if any of this is helpful. Other people have given you good advice to your post as well, from what I gathered...reading was a helpful, less isolating, step for me. Finding blogs written by people who knew what I was going through had an enormous effect on me. And then writing a blog...exposing myself and exploring myself through writing, that moves the process along too. Just remember to breathe when it all seems like way too much, because often it probably is and I know how suffocating that can be.

Best,
I.

Oh boy

2006-04-28T16:09:00.000-04:00

It is 4pm. My boss, the woman who trained me, and I were out to lunch and drank lots of wine. I drank mine on a mostly empty stomach. Now, I'm a little less depressed, but would also like to go home and sleep.

I'd also like an exorcism performed to rid my body of the peanut m&m's I ate to sober me up.

Shit.

On an alternate note, my ex-husband did a very nice thing and had a friend of mine, an author with whom I haven't spoken in a while, sign his newest book for me and messengered it over. This makes me feel all the more cared for.

I know I'll figure this...whatever...out and all will be better eventually.

I appreciate the time any of you have taken in sticking through it with me .

A short list of unhappiness

2006-04-28T12:30:00.000-04:00

Here is what I know:

My life is too good to be real.
I have an amazing child and an amazing partner.
I am surrounded by friends and people who love me.
I really enjoy my job.
I love to laugh.
I used to enjoy just about everything so much more than I do now.
Everything John did used to be endearing.
Nothing John did made me irritable.
I have the world’s greatest mother-in-law.
I can be really stubborn.
John’s taught me, just by being him, how to be less so.
Until a month ago, (give or take) I was doing really well.
What’s wrong with me is beyond my immediate control.
My sleep isn’t regular or deep anymore without a pill.
I like to talk a lot, but lately I have very little to say.
John is possibly one of the most patient men alive.
Sophie isn’t getting a whole mom right now.
This makes me sadder than I already am.

Here is what I don’t know:

Why this is happening.
If it will get better and stay better.
Whether it will come back and be worse the next time.
How to fix it.

I just really can't explain it

2006-04-27T22:02:00.000-04:00

Things are bad. I don't know why. I don't know what to do about it, but things are bad. Maybe it's because I was so undisciplined about the sleep thing? Maybe my meds aren't working? I really don't know. I've been irritable and depressed again, as though all of the amazing stabilizing is suddenly undone. I don't think I'm rapid cycling...at least not in a familiar way, but I do feel like I don't want to leave the house most mornings, or talk to other people. I don't want to blog much.

Everything has become an effort. A hurculean fucking feat.

Where am I anymore?

I see my shrink next Thursday.

Why I like to read

2006-04-27T15:11:00.000-04:00

But, as that year wore on, Dora was not strong. I had hoped that lighter hands than mine would help to mould her character, and that a baby-smile upon her breast might change my child-wife to a woman. It was not to be. The spirit fluttered for a moment on the threshold of its little prison, and, unconscious of captivity, took wing.

Moral Dilemma

2006-04-27T14:08:00.000-04:00

Is it wrong to wish that someone would just die already, even if she is a fictional character?

In which Sophie displays her developing skills as a speller

2006-04-26T21:54:00.000-04:00

Dailymotion blogged video

Warning: very disorganized post below

2006-04-25T20:32:00.000-04:00

Remember a while back when I wrote about never having time for anything? Somehow, I have even less time now. I have a theory that it's got something to do with the fact that every second of my day is accounted for (I'm staying in for lunch, to answer your question) coupled with the new bedtime, but then I could be way off.

This job is kind of amazing, because I care about it and am engaged by it, but it's also making me realize just how many extra hours I used to have and took for granted. While it was never especially easy to work all day and then come home and be mom and housekeeper and spouse, it was much easier when I had the space to be me. It was nice to do all of my web browsing and blogging during the day. I had so much time to think and be away from my life.

Life is a little more claustrophobic now.

I'm starting to feel like my only identity is becoming the one I have in our apartment. Like the only thing I talk about at a party is Sophie or John, but rarely my own interests. I'm resentful of that and it's starting to take it's toll on our family.

Last night I spent more time reprimanding Sophie than I did enjoying my time with her. I felt tempermental and impatient and although a part of that is PMS, I'm not going to shirk my own responsibility for the way things went down. Yes, sometimes Sophie just has crappy days and is less than pleasant to be with, but yesterday that wasn't the case. She was charming (until I started browbeating her) and even read a book to me on the subway ride home.

What's weird is that I'm finding more and more that it's when I walk into my apartment, that I turn all Hyde. Even on the evenings when Sophie and I have a good commute, or if I'm coming home without her and am super psyched to see John, I get cranky as soon as the key is in the lock. And I think a big part of that is my developing dislike for and discomfort in my living space.

Our apartment has somehow become the physical metaphor for my mood...it's cramped and messy looking (even though we clean), a bit cluttered and incomplete. It's the same apartment I've lived in since a year after Josh and I got married. It's become this symbol of stagnancy and maybe the point is that I don't feel like I belong there anymore. Or that I'm just impatient for a new place.

March was so full of incredible leaps forward. We finished our mediation; Sophie got into school; I got a new job; Josh got a new job; I discovered that cotton jersey is a miracle fabric. And now I feel like I'm standing still. It's so frustrating.

She talks about these things with her dad instead

2006-04-25T12:38:00.000-04:00

S: I want girl-boobs.

J: What?

S: I want girl-boobs. Like mommy has.

J: (hopefully reinterpreting) You mean you want a bra?

S: Yes a want a bra like mommy wears and also princess Jasmine. But it can be just a little one.

J: Um, okay.

S: And it should be red.

Sentimental to a fault

2006-04-25T12:22:00.000-04:00

Yesterday John proved once again that he is purely outstanding. The guy managed to do all of our laundry, clean up the house (including the toilet, ladies) and cook an amazing Southern dinner which included:

Pork shoulder with Carolina mustard sauce

Black eyed peas

Fried okra

Homemade Slaw

Cheap red wine

Uncle TJ came over for dinner and we all ate ourselves nearly sick, leaving no leftovers to enjoy today. One day, when uncle TJ becomes Father TJ, by virtue of the internet, I hope he will remember this meal and be gentle in his conduction of our wedding services.

Further evidence of John's eventual sainthood arrived in the form of an email from my friend Emily regarding a party we went to last weekend:

It was small gesture, but it was the kind of beautiful thing John does. Even when blotto, the man has great humanity. He wasn't blotto yet, okay. But when he found out I wasn't drinking and brought me over the only other person in the room who wasn't drinking, the lovely Saadi, I felt wonderfully befriended. Just a small but endlessly classy move. Just wanted to say. It's always nice to hear nice things about the people you love, isn't it?

It is.

Annoying

2006-04-24T15:00:00.000-04:00

It took six different tries over the course of 20 minutes to get my post to actually publish correctly. Either the line breaks were non-existent, or some of the text was cutting out. I feel like I've been having more and more trouble with Blogger over these last few months and it's very upsetting to a geek/neurotic like myself. I've been researching alternate blogging options, both software and hosts, so I may decide to make a change soon, but it's hard to bitchslap Google, no matter how often she slaps you first.

Ah, loyalties.

Life in the trenches

2006-04-24T14:17:00.000-04:00

First of all, Blogger is being very weird right now.

Also, after an amazing week of spring in NY, the weather has officially taken to sucking ass by reverting to early winter temperatures and overcast sky. I have a space heater on beside me. It’s sick.

And would you like to know what I'm doing right now (I mean before I started typing this post)? I'm banging my head against the desk because Microsoft Excel refuses to roll over and be my bitch. The software seems to be under the impression that if the numbers don't add up it's because I did something wrong.

What's that about?

I made a really important decision this weekend to abide by the 10pm bedtime that goes along with my depakote dosage. I’m not happy about the fact that I need to, but last Friday was the most depressed I’ve felt in a very long time. I mean, full on please-don’t-look-at-me-I’m-hideous-and-should-live-under-a-rock depression. It was a very dark time that carried over well into Saturday and I really don’t want to feel that way again, particularly if I can avoid it by just following the damn rules.

This experience of getting on meds and adjusting to them, and trying to eek out an extra hour of awake time here or there, has been really interesting. I honestly thought that my doc was being overly cautious about the 10 o’clock thing, and I felt a little resentful that I would have to miss out on a lot because of it: less time with John in the evenings, or to myself, or with friends; no going out on the weekends; no starting a movie after Sophie goes to bed. But my doc was right…I really do have to be that disciplined in order to have my mental health in hand.

Now, this doesn’t mean that I don’t still plan to go out the one weekend night I don’t have Sophie, but it does mean that if I’m planning to do that, the lights better be out on time every other night.

For now, that's all I've got.

Crap Crap Crap

2006-04-22T13:08:00.000-04:00

Today the weather is blechy: overcast, threat of rain and it's cold. To match, I feel blue and restless.

I'm feeling fat again (thanks PMS) and for the first time in quite a while it's actually affecting my life.

Tonight, I'm going out with friends and I'm actually dreading getting dressed for it. Somewhere inside I know that's silly, or at the very least irrational, but that hasn't stopped me from wanting to shut myself away all weekend.

Last night, I had a dream in which I was sitting down to dinner with my parents and my father told me I had gained too much weight and he thought I shouldn't eat anything.

It's 1 o'clock and I haven't eaten today and I'm not very hungry.

Um, could someone please bring out the sun again?

Reasons why I'm cranky right now

2006-04-21T18:36:00.000-04:00

1) I don't know;
2) I just got home (early) fifteen minutes ago and John's already gone and fallen asleep on the couch;
3) The apartment is a mess and no one seems to care except me;
4) I want McDonald's cheesburgers, a donut, a jar of nutella, some KFC crispy strips and some fries;
5) I won't eat any of those things;
6) I'm lying because I would totally eat any of them, but then I would hate myself for it;
7) It's almost that time of the month and I feel like a fat ass;
8) I don't feel sexy or attractive in the least;
9) Sophie's not here;
10) I'm kinda bored, but kinda not and also very restless too;
11) Why isn't there any fucking nuttela in the house?;
12) How can John be sleeping right now? What happened to the us time?;
13) All of the funny and entertaining things that have happened to me this week involve Microsoft Excel, fritatta and office equipment;
14) That creepy guy who wouldn't stop staring at me on the train.

For Pooja, who's doing some sort of important stuff in law school

2006-04-21T18:21:00.000-04:00

My three misunderstood minutes in heaven

2006-04-21T11:07:00.000-04:00

Last night John and I took Sophie drinking at the Gowanus Yacht Club, because it's the cheapest place to hook a homegirl up with cheap beer and a hot dog. The place was so swamped that seating was a complete impossibility and we wound up getting Sophie a dog and taking our group over to Pacifico instead. Next Thursday, however, John will be spending the entire day at the Club so as to secure some space for those of us who are trivia and/or booze hounds. It should be especially fun because Johnsmom will be in town.

All of this is to say that Sophie and I arrived about 45 minutes early and had a lot of fun playing in Carrol Park and scoping out the Beanie Babies at Eckerd's, where she informed me that she was really smart and illustrated such statement by usuing the word often correctly and by throwing around the phrase we should look that up.

Right before John showed, we had this conversation:

S: I really like the Incredibles movie, because I really like violence.

M: Um, what?

S: I said, I really like the Incredibles movie, because I like violence. A lot.

M: Honey, did you just say you like violence?

S: Uh-huh.

M: Okay, wait, say what you just said to me one more time.

S: I said, I really like V-I-O-L-E-T. She's my favorite.

M: Oh, jesus. I thought you said something very different. I thought you said you like violence.

S: What's violence?

Our Housekeeping

2006-04-21T10:52:00.000-04:00

I've been reading DAVID COPPERFIELD* and came across this paragraph, which I love (even though it's right after he goes and marries that insipid twit of a woman Dora) describing the first housekeeper he and his new (damn her) wife hire:

Her name was Paragon. Her nature was represented to us, when we engaged her, as being feely expressed in her name. She had a written character, as large as a proclamation; and, according to this document, could do everything of a domestic nature that ever I heard of, and a great many things that I never did hear of. She was a woman in the prime of life; of a severe countenance; and subject (particularly in the arms) to a sort of perpetual measles or fiery rash. She had a cousin in the Life Guards, with such long legs that he looked like the afternoon shadow of somebody else. His shell-jacket was as much too little for him as he was too big for the premises. He made the cottage smaller than it need have been, by being so very much out of proportion to it. Besides which, the walls were not thick, and whenever he passed the evening at our house, we always knew of it by hearing one continual growl in the kitchen.

If that right there isn't Dickens, I don't know what is.

*Don't venture to ask me how long I'm taking to read it, because I'd be too embarassed to answer.

Humorous Feminist

2006-04-18T19:54:00.000-04:00

Sophie drew this at school today. Apparently, it's a reinterpretation of the Disney film The Little Mermaid. In this version, the prince decides that he wants to be a mermaid in order to be with the woman he loves and even goes so far as to get some "boobies" in the process. I think this really validates my parenting skills.

For the love of a good band

2006-04-18T19:35:00.000-04:00

My co-worker Sarah has just introduced me to Kudu, an electro-clash funk band. Allmusic.com compares them to Ladytron, but I have to disagree. Kudu is far more funky and easy to listen to than Ladytron, particularly on repeat. It's the kind of music that makes me want to dance on the train. I love that feeling.

A feeling I don't love quite as much is coming home to find a sink full of dishes that I thought was taken care of this morning by somebody else before he left for the airport. No fancy cheese for him tomorrow.

Egg hunt

2006-04-17T20:44:00.000-04:00

Sophie had her first Easter egg hunt last Saturday (she was with her dad on Sunday). We decided to reuse the tiny plastic eggs John's mom sent her (originally full of coins and chocolate kisses) by filling them with gummy bears and tagging them with questions that would lead her along in her search. She did a fabulous job. Her clues were:

-What's pink that you put on when it's cold inside?
-Where does John work?
-Where do you sleep?
-Where are the snacks?
-Where do mommy and John sleep?
-What's nice to ride on a sunny day?
-Where do we keep the coats?

At the end of this jaunt round and round the apartment was a basket of goodies, including gummy bracelets. Mmmmmm.

Except, not really.

Cake

2006-04-17T20:30:00.000-04:00

Last week, for Passover, I experimented with cheese cake. The idea was to find a good form to bake the cakes in so that Housing Works can sell them (yes, I am finally getting on the ball) in individual portions. I wasn't pleased with my first go round. The cake to crust ratio was just too close. I used mini-loaf liners, but I think next time (later this week) I'll give it a go in large muffin liners instead. I figure the cake itself will be higher and that will improve on the ratio discrepancy.

Tonight I'm putting together my first vegan cake. It's a carrot cake with "creamed cheese" frosting. I replaced the eggs in the cake with applesauce and I used Toffuti spread for the frosting. The frosting tastes like it's real dairy; I've yet to try the layers. I love a baking challenge.

John asked me this weekend what my plan was for the business. What I told him, which is the truth, is that I don't feel like I can think about cake design just now. The last few months have been kind of crazy what with looking for a job and a school for Sophie, getting through the mediation, and now the training and finding a new apartment. It's too much at present, so cake is mainly on the back burner. Once things settle though, I intend to devote a set number of hours designing and constructing dummies to photograph for my portfolio, so there's that for all of us to look forward to.

Oh how time flies

2006-04-17T20:19:00.000-04:00

It's my third week at the office.

Today was my first day at my proper desk, which meant I answered the phone too. It's so strange how something as simple as answering a phone can seem daunting when you're doing it for the first time in a new place. At one point some telemarketer called and asked who she was speaking to and I said: I'm the office manager and for a brief moment I felt this little rush of pride.

More exciting was ordering new desk accessories...wooooo...yes, this is a very sad thing, but not as sad as how thrilled I am to be working in Excel. Which I am...I'm totally stoked...seriously.

Next week I get a business card. Amazing, eh?

A Power Puff Story

2006-04-17T07:08:00.000-04:00

When the Power Puff Girls did something special and told Professor something special they want to do.

The Power Puff Girls told Professor they wanted to do something special. Buttercup said she wanted to go on a boat ride. Blossom and Bubbles said "Yeah! That's a great idea Buttercup."

Then they flew there and got on the boat. Then they said "come on, let's play."

They said, "I dunno." But Buttercup went and played and bumped into everything.

They said, "see, I told you Buttercup."

Then Buttercup said, "alright, I won't do it again."

They said, "thank you Buttercup."

Then Buttercup got on a seat with the other girls* and went on a long journey. The other girls held Buttercup's hand (uh-oh). The Power Puff Girls said, "oh no!"

Then the Power Puff Girls went to the beach. They got their fishing poles out and Buttercup caught nothing, but Blossom and Bubbles caught fish.

Professor said, "Buttercup, try again."

So she did, but all she got was a little kitty cat that was in the water playing with fish in the water. The kitty cat had a whole basket full of fish and the Power Puff Girls added their fish to the basket and they ate fish at the beach.

Then they went home and had lollipops. Pink for Blossom, a blue one for Bubbles, a red one for Dymano and Dymano got a doggie and a green one for Buttercup. Then they went to sleep.

The end.

*The "other girls" are different girls who are not the Power Puff Girls.

See for yourselves

2006-04-14T19:31:00.000-04:00

Dailymotion blogged video

Why I hate technology

2006-04-14T18:55:00.000-04:00

because I have spent the last 45 minutes trying to upload a video clip and have yet to meet with any success.

Taking advantage of the time I've got by publishing far too many posts

2006-04-14T12:02:00.000-04:00

It was an earthcrack

2006-04-14T11:18:00.000-04:00

Sophie is home from school today and, thanks to the close of the stock market (at the drop of a hat), I'm off too.

She has taken nearly all of her stuffed animals and piled them on the couch under blankets so that they can take a nap. However, there was an earthcrack in care-a-lot and now most of the animals have to move to her bed in order to build a new care-a-lot.

At this very moment the animals are split between the two care-a-lots and sleeping. Sophie, meanwhile, is watching Dora the Explorer and yelling at the t.v. in Spanish. She is pronouncing all of the words with r's in them as if they had l's, for example: grande comes out as glande.

Is that a lamb shank or are you just thrilled to see me?

2006-04-13T11:32:00.000-04:00

Last night we had Passover dinner with my ex. I made brisket for the first time...which is strange to me since I've been cooking for roughly 16 years now. I'm a big fan of brisket. Especially the brisket at Gahm Mi Oak*, which is sliced just thicker than paper, served cold and piled over with shredded scallion and red pepper flakes. Yum. I cooked my brisket in lots of red wine and veggies, then served it along with spinach and baby carrots and pearl onions. There was also, of course, matzoh ball soup, so for the first time in a very long time broke the carb ban in order to eat one of my favorite foods ever.** For dessert there were individual chocolate cheese cakes with an almond crust and raspberry sauce. Through the miracle of Splenda I have made cheese cake an acceptable indulgence in our starch-free home.

It was nice to be together as a family. It's an unusual situation we've established for ourselves, but it feels so good and makes me so happy that the three of us can come together in this way to share a child and to share holidays. The only downside is that sometimes Sophie gets cranky, because she doesn't have the undivided attention of each parent and is forced to deal with our frustration as she continually interrupts. Last night she was great. After an hour or so of trying without success to make herself the focus of the table, she gave up and started playing with her toys instead.

I love watching children play and Sophie's got an incredible imagination. None of us were prepared, however, for the shock of watching her pull Power Puff Girl Blossom out of her sister Buttercup's head***. It was a moment so creepy and mythic that it silenced us in mid-conversation; an effect that Sophie was subtle in noting.

I didn't take pictures like I was planning to, but John did manage to get this one of Sophie mind-melding with the t.v. before dinner:

*Which is only the best Korean food in NYC, located on 32nd street between 5th and 6th Avenue.

**I basically hold Josh of Carpathian Kitten Loss responsible, because after all of our banter about pancakes and maztoh-brie, what self-respecting Jewess wouldn't cave?

***For those of you as neurotic about detail as I am, the Blossom doll was a 5" plastic one and Buttercup is a backpack with the straps cut off. Blossom had gone missing a week ago.

Stubborn

2006-04-13T08:33:00.000-04:00

Sometimes (okay, often) I have trouble asking for the things I need or want.

Specifically, I'm off today because of Passover and John is going to work from home. My expectation was that we would do what we always do when we have the house to ourselves...watch 50 episodes of something in our pj's while eating bacon.

Right now, I am typing in the kitchen and John is in the bedroom reading. And I'm not happy because I know that after he's done reading he'll need to wash some of the dishes from last night's sedar (I've already washed half) and then he'll need to work and then the day will be gone and I won't have finished season 2 of Arrested Development.

Is it stupid that I'm sitting here stewing instead of just telling him what I want? YES. Am I usually much much better about this sort of thing and communicate my needs directly? For the most part, particularly with John.

But right now it's 8:30 in the morning and I'm cranky because last night we'd both said how much fun it will be to have a day together and then someone went and started his own day without me.

Photographic evidence that the apple hasn't fallen very far from her tree

2006-04-13T08:08:00.000-04:00

Here I am explaining to John that if you can't think up a funny caption for your readers, it's probably best to post a pic with lots of turbans.

I might have to end the ban

2006-04-11T19:01:00.000-04:00

Did y'all know about this and not tell me?

She really is ALWAYS talking

2006-04-10T22:05:00.000-04:00

Here Sophie is explaining that when you eat food it turns into poop and then the poop comes out, so eating lunch is really just a waste of food.

Here she is telling me to go to hell.

Elaboration on a familiar theme

2006-04-10T20:27:00.000-04:00

I've been thinking about the last post I did about body issues. Okay, the last rant I posted about body issues; fine. Maya, my faithful commenter raises a good question: Why would I want to join a community of women who are a size 16 or higher?

I wouldn't. Er, not exactly. But what I would really like is for women of all sizes to be supportive of one another, because issues are issues regardless. Let me take a step or two back, so that all of this can have some context; even though it's after the fact.

There are two blogs I read that are written by women who are in the size 16 range: Tales of the Cupcake Mafia and She Just Walks Around With It. Both of these women have dealt with their weight and with fluctuations in their weight and with shopping difficulties throughout (and recently in) their lives.

On March 22nd, Nancy (Cupcake) wrote a post about her dissatisfaction with her size. Around the same time I was on a losing crusade to find clothes for my new job, and I decided to do the one thing that would make me feel less miserable: I blogged about it. I referred to Nancy's post and took a position of solidarity, because I think the problems that affect curvy women affect them at all sizes (though of course there are varying degrees even as such). More than a week later I encountered a comment on Nancy's blog in which Anonymous wrote:

I was just reading Spectacularly Normal. I was shocked at the not-so-subtle passive bitchery of your "friend". She goes on about being "morbidly obese" then lists her size, 4/6 next to yours, 16. Nice.

Thankfully, Nancy didn't see it that way and came to my defence (Thank you again!!). But the comment was effective and it gave me pause. It also made me really fucking angry*.

Last week, Kristy (She Just Walks) did a post which I thought was really brave and just really great. I read through some of the comments and felt that same solidarity and was about to leave a comment when I thought better of it. I realized that the bulk of readers responding to the post related to Kristy's words through life experiences that I couldn't lay claim to. Even though I've had those feelings, even though I've been overweight and am the only woman in my family (aside from cousin Heather with whom I am not genetically associated) who is below a size 14, it was clear that my words of commiseration would have no place in that forum.

That's when I wrote my post. Because it isn't fair, right or appropriate that a woman should hesitate to empathize with her peers.

As Maya points out in her comment, we all have issues. At least many of us do. There is a lot of pressure put on women. Even John has said that men don't have to put as much work into maintaining weight and appearance because it's up to them to bring home the bacon (happy dieting John! he he) and he's one of the most progressive thinkers I know. And maybe Maya's right that many of us just deal with those things on the inside, and for some that works, but wouldn't it be great, for those of us who would like to talk it out, if there was an arena in which that could happen? Where women big and small could lend each other support. Or even better, grab steel pipes and take their woes to the designers throughout the land.

*I think it's fairly obvious that I never "go on" about being morbidly obese...I make a joke about how ridiculous it is that even a smallish woman with curves seems to be considered too fat by today's design standards.

I was thinking of getting another one

2006-04-09T19:55:00.000-04:00

This is a fairly bad photo of the tattoo on my wrist. I got this done immediately after a really terrible relationship during which my first bout of anorexia began. The four stars stand for letters. They spell both the name of that boyfriend and the acronym H.A.L.T. - hungry, angry, lonely, tired - conditions it's best assess before getting into arguments or heated debates with your partner. The butterfly represented transformation...the something more beautiful that I was determined to become. It was intended as a visual mantra (I won't do that again) and it worked.

This was a few months before I started dated John.

I'm thinking about getting the exact same tattoo on the other wrist in shades of blue, green and purple. The stars would stand for JOHN. The butterfly would represent a new beginning...the something beautiful that I feel I am.

The amazing thing my life is and will be.

A day in the park

2006-04-09T19:23:00.000-04:00

This is what dinner looks like when the child is with her father

2006-04-09T19:14:00.000-04:00

*Three kinds of pate
*Champignions
*Peppery olives
*Goat milk gouda
*Grapes
*And wine (which did not fit into the photograph)

Oh and about 16 episodes of Arrested Development, our new favorite show, but I'll get into that later.

I should really be getting ready for brunch right now

2006-04-08T10:28:00.000-04:00

But I have something on my mind. And I'm frustrated. And this won't be orderly. So here it goes.

I've been reading some blog entries lately about weight issues. Somehow, there are always weight issues. What's on my mind right now, and this is something I've never been able to shake, is why women over a certain weight/size are more entitled to their issues than women like me.

I know. That sounds really gross and inflammatory. That's not what I mean to convey.

What I'm saying is, that being a size 6 isn't always easier in one's head than being a size 14 or 18 or 20. What I'm saying is that being me is hard every day. Because while I'm incredibly grateful for my life and my mind and my sanity, I have to face the fact that my body isn't an easy one to dress and that there isn't a "group" I fit in with. I can't post my feelings on a website dominated by heavy women because then I'm just some skinny bitch who complains too much about problems she can't begin to understand.

But you know what? Fuck that. I've BEEN a size 14. I gained 50 lbs during my pregnancy (right, remember, that whole I have a child thing?) and it didn't just magically disappear over-night. I worked really hard to get back to a reasonably thinner size/body...this was before the eating disorder...by walking 6 miles every day and eliminating bread/pasta/sugar from my diet. I did Slimfast for months, even though I lived in perpetual fear of my own bowels as a result. I did what I could because it was hard to carry the extra weight around all of the time. And because I didn't feel like that was the right body for me.

And you want to know the worst fucking thing? I still had a really hard time shopping for clothes because I wasn't quite fat enough to wear the really pretty clothes at say Lane Bryant, but I was too fat to wear the reasonably less ugly clothes at say New York and Company, which was comparable...I didn't even bother looking at the higher-end chain brands.

So what's the deal? Why aren't women who aren't *fat*, but are extremely curvy not supposed to talk about the way they feel in the world? Why is that less valid?

Can you tell that I feel really frustrated?

I work really hard to stay my size. I've stopped eating almost all of the things I used to love that proved to be pitfalls for me weight-wise. I've gotten into yoga. And most importantly, as a woman who used to starve herself daily, I'm learning to like my body and feed it well at the same time without indulging myself. So I feel like it should be okay to be cranky if after all this the fashion world still makes it difficult for me to get dressed in the morning.

While I was on my way to work

2006-04-07T22:44:00.000-04:00

John took a shower while Sophie got herself dressed. When he'd dried himself off and put on a pair of boxers, he went looking for Sophie. She was nowhere to be found. Not one to panic, John made a second search of the apartment, and a third, at which point Sophie jumped out from behind the couch and yelled SURPRISE!

Then ensued the following exchange:

S: (Jumping out from her hiding place) Surprise!

J: Oh, I was just looking for you.

S: (Pointing) You need to hide something.

J: (Looking down at his crotch) Oh, sorry.

S: (Shielding her eyes) Was that part of your privates?

J: Yes, sorry about that (making necessary adjustments).

S: That's okay. When people live together it's okay to see their privates.

These are for her daddy

2006-04-06T19:28:00.000-04:00

I'm a little late with these to be honest, since Sophie drew them on Saturday when we left her under the talented care of our friend Emily. In the afternoon, before Emily came to babysit, Sophie drew this:

Cute, right? This is what was awaiting us when we came home at 1:00 am she was still awake:

Is it any wonder she pees on the couch?

Winter in April

2006-04-05T22:17:00.000-04:00

I know that every other NYC based blogger has posted about this today, but it's Spring and this morning tulips were planted outside of my office building. So what was up with all of that snow? It didn't stick, but still.

My theory is that because of this Venus proximity thing*, mother nature decided to give us a nice hearty back-handed bitch slap to remind us who's boss.

*Or some such astrological phenomenon

An example of how much more mature Sophie is than her mother

2006-04-05T19:42:00.000-04:00

cum: with; along with; combined with.

Working Girl

2006-04-05T06:36:00.000-04:00

It's been fine, thank you for asking. I think that once the job is more completely mine, meaning I'm the only one responsible for the details the job entails, I'll be really happy. I like to be busy. I'll also have a minute or two to post.

The place is such a boys' club though. Which I find funny now, but will probably be annoying in the long run. Someone actually witnessed me bent over unloading some paper and asked if he could help me. Sounds kinda nice right? Let's just say it sorta wasn't.

I find it interesting that they positioned the only female vp in an office that overlooks/overhears the front area I work in.

The people are really nice though and if I can find a yoga studio in the area, I'll be set.

John leaves for DC (again) in a few hours. It's something I just can't get used to.

Um...that was weird

2006-04-03T21:08:00.000-04:00

Dear Miss Kendall,

As the governing body of this domicile, we must give formal reprimand for the "accident" you had on the couch earlier this evening.

Please see the guidelines which fully define the term "accident".

We believe you will find that holding it in until it is too late because you don't want to stop coloring, is not among the currently acceptable definitions of the above term.

In the future we would appreciate an effort on your part to break your mind-meld and take care of business.

Thank you,
Your parents

The fillies love the chocolate

2006-04-03T20:04:00.000-04:00

This line is from an episode of the Powerpuff Girls and has absolutely nothing to do with what I'm writing about today.

I started my new job. I think I'm going to like it there. The people are really nice and the vibe is good. Also, I am quite clearly a total piece of ass, since there are only men in the office (except for the one female VP), which will be...um...interesting.

I actually walked into an office today and found that one of the partners actually had a magazine laying open to an ad featuring Halle Berry's new Versace campaign. I'm having trouble locating a photo to post with this entry, but, needless to say, the dress she was wearing was cut down to her navel (literally) and she had one leg naked to the crotch sticking out of it. This wasn't some haphazard page flipping either...the man had managed to pull off a professional variation on the Snap On girl poster right there on his desk.

I sort of thought this only happened in romantic comedies.

Thus far I've learned: finance, finance, jargon, jargon. It's pretty cool.

Oh wait, I forgot to mention this

2006-04-03T19:07:00.000-04:00

In my post seeking advice regarding the Sophie/grandmother speaking situation, I forgot to mention that the reason there are specific days delineated for my mother to call is that my ex and I have an incredibly equitable custody arrangement whereby Sophie is with her father every Wednesday night. We also alternate the weekend days, which makes them harder to predict.

So my "scheduling" of time (as anonymous puts it) isn't a control issue at all, just a practical solution, not to mention the only way I can avoid direct contact with her. I gave my mother a specific list of days when Sophie is here to talk to her in an attempt to facilitate the likelihood of their conversing.

As for Sophie's learning to give time to the people she loves, I just don't really see that as a problem. She is one of the most loving, compassionate and engaging children you're likely to meet. I don't think a lack of desire for phone talk can change or minimize that in any way. Her father, step-father and I are all like this: none of us likes to talk on the phone, so maybe it's genetic?

For the record, I encourage Sophie to talk to her grandmother constantly, but I can't make her do it.

And no, it doesn't make me happy when she doesn't feel like talking because it's a big pain in the ass to know that my mother is somewhere in Florida thinking more evil thoughts about my corruption of the next generation.

My question is how do I handle my mother...not Sophie.

This is not about my mother

2006-04-02T11:54:00.000-04:00

Really. It isn't. I'm actually asking for advice. I'm assuming that most of y'all reading my blog are decent, intelligent, good people who may have hit up against some of the tribulations recorded here. So now I'm looking for your input. Here's the deal:

My mother has called twice to talk to Sophie. The first time, last Thursday, I put Sophie on the phone even though she really didn't want to talk (she felt tired and was groggy from sleeping on the train...not to mention that she was finishing dinner) and had her tell my mom that she didn't feel like talking. I figured it would be better if Sophie said so directly.*

Today, even though I specified week days on which my mother should call Sophie (in two separate emails), she's called again and, once again, Sophie doesn't want to talk. She stayed up too late last night with her babysitter and is tired this morning.

So what do I do? I mean, I know that my mother is going to assume that I'm somehow manipulating Sophie into avoiding her grandparents**, but I can't really force the child to talk on the phone if she doesn't feel like it.

I'd love to hear some suggestions on this one.

*Um, at which point my mom actually asked her 4 year old granddaughter whether she didn't feel like talking because she "didn't like mimi anymore?".

**which couldn't be further from the truth considering I'm now in a position to talk and/or think about my parents for the sake of their relationship with Sophie even though I'd rather not deal with them anymore at all.

On the way to the bar

2006-04-02T11:44:00.000-04:00

I expressed to John the wish to transliterate or communicate in some way to my reader the deep feral grunting that bracketed Sophie's need for the bathroom during the McDonald's episode.

He immediately offered up this formula: 13 u's, 3 n's, 2 g's and 1 h.

Which would make a sound like this:

uuuuuuuuuuuuunnnggh

Someone was shit faced last night and it wasn't me*

2006-04-02T11:28:00.001-04:00

J: Many people here have confirmed that you are the end of everything.

I: What?

J: I've talked to people here who think you're the hottest woman in the bar.

I: Really?

J: You're the end of the process for a lot of people.

I:What are you talking about? Wait. Should I be grossed out?

J: No. I'm just trying to say that this isn't as small as high school and you aren't hot shit.

I: Alright. Hold on. Can I repeat to you what you just said? Because you're not making any sense at this point.

J: Okay. Yes. Please repeat what I said.

I: You said this isn't as small as high school and...I didn't quite catch the last part, but I think you said this isn't as small as high school and you aren't hot shit.

J: Yes! That is exactly what I'm saying. This place. It's not as small as high school. The bar.

I: Can you agree that makes no sense?

J: Oh, wait. I think I was just imagining that Clark Kent had a crush on you.

*One of us doesn't remember having this conversation either.

How Sophie expressed her frustration over the McDonald's fiasco

2006-04-01T19:51:00.000-05:00

Freakin' Hell

2006-04-01T15:21:00.000-05:00

Last night I went shopping for work clothes with my friend Bess, which is a whole other possible post. While I was out spending his money, John was picking Sophie up from school and taking her out to dinner. This post is a transcription of the story John told me last night. I've tried to keep it true to his tone:

So, we're riding the train and joking around and suddenly Sophie says "John, my belly really hurts. I have to go to the bathroom." and she's clutching her stomach and bending over. I tell her she's just going to have to wait a little longer because there isn't anywhere to go and we're almost home.

So, I decide that before I take her to McDonald's we should maybe make a stop at home first, even though she insists that she's feeling all better and doesn't need to go anymore. I figure better safe than sorry, right? So, we're at home for a little while, maybe half an hour or so, and Sophie says she wants to go to Old McDonalds' even though she hasn't used the bathroom. We get maybe a block and a half and she starts grabbing her stomach, squatting in the middle of the sidewalk and grunting "John, my belly really really hurts and I need to go to the bathroom. It really hurts."

We're about a block from McDonalds.

So, I get her up and she continues walking and as soon as we get into the McDonald's we head for the bathroom on the ground floor. Luckily it's empty. Of course we get in there and it is disgusting. I mean, paper everywhere, no clean surfaces and Sophie and I are forced to devise a method by which I can suspend her over the toilet so that she can go. She then proceeds to take one of the hugest dumps I have ever seen in my life. Now, I have maybe taken a dump like this four times total. It is about 16 inches long and 2 inched in diameter. It is foul. Only then do I notice that there isn't any toilet paper, right?

So, I leave Sophie in the bathroom, tell her not to touch anything, run and get napkins, and do clean-up. Now, because she hasn't been sitting down on the seat, there was no cheeks spreading to make way for the poop; instead she basically had her butt clenched the whole time and now everything is just a mess in there. It takes about 8 napkins to get her clean and she's good about it, but complaining because they're rough.

When it's all done and we wash our hands, she says in a really frustrated voice "I hate this McDonalds. It's freakin' hell." I look at her in disbelief for a second, then I ask her to repeat what she just said, so she says "It's. Freakin'. Hell."

I told her that was something kids shouldn't usually say. But she was right.

Performed personal assistance*

2006-03-30T20:25:00.000-05:00

In a moment of recklessness I'm going to blow the wad up front and report that the new girl is now the old girl.

Yes, as in: she came in for a day and a half and now she's gone. Or, from my perspective: she wasted my time, alienated me from my desk-top, made me do actual work for a day and a half, and now she's gone.

I knew within hours of meeting her that she was not going to prove a successful choice for my position. The constant cell phone checking** played a part in my forming an opinion, sure, but it was more than that. My job requires keeping track of a lot of details, and where my boss is concerned it is all details or else, chances are, fire and brimstone will rain down upon you and your future progeny for all of eternity. Somehow she just wasn't really engaging in the details. I mean, I was giving her much more information than I'd been given during my training (in an effort to make things easier to understand), but she just really didn't seem to care.

She also seemed a little dumb. At one point I told her she could just delete a sentence in a document we were revising, rather than cut it, and I swear to you she was looking for a toolbar icon until I just hit the delete key.

All in, I still tried to reserve judgment, because: a) maybe I'm wrong; b) there has to be a good reason beyond her being tall and blonde that she was hired; and c) what the fuck do I care if it works out?...I'm leaving at the end of the week.

We got through the day, work was done and lots of ground was covered. Except that she didn't take any notes. I thought that was weird too. You always take notes...it's like saying: I'll do my best to make the transition as easy as possible, of course...it's just something you're supposed to do.

This morning I came in a little late to find her logged into the computer (oh good, she's taken initiative) and perusing her cell phone bill online (hmmm, wrong kind of initiative). As I took off my jacket, she then redirected the browser to yahoo and checked her mail. Okay. I am not a total tight ass or anything, but, um, hello?, professionalism? Yeah, who doesn't shut down the browser window as soon as their superior walks in? It was just weird. Shortly after I arrived, she excused herself to go to the bathroom and was gone for quite a while...I assumed making another call, but apparently, she had gone over to our office manager and told her how much she was enjoying working at the company already and how pleased she was that it felt like such a good fit.

Then comes the transcribing. There were three invoices dictated on a tape, by the boss, which needed to be typed up. This was specifically done for the purpose of familiarizing her with the bits of her job no one else would know about other than me. Well, she made it through two invoices and I started to think that maybe I'd misjudged her, but then she claimed that she couldn't understand a word he was saying and handed the headphones to me. I gave her some alphabetizing to do (to familiarize her with the client names) and she was totally lost. I mean, not because she didn't know the alphabet, but because she wasn't actually looking at the names in front of her and thereby assumed that the first two emails (for instance) were about the same client, which they clearly were not...by clearly, I mean there were two different names on the emails and the content of the emails was totally unrelated.

I let the new girl go to lunch 10 minutes early because I have that power and also because I really needed to have time alone with my desk (and email). Apparently, she rode the elevator down with the boss and they had a nice chit chat about where he lives (Mt. Kisko) and where she grew up (Bedford) and la di da.

We had a little birthday thing at the office during lunch and I ducked out early to do some emailing and blog reading, but come 2:15 I was asking myself: who comes back from lunch late on their second day? Well, the answer is the new girl who doesn't come back at all.

Yep, that's right. She left a voicemail for our office manager explaining that she didn't think it would be a good fit after all and that was it. No more new girl.

Now, I ask you: does that sound like a sane person? I didn't think so.

*this is taken directly from the old new girl's resume.

**I'm guessing there must have been another job in the pipeline and we were just an interim safety.

It's all downhill, really

2006-03-30T13:57:00.000-05:00

I have maybe five minutes on my computer and so all I will say until later is this: I do not like the new girl.

Quite frankly it's inhuman

2006-03-29T19:34:00.000-05:00

I think I forgot to mention yesterday that my replacement has been hired. I received an email from my office manager in the afternoon thanking me in advance for training "the new girl" and informing me that she would be in at 9:30 the following morning.

Um, has anyone else caught on that I have three (now two) days left at the company and clearly have no intention of coming to work on time? Somehow this seems to have been overlooked by my employers.

And when I said: I'd be happy to help make the transition as easy as possible, of course...well, that's just something people say because they're supposed to say that sort of thing? Right? No one actually follows up on that, do they? Well, at my office, they do.

The result of this arcane practice is that I have NO access to internet all day. It's downright wrong. How am I supposed to deal with the shakes? The mild twitch in my eye that comes from low LCD exposure? How do I deal with the verbal withdrawal? And the bloggers...they're still posting whether I'm available to keep up or not. How am I supposed to cope with all of this?

As for this new girl...she excused herself twice to run downstairs and make a call on her cell-phone, she never turned her ringer off and she repeatedly checked the phone even when it hadn't rung. All day long click, click, click as she snapped the thing shut. Who fucking does that on their first day? Utterly amazing. There were other little details, but I'm too tired even thinking about them to bother getting into them now.

Someone reassure me that this is not a sign of things to come. Unless it's a sign of what my boss can expect; in which case, justice is served.

So much better to post about

2006-03-28T20:07:00.000-05:00

The last one for a while

2006-03-28T19:15:00.000-05:00

I've been giving this whole string of posts about my mom a good deal of thought and what I feel is that if I keep writing about her, if I really put down the past, then this blog will definitely take a turn I don't want it to.

Rather than dredge things up. Rather than explain how the fight just suddenly happened and why it was such an amazing shock in the context of things preceding it, I think it's better to say that there are 30 years of history which has never been agreed on. And there is a lot of pain for me in the past*. To talk about particulars would start to sound too complainy I think, and worse yet, bitter. I don't feel those things.

My decision to step away from my parents is not an easy one. I've been fighting the thought for years. I have tried again and again to keep things working, but at some point it has to be someone else's turn to try. My mother contends that I too often disrespect her role as parent, but when hasn't she cast that responsibility upon me? When has she actually behaved enough like a parent to earn that respect?

Sorry, I'm really not trying to cast aspersions. I'm weary from this subject and deep enough into mourning that I'm being remiss about self-editing as I go. I'm choosing, however, to leave everything in because it's the truth.

In our latest attempt to learn about one another, I made it really clear right away that I was patchy in my availability (both in time and emotion) at best. Because I know myself. And I know my mother enough to know that she wants so so much more than I'm willing or able to give her. I never misrepresented myself.

At the onset of that same attempt, I decided to tell my mother about both my recent eating disorder and my bipolar diagnosis...in full. I thought setting up a foundation without secrets would be prudent and healthy. I now understand that I was too hasty. These personal struggles have become canon fodder.

I'm not a martyr. I'm not special. Being a mom isn't any harder or more exhausting or more time consuming for me than any other mother, and I am not looking for a pat on the back when I talk about how hard or exhausting or time consuming it is to be one. I'm not using Sophie as an excuse to avoid calling my parents (the gmail chats that lasted all day should certainly prove that there was both a willingness and enthusiasm on my part to pursue a relationship with my mother over the last few months), but at the end of the day I want John. And sometimes I want to unwind by blogging. I don't want to spend half an hour on the phone talking about the nothing new that happened to me in the last 24 hours. I don't even talk to my friends on the phone, because I like and need the quiet of my life when the door closes to the outside world.

I'm still a little overwhelmed by mother's email, which was sad on the one hand and remarkably cruel on the other. I don't mean to give the impression here that she has never done good things as a mother. Of course she has. But her role in my life, in particular as I get older, is progressively more damaging. Our cultural differences and our outlooks and our educations (just in terms of where they happened and how they differed in content and such) seem to widen the gap between us and I feel like my mother has chosen to believe that I am a bad, sick, mentally ill individual instead of someone who naturally grew up and away from her.

My mother swears by loving platitudes, but when push comes to shove she just really doesn't like me. That's okay. I don't think you have to feel obligated to like the people you feel wronged by. Whether or not they are family. I know that my mother thinks I've slighted her and caused her pain and I don't argue that I haven't. The difference is that I honestly feel remorse for the things I've said that were directly intended to hurt her and I feel sorry that at times my honesty had the same effect. I can't really say that my mother's correspondence expresses the same level of accountability.

So, for the time being, this will be my last post about my mother. At least I think so.

*For more frustratingly vague reference you can check out the comment exchange with Kimber on the post below entitled "Response".

Response

2006-03-28T12:38:00.000-05:00

My mother sent me a letter in response to the post I put up a few days ago. I'm thinking about publishing a few key bits, but want to be fair. I'd like to avoid grossly misrepresenting her, but I'd also like the opportunity to show her side of this whole thing. I have to think about how to go about it.

In the meantime, I will say that directly after reading her letter I happened to go to the bathroom and picked up Psychology Today for what was probably the first time in my life. This month's issue has an article entitled: "When to Drop a Relative".

Hmmm. It seems I'm not the only one who's encountered this situation. The article isn't available on-line yet, but its gist was that if you've tried to set boundaries repeatedly and you've attempted to rebuild a relationship predicated on those boundaries and you've attempted to reinforce them, but nothing seems to work? And that relationship has proved damaging? Then that's your key to get out.

Important points in the article also included: a) children who grow up in families that frequently cut ties learn that this is a way of solving a problem (I wonder if that sounds familiar to my mom); b) one should only take a step like dropping ties with a relative if one has looked at and acknowledged their own roles/responsibilities and isn't just making a rash decision (which is the case here); and c) ask yourself whether there are good things to be gained from the relative before making this decision (in an pro/con list analysis, I'm sorry to say that the con list at this point is too long).

I am so confused

2006-03-28T11:34:00.000-05:00

Alright. I have been working in my office for nearly two years now. I have three days left. Why are the following things suddenly happening:

a) my boss is being nice, patient, considerate, even respectful; and

b) I have work to do. I mean actual work. That's important?

Someone here obviously has an incredibly twisted sense of humor.

The group poop

2006-03-27T11:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday we spent most of the day at Sophie's best friends' house. The exciting thing about the play date phenomenon (assuming you get on well with the parents of your child's friend) is that you basically get to drink beer and eat all day while your child ignores you.

Yeah, that's right. We ate all day.

That is, until I heard a harmonious "Irina" called out to me in two little girl voices coming from the bathroom. I went to investigate, because even after all that food, I'm still the Mommy right?

Upon opening the door, I found Sophie and Gwyn completely naked and Sophie imploring me to help with clean up. As soon as she was done, but before I could dare flush, Gwyn sat down to take her turn. Needless to say, I let the other mommy in attendance deal with the situation.

During the conversation that ensued it was basically surmised that whereas boys can compete by writing in the snow, girls have the group poop reflective of their own brand of solidarity.

Somehow, I find myself grateful never to have participated in a group poop, nor have I heard of one before, which just proves that each generation really is that much more depraved (and liberal minded...woo hoo!) than the one before it.

My mommy is such a prude

2006-03-27T11:42:00.000-05:00

Sophie and I had the following conversation on the subway platform last week:

S: (in a loud, clear voice) Mommy, did I come out of your belly or your pee-pee?

M: (after I managed to get my tongue back up out of my throat where it had wound up because I'd apparently swallowed it) Well, um, out of my pee-pee, honey.

S: Oh good, I'm happy that you didn't have to have soogery. It would hurt if you had soogery.

Across the map

2006-03-25T18:19:00.000-05:00

I've decided to do write about something I've avoided writing about: my mother*.

To be frank, I've been concerned that regardless of how I express myself, she will launch some sort of comment based attack that will be hurtful and juvenile. However, the longer I refrain from putting my thoughts down, the more angry and violated I feel. I started this blog as a way of understanding things in my life; not only as a chronicle of current events. I introduced my mother to it because I thought it would be an easier way for her to actually know me, which she really hasn't done before. As such, on all fronts, it seems remiss to keep out one of the most significant and confusing changes in this last month. I won't be a prisoner in my own life anymore; hoping that if I keep quiet, I can keep things from becoming complicated. I can't not address this thing with my mom, even in the abstracted, inarticulate way I'm sure I'm about to.

You'll have to excuse how disjointed my thoughts are. I know I have feelings about all of this, but I really haven't been able to organize them well. More than anything else I feel disappointed. I'm sorry to discover that my mother really is the person I always thought she was. For me that dramatically reduces, if not altogether eliminates, the possibility of a relationship in the future.

Every day I expect to find an email from her, but not because I want or need one...just because I think it would be the right thing to do. It's been two weeks and there has been no acknowledgement on her part that anything is wrong**. She hasn't once, even during the fight itself, owned up to the fact that she started something (without incitement) that killed off the sappling of a relationship we were trying to grow***.

Since our fight, my mother has sent me two or three one-liners in response to things she's read here on the blog. "Congratulations on your new job. Good luck." "Tell Sophie mimi loves her pictures." I find myself wishing she hadn't even bothered. In the course of my life, I can't remember a single occasion on which my mother has actually taken responsibility for her actions. Whether with lies or with ignorance, she's always managed to avoid accountability. She has repeatedly asked me to cover for her and lie for her. I am through taking up her end. I'm done picking up her pieces. I don't think she realized when she started this recent blow-up that she'd caught me at a time in my own life when I wouldn't be willing to take blame where it wasn't rightly warranted. I can only guess that she thought it would be like any prior incident: she fucks up and I apologize.

It's not going to happen.

The saddest part in all of this, of course, is Sophie. Now, on the one hand I don't feel like she needs my parents in her life, but I've certainly never wished them out of her life either. As far as I'm concerned, it's always been up to them. But they're really lazy grandparents. They don't visit her. They don't call to talk to her. They gush about how much they love and miss her; they wait for me to fulfill their needs and when I don't they berate and malign me for it. As far as they're concerned it's my fault that they don't have a relationship with their grand-daughter. Because I don't force her to talk on the phone when she doesn't want to (which she rarely does, but is getting better at). Because I forget to call at all sometimes, since I have to sprint from my office to her school and then negotiate the subways with her and all I have in mind is to make her anything for dinner and pass out at the end of the day. Because I don't send her drawings to them. Because, because, because. All I know is that she has three other grandparents and not a one of them is insecure about their place in Sophie's life. Josh's parents do what they have to to make themselves present even from Tennessee and Washington. John's mom flies up to New York from Georgia every few months to spend time with Sophie. My parents haven't come up since last July and even then it was only my mother, and even then it was only because my brother was winning an important award in graphic design.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not unsympathetic. I understand that it's hard for my dad to get away from his business. I understand that money is really tight. There are dozens of excuses and reasons I'm willing to understand, but then why can't the same kind of slack be given to me? Do they really think it's easier for me to pick up and go to Florida? Until John came into my life I'd been a single mom on a single small income for nearly two years. What were they expecting of me? And the last time I got myself really excited and worked up to visit them (on John's suggestion when we first met), their behavior was abominable.

Even as I write this I feel so irritated. It's not anger anymore...it's frustration and annoyance that this is the woman (the family) that I came from. And that the normal means of communication have never applied. I don't know. I don't know what I can say that will help me to figure out the puzzle. My mother is such an entirely different animal. I've always felt that there was something in this life that is missing for her...that isn't enough...and that she's been waiting for me to fix it; to fill it in. I can't. It's not even for me to do.

Regardless, the impact at present (for me and mine) is minimal. I can't remember a time when I've emotionally needed**** or wanted my parents in my life...but that is an entirely different and far more painful story. When my brother and I were children we frequently played games in which our parents had died and we were orphans left to figure out life for ourselves. I remember feeling really free. I think about that and wonder: who does that? What kids have such morbid fantasy play? And enjoy it?

I may be a terrible person. I may regret my choices when I'm older and my parents are gone. But I'm willing to accept those things because I know that the time my parents were absent from my life (roughly a year) was the happiest, lightest time I've known.

I would never come in the way of a relationship my parents chose to have with Sophie, but I have to make choices for myself and my own well being based on her happiness. My parents are like poison. Like kryptonite to my supermom.

That's just not okay.

*Although this post is about her and the fight that she started, my father, inevitably, is the silent partner behind the deal. He is a different story that I'm not ready to tell yet.

** Remember when I mentioned in a previous post how I'd specified she shouldn't write to me again if all she had to offer were unkind words? What would you presume from her silence?

***There may yet be a few crappy metaphors in this one, brace yourselves.

**** I've hoped, like any other person with a beating heart would do. Who wouldn't rather have a family than not have one?

Finally, a nice enough day to ride the bike OUTSIDE of the apartment

2006-03-25T15:26:00.000-05:00

Self portrait

2006-03-25T15:23:00.000-05:00

Elephants...a study of contours

2006-03-25T15:05:00.000-05:00

Spare me

2006-03-25T14:35:00.000-05:00

I've decided to suppress my desire this morning to blog about any of the following things:

1) conversations I've had with John in the last 24 hours about computers, html coding, Smallville or the Atkins diet;

2) the way my pants (don't) fit;

3) my resulting blahness;

4) the fact that I seem to be the last person on the planet to listen to Imogen Heap and my obsession with her album; or

4) my anxiety about finding clothes for my upcoming job.

Instead, I will be posting more drawings by and pictures of Sophie.

Please enjoy my blessed silence.

Sometimes she just scares me

2006-03-25T09:55:00.000-05:00

Ambitious, maybe. Stupid? Definitely

2006-03-24T16:12:00.000-05:00

I have officially dedicated 7 hours of my day to figuring out and fixing that fucking button.

You know the one.

I have read so much code I have no idea what I read. I have beseeched the good people in my Blogger help group* to offer words of advice and consolation. And do you know what I've discovered? Because this is really interesting. This is incredibly important information that I have to share with you today. Now. Right here.

Never overlook the easiest answer.

Yep. That's it.

When your code says Value="Google Search"? You better believe that all you need to do is delete the word Google and the button magically does exactly what you want it to.

I hope all of you love...and I mean LOVE...the look of the blog, because there is no way I'm fixing it up again anytime soon.

*Hi, have I mentioned that any day now I'll be fitted for my pocket protector?

Change...my less than gradual descent into total geekery

2006-03-24T13:25:00.000-05:00

I've just spent 3 hours (straight...seriously) tinkering with my template. The changes are subtle, but if you were able to see the new page and the old page next to one another, you'd know that they are very noticeable and probably ask me why I didn't make them sooner.

I would have no answer for you.

I think this is a more viewer friendly selection of colors.

My last sticking point, however, is the size of the submit button for Google searches. It's driving me up a wall and I've decided that I just have to let it go before my head explodes.

Why Yes, it IS that time of the month*

2006-03-24T10:18:00.000-05:00

Last weekend I made the very very great mistake of trying to clothe myself for this new job. John and I went to so many stores with no results. It seems that a woman with my body type should just go on medical disability for morbid obesity and sit at home in her sweats with a bucket of KFC watching Jerry Springer all day. Ah, wouldn't that be the life though? Yeah, I think not.

Recently Cupcake has been posting about some of her own weight/body troubles and I really hear where she's coming from. The thing that's really fucked up** about clothes is that size isn't the biggest issue. It is just as hard for me to find something in a size 4/6 as it seems to be for Cupcake to find something in a size 16. The real problem is that women are no longer allowed to have classically shapely bodies. I have some beautiful women friends who are really Twiggy, mind you, and they too should have a dearth of choices in any store, but why does it seem like they are the only ones who get to look really hot? Even when they're just kicking around on a hung over Sunday? Why can't there be pretty, youthful, sexy clothes for girls who are curvy? Where exactly am I supposed to find anything to wear?

This morning, it being a Friday and my boss being out of the office, I looked at my closet and thought: hmmm, what's comfy? And you want to know the answer? Nothing. That's right. My jeans have always been a little too tight, it's too cold for a dress or skirt and I was left feeling like Sophie's favorite animal.

The last time I was really comfortable in anything I own, and didn't have a hard time shopping, was when I was severely manic and between boyfriends and ate nothing...at all...ever. Now that I'm finally healthy in the head, it seems like the thinnest I am on any given day is as thin as I'm going to be (give or take summer or winter). This is my body. This is my size. I can accept that. In theory. But then I try to buy some work clothes and the whole thing falls apart. Either my boobs are too big for a blazer or my butt is too big for a skirt, or my hips and thighs throw the whole thing off entirely and there is some crazy-ass gaping in the worst places. And these aren't problems that could be solved with alterations. Where does that leave me?

My instinct tells me that this struggle is far from over.

* But that doesn't mean this post is any less important or legitimate.

** Sorry Anonymous.

Everyone's opinion counts

2006-03-23T19:15:00.000-05:00

Moment's ago I received the following email:

Anonymous has left a new comment on your post "Be very afraid":
this would be a great blog if you would leave out the curse words

I decided to publish the comment and let it stand, but I thought I would address it too. The fact is that I've repeatedly pointed out that this is my space...take it or leave it...and as such I will express myself as I choose to within it. I really appreciate that people read my blog (people I don't know) and that they actually care enough about my babbling that they see fit to come back. I hope that more of my readers will start leaving comments, because honestly it would be nice to get to know what some of you think too. If I'm really lucky, some of you out there might become friends too.

I certainly wouldn't intentionally isolate anyone or make them feel uncomfortable, but you really can't please all of the people.

Therefore, what I say to Anonymous is: thank you for voicing your true opinion and whatever you do, don't link to dooce.

Nature or Nurture?

2006-03-23T18:44:00.000-05:00

Does anyone else find the familiar similarity in judgement behind this outfit as alarming as I do?

You poor soles*

2006-03-23T17:54:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately for all of you out there the content of this blog is at my whim. Even more unfortunate is the fact that I wore the First Date Shoes today.

What are the First Date Shoes, you want to know? Well, all in good time...I should start at the beginning so that when Sophie wonders whether her parents were ever, you know, normal people, she can come here and find out that they were actually just horny.

The beginning is that John and I went to the same party wanting to get laid**. It's true. Neither one of us wanted to find something real or enduring or serious. We were both so jaded by our recent dating histories that we'd sworn off that kind of thing. As Johnsmom puts it: we were a ripe pair of suckers. Based on witness testimonials, we only stayed at the party for about an hour and a half or so before going to my apartment to accomplish the intended mission.

I should let those of you who didn't see John that night know that he a) had a moustache, b)wore a suit and an untied bow-tie. His socks and his bow-tie matched (those are known as the First Laid Socks). It was a nice presentation.

The night we met was the first time I thought I looked beautiful when I looked at myself in the mirror.

When we woke up in the morning, after talking about so many different things, after John took my phone number and promised to call so that we could schedule our first date...and that was the term he kept using: "I can't wait to take you on our first date"...I felt like it didn't matter if he didn't ever call, because it had just been a really great night in and of itself.

For some reason, which even he to this day cannot understand, John decided to come and pick me up at my door the following Saturday for our first date. I wore my favorite slinky dress and a pair of very vampy very sexy patent-leather kitten heel shoes. The most expensive shoes I'd ever bought in my life. Then I sat around for a long time wondering whether I'd been stood up.

Now, the misleading thing about the First Date Shoes is that they weren't the shoes I wore to our first date, but they were the shoes I wore on our first date.

Huh?

When we arrived in the city, John offered that we hop in a cab, but because it was a really nice night and I enjoyed having his arm around me and the Mermaid Inn was only 5 blocks or so away, I voiced a preference for walking. Three blocks from the restaurant my very vampy very sexy patent-leather kitten heels got caught in a crack and one of the kittens was ripped clean off. I made a painfully prolonged and valiant attempt at reattaching the heel myself, but it wasn't happening. It was late enough that most retail stores were closed and I was standing on one leg on the lower east side with a broken shoe in my hand, feeling like a complete fool and trying to think of how this date could possibly not be over. I was effed.

Enter the First Date Shoes. I realized that Urban Outfitters might still be open, because they basically are the McDonald's of the fashion world and so we hopped into a cab and voila: I was re-shoed. If given the chance to buy my First Date shoes of my own accord and not in a desperate situation, I probably wouldn't. But because they served me well, I take them out now and again and do them justice.

The crappy thing for anyone who isn't me is that the First Date Shoes get me all misty eyed and nostalgic, even if my feet are killing me at the end of the day.

*If you are one of my real-life friends, you may want to skip this one so as to continue the illusion that I'm an interesting person and don't tell the same story to anyone who'll hear (read) it.

** I tried to warn you, but would you listen?

Worst. Article. Ever?

2006-03-23T17:12:00.000-05:00

John (in his Johnly way) directs me to another blogger that had a thing or two to say about The New York Observer article.

Shhh...did you hear that? I think someone just ripped Jason Horowitz a new one.

Further evidence that her father should never be allowed to dress her

2006-03-23T17:01:00.000-05:00

If my work computer wasn't such a pissy bitch this would have been published hours ago

2006-03-23T16:29:00.000-05:00

My friend Pooja's post today directed me to this article . Normally, I couldn't care less about what the Observer has to say about anything, but Pooja's immediate mention of Steven Pinker drew me in.

Pinker is big in our household. John and I are all about nature vs. nurture and the fact that each of us holds up one side of the argument makes raising a child a pretty interesting science experiment. Needless to say, John is all about the nature and I...well, I'm being swayed (slowly) into agreeing with a lot of what Pinker has to say. I think environment plays an enormous role in how we develop, but I've found in my own adulthood that ultimately nature does kick in, no matter how bad the initial nurture may have been.

My reactions to the Observer piece were: 1) wow, this article is fucking horrible. Who would print such a poorly written article about language?; 2) HOLY SHIT, Sophie talks exactly like this (maybe not so much with the terrible whine all the time and maybe without so much of the like, but there is a totally thrown in on occasion), should I be scared?; and 3) why do rich people have to make a mess out of everything? Okay, so I concede that the article isn't specifically alluding to the rich, just the financially secure, but still...why don't people have more respect for language? Especially when they can afford to. As a non-native English speaker, it honestly hurts me to listen to people talk sometimes. So this new trend of well educated, professional individuals speaking like they were raised in the back alleys of butt-fuck America, is (further) disheartening.

Then I read this paragraph, by Pinker himself:

But the important thing, argues Harvard psychologist Steven Pinker, is that the group that came up with it "was perceived as cool, cutting-edge, desirable, distinctive." He said that one possibility with uptalk is that it "ensures that your listener is really listening, really engaged. But then again, everybody in history would have been using it. It's also consistent with a conspicuous egalitarianism: I'm not lecturing or pontificating-I'm seeking your approval."

and I thought: what if this uptalk is all about insecurity? What if it's predominant in women not because they are the "innovators of language," but because for years they were put in their place (even after given admission to the workforce) and had to develop a meeker, more subservient form of communication as a way of insinuating themselves non-threateningly into a male-dominated world?

Pinker's take* seems to imply this, particularly that last bit about seeking approval, though this excerpt doesn't make it clear that he's only talking about women.

Certainly the characterization of his typical patient by Dr. Chwat as "late 20's or early 30's who tends to be single, highly self-conscious..." seems to support this possibility.

I can't help feeling that ever since women have managed to get on more solid professional ground, which is still relatively recent, my generation has been unwittingly pigeonholed into the same expectation of success. But in watching a lot of my girl-friends, who are ambitious and strong (and speak beautiful, clean, plateau talk) date, I get the sense that as a result there is suddenly a difficult challenge in finding a mate and starting a family. Now, after so much struggle securing equality, we have to uptalk our way back into basic biological womanhood**. Once again, women have to convince men that they are non-threatening by talking like whiney, ignorant, invertebrates.

I know, this is harsh and I exaggerate a little, but have you been to a bar lately?

I may very well be off base here and I welcome anyone's input on this one.

* after talking with John in a very unwhining way, I now know that apparently what the NYO article does not give any indication of is that Pinker has a theory of gender and language whereby women are usually empathetic rather than convincing speakers. Meaning that a woman will use shared experience to make her point, rather than simply try to get you to agree with her argument. I think this would have made a significant addition to the crappy NYO article, if not just more interesting reading in general.

**Let's not even get me started on mothers' rights in the current professional climate.

She had no idea that her future was in the balance

2006-03-22T14:39:00.000-05:00

On Tuesday mornings, when John leaves for D.C., the one thing I really look forward to is the little bit of time and extra energy I can devote to Sophie before her dad picks her up for school. The normal routine on such mornings goes as follows:

I wake up at 6:00 or so to see John off in his cab, then make the bed, tidy things up (like all of the pants, dirty socks, dry cleaning, etc. that John likes to collect on his side of the bed) and put Sophie's lunch together.

By that time it's roughly 7:00 and I hear the confusingly loud tromp of Sophie's relatively small feet coming from her room.

I hook her up with breakfast (typically a waffle, pop-tart, or other dry hand-held food) and head for the shower. She sits in the bathroom with me talking through her breakfast and hangs out while I do my make-up and pull all of the clothes out of my closet in an attempt to get dressed for work*.

Then she gets dressed and we exchange lots of hugs and kisses when her dad comes.

The end.

Well, this morning, as I'm finishing up my self-imposed chores, I hear her pounding down the hall and turn to greet her with a big smile. The face that greets me is similar to this one**:

except that it's more sleepy and disheveled. Her first question...is today a school day?...as she rubs her eyes and looks way too cute to be as evil as I already know she will be. Of course, as soon as I answer in the affirmative, the cute is replaced by the whining, miserable, foul-tempered little tyrant Sophie will be for the rest of the morning.

Apparently, she'd woken up with the...um...insane idea that we could stay home together and bake cookies. (I'm thinking that when John reads this he'll be happier in his hotel room than he's ever been because he managed to avoid all of the crying and whining and general unfounded discontented that made my morning hell.) After that, nothing could make her happy, not even the television, and I could barely repress the conviction that there was bound to be a lesson in getting turned out of the house in your pajamas on a very cold spring morning, with bare feet, at a young age.

No, I didn't say trauma, I said l-e-s-s-o-n. Who's with me on this one?

* Sometimes, she'll opt for the Powerpuff Girls instead because she's discerning and realizes that eating a pop-tart in the bathroom is nothing short of gross...even for a 4 year old.
**Yes, there was a tense change there and frankly, whether it's appropriate or correct doesn't matter so much; keep up.

The wait is over and this feeling fucking rocks

2006-03-22T10:16:00.000-05:00

Sophie made it into our (her) top choice school*.

* John predicted I will spend the rest of the day apartment shopping about 4 months too soon.
* Josh pointed out, I'm a little bit incorrigible.
* I pointed out: we've made the most awesome small human ever to walk the planet.

Be very afraid

2006-03-21T19:10:00.000-05:00

Have any of y'all heard about chocolate covered potato chips? My friend Bess tells me that they may be just a Southern thing. And they're ridged.

Holy shit, I think I've met my dream food.

Because I'm not eating chocolate

2006-03-21T16:52:00.000-05:00

I don't care if I have to go to India* to find this pan, but I will make these.

Mark my words.

(And no, this is not why my ass is expanding either.)

*Or Jackson Heights, whichever

What I think about money

2006-03-21T15:13:00.000-05:00

This is in response to my cousin's post earlier today:

H is right - it isn't fair that good people wind up in shitty situations, but as a woman who is almost 20k in debt post-separation, I can safely say that anyone in that much financial trouble has no one to blame but themselves. The fact is that even though I needed to charge things just to get by (and to feed/clothe Sophie), there were plenty of things I could have lived without. An ipod, an ibook, new clothes for my new dating life, a whole face that required the buy out of the nearest MAC store...things of that nature. Also, Sophie probably didn't need 6 pairs of shoes.

The unfortunate thing about credit is the convenience...you can live the illusion of being in an okay financial place even though you couldn't be farther from it. You can charge the lunch or the sweater and then the next thing you know you are completely and totally fucked.

The best thing anyone can do for a person who has no idea how to comport themselves in a budgetary manner is to point them in the right direction so that they don't fuck themselves up again. Throwing money at a problem like massive debt (as well intentioned as it may be, like in H's case) isn't a good enough solution because the debt will be gone, but the motivation, once the burden is lifted, to go out and rack up the debt all over again will still be there. Lending someone money won't change that. It's the impulse that needs to be addressed, because chances are that's coming from somewhere...and no, I don't mean to get all psychological about it, but the fact is that people want more stuff (especially stuff they can't afford) for a reason. Whether it's societal or personal, that appetite stems from somewhere.

So, my point is: the next time you think about charging yourself a new pair of shoes, go to the nearest Starbucks and order a venti marble mocha macchiato and the requisite sunshine cupcake (the yellow styrofoam lump in the display case), which will put you into such a sugar coma that you'll instantly forget about your consumerist woes.

Believe it or Not

2006-03-21T14:44:00.000-05:00

Contrary to the normal rules of physics in which object expand in heat and contract in cold, years of research have finally confirmed that my ass does in fact expand in the winter.

And no, this has nothing to do with chocolate. Why would you think that?

The final frontier

2006-03-20T20:38:00.000-05:00

Over dinner tonight (which, needless to say, she did not eat), Sophie delineated what she'd learned at school today:

1) The earth spins around the sun.

2) Astronauts float around in space.

3) The days of the week song.

4) Astronauts go up in space in a rocket and then if there are too many people in the rocket, it explodes and then the astronauts have to float around in space.

I'm glad Josh is paying $16,000 a year to not only satisfy the morbid whims of our child, but to make an installation of the song Space Oddity by David Bowie, which will be stuck in my head for the next week at least.

One day at a time

2006-03-20T15:42:00.000-05:00

The song Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Elton John and Kiki Dee) was playing in the taxi on our way home on Saturday night. My immediate association was with the show One Day At a Time. Remember the episode in which Valerie Bertinelli plays Elton and Mackenzie Phillips plays Kiki? Is there anyone under 50 who knows what I'm talking about? I remember watching it in syndication every day and even then thinking that while it wasn't so good I couldn't really break the mind-meld either. At least, I think it was syndicated...jesus, I may have actually been watching the series itself, which makes me older than I think I am and a lot less cool.

John claimed that the show sounded familiar (after I'd named the characters, actors, laid out the plot and even threw in the detail about Snyder rolling his cigarette pack into his t-shirt sleeve), but I think he was only indulging me, thereby proving once again that he is the salt of the earth, because, frankly, if he'd just confessed to me that he was a chronic fan of One Day at a Time, I can safely say that I probably would have thrown myself out of the moving cab.

I'm relieved to report that further research proves that the show piloted the year I was born. Unfortunately, it ran for 9 years, which means that not only did I watch it, but I simultaneously watched back episodes in syndication too. I was also roughly 7 or 8 at the time.

According to TV.com, the show is ranked 8.2 by its community. The community, however, consists of two people and I am proud not to be one of them (obviously the only redeeming detail in this post). Of the four shows that TV.com recommends as similar I have seen every episode of three: Alice, All in the Family and Roseanne.

I bet you're thinking this makes me an even more fascinating person than you'd ever imagined possible. Am I right?

Even further out of the bag

2006-03-20T15:29:00.000-05:00

Here's a piece of information I found interesting enough to share: apparently, I have survived longer as my boss' assistant than anyone else had (has?).

I was both surprised (I had no access to this information before) and not surprised (I do work for him afterall) to learn that.

Out of the bag

2006-03-20T13:51:00.000-05:00

So I gave my notice and it's now official. I won't be working here anymore...at least not once I'm done working here. My boss was the least emotional I've ever seen him, which leads me to wonder why I bothered sticking around as long as I did. I mean, once John was working again and I didn't have to worry about making rent, why didn't I more aggressively make a move to leave this place? And why was it so hard and awkward to quit? Now I just can't really wait to get the hell out.

We spent all day yesterday shopping for business clothes. I hate shopping. It's always depressing, never works out and costs too much money. After attempting Loehmann's and Filene's, we went to Jcrew where the suits were either too expensive or the pieces were just off in size. By the time we got home I resolved to only ever internet shop if possible, because at least then I can feel like a fat ass in the privacy of my own home. Small comfort, but comfort nonetheless.

What is the point of this post? I don't know. I'm sleepy. I'm bored. I'm pms-ing and I can't always be interesting.

Cut me some slack, please.

Johnsmom

2006-03-19T21:59:00.000-05:00

Happy Birthday to the most wonderful woman in the world, who also happens to be a powerhouse, an inspiration, an incredible example of motherhood, an amazing grandmother, a dear dear friend and my mother-in-law.

Mom, without you life just wouldn't be this.

Thanks and we love you.

Starstruck

2006-03-18T11:52:00.000-05:00

I arrived for my interview yesterday morning about 30 minutes early. Etiquette dictates that you don't go into the office more than 15 minutes early, so I decided to buy and put on a pair of pantyhose. Somehow, my suit looked sort of incomplete without them. I don't ever wear pantyhose. Ever.

Conveniently enough, there is a Duane Reade both on the corner where the building I will be working in is located and another across the street, and on a third corner was a Starbucks. Now, I don't support Starbucks if I can avoid it, but their open door restroom policy is handy in situations like putting on a pair of pantyhose minutes before meeting your future employer.

After I'd gotten myself fully dressed, two things in the coffee shop struck me: 1) the new marble mocha machiatto; and 2) a sign above the bar that read: SAVOR OUR NEW SAVORY: TRY A BLUEBERRY MUFFIN.

Allow me to address these in order of importance:

2) Who the fuck considers something blueberry a savory food? Do these people know nothing about the distinction between fruits and say, meats? Do they even know the meaning of the word savory and who was the genius that came up with that little seller? If nothing else, their license to offer foods of any kind to the public should be revoked. Alternately, the person responsible for the sign should be either fired or sent to school or bought a dictionary.

1) I suppose this has a better ring to it than Ass in a Glass. It will probably sell better too, but come on, how is it fair to slip consumers that much fat and that many calories and not put a health advisory label on the cup? It is described on the website as such:

Marble Mocha Macchiato is the perfect marriage of our White Chocolate Mocha and our Caffe Mocha. A shot of Espresso "marks" the foam on top, delivering bold espresso flavor upfront, with a sweet white chocolate finish, topped with a signature cross-hatch of Mocha sauce.

I think this is a remarkable piece of writing. What I like the most is the quotation marks around the word marks. Is it supposed to mean something or lend some unclear significance to the whole concoction? Is it just a bad pun? What kind of "foam" are they alluding to exactly?

Additionally, the sign encouraged having a marble mocha macchiato along with a sunshine cupcake...have you seen the sunshine cupcake? It's a mound of yellow and orange sprinkles with a candy flower stuck in the top. It wasn't clear whether there was actually a cake under it all.

I would hereby like to recommend that Starbucks consider putting 6 oz of their chantico drinking chocolate into the marble mocha macchiato, increasing the fat and calorie content by a factor of 1,000 and creating a beverage with the addictive quality of crack. As an accompaniment, they might consider a crossbreed between the Krispy Kreme original glaze donut and the sunhine cupcake, which would probably help ride the high out longer and cut back a bit on the depressive side affects that are normally associated with crack use.

In case it wasn't already clear

2006-03-18T11:00:00.000-05:00

John just taught me how to use html escape codes, which is why my

's can actually look like they do rather than a dot, which is what they would look like otherwise.

Most of you couldn't care less, but I am so psyched about this new information...it's almost as much fun as personalizing my page and finding the corresponding color codes in css language all by myself and then figuring out where to actually apply the code so that I could get the look I wanted.

Have I lost most of my readership yet?

Just wait until I start my new job and am full of insightful commentary on how companies can improve their financial image in the eyes of the investing public.

Typical email exchange

2006-03-18T10:36:00.000-05:00

From: Irina
Date: Mar 15, 2006 2:41 PM
Subject: Blog...what else?
To: John

Someone answered my plea on the blogger forum for help. Now the spacing problem is all fixed. Problem was (because I KNOW you want to know) that some of my <li>'s didn't have corresponding </li>'s to close the term.

So there. Another feather in my little dorko cap.
___________________________

From: John
Date: Mar 15, 2006 2:44 PM
Subject: Blog...what else?
To: Irina

1111111111!
__________________________________

From: Irina
Date: Mar 15, 2006 2:50 PM
Subject: Blog...what else?
To: John

0000000?

Practically free clothing...or, please visit my friend's store

2006-03-17T16:25:00.000-05:00

My friend Erin has recently opened up an Ebay business selling discount high-end designer clothes (e.g. Prada, Versace, Michael Kors, Armani, Chloe, Dolce & Gabana, Gucci) to fashionista women all over the world.

As a talented (and I'm not kidding people, this woman is freakishly talented) costume designer, you can be sure Erin knows more about clothes than the average woman. She has a great eye, and discerning taste and I'm generally reduced to nervous sweats when I know I'll be in the same room with her.

Her husband would have you believe that Erin's incomparable taste applies to him as well* and apparently, if you agree with him you have a standing invitation to drop by at their apartment to drink whiskey and try on beautiful clothes.

You can find all of Erin's clothes on Ebay. Her business is called Miss Billee's and her online store can be found at http://shop.vendio.com/MissBillee.

*of course, he's totally right

If only we could all look this good with a fever

2006-03-17T15:58:00.000-05:00

This morning, before I left for my interview, I took these photographs in which Sophie makes her transformation from hustle to flow:

De-dooced

2006-03-17T11:55:00.000-05:00

Okay, so my good thing that I couldn't discuss? I think it's okay now, so here goes:

On Monday I had an interview with a staffing agency. I'd met with two headhunters previous to this, so I wasn't holding my breath. I was also feeling like: whatever...if it happens it does and if not, then I'll figure it out. Can y'all already see where this is going? The agent told me I was a great candidate and that she already had a few things in mind that might be good situations for me...I'd been given exactly the same closer the last two times, so I wasn't really counting on this to get me any closer to a new, better job. I assumed, actually, that this was the industry-typical polite brush off. On tuesday, I sent her my computer testing scores and said I'd wait to hear from her.

On Wednesday, I got a call from her at 10 in the morning. She'd sent my resume to a company that morning and they wanted to see me at noon. Now there were a couple of problems: 1) I was wearing jeans and a sweater, not my typical interview outfit (but thank god I'd decided to actually wash my hair); 2) I had my mediation appointment at 3:30 that afternoon and wasn't planning on taking a lunch hour; 3) I wouldn't normally take lunch at noon anyway and certainly not without giving my boss a proper head's up.

After much back and forth with my agent it was decided that the company wanted me to come in even though I was under-dressed and that they would see me at 1 (the time I normally go out). I went to the interview feeling like they had to accept me the way I was, since I hadn't been given enough warning or time to prepare for the meeting. I think that I didn't really take the interview seriously anyway, since it was a little less of a salary increase than I'd hoped for and the whole rush factor seemed suspect.

After meeting with the current office manager/executive assistant (whose position they were seeking to fill) and the comptroller, I got the sense that it would definitely be a better, more challenging job than the one I have now (read: I wouldn't be able to blog surf all day out of boredom), it's certainly more money than I'm currently making, with better benefits, and yet I wasn't quite won over. I can't explain it, but the office seemed really unremarkable. I just wasn't sure I would enjoy being in such a blah place everyday. I know, really dumb, right? But it seemed significant...like maybe there was some other reason it didn't feel right. They asked me to come in Friday morning to meet with the founder and the president of the company. I decided that would be the make or break for me.

So I went in this morning, while John stayed home with a re-fevered Sophie, and met with the president of the company, who made a wonderful impression. We talked for roughly half an hour, during which time it became ubundantly clear that they had found their ideal candidate and that they'd made their decision on Wednesday.

While we talked, and he asked some really great questions and made a fantastic pitch for the company and it's attitude toward their employees (how integral they were and how strongly encouraged each member of the "team" was to lend their creative input), I realized something: no job is going to be the perfect fit for me. I don't want a job. I want a business. I want to be baking everyday and until I can do that every job will just be a job, so all I can hope for is to find one in which I can make a great salary and feel happy (the latter being more important, of course). I realized that if these people were in a different setting (e.g.: fancier offices), there wouldn't be a question about taking the job.

When the interview was over and they offered me the job, I accepted.

On Monday, I'll give my notice.

By the power vested in me

2006-03-16T22:44:00.000-05:00

My friend Emily sent me this link yesterday.

I think the article is really fascinating and while I have a lot of thoughts in reaction, I'll let it speak for itself.

Anything but normal

2006-03-16T18:07:00.000-05:00

This has been one of those weeks.

The little pimp has been moody and is now running a fever of 102 or so. If she could actually keep the thermometer in her mouth, thereby cooperating, I might have a real number, but my mom-o-meter tells me it's closer to 103 degrees. Right now we are sitting at the kitchen table where she is complaining because she has to eat a bowl of ice cream. Actually, that was about fifteen minutes ago...in the meantime I've managed not to convince her to take Tylenol orally and have instead been forced to administer is rectally as a last resort. Note to future parents: small children do not like having things administered rectally...even if it's good for them and even though all they talk about is their own rectum and what comes out of it. So now she's tucked into my bed (where her germs can collect and fester and lie in wait for us to sleep in them) watching Ice Age.

Early this week, my mom started a vicious fight with me. Subsequently I have not had contact with her in two days. This is not alarming for most people as most people don't talk to their parents as often as I do, but taking into consideration that we had an almost daily email check-in and the fact that the last email sent (by me) specified that she shouldn't make contact if she had only hurtful things to say, I take this as a probable bad sign. I've mentioned my mother a little bit in previous posts, but because she actually reads this blog I can't go into finer detail than to say that our history is very complicated and emotional and more often bad than good. We see the past very differently and one of us really likes to reinvent history. I realize that chances are I've just openned myself up to backlash, but this is my blog and I will say (within what I have decided is respectful reason) whatever the fuck I want to.

What I can't understand is where this new uprising came from. It immediately followed the longest, most intimate conversation we've had in a year (as well as my posting of Laura's photo and the link to my cousin's blog, in which she probably gives me a bit more credit and praise than I deserve) and it was really unfounded and rather severe. By the time the emails had flown across inter-space and the Gmail chat yell-a-thons were over, we had both said some incredibly unkind things to one another. That's the effect that my mother has on me. She bites and then all that's left in me is poison and rage and the blind desire to take her down. It sounds awful, I know, and when it's over I feel whiped out and miserable and sad to have seen such an unfamiliar side of myself, but there's also this feeling of relief in the quiet that follows. There's peace for me in the fantasy that this fight might be the last fight and that I won't have to be emotionally beholden to or responsible for her anymore. The sad truth is that sometimes family just isn't a good fit and while many people are able to make a go of it anyway, there are those of us who just can't.

Something good happened this week too, but I can't post about it yet.

Due to some sort of security issue at the D.C. airport, which has backed up and over-crowded all flights, John has been forced to come home by means of some out-moded form of transportation known as Amtrack. It will take 3 hours and he will have to be working the whole time. He'll come home exhausted and I won't have time to enjoy him because I have an early morning appointment regarding possible good things I can't post about that I should be fairly well rested for. It's a drag.

I have knots in my neck like you wouldn't believe. And I'm coming to the end of recovering from the two bottles of wine I split with my pal Bess last night, whence I learned that comic book geeking doesn't only get you into bad conventions (I went to a comicon only once ever, I swear), but also makes bartenders fall in love with you.

Oh, and mediation is over. Josh and I worked out the last of the issues and now all that's left is for the agreement to be drawn up, reviewed, signed and submitted to court. After nearly 3 years, I'm actually going to be single.

I started this post over an hour ago...during which time I've had to stop frequently to cater my very hot, very snuggly daughter. Rereading what I wrote puts what I have in my life into such sharp, wonderful perspective. I am a lucky woman and I'm a good mom...the latter sentiment being one that I don't get to feel with this amount of confidence very often. But standing over a hot griddle, making pink, heart-shaped pancakes for Sophie (we're talking freehand with pastry tip and bag method, not with a mold) because that's what she wanted for dinner...that felt really good; and when I put her to bed and found that her forehead was no longer hot to my touch, I felt an affirmation of all my choices in life.