We had girls night last night, which was the best one in recent memory, primarily because it was the ONLY one in recent memory. But also because it was lots of fun and Jenn had the best, I mean BEST nightmare student story ever.
After that lovely dinner with Jenn & Veena, I drove home, in Keith's Outback, and happened to catch Obama's speech on NPR. I knew Keith was recording it, but figured I'd listen in the car too - anyone who knows me knows that it's hard for me to get enough politics lately.
When Obama got to the part about "...change doesn't come FROM Washington, change comes TO Washington" I actually yelled "YEAH! WHOO HOOOOO" in the car and pumped my fist a few times. About 15 seconds later I notice the cop lights in my rear view mirror.
Crap! My mind races, 'when did I finish my second margarita? Was I driving like a maniac listening to the speech? Was I swerving?' I pull over to the shoulder and wait. The cop shines his floodlight at my car; I'm blinded.
I know that he's walking around the car checking something out but I can't tell what. I'm shaking so bad I can hardly push the button to roll down the passenger-side window, let alone pull my ID out of the stupid credit card organizer. He walks up to the window and says, "The reason I pulled you over is that you don't have your lights on. I saw you coming but only at the last minute."
I'm mortified. I know exactly what happened - the automatic day-lights in Keith's car look just like dashlights to me. Unless you know the car, you'd never know that the back lights aren't on because the dash lights and headlights are always automatic. I told the cop that it was my husband's car, and he looked at me like I was very special. Then I remembered that I was driving a dirty Subaru Outback with a bike rack and license plate that says "I [heart] tra1l". I guess it made sense to him that this car did not actually belong to the khaki-wearing soccer-mom looking woman before him.
At any rate, he was super nice - which was a great change in cop demeanor for me. He told me to get up to speed on the shoulder before trying to merge onto the toll road. Really, there is nothing more stressful than having a COP watch you merging back into 70 MPH traffic after pulling you over for being stupid enough not to turn on your lights at 8pm.
Tonight, a guy backed up into Keith driving MY car in the parking lot of the drugstore. Car Karma week, I tell you.
Friday, August 29, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Dentist, part I
I went to the dentist today. I would love to make it sound like I’m an every-six-monther, but I’m really not; the last time I went was in June of 2006, and I didn’t go back because I got pregnant that July. In fact, I got pregnant for the sole purpose of avoiding going back to get a filling.
I think I’ve always disliked going to the dentist, usually because I had some bad news – filling, root canal, tooth possibly erupting out of the side of my face, you know – the usual. If it weren’t for my parents dragging me to all the various and sundry dental, orthodontal, periodontal, and oral surgeon appointments, I would be an adorable cross-bite and gap-toothed woman with a tooth coming out of my cheek.
As far as teeth genes, I am on what we scientists like to call a “mixed genetic background”. My mom has teeth that could withstand a month in a vat of Coca-Cola, and my father has teeth made from a dubious mixture of phyllo dough, caulk, and frosting. I think I ended up with a hybrid of the two – I don’t do so bad, but if I follow my general every-few-years to the dentist schedule, I generally need a filling. I’ve had two root canals done on my adult teeth, which may or may not sound like a lot – to me, it sounds fine and I’m just glad the number is 2 not 30. One root canal was easy – it was done by a woman here in Orange County who was fascinating to watch work, and that’s not just the nitrous oxide talking. She got into this zen state when she was doing the root canal. She was amazing. It probably helps that she was an endodontist and not some crazy hack dentist working out of her living room with only dogs as her assistants.
Which brings me to my other root canal. Go back and read the last sentence of the previous paragraph and that tells you pretty much all you need to know. That, and the fact that her skill with anesthesia could probably be rivaled in aptitude only by my cat’s ability to sing opera. Not following me? I had virtually no anesthesia. She had virtually no idea what she was doing. She had a dental chair in her living room and wore these glasses that made her eyes look about 4 feet in diameter – imagine Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter (played by Emma Thompson), but instead of the psychic abilities, imagine her holding a drill and looking very, very scared. I’m not exaggerating at all, it was traumatic.
So it probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this (particularly not my sister who was with me for the root canal and I’m sure we both could use some counseling about it) that I need to have that root canal re-done. Root Canal Redux, I’m calling it. I figure if I make it seem like a movie sequel, it will be fun!
I think I’ve always disliked going to the dentist, usually because I had some bad news – filling, root canal, tooth possibly erupting out of the side of my face, you know – the usual. If it weren’t for my parents dragging me to all the various and sundry dental, orthodontal, periodontal, and oral surgeon appointments, I would be an adorable cross-bite and gap-toothed woman with a tooth coming out of my cheek.
As far as teeth genes, I am on what we scientists like to call a “mixed genetic background”. My mom has teeth that could withstand a month in a vat of Coca-Cola, and my father has teeth made from a dubious mixture of phyllo dough, caulk, and frosting. I think I ended up with a hybrid of the two – I don’t do so bad, but if I follow my general every-few-years to the dentist schedule, I generally need a filling. I’ve had two root canals done on my adult teeth, which may or may not sound like a lot – to me, it sounds fine and I’m just glad the number is 2 not 30. One root canal was easy – it was done by a woman here in Orange County who was fascinating to watch work, and that’s not just the nitrous oxide talking. She got into this zen state when she was doing the root canal. She was amazing. It probably helps that she was an endodontist and not some crazy hack dentist working out of her living room with only dogs as her assistants.
Which brings me to my other root canal. Go back and read the last sentence of the previous paragraph and that tells you pretty much all you need to know. That, and the fact that her skill with anesthesia could probably be rivaled in aptitude only by my cat’s ability to sing opera. Not following me? I had virtually no anesthesia. She had virtually no idea what she was doing. She had a dental chair in her living room and wore these glasses that made her eyes look about 4 feet in diameter – imagine Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter (played by Emma Thompson), but instead of the psychic abilities, imagine her holding a drill and looking very, very scared. I’m not exaggerating at all, it was traumatic.
So it probably comes as no surprise to anyone reading this (particularly not my sister who was with me for the root canal and I’m sure we both could use some counseling about it) that I need to have that root canal re-done. Root Canal Redux, I’m calling it. I figure if I make it seem like a movie sequel, it will be fun!
Monday, August 18, 2008
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Bear with me
This morning Owen and I enjoyed a good half hour at the park by ourselves before other families began trickling in. The first family to join us was a couple and their son around Owen's age. With them was a set of grandparents. The grandpa was wearing the most ridiculously awful shirt - a difficult-to-describe hybrid of a hawaiian shirt with Tigger on it. Something a grandpa would wear on a day he is being a grandpa, and it was beyond adorable.
I've never been one to wish for a different set of parents. Certainly as a teen I am sure I had moments where I wished I could disappear, but in general Erin and I knew we were the envy of our friends where parents were concerned.
By contrast, I certainly wish for different circumstances for all of us sometimes. I know our lives are blessed and I am grateful for everything I have without a doubt. But sometimes when I see a grandfather playing with their grandchild, I miss the kind of grandfather my Dad would have been if he wasn't ravaged by dystonia and whatever else has taken him. Kids loved my Dad back in the day - he was magical with them.
I've heard people talk about mourning the loss of someone who is still alive, and I certainly relate to that. The generous lovable Dad I grew up with is still in there, but he is missing so many of the twinkling, dynamic qualities that made him one of my favorite people to spend time with. I am sorry that my boy and Keith will never know that person. Times like today I am so overwhelmed with that sense of loss.
There are lots of things that make me sad about it - the loss of my Mom's companion & the way their life used to be, the loss of his independence and full life. And sometimes I am just sad for me.
I really miss my Dad today.
I've never been one to wish for a different set of parents. Certainly as a teen I am sure I had moments where I wished I could disappear, but in general Erin and I knew we were the envy of our friends where parents were concerned.
By contrast, I certainly wish for different circumstances for all of us sometimes. I know our lives are blessed and I am grateful for everything I have without a doubt. But sometimes when I see a grandfather playing with their grandchild, I miss the kind of grandfather my Dad would have been if he wasn't ravaged by dystonia and whatever else has taken him. Kids loved my Dad back in the day - he was magical with them.
I've heard people talk about mourning the loss of someone who is still alive, and I certainly relate to that. The generous lovable Dad I grew up with is still in there, but he is missing so many of the twinkling, dynamic qualities that made him one of my favorite people to spend time with. I am sorry that my boy and Keith will never know that person. Times like today I am so overwhelmed with that sense of loss.
There are lots of things that make me sad about it - the loss of my Mom's companion & the way their life used to be, the loss of his independence and full life. And sometimes I am just sad for me.
I really miss my Dad today.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Job? What job?
I may or may not be exaggerating when I say that I have not worked a full week since Keith started at Allergan in June. This isn't really related to Keith, per se, but it's a way I'm keeping track of the time & how often Owen has gotten sick. I'm not sure who the vector is - to be honest, I don't think other kids at his daycare have gotten sick as often as he has. I think he's just a magnet - he attracts people, he attracts cuteness (come on, you know it's true), and he obviously attracts viruses too.
It's hard to not feel continually guilty - guilty for missing work, guilty that Owen gets sick so often. A friend of mine once said that if she didn't know me, she would have just assumed that breastfed kids never get sick. Well, guess what? I'm still nursing my almost 17-month-old and newsflash - he still gets sick.
It probably doesn't help that we let him play in dumpsters and he shares his binkies with neighborhood dogs (they're just so friendly). Or that we import water from Baja California for our handwashing at home. I mean, seriously - is there any rhyme or reason to why some kids catch everything and some kids catch nothing? I asked a Dad in daycare yesterday if his daughter had gotten sick a lot this summer and he was like "Sick? Hmm....no?" and I'm telling you, if he had asked me that same question I would have thrown myself into his arms and sobbed over how happy I was that it happened to someone else's kid. Alas, that was not the case.
But, for the time he's well. And he isn't biting. I'm sure I will look back on these crises when he's 15 and refusing to speak to me and sneaks home reeking of cigarettes and beer that I will think "ah, if only my troubles were that I had to take off so much work to snuggle my child all day..."
It's hard to not feel continually guilty - guilty for missing work, guilty that Owen gets sick so often. A friend of mine once said that if she didn't know me, she would have just assumed that breastfed kids never get sick. Well, guess what? I'm still nursing my almost 17-month-old and newsflash - he still gets sick.
It probably doesn't help that we let him play in dumpsters and he shares his binkies with neighborhood dogs (they're just so friendly). Or that we import water from Baja California for our handwashing at home. I mean, seriously - is there any rhyme or reason to why some kids catch everything and some kids catch nothing? I asked a Dad in daycare yesterday if his daughter had gotten sick a lot this summer and he was like "Sick? Hmm....no?" and I'm telling you, if he had asked me that same question I would have thrown myself into his arms and sobbed over how happy I was that it happened to someone else's kid. Alas, that was not the case.
But, for the time he's well. And he isn't biting. I'm sure I will look back on these crises when he's 15 and refusing to speak to me and sneaks home reeking of cigarettes and beer that I will think "ah, if only my troubles were that I had to take off so much work to snuggle my child all day..."
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Mommy brain
Despite all fears & predictions, we have had a relatively mild summer here so far. Mild meaning only a few days over 95 degrees. Most days are in the mid 80's and tolerable. Last year, when Owen was tiny, the summer was unbearable. It was sweltering hot every day, and I could hardly go anywhere with him because of it. I got so cabin-feverish that I started making Keith crazy.
Last night we went for a walk after dinner and it was gorgeous, I mean, low 70's, beautiful summer night. Keith said "It's a lot like our first summer here." And I almost stopped walking - seriously - because I realized that this is our fourth summer at this condo and I literally cannot remember a single summer other than last year. Come to think of it, I can hardly remember anything that happened in the couple of years before Owen was born. Is this some type of strange adaptation that happens to moms? What did my summers look like before Owen? What did we do? I know that Keith biked a lot, and I went to San Diego a lot, but other than that, I am telling you, it is blank.
Am I the only one?
Last night we went for a walk after dinner and it was gorgeous, I mean, low 70's, beautiful summer night. Keith said "It's a lot like our first summer here." And I almost stopped walking - seriously - because I realized that this is our fourth summer at this condo and I literally cannot remember a single summer other than last year. Come to think of it, I can hardly remember anything that happened in the couple of years before Owen was born. Is this some type of strange adaptation that happens to moms? What did my summers look like before Owen? What did we do? I know that Keith biked a lot, and I went to San Diego a lot, but other than that, I am telling you, it is blank.
Am I the only one?
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
HOT
Lately, Owen is obsessed with all things "hot". When I turn on the stove, he signs "hot". When he sees steam, he signs "hot". When you bring him food, he looks at you & signs "hot" as if to ask if the food will burn him. Even when he sees a sunbeam he signs it - no joke. Last night when we were at the park the sprinklers were misting and he thought it was steam, so he signed "hot", then as we got closer he realized it was "wa wa" and went to play in it. I think it's a good idea that he is afraid of hot things, but lately he won't let me be in the kitchen if the stove is on. He seems terrified that I might get hurt, or doesn't like me playing around the hot stove. There's something completely endearing about seeing him lose it when I turn on the stove, he comes in and reaches for my hand and wants me to pick him up and take him out of the kitchen. It makes it a little hard to cook dinner, but it sure is sweet.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
Mommy Groove
Tonight was one of those satisfying Mommy nights. We had snacks on the way home ready for Owen. I made a quick, tasty dinner and we ate happily together at the table. We took a fun walk to the park, played, then went to get yogurt. Owen signed "sleepy" and "milk" and fell asleep in the crook of my arm humming songs with me.
The times we Mommies feel certain that we are doing exactly right by our children are to be relished. It's easy to notice my temper, my tendency towards impatience, my occasional desire to find refuge in lazing around. It's easy to get side-tracked by perceived other-mommy criticisms or competition. Tonight I just totally grooved on my awesome family.
The times we Mommies feel certain that we are doing exactly right by our children are to be relished. It's easy to notice my temper, my tendency towards impatience, my occasional desire to find refuge in lazing around. It's easy to get side-tracked by perceived other-mommy criticisms or competition. Tonight I just totally grooved on my awesome family.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Busy week
Owen got sick on the plane home from Chicago, and was out-of-sorts for a few days. I caught his virus the next day and was out-of-sorts for a few days. It seems so far that Keith has escaped it, although both Erin and Charlie were knocked down by it, too. I wonder when we got it? At any rate, we're all feeling better.
I admitted to Keith this weekend, that as he drove me home on Thursday and as I literally felt like I wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs to our condo without help, part of me was ecstatic about being able to lay in bed - across the entire bed, if I wanted. By myself. Without having to nurse anyone. So, it tells you how your lounging life changes when you have a baby, that a recognizable part of you is happy to be so sick you can hardly function, only because it means that you get to be in bed by yourself.
Jenny and Stew (newly engaged!) had a going-away party for Kate on Saturday and it was a bit like a reunion, with my tipsy husband happily recounting every drunken story from 1997-present to our gaggle of friends, many of whom we haven't seen in months. (It was a long afternoon, so he fit it all in.) It was so great to see everyone, and get some extra time with Eddie & Steph after not seeing them for so long during Con Season. Overall a lovely weekend topped off by a relaxing Sunday at home with the boys. Next up on the calendar: botox neurology adventures with Erin on Friday.
I admitted to Keith this weekend, that as he drove me home on Thursday and as I literally felt like I wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs to our condo without help, part of me was ecstatic about being able to lay in bed - across the entire bed, if I wanted. By myself. Without having to nurse anyone. So, it tells you how your lounging life changes when you have a baby, that a recognizable part of you is happy to be so sick you can hardly function, only because it means that you get to be in bed by yourself.
Jenny and Stew (newly engaged!) had a going-away party for Kate on Saturday and it was a bit like a reunion, with my tipsy husband happily recounting every drunken story from 1997-present to our gaggle of friends, many of whom we haven't seen in months. (It was a long afternoon, so he fit it all in.) It was so great to see everyone, and get some extra time with Eddie & Steph after not seeing them for so long during Con Season. Overall a lovely weekend topped off by a relaxing Sunday at home with the boys. Next up on the calendar: botox neurology adventures with Erin on Friday.
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