Complaint No. XVICMII

I finished most of my Christmas shopping.

I still have to find a xxxxxxx my brother wants, a xxxxxxx to go with the xxxxxxxxxx I got my sister, and a few xxxxxxx for my xxxxxxxx.

We're doing Christmas on Sunday, when Zoe gets back. :)

Earlier in the shopping season, I wandered into TJMaxx, and happened upon a few great things for holiday gifts. And... bought a few things for myself. There was a beauty of a box there for 10 bucks, and I collect boxes, so I added to the collection. And there was a perfectly perfect clock for my kitchen for 5 bucks.

FIVE BUCKS???

I picked a spot in my kitchen, jammed a nail into the wall, popped a battery into my treasure and hung 'er up and let 'er tick away.

It was a few days later when I realized why the thing was only $5.



I'm not so good with Roman numerals, but I had to laugh when I saw the IIII.

I won't be finishing my Christmas shopping at TJMaxx.

Determination

It was neat when Jacob realized, hey, there are toys under this paper crap!


The day comes and goes so fast. I hope everyone is at least 10 pounds heavier now, because I'm guessing I am.

Missing: MAGIC

"You better watch out,
You better not cry."

-- Santa Claus is Coming to Town



I absolutely love wrapping gifts. I love picking bows and stickers and tags... paper and bags and tissue paper...


After I finished up tonight, I thought about Zoe sleeping in a bed far, far away. I am happy that Santa will know to get her gifts to North Carolina, but there's something really big missing in her house here, and that is the anticipation that is Christmas with kids. That electricity that practically pulses through the house. Jacob will be here with me in the morning, but at 1 year old, he doesn't understand wrapping paper, let alone that some big guy is covered with soot after cleaning out our chimney.

When I talked to Zoe tonight, she was about to make cookies to leave for Santa. I could tell she would rather be doing anything else than talking to Mom at that moment.

I am truly happy for her, and happy that her dad will get to remember the glory of getting whacked in the head before the sun comes up to see what Santa brought. But this Christmas, I will be thinking of her, and wishing she was here to share the magic with Jacob.

And Mommy.

Good night, my little girl. Mom is hoping for all the best for you this Christmas.

Final countdown

"Since you been gone I can do whatever I want.
I can see whomever I choose.
I can eat my dinner in a fancy restaurant,
But nothing, nothing can take away these blues.
`Cause nothing compares,
Nothing compares to you."

-- Nothing Compares 2 U, Sinead O'Connor



I have been looking forward to this weekend in a bittersweet way... both my children will be elsewhere and I can finish my Christmas, er, holiday shopping. I can hang with my friends, I can run around unfettered. I can mop floors without waiting until some ungodly hour. Hell, I could get drunk if I wanted!!

But tonight as Zoe lay dozing in bed, I was washing her clothes and packing her things for a weeklong stay at her dad's. They are leaving at 5 a.m., and I am sadly counting the minutes until they pull out of my driveway.

I'm glad he came in early today and spent the night, because I think Zoe had some apprehension at the last minute, despite her excitement leading up to this big trip. They are romping around like old pals. Like two children, actually. :) I sound like a drill sergeant compared to her dad.

I know they will have a great time. But I already feel like I'm missing a limb. As I packed Zoe's things tonight, I found myself rearranging shirts with pants, switching out white socks with her favorite funky ones, wondering what her dad will think of the hot pink undies she loves so much. He may never even see them... she has become a modest young lady since he's last seen her, and while she was showering tonight with him here, she actually closed the bathroom door.

So I remembered to pack her robe. And while she seems so grown-up all of a sudden, I pulled down out one of her favorite baby blankies and tucked it in among her things. And then I started writing love notes and finding pictures to pack in her bags.

I decided that maybe this would make her miss Jacob and me too much, or be seen as some sort of sabotage, so I settled on one letter to her that wished her well with Daddy and Joy, that I hoped Santa would bring her great things while she was in North Carolina, and that I already missed her.

Very, very much.

¿Como?

We ate leftovers tonight... sour meat and canadles. It's this crazy traditional dish that my family... well, we could reunite the world if everyone loved it, that's how my extended family gets when someone is making it. They flock to it and make peace with one another as they indulge. There's no such thing as a bad canadle.

Zoe is somewhat familiar with them now, and likes them. But the "gravy" part she has issues with. She doesn't like onions, which this dish is chock full of. And meat. Cheap meat. It probably cost me $6.75 to feed 25 people.

Zoe keeps wanting to call it "bagels." This is another thing she has never eaten but probably picked up the word from school and has blended into her vocabulary to replace vulgar words like "canadles." I can just see her teacher saying, "Now, Zoe, that's nice, but there's no such thing as a canadle. Put the scissors down."

Tonight I asked her if she wanted her leftover canadles with or without the sour meat. Which is the "gravy."

"I want the gravy, but no meat. No la carne!" she shrieked. "NO LA CARNE!!!!!!"



After one of my rare, brief interludes where I stop in my tracks and look toward the sky to ask my mother just what the hell she was thinking when she had kids, I realized Zoe was, in fact, NOT speaking in tongue.

Is it just me, or did my kid just switch over to the smarter-than-your-parents category? Because I always thought it was EL carne.

Esta senora es muy estupido.

Jacob's first birthday party

Jacob eats sour meat and canadles, proving he hasn't been switched at birth. (Who else can eat
that crap but our family?) After a nap, it's time to sing and eat cake!





MMMMMMMMMMMM.

Zoe stretches her artistic muscle

She's been at it again, experimenting with different mediums. I thought this stuff only happened in chain emails.

Hibernation: thwarted

"I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her.
It's been a long December, and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last."

-- A Long December, Counting Crows


I was sitting at work today, and all of a sudden, I realized I was sweating. I had on only a shirt and a cardigan, but I was... HOT.

OMG, am I having hot flashes? Getting sick?

An hour later, everyone in the office was complaining. Oh thank god.

An hour after that, I was getting in my car for home. The first thing I did was crank the AC. I picked up Zoe and told her all about everyone melting at work, got home, did homework, convinced Zoe that sleep was a necessary evil, then got the garbage together because it's trash night.

I threw on my heavy clothes, went down into the cold garage and bundled all my rotting rubbish. And then, holding my breath, I opened the garage door, bracing for the cold.

But it was not cold. No, it certainly wasn't. It was... BALMY.

I'm sorry... did I not check my calendar? Is it NOT December? In Pittsburgh?

I went upstairs after more sweating, overdressed to take out the trash, and checked my most underused widget: the weather.

Sixty-fucking-four degrees.

For freakin' crying out loud. Do I have to shave my legs and wear shorts?? Because I was just bedding down for a long winter's nap.

Overheard at the courthouse

"Heyyyyy! How was your hunting trip?"

"Good. Real good."

"Did you catch anything?"

"No. I didn't shoot anything either."

Halftime break

My angel

Zoe and I went to get a Christmas tree this afternoon. On the way she was counting all the other cars with trees strapped to their roofs.

On the way back, she told me she had a rule about Christmas, and did I want to hear it?

"I think I should get six presents from Santa because I'm 6 years old."

"Does Santa know this rule?"

"No. I'm not telling him."

"Oh yeah? So what happens when you're 40?"

"I get 40 presents."

"Be sure to let your husband know that before you marry him."

"What?"

"Before you get married, be sure to tell your husband this rule. Because that's a lot of presents he'll have to buy." And all of a sudden, I bit my lip. Because, why would he be buying presents if Santa is bringing them???

But I was saved.

"Who's my husband?"

"Whoever you choose to love, Zoe."

"When I get married, then my husband is my family?"

"Yep."

"I think David. He played with me after lunch."

"So, ahhh.... you picked a nice tree, honey."

"Or Santa. I love Santa."

Breathtaking

I have been slightly involved with a project at work with some new technology that stemmed from a collaborative effort among Google, CMU and NASA. Basically, they developed a camera that takes panoramas, which are subsequently posted online, and... I really don't know how to explain this... you can "search" the panorama. You can zoom in and out. Something like Google Earth, only better. WAY better.

So they handed out a bunch of cameras, and we are among those testing it out. The views and the details are really phenomenal, and I can't remember the last time I saw something that excited me as much as this has.



Here is a link to the Pittsburgh stuff that is on there, or you can go to gigapan.org to see a sort of slideshow of examples and see stuff that has been posted from around the world.

It really is amazing, and the applications and potential for this are mind-boggling!

I thought girls used too much toilet paper

Say WHAT?

"We filled your head with wild ideas,
Our beliefs led you on.
We leave a trail that's always changed
To keep your hopes alive.
This surface may seem calm enough,
But underneath, underneath,
We made you feel the way you are is wrong."

-- Dream Thrum, James



Last night I was messing around with the links I very occasionally update for this thing that resembles a web site... and I came across a blog listed in another blogroll about internet dating. In Pittsburgh. It was pretty cute, had lots of anecdotes about different people's experiences. It went on a lot about Match.com: "Everyone is on it!" As if it were Facebook or MySpace. A whole lot curious, I checked it out.

It didn't take many keystrokes for me to figure out how it worked. And it didn't take me many more keystrokes to find this:


That's um.... my Tom.

It took me I-don't-know-how-long to figure out what I was actually looking at. But.... that's the guy who told me he wasn't ready for a relationship. The guy who still emails me and tells me he misses me and loves me so. Who tells me his kids aren't ready for him to date, but don't wait for him. The guy who wants to meet up at Chuck E Cheese and let the kids hang out.

On a dating web site. And photos he posted to it included ones he took for me while we were together.

So while I'm sitting around here for weeks living like a recluse, moping, mourning the loss of my precious relationship, thinking this guy and I love each other so much but we can't be together, I suddenly realize that he has been feeding me a fuckload of bullshit.

It was kind of natural for me, I think, upon learning this, to want to KICK THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF THE NEXT MAN WHO CROSSED MY PATH. I was feeling rather charged up.

So, I called him. He lied a little more, hedged, dodged, then finally said, "I'm so embarrassed. I didn't want to hurt you. But I never really loved you."

Why did he say it then? Why did he bathe my son and cuddle with my daughter? Why did he talk about which school district we'd live in? Why did he talk about rings and a wedding and let me bond with his family?

Either something's not adding up, or I'm way too livid to think straight. Either way, I wrote a nasty email and sat on it for a few hours. I called Aimee, who has always been a kind of I-am-woman-hear-me-roar kind of girl, told her my story, and she said, "Send the email. Who cares if he doesn't care, it will help you feel better."

I hit send. After I respectfully deleted the line about the crappy sex.

And now I am going to put this behind me, let it go, not speculate on how much of our relationship was a complete lie, say goodbye to The Best Boyfriend Ever and celebrate that I didn't waste any more time with The Man With Jelly For A Backbone.

It's about time

I was (really, regardless of anything implied in the post below) going through some mail that has been piling up, and I came across this:



Yes, I now actually OWN something of value.

OK, I own something.

I feels all growed up.

When the hell did I start caring about sports???

Basketball: Huh?

Baseball: Pirates suck.

Hockey: Pens are sweet.

Football: What I wouldn't give to be in that Steelers locker room, mmmmmmmmm.


OK, I'm going a little nuts about the Steelers this season. It's hard not to when the air within 300 miles of me is completely saturated with black and gold. Not to mention I work within spitting distance of Heinz Field.

I swear, I have NOT been sitting here all night doing all things Steelers; I really have been doing something, um, else, when I came across this really awesome kewl fuckin' sweet-ass gem of a web site:

I HATE THE NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS.


I spent the evening merely reviewing my Sunday plans and options.

A weighty issue

A little more than a week ago, Zoe and I went out shopping after work/school, for picture frames actually, but we ended up with a living room set.

But that the fact that I spend too much money when I'm down is not the point of this story.

After this particular shopping trip, we were out at Robinson, and I wanted to go to Don Pablo's. I was in the mood for Mexican.

"No," Zoe said.

"No? But they have tacos!!!"

"Eat N Park."

Grrrrr. So, I relented, because I had just dragged my kid on an impromptu trip through a furniture store and barked at her anytime she looked at anything, and because a salad bar was probably a lot healthier than the enchiladas my stomach was screaming for.

I tried to navigate to the Robinson Eat N Park, came pretty close but completely miscalculated the busy corner it was on, and convinced Zoe we needed to go to the Eat N Park close to our house.

"There it is, MOMMMMM! You're PASSING it."

"The one by our house is better."

"OK."

So, it's pushing 8 by the time we get to the restaurant. We are hungry. We are seated, and we fill out every single game on the kids' menu and no one has even so much as taken our drink order. And I'm pissed.

I'm the kind of pissed where, if I do actually try to accost a waiter and get some food, I might be frothing at the mouth.

So I explain to Zoe that we are NOT giving these people our money, scoop up my hysterical child, and proceed to the Wendy's a few blocks away, where the service really wasn't much better. I could hear the employees swearing at each other in the back, our order was messed up, and the cashier was rude as all hell.

"We don't got any more potatoes. And we're outta cheese."

THEY WERE OUT OF CHEESE, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. And there wasn't a clean table in the place.

I thought I had put that evening behind me, but today we were driving back from the grocery store, and just as we were passing the infamous Eat N Park, Zoe says from the back seat: "Do we have a waiter?"

"A waiter??" And I could feel all that ill will rising up in me again, and thinking she was going to ask if we could eat there again, I was trying to keep the venom under control and come up with a script that didn't include swear words.

"Yes, a waiter," she says. "Do we have one?"

"What do you mean, a waiter?" I ask, buying time.

"A WAITER, Mom. Like the thing Pap Pap has. You step on it and it tells you your weight."

I could feel my pursed lips relax. "A scale? No Zoe, we don't have a scale."

Brought to you by...

"Another villain on the cover
Of every major magazine,
The victim somewhere in between.
See how they twist and shout.
And as I'm searching for the story,
Subscription card falls to the floor;
I'm losing interest more and more."

-- Villains, The Verve Pipe



I use Yahoo! a lot, for email, professional pursuits, weather checks, football picks...

It took me a long time to warm up to Yahoo! after using hotmail for so long. And while I still like hotmail, it's more like... OK. Their most recent redesign is yucky, and if I leave my computer on overnight, I can't just refresh my hotmail without completely restarting my computer.

So, instead of pretending to promote Yahoo!® (registered trademark, all rights reserved, notice: we collect personal information on this site), my point is that I recently noticed an ad running for some kind of schooling site. I paid little attention to the ad, as I do most ads, especially ones about continuing education. Been there, done that.

But for some reason I recently read the ad, and I was laughing my ass off.

So, you want to be a social worker, do ya? Admirable. A psychologist? Nice. Criminal investigator... counselor... teacher...


But a bounty hunter? A BOUNTY HUNTER???

I can't imagine explaining to my 6-year-old in 12 years that, no, I am not going to pay for years of college so that you can go out and accost bad people who are the most dangerous of the dangerous. AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN.

Like me, and my parents, and all the generations before, you are expected to go out and find a reasonable and safe profession to take care of your elders when we get old.

How about asbestos removal? Or window washing??

Overheard on MNF

"Time now to recap the scoring in tonight's game. [Laugh.] Annnnd there's your recap."

-- Announcer, late in the fourth quarter, Dolphins at Steelers, score: 0-0



After the game, all the ESPN talking heads were whining about the field. No footing, no balance... it was like old-school... no chance for competition...

HUH??

Were the teams NOT ON THE SAME FIELD?

I remember vividly -- because I was in attendance -- the last time the Steelers played the Dolphins, in Miami, and THERE WAS A HURRICANE IN PROGRESS.

And we still whooped their asses.

And no one whined about the field then.

Out of the box

About five years ago, in a place far, far away called Florida, I thought it would be a great idea to buy icicles lights for my windows... ones that hung inside, with little sucker thingies with hooks. This, I reasoned, would prevent me from endangering myself on a stepstool hanging Christmas stuff outside, and more importantly, keep me out of the 90 degree heat.

And though it was a ridiculous notion that icicles could actually form in Florida, I thought they were kind of classy -- not the colorful ones or the ones that blink maddeningly, because, well, real icicles just don't do that. For drug-free people.

The problem with these damn icicle lights in Florida: There was so much humidity, it was almost impossible to get those sucker thingies to stay in place, and over the course of a day, they would slowly slide down the window, gathering up the sand and dust that gathered on the pane on a daily basis, and by Christmas time, all the sets were back in the box.

Fast forward to today, when I crack open my tubs of Christmas decorations, and I have the bright idea that, hey, these might work here. I had enough for all the windows in the front of the house, and I gave it a go.

It was really smooth sailing until the last window. Not only did I have an impossibly heavy TV-occupied armoire in front of that window, but THIS window frame was different from the others, with little room for the needed tape to keep the damn things up. (I had long ago pitched the sucker thingies.)

To keep Zoe from hearing words she's never heard before, I kept taking breaks from that last window, but determined to MAKE IT WORK, I went back four or five times with different kinds of tape, a chair, a step stool, a ladder. I taped them to the window, but anyone who has tried to make tape stick to a window when it's below 50 knows this is an impossibility. I finally busted out a hammer and some brads....

But before I started nailing, I thought... why not just tape these fuckers to the inside of my blinds?


And so I did. Welcome to my house, don't look at the trailer trash window over there.

The first time they fall down, they're going back in the box.

Alarming

I was supposed to get up earlier than usual today, because Zoe didn't have school and the day care was closed, I had other arrangements that would put me beyond my normal timeframe, but I think my mind thought otherwise when my alarm went off at an unusual time.

WTF is this thing going off for NOW???

I hit snooze one too many times, and then, out of the blue, it suddenly occurred to me, holy shit, I'm supposed to be up, I'm gonna be late for work, and I think I leaped from completely prone to my knees on the bed like some kind of African animal I've seen on Discovery so quickly that I could have hurt others had they been lying in bed with me.

I realized: It was bright in my room. Was I that late?

NOOOOOO.

It had snowed -- really snowed -- and all that freakin' light was reflecting off the millions of snowflakes that congregated on my lawn, the neighbor's lawn, the neighbor's roof...

I gazed out the window in awe for a few moments, watching the thick flakes drift to the ground in hoards, then I sounded the ultimate alarm:

"ZOE! WAKE UP! IT SNOWED!!!!!"


Our first real snowfall. We need to get a sled. Pronto.

Happy Turkey Day

I have been feeling really down the past few weeks. Maybe it has something to do with getting only five minutes of sunshine a day, or the changing of seasons, or driving home from work in the dark. Or maybe it's residual from burying my grandfather and losing my boyfriend and my dog in the same week.

Whatever it is, I have been avoiding human contact as much as possible. I tolerate my kids well though, and in fact, they are sick of my fawning all over them because that seems to be the only thing that makes me happy these days.

We spent Thanksgiving at home today. It was a last-minute decision and one that I was relatively sure I'd make, but I still wasn't prepared to make a proper Thanksgiving dinner, nor did I have the desire or energy to.

So, we had chicken casserole. At least I can say we ate bird and stuffing.


And I wouldn't have been able to pull it off without the requisite canned cranberry jelly crap.


Which, Jacob loved, by the way. He has been eating a lot of people food these days and seems to love it all, even onions and canned cranberry jelly crap. It's fun to watch him try new things, and the boy can eat.

The chicken casserole wasn't bad, and I can tell it wasn't bad because Zoe ate all of it, even while complaining about the broccoli. Over dinner, we talked about what we are thankful for.



I am thankful for my two beautiful children. But why the hell did Mrs. Harris come first on her list??? Geez!

I am also thankful for cheese, Giant Eagle Fuelperks and Magic 8-balls. And my friend David, who has helped me tremendously these past few months with staying in touch with that sane part of me that's in there somewhere, holding down the fort.

Money doesn't buy happiness

"When all you got to keep is strong,
Move along, move along like I know you do.
And even when your hope is gone,
Move along, move along just to make it through."

-- Move Along, All American Rejects



I've been a little fucked up this weekend... Tom invited me to watch his son's hockey game Friday, probably because it happened to be at the club where Zoe goes and he knows we might be there at the same time. I haven't seen or talked to him since I dropped off his stuff last weekend, and I really needed to do that, and I thought I was getting all sane about the situation again.

Then... hey, come watch the hockey game.

I had decided not to, and went to get my kids early to avoid seeing him, and wouldn't you know it... in walks his ex-wife.

Hmmmm... he failed to mention that she would be in attendance.

Why would a guy want to watch a kid's hockey game with two of his exes? And I've never even met her. "Ex-wife, meet the ex-girlfriend. Ex-girlfriend, meet the ex-wife."

Forget that for the past two weeks, I've been at a loss trying to understand why the guy who talked to me about what school district we should live in, and with whom I had conversations about financing a diamond, suddenly decided that his life was not "simple" enough to accommodate me.

I don't know what he's been going through, but it seemed entirely insensitive to me, to invite me to that hockey game, to put all of us in that situation, mostly the kids.

I'm glad I didn't see him, but I hate that part of me that wishes I did.

This weekend I took down the gazebo out back, took all the chairs in from the campfire, cleaned and covered up the grill... and it was stuff I had to get done, but it was all stuff that was all Tom, he helped me build these things, use these things, live with these things... and so I just couldn't get him out of my mind.

Today I picked Zoe up at the club and we drove directly to the nearest discount department store. "We need to go shopping," I told her. It's what I do when I'm a little off balance. Purge the checking account.

"Why do we have to go shopping Mommy?? I'm so hungryyyyyyyyyy."

"Tell you what, if you do this for Mommy, you can get one thing -- anything -- in the store."

"BUT. I. AM. HUNGRY. I. WANT. TO. GO. HOME."

"Honey, I promise it won't take me long. Mommy just needs to spend some money." Just a few hundred bucks. That's all it will take. Mommy just needs to spend money on crap to get this fleeting neurosis to pass....

"But you always say you don't have any money."

She got me there. But once inside the store, she discovered the toy section, and any concerns she may have had about my possible fibbing in the past disappeared.

And as a payoff, I had to spend the evening putting together this hideous creature of a toy, which is exactly why I wanted a man around in the first place.

Why everyone with a baby needs a dog

Because Dustbusters really fill up too fast.



Jacob almost began walking this weekend. I'm really dreading missing the first time it happens... we missed his first tooth, his first word, his first crawl... but the day care said they'd call if it happened so I could run over and see it before Joe, LOL.



And not to leave Zoe out... She got three As and a B on her first report card, started new chores like feeding the dog, and she is becoming quite the Steelers fan.

A realization

Zoe, eating chicken tonight: "Does chicken come from pigs?"

"Um, no, it comes from chickens."

"I thought eggs came from chickens."

"And chicken comes from chickens." (Ummmm, hence the name???)

Slightly whining: "So.............. they make it dead so we can have the chicken?"

"Yes."

A long pause, as she rolled this around in her mind while looking down at her half-eaten chicken leg, and I wondered for a moment if I would have to cook something else.



"They make it so goooooood."

Tunnel vision

I woke up alarmingly late this morning, hustled to get my shit together, dropped Zoe off at school and began the 20-minute trip to work. Right as I was passing the day care center, Joe pulled RIGHT OUT IN FRONT OF ME.

This has been happening a little more often lately than I care for. I've noticed though that when he is behind me, he has the courtesy (or gumption) to pull off and wait a while.

So, today I returned the favor and took the parkway into work.

I don't normally drive major highways in Pittsburgh unless I have to, and today I was reminded why: Even though it was a clear day, even though it was 10 in the morning, EVEN THOUGH IT WASN'T A FULL MOON, traffic came to a halt at the top of Green Tree Hill. Why?

Because there's a tunnel coming up in a couple miles, of course!!!!


All these drivers have probably not been in a tunnel for the past 12 hours, so we must all proceed with caution! Who knows what could possibly be in that mountain orifice since we drove through it last night??

I really expected to see some catastrophe that was making traffic crawl, but there was nothing. Once inside the tunnel, things picked up. And this is not unique to this particular tunnel either.

It's funny that in Fort Lauderdale, in ALL of Fort Lauderdale, there is ONE tunnel, it goes under the New River, and people actually pick up speed and drive through it recklessly and honk even if they never use their horns anywhere else, as if it is some sort of amusement attraction.

Pittsburghers have a thing about holes in hills. I don't get it.

But after all that, and more importantly, as I was getting out of my car at work, Joe was just pulling into the parking lot.

I won!

Late dinner

Hey, it's Friday somewhere in the world.


"I swear I just found everything I need."

-- The Only Time, Nine Inch Nails

Tub to flub

Zoe normally takes showers these days, but right about the time I was ready to give Jacob a bath in the kitchen sink, just as I gathered him up and was standing before my kitchen sink, all full of dishes, and thinking this would make a good comic strip, me standing here all stoic before this unclean vessel while wondering if I should just wipe him all down with baby wipes, Zoe was in the background whining, "Mommmmmy, pleeeeeeease can I take a bath???"

A little light bulb went off over my head.


I've never seen two children have so much fun. It was like I wasn't in the room, and they splashed and played, and any concerns I had before dipping Jacob in the tub -- with Zoe -- and what might manifest -- melted away quickly. I didn't care that all the water coming out of tub was dripping into my basement. The way they enjoyed this first of siblingness was so very pure and innocent.

After about 10 minutes of all this love and joy, there was a crisis. All of a sudden, Zoe screeched, "MOOOOOOOMMMMMMMY! He's POOOOOOOOOOOPPPPING!!!!"

And the chaos that followed will probably wipe out the few moments I had there of validation that I was doing all this raising kids stuff right.

Everyone is doing it

It seems every time I get together with my extended family, the younger generation of cousins (high schoolers) is bragging about their number of myspace comments or how many buddies they have on their AIM lists.

When I was a high schooler, the internet communication ganglion consisted of dial-up broadcast bulletin boards and IRC. My family didn't own a computer. My first computer class consisted of directing a "turtle" to draw shapes on a Mac Classic. Donkey Kong was still pixelated.

My first Mac had a 500MB hard drive.

How far we've come!

A few months ago I got an email from a former colleague to join a networking site. By the time I got around to finally exploring it, his offer had expired. But once I registered and started sending out invitations and adding contacts, I was glued to my email to see who would respond.

Will he give me an add? Is she my professional friend? It's like the adult, working world version of buddy lists and shout outs.

Then I started wondering if hiring employers look at this network... and what they glean from it. And more importantly, what my contacts would say about me if they were forced to make a statement under duress.

"She was really good at sneaking to the front of the line for buffets!"

"She always found the best parking spots!"

"She was good at staying awake during meetings! Most of the time!"

"She could hold her liquor!"

But it's been a nice visit back in time, to a workplace that was once a very fun place to be. I've been thinking of the memories I have with people from that time, and how I should have kept up more in spite of the craziness I've had the past two years.

I hope some of them have kept up with me and my stupid blog, and know why I started it, years ago, in the first place: Because I anticipated leaving them, and it was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made.

'Live your life with arms wide open'

"I break tradition;
Sometimes my tries
Are outside the lines.
We've been conditioned
To not make mistakes,
But I can't live that way."

-- Unwritten, Natasha Bedingfield


Tom extended an offer, casually, to have a casual relationship.

I don't know what that means, and at first, I was all chomping at the bit, like I can still see him, I can see his kids, his family, maybe, sort of... what does casual mean?

Dinner "here and there."

After thinking about it, I felt... insulted.

All this feeling he knows I have, and he wants to put me in his back pocket? Pull me out when he has time to pay attention? Pull at my heartstrings enough to keep stringing it along? Slap a new label on us so we don't have to address any conflicts?


I think.... lately... about the night we danced at the wedding, and I put my head on his shoulder and he had his arms around me, and I felt like I could do that forever. I wanted to be in his arms forever. And I was so fucking there. I was so sure.

But I've been reduced to a casual date.

I think... I'll have to pass on that. Exit denial stage.

I'm FREE!!!

Tom learned today that he has NO NEW CANCER.

So, I can let go now.

I have been feeling like shit because we split at such a time... I couldn't quite convince myself that it was the best time for him, even though it was the best time for his kids... and to hell with what I've been feeling, right? Because I know if he was sick I would have been all over the place making a nuisance of myself to take care of him.

I miss his family, I miss his children, I miss the unsteadiness of his voice and the smell of his deodorant. I miss the possibilities we had. I miss him eating at my dining room table, dozing on my couch. I miss the view from his bedroom window, watching for him to come home on Sundays.

But I can let go now.



I should let go now.

When you're raising kids properly

"Mommy, can I watch TV?"

"You CANNOT PUT ON CARTOONS. The Steelers are on."

"That's OK. I don't like to watch real stuff, except the Steelers."

Someone trusted me to look after her child

I didn't have to submit to anything, no background checks, no credit reports.

I've had kids sleep at my house before, but usually with the parents very nearby, like mostly Aimee passed out on the bathroom floor (HA HA JUST KIDDING SWEETIE, you always make it to the futon) or visiting out-of-towners and I clashing at my dad's house.

But never have I had the courage to ask another parent to relinquish their child to my care for a night.

While I'm quick to let Zoe go to any modestly humane family who is willing, I am not so trusting of my ability to keep another child in check whose idiosyncrasies I know little about.

But Zoe caught me off guard, I let her make the call to her BFF, and we made the leap into the "we accept overnighters" zone. It's tit for tat. (Hehe, I said TAT.)

When her mom dropped her off, Elsie was in full gear. Mom and I discussed all the basics, including What Not To Serve The Child and various other things I needed to know to keep the kid alive. Then it got to the point where we needed to talk about when the child would be turned back over to her parents.

Elsie's mom asked if it would be OK if she and her extended family attended church in the morning before picking her up... citing various reasons including my favorite: It would be too much to get out of bed a little earlier than normal to come get her. Which, in sirschy-speak, translates into: I, personally, don't have to get my ass up early and get someone else's child ready for church.

Good deal.

But then, like a lightening bolt from out of the blue, Elsie's mom offers: "Well, if YOU take her to church...."

As in, she's OK with her going to church, and here's where I have to break it to her....

"Oh, we don't do church."

And I quickly came back with a most witty remark that I have too much going on to make it to church... on any given Sunday.... UGH.

It just came out, just like that, and then this poor woman was probably thinking, what have I done, leaving my kid in this unholy house.

Farewell, Maddie girl

These past seven days have definitely ranked near the top of the list of The Worst Weeks Ever.

And damn! Look how clean my grout used to be!

Torn apart

"I want you to remain.
The power of children can amaze.
I'll try not to complain.
I know that's a pisser, baby."

-- The Chemicals Between Us, Bush


Things deteriorated rapidly with me and Tom this week. Suddenly his children are all over his case about sharing him. Tom oscillates between kicking their asses and relenting to their wishes, and I know it is taking a toll on him. He feels like he is choosing between his happiness and theirs.

All the guilt and stress he is feeling has me so concerned... and I feel helpless, so very helpless. And with half our brood lashing out, what could we do?

So I found myself packing up his stuff tonight. No bitterness, (OK, not a LOT of bitterness), no anger, (OK, maybe just a bit), but there's a lot of sadness. We love each other, but it's just not working.

I have never been one to throw in the towel without fighting like hell, but my intuition told me that this time, there really is no other choice.

I feel a little bit of peace knowing that some of the turmoil is over. For both of us.

Hollow be my name

"I want to tell you that I love you,
But does it really matter?"

-- Chloe Dancer, Mother Love Bone


Late last night, I finished the pumpkins. It took us three days to get two pumpkins gutted and carved, and technically we're not done yet because we haven't roasted the feast of the innards, but those damn jack-o-lanterns were at least ready in time for our own little neighborhood soiree.


After the carving, I thought I would have a relatively stress-free day today. I had the day off to go to Grandpap's funeral, a quickie ceremony at the funeral home and trek over to the cemetery, and I thought I had all my ducks in a row.

BOY, WAS I FUCKING WRONG.

The day started with Joe refusing to drop Jacob off to me directly. I finally got the baby from day care and headed over the funeral home, and then the ceremony started late. I got to see my cousins who I haven't seen in years, and when we got to the cemetery, I saw just how long it had been: 1995. That was the year of death marked on Grandma's half of the headstone. Her funeral was the last time....

Oh, the guilt. I've been back in Pittsburgh for two years.

Tom had been avoiding me since Tuesday morning, and I guessed it had something to do with an aversion to attending funeral-related regale. Then I found out he was headed to the hospital this afternoon. "I sent you an email," he texted me. I had an afternoon full of family crap and no access to email.

And when I finally detoured to my house to check, I discovered his email was a .... clear cry for a break-up. Dumped, via email. It's not you, it's me. It's the kids. It's the cancer.

But I had to go grocery shopping and get the kids together for dinner and trick-or-treating and as much as I wanted to scrap it all and go kick Tom's ass, I restrained myself, he was still at work, and we made the rounds for Halloween, took my time, met new neighbors and BSed with those I have gotten to know.


I really enjoyed having an hour with my kids like that. I thought there were only about 20 houses in my neighborhood, but I found upon further inspection there are actually probably closer to 30, some tucked away, and it made me love it here even more. You can get lost in this little alcove.

There wasn't a huge turnout of trick-or-treaters. I know there are more kids here than tonight unveiled, but I heard most went up to the nearby "community" with the "golf course" directly behind us, up the hill. To visit the rich folks giving out full-size candy bars. The same folks responsible for all the Titleists embedded in my precious weed-ridden yard.

We were not so ambitious but got a lot of loot nonetheless.


I thought long and hard on that loop around the neighborhood, about Tom's email ("I'm not sure if I'm really ready") and all the health news he has been dealing with lately, and his kids are having such a hard time with everything, and I tried my best not to be selfish when I emailed him back, saying pretty much, I'm pissed, just go then....

I'll wash my hands of this if I have to, I have my kids and my finances to worry about... and though there's plenty of my worry to go around, it won't go where it's not accepted. I just can't spread myself that far.

I know it's a lot for him. It's a lot for me, too. But then he called tonight and rescinded his suggestion of not being ready, said he needed me to help get him through this.

And I'm totally a mess now.

Not because he is sick, but because I don't know when he'll push us away again.

The meaning of mortality

"I'm searching for something
Which can't be found,
But I'm hoping."

-- Everything Dies, Type O Negative


As I was standing at my closet the other night picking out clothes to wear to my grandfather's viewing today, not only was I disappointed in my lack of appropriate (re: stuff that I still fit into) funeral attire, but it suddenly occurred to me: I will have to take Zoe.

I rifled through her closet and found something acceptable. My sister called not very long after, as if reading my mind.

"What are you going to tell Zoe about the viewing?"

Hmmm. I dunno. Maybe that her great-grandfather had too much Halloween candy? Aunt Kelly suggested a much more forward-thinking view: "Tell her he was bad and Santa sent a lightning rod down for him."

But really, what to tell her? We thought over the realities and I decided that I would do it on the fly, and I did. Right before we were leaving tonight for the viewing, I handed her an outfit and said, "We have to go say goodbye to someone."

"Who?"

"My grandpap."

"PAP PAP?"

"No, MY grandpap. My... Pap Pap."

"Do I know him? Where is he going?"

I explained to her who he was, and then I had to break it to her, in case she wasn't quite getting me: "Zoe, he died."

"NOOOOOO! How?"

I told her that he was old, and that his heart was old and that it stopped beating, and trying my best not to use my best defense mechanism they call sarcasm, I tried to answer her questions and explained how the heart carries the blood that carries the oxygen to all the fingers and toes, and what happens when the heart stops working.

"So then he died? Like a dinosaur? Did his heart fall into his stomach?"

OK, I'm in over my head, I'm thinking. The talks about my mom go much better than this.

I took her to the funeral home and she was curious about the body once she realized it was lying there. She walked up to it several times, sometimes escorted by someone in the family; other times she just wandered over herself, getting a little too close at times for me.

It wasn't the big trauma for her that I thought it would be, and I kept checking to make sure she was OK with everything. At the end of the viewing, when everyone was saying goodbye to Grandpap, she stepped up on the kneeler and felt his hand. Like everyone else was doing.

And I was so touched. There was a compassion in her at that moment that was just a little bit past curiosity about touching a lifeless body. It was probably imperceptible to everyone else but her mom, but I could tell that in her own way, she understood there was some gravity to this, and that she cared.

And despite her previously bouncing like a pinball among all the people she hasn't seen in a while, I was very proud.

Another bumper sticker

"First one to die with the most clothes... WINS."

First frost

Everything was glistening this morning as the sun rose; delicate crystals of ice clung to what is left of the lush green of summer, a subtle hint of the beauty of winter yet to come.


AND DAMN, WAS IT FREAKIN' COLD!!

SpOoKy!

We had a busy weekend. It started out with daylight trick-or-treating in Tom's neighborhood. The kids were all having their own little issues, so it didn't get off to a great start.


Don't they look like they are about to have the time of their lives?

But it did turn out great, and the kids really enjoyed it. I was amazed by the enormity of the event. Kids lined up in hoards at some of the better houses; one guy was grilling free hot dogs for the neighborhood; fire trucks were circling the streets tossing candy from the cab. Four streets into it, most of the houses were already out of candy.

It didn't come close to anything I had ever seen, even as a kid.

I guess I waited too long to negotiate Halloween with Joe because I ended up not being allowed to take Jacob, and every baby dressed up like a ladybug or peapod made my heart ache. Through the grapevine, though, I heard that Joe took him to the zoo this weekend, which pleases me, since all he did when I lived with him was sit at home on his lazy ass when we tried to get him to come along for things like that.

The next day it was on to Lewis' birthday party. And another chance to get our money's worth out of the princess costume.

Oh, the DRAMA

Zoe was ripping into a Happy Meal toy on the way to my dad's house tonight when she started screaming hysterically. I glanced in the rearview mirror to find her mouth was covered in blood.

I pulled over and hopped out... her tooth was gone. My first clue that this was the problem was Zoe screaming, "My toooooth is gooooone!"

While I searched frantically for this first concrete sign that she really -- REALLY -- wasn't a toddler anymore, as if her reading skills and ability to recognize swear words wasn't enough, she was more concerned about the indications that she must have suffered a major injury.

And so it went. For hours. Hysterical, inconsolable. My dad came rushing when we showed up, probably thinking these wails meant her arm had come off or something. The tooth fairy (a.k.a. Jen's mom) called, and Zoe seemed to settle down enough after that, but it didn't take long before her focus changed from her massive blood loss to the loss of a beloved body part.

"I want my toooooooooooooth back in my mooooooooooouth!"

So, we agreed that we wouldn't cash in with the tooth fairy just yet. If she wanted to keep the tooth for a while, make peace with it, the tooth fairy would understand, I told her.

In fact, the tooth fairy doesn't know what the going rate is for teeth these days, so it will give me a little time to research.

In loving memory

Grandpap, say hi to Mom.

Very funny

I thought these would taste like cardboard, but topped with cold cuts and Cheez Whiz, I couldn't tell the difference. Amazing!

So who's the baby daddy?

A friend of mine named Jeff who maybe wishes to remain anonymous but who lives in Chicago and was born with Pittsburgh in his blood but was raised in Florida where he lived until he was in his 30s (and who visited us relatively recently) was an audience member at Jerry Springer on Monday, October 22, 2007.

"I'm not ashamed of seeing Springer!" he told me via email, though I corrected all his capitalization and whatnot.


"Springer was awesome. That shit is so staged!"

"Do they pause for commercial breaks?"

"Yes they pause for commecial breaks! They send the two parties out of the room for a couple minutes. Jerry makes small talk with the audience sometimes. Then they bring them out and make them fight again. There was much nudity. We got mooned by 2 guys on stage (there was way too much sack showing from behind), flashed by some chick in the crowd and by another guy in the crowd. It was not a pleasant experience."

"So it's not like NFL, where they just stand around on the field and then get the signal to go at it again. Do you think they are real people??"

"I think they're actors. There was nothing that looked remotely authentic about the entire show."

"Now I can sleep well. It's like when I found out the truth about WWF."

For the record, I suspected it all along. Really.

The saddest part of the story? Oprah also tapes in Chicago. You'd think Jeff would choose something a L I T T L E M O R E cultural.

Why my house is spotless right now

"You would cry too
If it happened to you."

-- It's My Party, Lesley Gore


I had a dream last night that my dad threw me a block party, and I didn't want it. I kept avoiding everyone, and he kept nagging me to spend time with the guests because they were all there for me. I kept excusing myself and kept trying to find my boyfriend (some lanky kid I knew in grade school, and the party was in my childhood neighborhood), but the lanky kid kept saying he'd be back, and I kept chasing after him each time I saw him.

But he kept walking away, calling over his shoulder that he'd be back.

I remember being so upset in the dream, that I told my family that no one was ever to have a party for me again until my funeral. I was never the kind of person who wanted to be the center of attention, never wanted a big wedding, never even wanted a birthday party.

There were all kinds of games going on at the block party, so I'd pretend to join a game, but my heart wasn't in it, so I'd just wander off. Actually, no one was really paying attention to me anyway. Even my dad stopped nagging me after a while.

At the end of the dream, I was calling for my dogs. They were running around the neighborhood, and strangers who heard there was a party in the neighborhood began showing up to crash. I could see my dogs near the edge of the woods up the street when I began calling for them, and when I saw a few young people in a speeding car, I stopped calling them, for fear they would get hit. But the dogs looked up and spotted me anyway, and came running.

Very quickly, Sarah got caught in the back wheel of one of the cars, and her head came off. The car stopped, and I stumbled over, I couldn't look, and I just dropped to my knees at the front of the car and began wailing.

All this party crap that I didn't want, and now my dog was gone. The driver of the car had gotten out and was kneeling and crying next to my dog, but I couldn't go over and see her. I couldn't. I just wailed, but no sound was coming out of me.


It was a very weird dream, and it stuck with me all day.


Tom told me Friday that he might have cancer.

Again.

And he's been pulling away ever since.


I clean a LOT when I'm upset.

We're all professionals

At times.

Tell me if this doesn't suck...

...when you're trying like hell to get to work on time.


...when you have to pee.

...if you are on your way to an early appointment and you hit snooze a few too many times.

...when the gas needle has clearly declared residence in the red zone.

...on Monday.


I thought Port Authority cut back their rides, but one manages to find its way in front of me on a fairly regular basis.

Boo!!!

We are gearing up for Halloween. This week, decorations and pumpkins. Next week, picking a costume.

While we were hanging around at Tom's house, someone asked Zoe what she was going to be this year.

"A princess!" she said.

"And Zoe," I said, "What were you the year before?"

"A princess!"

"And the year before that?"

"A PRINCESS!!"

It never gets old.


We took a hayride to the pumpkin patch.


It was a, ah, long ride.


The rule was everyone had to be able to carry his or her own pumpkin to the hayride back.


Zoe feeds a hungry pig.


Catty!


Pony rides.


We closed down the farm.


The Halloween decorations are fantastic!

A sensible solution

Leaving day care after work tonight, I found a lovely note tucked on my car, admonishing me for not having a jacket for Jacob at the day care. The temp outside must have dropped a good 15 degrees throughout the day.

Zoe plucked it off my car and read it. "Mommy, what does B-R-I-L-L-I-A-N-T spell?"

I took the note from her and crumbled it up.

"Why did you do that, Mommy?"

"It's a note from Joe. I don't want any notes from Joe."

"Why is he being so mean to you, Mommy?"

"I don't know, kiddo. Let's not worry about it. I'm thinking we should go to Walmart and spend your gift card?"

She was quiet as we drove, and then out of the blue, "Mommy, I wish I had a real magic wand. Do they have those at the Walmart in this town?"

"Zoe, you have TONS of magic wands at home. Don't you want to get something different?"

"But I want a REAL one. I would wave it over Joe and make him nice."

Time to get ill

Jacob started throwing up Sunday morning, and it went into Monday. Zoe threatened to throw up all day Monday, but went back and forth between, "MOMMY MY BELLY HUUUUUUUUUUURTS!!!" to, "Mommy, can I have a lollipop?"

She never did get the lollipop, and she never did throw up.

But she woke up shortly after falling asleep tonight with a barking cough that is unmistakable croup. I couldn't believe it -- she is 6 years old and should be out of the magical age of getting it -- so I called my sister and as soon as she heard that cough over the phone she knew it too.

After getting over my initial reaction to go down to the garage, start my car and lock myself in the trunk, I laid on the living room floor and let Zoe writhe and moan and bark. There's nothing like a kid pulling out the German ancestry when she's sick.

She finally fell asleep, but I have a feeling this night is long from being over.


On Saturday, I cut Jacob's hair. I have agonized about this for weeks, because I know it is one of his firsts, and I've been split on involving Joe or just waiting for him to do it. Or going for it.

Much of my decision was based on a lot of input. Joe wouldn't do the same for me. It's just a haircut, Joe won't care. Jacob is constantly scratching his ears because of the wisps of hair tickling them. It's practically in his eyes!

It didn't help that Joe took the baby to the doctor on Friday, never told me about the visit, the diagnosis, the prognosis, nothing. I had to hear it from the day care: Another diaper rash.

It's just a haircut, I told myself. He needs it. Joe will pick him up from day care Monday, get mad, get even, and it will be over.

Then Jacob got sick, I took Monday off, and I had to hand him over to Joe at the bottom of the driveway in the evening. It was then Joe set eyes on the amazingly great job I did with a squirming baby and a jar of baby squash.

But he didn't exactly see it that way. After swearing and cursing at me -- in front of both of my children -- he marched his way back to his car, claiming he had a police escort he was going to report to. (I looked up the street, and there was no such police escort.)

But it didn't stop there. He went home and stewed about it -- A FUCKING HAIRCUT -- and delivered to my inbox one of his best insults ever:

Only an insignificant, filthy piece of human flotsam would do what you did to that baby's head of beautiful hair.

I'm ashamed I called you a "fucking cunt." Not because it's inaccurate, but because it's too banal a description for the hideous and hateful creature you are.

Art by Z.O.E.

Using Photo Booth on our laptop. She set up the lighting and position.