We were at Liam's house watching football, and I was goofing around with the kids on the floor until I decided I had enough bruises.
Zoe, however, was not ready to stop. "I was born to have fun, Mom."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. I actually think I was."
We had Jacob's birthday cake on Christmas Eve.
We got to open presents. I got a great sweater from Aimee, a deer spotlight from my dad, a knife set from Kelly, and AN IPHONE FROM LIAM!!!
Yes, we've been in negotiations about our relationship, and we are together. And I'm so, so happy.
The iPhone didn't hurt, for sure.
Jacob made me an ornament at day care!
The same day, Zoe brought home her own creation, which she and Jacob quickly devoured.
Zoe's dad arrived the same day, and the next morning I gave him the task of the annual gingerbread house. It was beautiful!!
It is so windy -- and cold -- that I am hearing sounds I have never heard before in this house! We have already been informed that there's a two-hour delay for school in the morning.
That's two extra hours I get to wrap gifts tonight!
I finished my shopping today. I am so relieved. I think I managed to get it done with minimal financial damage, though we'll see what the critics say on Christmas morning.
Tall, quirky co-worker: I need some stuff added to this file.
Short, catty co-worker: Why are you telling ME?
Tall, quirky co-worker: Because at the top of the file, it says to ask you if stuff needs to be added to the file.
Short, catty co-worker: UGH. It just says that, because, like, no one else can do it.
THANK GOD FOR WEEKENDS.
I will never tell anyone that you wear Zoe's shoes. Never. After today. I swear.
Zoe's vocabulary sheet asks her to write a sentence for "discover."
"DISCOVER: find out; learn for the first time. DISCOVER where an adult at home was born."
At first I thought: This is a teacher fishing for identity theft information. But Zoe totally threw them off:
"My Dad was born in Japan."
Her dad doesn't live with us, and he was born in Massachusetts. I bet this, and her 100 percent Irish last name, really left her teacher puzzled.
That's my girl, always sly like that.
After getting in her jammies, Zoe came out of her room and approached me tonight with a fistful of dollars.
"I have to pay the boys at school."
WHAT????????
"Yeah, they made me laugh, and I promised them a dollar for every time they made me laugh."
Zoe would laugh if you told her favorite color was pink.
"You are absolutely NOT giving your money to them," I told her. "You do not pay for kids to be your friends."
Zoe has a difficult time understanding the value of money. Every day when I pick her up, she wants to know if we're going out to eat. CAN WE PLEASE GO OUT TO EAT. Just the other day, we did some running around, and I promised her McDonald's if she behaved. She actually had a coupon for a free large fry in her backpack, so when I ordered and got the food in the car, she was astounded that it wasn't a Happy Meal.
"Where's my toy?????"
"We used your coupon, so I just got...."
"WHERE'S MY TOY????"
I explained to her that money is tight, the coupon thing was great, blah blah blah. She ate her nuggets after I promised that I would find a way to get her the damn toy later in the week. Damn McDonald's.
But now she was standing in my living room with two handfuls of dollar bills telling me she had to pay some boys at school.
"You tell those boys that your mom said NO, and that you will make them a card instead."
I was short on ideas.
She took one handful of the money and held it out to me. "Here."
"What's this for?"
"It's for you," she says.
"I don't want your money. Put it back in your box."
She pressed two dollar bills in my hand. "Take it. You are always saying you don't have money. Now you do."
If you live in Pittsburgh and have never heard of Good Apples, you are missing out.
We've had a program at work for a while now where this company, which bills itself as a "virtual farmer's market," delivers every Friday. I shop online, and the stuff shows up at work.
In the past year, their merchandise has expanded greatly to include not only produce, but meats and pantry items, gift baskets and more. And now, they are offering home delivery. They are located in the Strip District, and I'm not sure about their fees, but through our work program, delivery is absolutely free for over $50. And it's easy to spend that much.
AND THE FOOD IS SO MUCH BETTER than what you'd find at Giant Eagle. And most times, cheaper.
Just tonight I went into the fridge to get a handful of M&Ms that I keep on the door and ended up picking off pieces of cauliflower instead. It's THAT GOOD.
Pass the BEANO!
Take your eyes off me.
There's nothing here to see.
I'm trying to keep my head together.
-- Freedom, David Gray
Wednesday would be one year together, Liam and me. We didn't quite make it.
Zoe was on the webcam with her dad, and Jacob was fascinated. So he got out his own toy computer and followed her throughout the house.
"Now I don't want you back
For the weekend,
Not back for a day, no no no.
Baby, I just want you back
And I want you to stay."
-- Walking on Sunshine, Katrina and the Waves
The sun decided to pay a visit to Pittsburgh today. Lately, this seems to be about as rare as, oh, I don't know... me cleaning my baseboards.
We've had the tree up for a week, which is what I blame on an otherwise unblamable ladybug attack in my living room the other night.
While all the glass ornaments and candy canes are hung at my shoulder height or above, Jacob is still finding a way to get at them. He slung a glass globe around the dining room tonight, with five other people within 10 feet of him, for several minutes before anyone realized, HEY, THE BOY IS TOSSING A GLASS ORNAMENT AROUND THE DINING ROOM. More curious than how he got it off the tree: How the 2-year-old didn't break it on the wood floors.
I'm so far down,
Away from the sun again.
I'm over this.
I'm tired of living in the dark.
Can anyone see me down here.
-- Away From the Sun, 3 Doors Down
OK.
I moved back three years ago, right before my first ever driving winter. I lived with my dad then. Any time I had a problem with snow, he came, got in my Jetta, threw the gears all around and used a lot of gas, but he got my car out of all the snowbanks I drove into. I got to follow him home in his 4WD Explorer, watching him expertly slip and slide ahead of me. I have no doubt some of his skidding was for show.
My second winter back, I lived with Joe in Carnegie HIGHlands. His two cars occupied the garage, and I'm surprised he didn't make Zoe and I occupy the garage also, but nonetheless I parked in the driveway. Up on the hill. The very windy hill. I might note that the entire time I lived with Joe, never once did Jacob ride in his cozy, garaged cars. But that's another story best laid to rest.
That year I was happy for my AAA subscription. Not so happy for all the dings Joe put in the left side of my car one day trying to chip off an inch-thick layer of ice. OFF THE WHOLE SIDE AND BACK OF THE CAR. Before I could even get in the car to warm it up.
Last winter, in my own home, I bought that high-powered salt stuff. I don't recall what it was, but as soon as it hit the snow in my driveway, it was like... it caught fire. Instant melt. On days when it snowed during the day, my friendly neighbor normally plowed the drive before I got home from work.
All this has left me with one lesson: As a Pittsburgher, I need to put on the gloves, so to speak, and tackle the snow on my property. Unless someone else volunteers to do it for me.
I threw regular old salt on my driveway tonight... and gleefully so. I strapped on a Playtex glove and dispersed a good three pounds on my asphalt.
An hour later... it's like... nothing happened. Snow is still falling, and it's covering all that salt I responsibly tossed around generously. I keep going to the window to see the progress, but there's nothing. Nothing but a nice, shiny sheen of snow filling in my footprints.
I thought for a moment that the morning sun would come out and melt it, but there hasn't been sun in ..................... weeks.
We're embarking on another winter... my fourth... and I'm still learning the ropes.
And chains. And salt boxes. And plows. And shovels. And delays.
God, it's me, Sirschy. If you let me have a delay tomorrow, I will recycle more and eat less junk food.
Zoe: So, what do skunks do when they fart?
Mom: (Silence.)
Zoe: MOM.
Mom: I don't know.
Zoe: It's a joke. You have to answer.
Mom: OH! I don't know... they smell good?
Zoe: No! They give out their spray!!! Bwahahahahahahahaha!
Mom: (Silence.)
Zoe: Hahahahahahahaha!
Mom: Did you make that up?
Zoe: Yeah. Isn't it funny!!!!
Mom: Maybe on the next library day, you should get a book of jokes.
My time at home has been mostly preoccupied with projects that cost me little to no money. So, I turned my attention to my basement. Even though I have been living in this house for less than two years, I have accumulated a good deal of CRAP.
Much of it is stuff the kids have outgrown. I put the broken stuff on the curb, and I stuffed my trunk full of old stuffed animals and not-quite-good-enough-for-my-friends clothing.
Tonight I headed to Goodwill to drop the stuff off, and I coaxed Zoe inside to "shop." I actually found a few neat things... a flower box that looks like a picket fence, and the horse-head-on-a-broom-stick (is there an official name for this stupid toy??) that Zoe asks for every time we see one in a toy store. Both for under three bucks each!
The store also had rows and rows of purses, handbags, clutches. I have been feeding my belongings into bigger and bigger purses and have run out of room, so Zoe and I browsed the selection, and I actually found a bag that I like that is quite roomier than anything I own. My only goal was to be able to stop carrying a diaper bag for Jacob, but to have something big enough to throw in a couple of diapers and a sippy cup.
Wouldn't you know, I get the purse home and as I start rifling through all the pockets, I realize what I've bought: A diaper bag.
I now have a diaper bag for a purse.
And strangely, it doesn't really bother me.
I got sick again today... and left work abruptly. That's... hmmm... three out of the last four weekends that sickness has overcome me.
I tell myself it is because I have two young kids, or that my co-workers are germy, or that the change in season has an effect. Those seem to be among the top reasons I hear cited whenever anyone has anything from a slight sniffle to violent vomiting. But something else occurred to me the other day: I am, officially, getting old.
I thought the threshold was closer to 30. I remember sitting through my 29th year thinking, this is it. It's all over for me. But nothing really happened.
But it seems like ever since I began approaching 35, and since I turned 35, my health has been wacky as all hell.
I have few friends who are sick more than I am lately. I have two kids going to two different places during the day, so that's probably a big chunk of my problem. But knowing that doesn't exactly solve it. The other day I was reading about the Herrin twins, whose family seems to be sick all the time, and it made me feel like... well, that I had it good, to be honest. But at the same time, that mom is not working, thus she is not constantly coming up with excuses for a boss as to why she can't make it in today or why she must leave early. Her job is way harder than mine, I CAN'T EVEN IMAGINE living that life, but I have to let myself feel sorry for myself.
Being sick so much lately... it sucks. Getting older sucks. Wanting to do nothing but sleep sucks.
Turning to stories of families who have it worse just for perspective... that sucks too.
... is making it crazy around here. I know I have pictures of my sister's Thanksgiving visit, but I can't find them!!
Here are a few of my favorite pictures from the past couple of weeks, and I'll post more as soon as I find whose camera has pics of what!
Jacob voluntarily goes mute.
Geotrax rocks when you have lots of it.
This is Jacob's favorite dress-up get-up. I PITY THE FOOL....
Let me be the first to say, I accept him as he is! If I turn him gay, errrrr... if he turns out to like Barbies, it's not my fault! GO ELTON JOHN!
Jacob gets on with the creative side of him.
And because I have concentrated too much on Jacob, here's a pic of them all concentrating so hard on being good that they made a chart to track their progress. They were rewarded with a Chuck E. Cheese outing. I'm sure I have pics somethere of that..... SOMEWHERE.
I started cooking for Thanksgiving two days ago. The bird was brined, I made dinner rolls from scratch, I got up early today and made sure there was enough stock in the roaster to make gravy. I chopped up sweet potatoes and yams and made a salad, boiled some potatoes, and took a nap while my sister made the stuffing.
Salad, milk, butter, whipped cream, wine glasses, coffee, football, Wii, olives, pumpkin pie.
It was one of those Thanksgivings where everything seemed to be slightly off, but everything fell into place. One where we all had a camera in hand but never took a picture, one where we all kept track of our cell phones but didn't put them to our ears.
-----------------------------------------
What are you thankful for?
I am thankful for my children. They bring me joy, every single day.
There was a day when I was told I couldn't have children, and I had no idea at the time how devastating that could be. I'm glad they were wrong. Though I may have, at times, at a lot of times, lived recklessly, the two little miracles I have now have brought focus and strength to my life. I survived my poor decisions so that I could recognize theirs and immediately beat the crap out of them when they eventually repeat my destructive behavior.
I am thankful for my family. They know me, and accept my faults.
We have all been through so much, losing my mother when she was only 40, and we managed to come together when we needed each other. Through various addictions and psychoses and injuries, we're about as dysfunctional as they come. But we're about as supportive as they come, and there's not a day that goes by where we can't all hear Dad's voice ringing in our heads about what tires we should have bought instead, or why we drink/smoke/talk/ignore voicemail too much. My siblings and I now exercise the essence of tolerance.
I am thankful for Pittsburgh. It is where I belong.
The rolling hills and city beauty... the bridges... the history. I miss the sandy new facades of South Florida, and I miss street names that make sense, but I feel like I missed out on so much while I was gone for 18 years. The roots, the camaraderie. I am doing what I can to catch up, and the most amazing thing to me is the lack of appreciation from those who have never left. YOU HAVE A GREAT CITY. Stop talking like you live in an alley full of feral cats. En'at.
I am thankful for my time in South Florida. The friends I made there have made my life so rich.
Some have taught me lessons, some have taught me patience. Some have taught me friendship in the true meaning of the sense. Many have moved on to other cities, some hang on and make it work in Fort Lauderdale. I miss them all, but probably the ones still there, I miss the most. While we raise our families apart when I thought we'd be together, I really did think we'd all grow old and remain the best of friends. I still show Zoe pictures of your kids and talk about you, hoping we'll all reunite someday. And we will, I hope. And I'll remind you, you will ALL STILL BE OLDER THAN ME AND I WILL RUB IT IN.
I am thankful for Joe. I know, I'm insane.
He gave me Jacob. He kind of forced Jacob on me, but still, I have the Jacob. And Joe is old and with any luck I can change Jacob's last name before my son is even aware of his (stupid-ass) last name and give him my (even stupider-ass) last name. I will either teach the boy to love his deceased father, or if time denies us, I'll give him the option to change his last name when he's applying for student loans.
I am thankful for Bob. Without him, Zoe would be an egg absorbed.
I know that sounds... lean. But Bob knows what I mean. He almost always does. He knows he misses me. And I miss him. I can count on him, and he can count on me not counting on him when he can't be counted on. We make it work. Feel the love?
I am thankful for Liam. He has connected the dots for me, from past, present and future.
I have known Liam since grade school. We both morphed into intelligent students masquerading as burnout nerd-type high-schoolers. I eventually went on to buy into big hair and designer clothes, while Liam got tattoos and a bass guitar and lots of piercings. When we came together again last year, I had no idea what I was in for: A sincere, honest man with the same jaded experiences who still had hope and faith in a happily ever after. I have learned so much fortitude from him that sometimes I can feel my jaw drop when I think about how much he has taught me about keeping on. Even though LIam had the odds stacked against him when he took me on, he managed to stick with me through my doubt, cynicism, rage, baggage and hesitation. He is my friend, my love, my confidante, my scratching post. HOWEVER, ALL THIS PUBLISHED MUSHINESS WILL NOT CHANGE THE FACT THAT I REGULARLY KICK HIS ASS AT SCRABBLE.
OH. YEAH.
Happy Thanksgiving.
We were pulling up to Zoe's school this morning when she remarked that the American flag was "half-way down."
"It was like that yesterday, too," she said.
"That's called 'half mast,'" I told her, "and they usually do it when somebody dies."
Last week our lieutenant governor died of cancer, and her funeral was today. I launched into a civics lesson about the people in charge of the state and government and politics and flags and flagpoles — blah blah blah — as we drove through the drop-off loop and waited our turn. I found it a little challenging to cram such a complex subject into 60 seconds with a 7-year-old shortly after dragging myself out of bed, but I did the best I could with my limited knowledge. It still must have sounded like I was bullshitting her.
"Mom, I think the guy who is supposed to put the flag up just keeps sleeping in."
It was my first time inside the stadium, even though I drive past it every day on my way to work!! 
Aimee gave me a blanket to take, and she insisted I wear her blue windbreaker instead of my trusty, decrepit suede jacket. It wasn't until I got to the game that I realized I WAS WEARING COLTS COLORS!!
It was.... COOOOOOOLD! So the Colts won. Shaddup! Liam and I had a great time. He heard a Colts fan behind us comment: "It's really dark out. The only reason the stadium is lit up is because of the lights." YA THINK?
Zoe and I split a Subway meatball hoagie and an Icee inside the local Walmart.
A conversation over dinner...
Zoe: Why can't I watch cartoooooons??
Me: Because it's an important night and I want to watch TV.
Zoe: What's so important?
Me: Today we pick the next president of the United States. Did you learn about that in school?
Zoe: Yeah, we had an election.
Me: And who did you vote for?
Zoe: Ummmm... what are the guyses names again?
Me: McCain and Obama.
Zoe: Oh yeah. I picked John McCain.
Me: And why did you pick John McCain?
Zoe: Because we had to pick one.
Me: And why did you pick John McCain?
Zoe: Because he's on TV all the time, and he says, "I'm John McCain, and I approved this message."
This is not bad Photoshop work... these are actual life-size cutouts. Well, I guess that could qualify as bad Photoshop work.
Damn, Obama is TALL!!!
...between two 7-year-olds.
Zoe: So, do you have any other kids? Like, any sisters?
Lewis: No, I'm single.
Boss: You know those new PC commercials? Where they say, "I'm a PC, and this is my office?"
Me: Yeah. "I'm a PC, and I wear headbands."
Boss: Someone on the internet found the commercial and stripped it down to the code. That commercial was made on a Mac.
"You can grab me 'cause you're nasty."
-- Filthy and Gorgeous, Scissor Sisters
It is truly amazing the filth you can find online.
I do a lot of research online for work, and I often come across shit that catches me off guard. One day I needed a digital picture of a Hershey's chocolate syrup bottle. Ever try Googling that? Don't.
Years ago I did a search for Edward Norton to fact-check something I was editing... and that lead to pop-up after pop-up of boobies on my very visible work computer.
I'm a huge fan of Ferris Bueller, and a recent search to find out what happened to the actress who played Sloan led me to plenty of sites and forums dedicated to her nude scenes. I don't know that I could ever watch Ferris Bueller again without those images surfacing in my brain.
When I opened my first online account in high school, the internet was limited to IRC and those bulletin boards you could DIAL INTO and post to... it was all very remedial compared to what you can snag online today.
I have another blog that I contribute to infrequently... but I check in on it once in a while to clear out the spam. Because that blog deals with more adult content, the comments are... well... more adult. The content of the blog itself is way less benign than the comments it attracts. Comments with links that make me blush.
It has made me start wondering how we -- a generation who grew up with the evolving internet -- will ever be savvy enough to hide this shit from our kids, when we know they are going to discover it at some point. I can't believe we keep debating about sex ed in schools when this shit is waiting for them right around the corner.
Our kids learn to operate a mouse shortly after they learn to walk. And we keep them inside so much because we are so afraid of predators... MOSTLY FROM THE INTERNET... stopping by our homes to prey on our kids.
What I wouldn't give to get back to the days when street lights coming on determined how late kids were getting home instead of how long kids have been missing.
On Sunday, I was letting the dog in the house when I noticed an immobile creature on the back patio that didn't belong.
Liam said I started screaming for him, but I swear I merely called out. Screaming is what you do when you win the lottery. Calling out is what you do when you find a dead animal in your back yard.
We soon discovered the fly-covered carcass was a raccoon. Being ever so dutiful, I called up the health department. OK, I was hoping that they'd come get it off my back patio. But they advised me to bring it to them.
"Double bag it," the woman on the phone told me. "And if you can, refrigerate it until you can get it here."
"Honey," I told her bluntly, "I'll bag it as many times as you want, but I ain't bringing that shit in my house and putting it in my fridge!"
Liam and I stood on the back patio with garbage bags trying to determine how to get the damn thing into a bag without sickening ourselves. I can't remember what movie it was, but I keep conjuring up a scene were two guys are standing over a body and slapping their foreheads wondering how to dispose of it. I was nearly sick with thinking I could possibly be dealing with death and disease.
Liam busted out sticks and shovels, and not only did he bag the thing, he actually offered (reluctantly) to transport the thing in HIS OWN CAR to the health department.
The woman on the phone told me that because it was the weekend, I would have to go to the back of the building and find the guard, who would refrigerate the raccoon until they could test it. Liam parked at the end of their driveway in Oakland, and I took the stinky, fly-filled garbage bag out of his trunk and marched into the back parking lot, hoping no one would be alarmed by the sight of this and stop me, because all we wanted to do was unload this fucking raccoon and get on with our day.
I found an open door and went in. There were college-age kids milling around in groups, but I saw no guard. One of the girls turned around and greeted me, as I'm standing there with this plastic bag an arm's length from my body.
"Have you been here before?" she asked.
I couldn't say that I had. "No. I called about the raccoon."
"There's.... there's a raccoon in there???" she practically shrieked.
"It's dead, don't worry," I said, reacting to the alarm that spread through the corridor. "They asked me to drop it off for testing."
"Oh, you must want the health department."
I looked at the ALLEGHENY COUNTY HEALTH DEPARTMENT sign just above my head. "Um... this says 'health department.'"
"You want the next door down," she told me. "This is the needle exchange program."
I looked at her. I looked at my garbage bag. I looked back at her.
At that moment, I realized she thought I was carting in a bag full of needles.
I turned and walked out. There was no joke I could make that would have diffused that situation gracefully.
Today the health department called me with the good news: The raccoon tested positive for rabies.
The department of agriculture is paying us a visit this weekend, and I'm not sure why because when I spoke to the man who called, I was so flustered to learn that a rabid animal had been on my back porch AND MY DOG GAVE IT A TONGUE BATH that I couldn't wrap my head around what exactly it was he was trying to tell me. That, and he talked really fast. I heard "quarantine" and "exposure" and stuff like that.
But after I calmed down, I realized, if this was some kind of emergency, the guy wouldn't wait to show up until Sunday in the middle of a Steelers game.
I haven't been very forthcoming about my Comcast woes here... mostly because my attempts at dealing with the company have fallen woefully short. Don't try withholding payment to Comcast for shitty service. Doesn't work. Nor does screaming at some poor technician, or his cubicle mate who is trying to pass off as his supervisor. Come to think of it, calling up sales knowing they are the only department staffed well enough to answer the phone within a reasonable time period is not a proven method to solving problems either.
Sometime during summer, after one of my screaming matches with a poor fool paid to answer phones, I downgraded my service. A few days later, a guy came to the house, climbed the pole, came in and took my DVR (I suck in my breath now.... in despair... I didn't realize what life would be like when I couldn't pause my favorite show while my kids were crawling all over me begging for attention), and I was left with... Basic Cable.
I didn't want to have basic cable, and I didn't want to be without a DVR. But Comcast was driving me insane with bundle-this and bundle-that, and in the end I was getting a few network stations and slow internet for the same price I was paying for the previous year of full-fledged technology.
No big deal over the summer, when Zoe spent a month with her dad and I had no ER to dedicate my Thursdays to.
Then, a miracle happened: Fios finally became available in the sticks where I live.
I signed up, and canceled Comcast. They came and got the modem. I was free.
Or so I thought.
A few days later, I got a $450 bill for the DVR.
I called and explained that they already had it. "Do you have a work order?" they asked.
"DON'T YOU??"
Soon a collection agency was calling. This is while Comcast agreed to do an inventory search. Then a service technician who "happened to be in the area" called and asked if he could pick up the DVR.
I DON'T HAVE IT, I kept telling them. Then, another bill for $450.
Luckily I have all the work orders. Last night, I had a rather lengthy visit with the BBB web site, plugging in service order numbers and account information and very detailed bitching about the "service" that is Comcast.
I have now been harassment free for 24 hours. Good sign.
I have been taking a fish oil supplement to help get off the Zoloft. The HUGE pill is coated in some kind of vanilla crap, and normally it doesn't bother me. I, however, have been burping up fish junk all night for some reason. All I had for dinner is Apple Jacks, so I don't get it.
Which leads me into this natural segway: I have been working on a new site. When I started this blog a few years ago, it was to chronicle my moving from Florida and transitioning into the life I imagined here. There were a lot of twists and turns, but now I'm here!
My baby daddy (thanks, Bob!) and I have been loosely working on a design for the new site. I have a lot of ideas, but any feedback you might have regarding This Thing I Call a Blog will be appreciated.
Hit the comment button. C'mon. It's anonymous! Or just email me at sirschy@hotmail.com, or leave a message in the rail at the right.
I have been so sick this week. And it's only October.
Zoe is on her first round of antibiotics for the season. And Jacob began coughing last night.
I feel like I have so much to get done before fall is over. And it seems like it just got here!
Being a homeowner is hard work. I guess it's a little more difficult than I anticipated. As a single mom, it's hard to rely on people... family say they will come to help take down that tree, friends say they will stop by to snake the toilet downstairs... and it doesn't happen, and I fully appreciate that they have their own lives. I feel quite capable of doing a lot of things myself, and I can be quite stubborn about doing so and reaping the satisfaction. But I can't do it all, and this fall my long wish list has been shortened, excluding things that can be revisited next year.
I could never have imagined though that it would be so rewarding to have a home. I have been here a year and a half. I see Liam moving into his own new home these past few weeks, and I admire his patience in getting things done around his children's schedule. I am all too familiar with moving around and wanting to make things perfect before uprooting the kids once again.
As an adult, you want things to be smooth for the kids, but you also want to hurry up the transition to a new life once you've committed.
Things have been changing rapidly for both of us, and it has been a little jarring. Being sick is probably the kick in the ass I needed to slow down and enjoy life for what it is.
Of course, I seem to need that kick every few days.
"If you don't give up
And don't give in,
You may just be OK."
-- The Living Years, Mike and the Mechanics
I have been hard at work getting the yard and gardens ready for fall... I had a blast with the kids today, putting away the pool and cleaning off lawn furniture. Hello, autumn.
It was a great escape from everyday life. I guess normally I would dread all that work of carting shit to the garage for storage, after cleaning it all, but it was ... how do I say this... I don't know.
Cleansing?
Now that Jacob is old enough to be included in all this ritual stuff, it's incredible to watch him take it in. He wants to help with everyting. It's rewarding to watch Zoe guide him. When she's not screaming at him.
There's so much going on in real life that this semi-quiet weekend was not only productive, but relaxing as hell. I think I witnessed something develop with my kids this weekend that most parents might take for granted: Zoe and Jacob realized they are individuals. Jacob is not always with me, and maybe they have felt the need to be together when they can, but today was the first time I saw them spend time in the same place, but mostly apart.
I think if I hurry and install a phone in Zoe's room and Cinemax in Jacob's, I might not have to hear from either of them again until they're married.
I made tuna noodle casserole for the first time in years. 
Jacob was the only holdout. Wait until he gets to college.
I had to be a little innovative with my schedule today, so I took my sick Zoe to work and hid her in my cubicle.
I have to say, it was fun having her there. She camped out and watched a movie in between cuddling with me until my dad got off work and could pick her up. I almost wish I could have kept her with me. Of course, she was very subdued because she wasn't feeling well, and our internet was down so I was limited with the amount of work I could do, so this might not have worked under optimal conditions.
After a day and half of antibiotics, her ear infections seem to be easing up on her. Back to school for her on Monday.
I have to say, I'm about as interested in politics as I am in collecting jelly shoes. But tonight I listened to much of the vice presidential debate for the entertainment value. And entertaining, it was.
I like Sarah Palin. Not because she's a woman so much, but that's some of it. I actually forgot a few times that she was the Republican.
If she were running for president, I might consider her. But I can't stand McCain.
Either way, we're making history: the first woman VP or the first black prez.
You betcha.
The school nurse called today and suggested I remove my infected daughter from their campus.
Thus began a whirlwind tour around the county to get my daughter to the doctor and in protective care so I could get back to work.
I ended up in my father's kitchen, eating his famous boiled pasta and heated Ragu Super Chunky Mushroom (which he has absolutely perfected), and while we were cleaning up, we started trading stories about Zoe's penchant for discarding her garbage wherever she feels the whim.
I'd like to say Dad won, but a popsicle stick in the yard and a sucker stick behind the LaZBoy didn't match my multiple Pudding Pop wrappers under the armoire or the three granola bar wrappers under the couch.
But Dad and I continued to spar, under the watchful, if fallen, Zoe.
Dad: I baked cookies, and she ate all of them!
Me: I bought groceries, and she at all of them!
So Dad, in his defeat, decided to show Zoe how it's done right. He called her over to his garbage can and lifted a discarded bag from the top of the heap.
"Zoe, if you need to get rid of something, and you want to hide it, just lift the top thing up, throw your thing in, and cover it up."
He replaced the discarded bag to show how it could cover up the contents beneath it.
GEE, THANKS DAD. Now she'll manage to find all the kindergarten artwork and stained jeans I manage to hide in our own garbage.
Dad wins this one.
"The weekend comes to this town
Seven days too soon."
-- Let It Rock, Bon Jovi
Every week I pick against the Jets now. I loved Favre until he pulled this stunt. Everyone I tell this to argues with me that he was soooooo wronged.
He made "Something About Mary" tolerable. I'll give him that. But his legacy is tarnished, and I don't think too many people can argue with that. What was he peddling in that commercial where he was tossing a ball across the lake with his family on the farm? Well, I'll never buy THAT again!
But the Steelers... WELL.
In the spirit of fans, I offer this Tuesday morning quarterback commentary: Wees wernt lookin so good dare for a while, den ben pict it up an den wees wint to o-ertime, en dat team wees wuz playin punnid back to us, an wees got dat feeld gowl.
There's something about Reed.
I wish I got a picture of Jacob watching MNF. He was all settled in, pointing at the TV, and got pissed when a commercial came on. He's my boy!
8. pittsburgh
A drinking town with a football problem.
"So what if we won ugly?" - Pittsburgh Steelers coach Bill Cowher
More definitions of Pittsburgh from Urban Dictionary.
It's pretty sad that the shock value of school shootings has worn off since Columbine. It's pretty sad when news stories about school shootings can include many grafs about past school shootings.
What is with young people these days???? I'm afraid sometimes to let my kids out of the house.
See the news video here.
Molly: Do you like Dora?
Zoe: A little. Do you?
Molly: A little.
Zoe: She's always, like, "Where is the forest?" And it's right behind her!
Molly: Yeah! She's like, "Where is the banana?" And it's right on top of her!
Zoe: Like she can only look side to side!
"Paranoia, paranoia.
Everybody's coming to get me.
To say you never met me.
I'm running underground with the moles
Digging big holes."
-- I'm Not Sick But I'm Not Well, Lit
Have you ever had a really bad headache, so bad that you just want to turn off the world? Or hit Control-Z until you get back to where you were before the headache started?
I think I have now gotten my medications worked out. I've cut out the majority of them, and added a few supplements. I have been pretty stable for well over a week.
But somehow, I keep waiting for that headache to come back. It's like I am lying in a dark room staring at the ceiling, not convinced the end has passed.
The end hasn't passed, since I'm not completely off the Zoloft. But things have leveled out, and for that I'm very grateful! My joints have been fucked up since the car accident, and I walk like I constantly have to pee. I can just imagine someone at work directing a new hire over to me: "Go see the girl who sits at the far right desk. The one with the blond hair."
New hire: "Oh, you mean the disabled one?"
It's a bitch turning 35.
The good news is that my blood pressure has been awesome: 128/80 at my last visit. And in spite of my irregular gait, I'm not in any severe pain. All of this has the potential to resolve itself, and for now, I am happy with the status quo.
I have other issues to deal with, such as Zoe's health scare and the renewal of Jacob's custody battle, that will take the forefront before I attempt to readjust my meds again. But I am very pleased with where I am now, and I don't want to do anything that will restart the headache.
Me: He has a dream, and he's chasing it. I guess he's been trying to find himself.
Liam: The thing about trying to find yourself is that, in the end, you've been there the whole time.
"Memories may be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget."
-- The Way We Were, Barbra Streisand
We finally got our power back today after it went out during Sunday's Steelers game. Shortly before halftime, the remnants of Hurricane Ike zoomed through.
When I resided in Florida, I lived through downed trees, replacing fridge contents every six months, no AC for weeks at a time and battling impatient motorists at dead intersection signals. I had even missed a game or two of televised Steelers games because of hurricane traffic.
BUT THIS IS PITTSBURGH, DAMMIT.
I have an appointment Wednesday with my doctor... I hope we can find a way to manage my physical symptoms of withdrawal. I have been feeling better, but I'm not even half way there, getting off the meds.
Today, I dumped all this on my therapist. Therapist? I don't even know what to call him. When I started seeing him, he was an EAP counselor contracted out of the local rehab facility. He has since earned his PhD and started teaching university classes, and I was his first official private-practice patient. Today I was the first to dump on him in his new office. I'm so proud of him!
I really do feel like if I wasn't this guy's patient, I could invite him over for a cookout. I ran into him parking on the street on my way in to my appointment and helped him carry up accessories for his new office. On my way back out, I plopped a quarter in his meter.
But this guy also pisses me off, and we had a near shouting match about what was best for Jacob. Joe got a new job, and the insurance crap with me and Joe is out of hand. Dr. J and I talked a lot about it, and my withdrawal symptoms on top of that, and when my hour was up, I walked out of his office just wanting to get away from him. I didn't want to hear any more about Joe's control streak, me falling for the "bait," or Dr. J's gung-ho decorating ideas.
But one thing he said that stood out: Now that I have fucked with the seratonin in my brain, I may be having panic attacks again.
Nonsense, I told him.
But tonight I paid attention to my body. I got cramps in my back like I used to. That feeling in the pit of my stomach was back. Jacob wasn't with me, and when I caught myself picking up after him or thinking about him eating some store-bought dinner, at times it felt like the breath was knocked out of me.
And GODDAMMIT didn't I pick a terrible time to try to get through this. A month ago I was convinced I could stop the therapy and get off the meds. Now I feel trapped.
I was chatting with Aimee today about my lively and active withdrawal from Zoloft and the myriad symptoms I was having on an unpredicatable rotating basis. Today I added severe indigestion and random twitches to the list. I vaguely remember while sleeping last night my arm twitching so violently that I almost smacked myself with it.
And the dreams. My dreams very vividly incorporate my everyday life to the point where I tone down my days as much as I can so I don't have to relive anything weird at night. Some people report these as hallucinations, saying they have the same lucid experiences while they are wide awake. Some say the twitching can be so bad they can't drive.
I guess I'm lucky.
Aimee seemed livid that I'd settle for feeling lucky. "Didn't you know about the side effects??" she demanded. "Didn't your doctor tell you???"
"A bottle of Advil has a list of side effects just as long," I told her, "and you don't necessarily get them. The thing they don't tell you about Zoloft is that you are very likely to get ALL OF THEM."
I was basing that on pure speculation, so, I looked up the side effects of Advil tonight:
The most common side effects from ibuprofen are rash, ringing in the ears, headaches, dizziness, drowsiness, abdominal pain, nausea, diarrhea, constipation and heartburn. NSAIDs reduce the ability of blood to clot and therefore increase bleeding after an injury. Ibuprofen may cause ulceration of the stomach or intestine, and the ulcers may bleed. Sometimes, ulceration can occur without abdominal pain, and black, tarry stools, weakness, and dizziness upon standing (orthostatic hypotension) due to bleeding may be the only signs of an ulcer. NSAIDs reduce the flow of blood to the kidneys and impair function of the kidneys. The impairment is most likely to occur in patients who already have impaired function of the kidney or congestive heart failure, and use of NSAIDs in these patients should be cautious. People who are allergic to other NSAIDs, including aspirin, should not use ibuprofen. Individuals with asthma are more likely to experience allergic reactions to ibuprofen and other NSAIDs. Fluid retention (edema), blood clots, heart attacks, hypertension and heart failure have also been associated with the use of NSAIDs.
Side effects may include Nausea, dizziness, dry mouth, loss of appetite, increased sweating, drowsiness, diarrhea, upset stomach, or trouble sleeping may occur. If any of these effects persist or worsen, notify your doctor or pharmacist promptly. Tell your doctor immediately if any of these unlikely but serious side effects occur: unusual or severe mental/mood changes (e.g., agitation, nervousness, suicidal thoughts), decrease in sexual ability (ejaculation delay), decreased interest in sex, uncontrollable shaking (tremor), unusual weight loss. Tell your doctor immediately if any of these highly unlikely but very serious side effects occur: easy bruising/bleeding, persistent nausea/vomiting, severe stomach/abdominal pain, black stools, seizures, change in the amount of urine, dark urine, vomit that looks like coffee grounds, yellowing eyes/skin. This medication may rarely cause a very serious condition called serotonin syndrome. The risk increases when this medication is used with certain other drugs such as "triptans" used to treat migraine headaches (e.g., sumatriptan, eletriptan), certain antidepressants including other SSRIs (e.g., citalopram, paroxetine) and SNRIs (e.g., duloxetine, venlafaxine), lithium, tramadol, tryptophan, or a certain drug to treat obesity (sibutramine). Before taking this drug, tell your doctor if you take any of these medications. Serotonin syndrome may be more likely when you start or increase the dose of any of these medications. Seek immediate medical attention if you develop some of the following symptoms: hallucinations, unusual restlessness, loss of coordination, fast heartbeat, severe dizziness, unexplained fever, severe nausea/vomiting/diarrhea, twitchy muscles.
What are the most common side effects of Zoloft?
Some people taking Zoloft might have some side effects. The most common Zoloft side effects are dry mouth, insomnia, sexual side effects, diarrhea, nausea and sleepiness. Not everyone gets side effects.
"My eyes feel like they're gonna bleed,
Dried up and bulging out my skull.
My mouth is dry, my face is numb.
Fucked up and spun out in my room.
On my own... here we go."
-- Brain Stew, Green Day
Before I first split with Joe, I hired my lawyer. I remember sitting in his office on that first consultation telling him, "Oh, I'm sure Joe will be reasonable. I want Jacob to have both of us."
What ensued was more than a year of Joe topping himself in the asshole department almost daily, and I was stuck with a custody arrangement I offered before I realized what a prick he really was.
It wasn't long after the fireworks erupted that I was funneled into therapy and given prescriptions for Xanax and Zoloft. I readily accepted my fate of having a pseudo-friend to talk to every week because my family and friends would only tell me what an asshole I was for hooking up with Joe in the first place.
Family: Everything is your fault.
Pseudo-friend/therapist: How could you have known that you just met the devil in disguise?
Fast-forward 15 months later... the custody stuff has been resolved, I have a house, I belong to a school district, I get an email from Joe once a month, if that, and it's usually him covering his ass about something like a prescription he had filled for Jacob after I found out about it and picked it up.
When I started the Zoloft, the goal was to get off it as soon as I didn't need it anymore. "Remember what you feel like before you start taking it," the therapist told me. And I did, every day.
The anxiety lately is down to a minimum, and I want to get back to where I was before I even met Joe.
I put it off, but last week I actually started halving my pills, with my doctor's consent. I HAVE BEEN SPIRALING EVER SINCE.
I know this is a temporary condition. When I started the medication, I was told I would be "maybe a little jittery for a week." I felt like I had an IV of caffeine hooked up constantly for three weeks.
But it went away, and I know my current withdrawal symptoms, which are almost quite the opposite, are probably just as fleeting. And worth it, to have been able to SANELY go through months of separation anxiety while I weaned my son rapidly and faced having no idea where or how the boy was 50 percent of the time or more.
Not to mention trying to figure out why Joe sent me emails wondering why there wasn't a better word than "cunt" to describe me or why he told my lawyer he hoped he got a staph infection from all the gay sex he must be having.
But now, I'm confident I am immune to all that, if not safe from receiving much of that kind of vitriol at all for a few years at least. But a week into this withdrawal process, I feel like I'm cramming for a test. Like every little thing I was able to ignore is now magnified. But I tell myself it's better to have it all flood through at once rather than have it dragged out for the past year and a half.
I feel fatigued to the highest degree. It seems the glands in my neck are so swollen that the pain shoots up through my jaw and into my ears. I'm gaining weight, sans appetite. When I eat, I feel sick. I can have diarrhea and constipation AT THE SAME TIME. Ain't that fun.
I'm hot, then I'm cold. Then I'm hot again. Sometimes I'm dizzy. Other times I'm dizzy. But I'm OK if I'm sitting down. If I'm not dizzy.
I can't sleep well. Yet I can't nap.
If I do nap, I'm asleep for half a day.
I got my period early, but remarkably, there are no cramps. However, my body decided it's time to lactate again. Strange things are afoot.
My concentration is OK, but it feels like a quarter of my brain is hollowed out, and that I'm aware I'm making up for it. I get done what I need to get done, but there's no sense of accomplishment or satisfaction. At the same time, nothing anyone else does is good enough for me. There is no real joy, but there is no real sadness either.
I can't cry, even when I read something sad. My eyeballs feel like they are coated in dust.
There was a time (several times, actually) when I first started the Zoloft that I wanted to quit because getting started was so very... painful. It was doing the opposite of what I needed. And I have to remind myself now of the same thing.
Even if it feels like my soul just jumped out of an airplane without a parachute.
Because somehow my head knows I won't let it hit the ground.
Zoe gave a whole new meaning to Labor Day! We celebrated her seventh birthday this weekend.
The kids painted and played in the pool. I think the adults may have had more fun playing with and putting together kid toys.
Joe wouldn't let Jacob come to the party, so we had to wait until today to let him eat cake.
FOR THE FOSSIL KIT THAT CAME WITH THESE GLASSES. YOU KNOW, THAT BIG BLOCK OF CONGEALED SAND YOU GOT HER THAT COMES WITH THE HAMMER AND THE CHISEL, THE ONE WHOSE BOX SAID 'EASY CLEANUP' IN BIG BLOCK LETTERS, BUT DIDN'T MENTION THAT THE EASY CLEANUP REQUIRED THAT YOU TAKE IT TO THE NEAREST BEACH BEFORE ATTEMPTING TO DESTROY IT.
I can't WAIT until you have kids. :)
Shortly after school let out last year, I received a letter in the mail informing me that the district would no longer bus Zoe to the Boys & Girls Club. I found myself hyperventilating as I read the letter.
Not only is the Boys & Girls Club a whopping $25 a year, it's where she has been going for two whole years, and it is just about the most stable and predictable thing in her life. Plus, her brother goes to the day care, so they get to see each other more, and it is convenient for me to pick them up there.
My family and I forged bonds with the caregivers there... my entire support network revolves around them. Miss Leslie is more reliable and flexible than my father and my brother combined. Miss Renee knows more about Jacob's diaper rash than I do. Mr. Dre has taken Zoe to more ballgames than I have. Miss Jamie will sometimes make me late for work when we begin mindlessly chatting about our kids. Miss Marsha will buy the kids gifts to mark special occasions. Miss Katie will sometimes call me at work just to BS about Jacob. Miss Kris even lets me slide on tuition now and again.
I moved from the neighboring school district believing Zoe would continue to be bused to the club. And then I get The Letter....
I spent a good deal of summer fretting about it. The district was offering after-school care on the school campus, but it would run me "$10-$15 a day." Well, which was it? And now I had to pick up my kids at different locations, leaving the north side of the city, driving through downtown at rush hour, to hit two locations on the southeast side of the city.
And I dreaded hearing Zoe whine that she wouldn't see all her friends at the club anymore. Or get to see her brother. Or buy snacks.
I spent many hours this past summer drafting angry letters, then rewriting them, and then sending them out to anyone who I thought would listen. The superintendent. The principal. The director of transportation. The incoming PTG president. The board of directors. AND ALL OF THEIR ASSISTANTS.
I researched the minutes of the board meetings to see why they might have forced such upheaval in our lives. There were no details availalbe, just "DISCUSSED TRANSPORTATION TO THE BOYS & GIRLS CLUB." I bitched to the day care people. I bitched to other parents. I bitched to my father. I researched other day cares my kids could attend together. I considered the cost of going back to court knowing Joe would protest my moving Jacob. I wrote more letters. I wrote to my congressman.
Summer is not an easy time to get a hold of educators or politicians. But last week I finally heard from the assistant superintendent. She seemed sympathetic to my plight, and tried to talk me through the options, and though I shot down each one rather harshly ("THAT WON'T WORK FOR MY FAMILY"), she was pretty firm in stating politely that I was shit out of luck.
So, this morning, my Zoe got dressed, and I had purposefully kept this whole ordeal from her, thinking I could come through for her at the last minute. But I failed. As she stood there in her colorful skirt and new sneakers, I helped her put clips in her hair and took a deep breath.
"Zoe, I made you a nametag. On it is your room number and teacher."
"OK, Mommy."
"If you get lost today, just show it to a grownup and they'll help you find your way."
"OK, Mommy."
"And.... and.... there's money in your bookbag for lunch."
"OK, Mommy."
"And you won't be going to the Boys & Girls Club after school."
"What? Why?"
"When school lets out and they ask you were you are going, tell them you are staying for the after-school program and show them your nametag."
"Will I go back to the Boys & Girls Club?"
Another deep breath. "No, probably not."
"Oh, good."
After I inserted my eyeballs back into my head, I felt my guilt fade. I realized how proud I was of this beautiful little girl. And I didn't feel so bad about letting the school district win this one.
The first summer I was back in Pittsburgh, I was pregnant. I went to our company picnic at Kennywood, but I could ride nothing. NOTHING.
The second summer Jacob was still an infant, but we had several adults in our group so I held out hope I'd get to ride. Then one of the kids got sick and took home with him half the adults. And then it rained. And rained. I rode only the Pittfall. IN THE RAIN.
This year, when I bought my tickets in July, I was completely convinced that I would diss the kids and ride my ass off. Then I was in a car accident a couple of weeks before the trip. Didn't even get to do the Pittfall. But I did ride some Pirate thing in Kiddieland that nearly made me hurl.
But so far this was the best trip since my post-Florida days, and we covered only a fraction of the park. Jacob got to ride for the first time, and the kids in our group were very accommodating, even though some were too tall for a few of the Kiddieland rides.
Liam, Jacob and Cowboy Joe.
Jacob isn't too keen on the plastic horse business.
Zoe shows him how it's done right.
The girls show Jacob what all the fuss is about.
By mid-afternoon, we can't get Jacob off the rides.
"For three strange days
I had no obligations.
My mind was a blur,
I did not know what to do.
I think I lost myself
When I lost my motivation.
Now I'm walking 'round the city
Just waiting to come to."
-- Three Strange Days, School of Fish
This shirt is ugly as hell:
And I'll tell you why, besides the obvious clue of its appearance, but it's kind of a long story.
Zoe is off in New York with my sister. I'm kind of getting used to all her traveling this summer, but not really. I have dreams where I wake up because she's shaking me awake to ask if she can have something to drink because it's 3 in the afternoon and I haven't gotten my ass out of bed yet to feed the child, but I'm tired as hell and I wind up yelling my head off at her, and then I ACTUALLY wake up and she's not really there, in the home, and I realize I miss the kid. And in actuality it's not 3, it's usually closer to 2.
And I miss yelling at her.
It's not the same yelling at her over the phone, because I can hear all the static of her putting the phone in her lap, and then a long pause when I'm done, and then her "Yes, Mommy," when she thinks it's safe to put the phone to her ear again.
So, to distract myself from all my missing Zoe, I did what I wanted to do back during the month she was with her father: I went clothes shopping.
This is no easy feat for me. I hate it. And last week I was in a car accident, so I've been in a considerable amount of pain. But after visiting my doctor and getting all drugged up, I had little excuse to not go out and replace all my torn undies and ill-fitting jeans.
It was not so much a surprise for me to learn I had gone up a size in jeans. What I have been in denial about is my boobs.
From the time my chest sprouted as a teenager until I had Zoe, I was a perfect size B. I jumped two cup sizes with her, and I'm guessing I jumped another when I had Jacob.
I couldn't find anything that fit me without showing off these unwanted assets. On my way out of the fitting room I spotted a top on the discard rack and took it back in to try it on. It was baggy as all hell, but it didn't scream HELLO I HAVE BOOBS, so I took it off and looked at the tag. 2X!!!!
I headed straight for the women's department. No more misses, juniors, or just plain old female clothes for me.
What I ended up going home with was a bag full of clothes that was not quite flattering, but at least I had some tops that would downplay my lack of proportion.
When it came time to hang these clothes, I had to purge my closet. That's when I came across the aforementioned beast of a shirt. I was reminded of the time when I suddenly grew boobs, well into adulthood, and one of the few shirts that fit me was that hideous number. And I wore it every time , it came out of the dryer because... it was one of the few shirts that fit me. I hated it when I bought it. I hated it each time I wore it.
I can't wear most of my closet now. My boobs bust open the button-down shirts, and now my ill-fitting bras make the rest of my clothes look like I'm busting out of them.
As much as I enjoy my children, there's no way in hell I'm having another one. I can't afford the additional boob space. And the weight roller coaster is weighing on me.
No way in hell I can handle more kids without ending up tipping over involuntarily. And as much as I miss Zoe now, I can't imagine kissing her or Jacob goodbye once their so-called adulthood kicks in.
Zoe takes a turn with Uncle Rob on the riding mower.
Jacob seems to want to... but not so much.
Even baby Robby gets a turn!
The closest Jacob will come is sitting on Mom's lap.
Oh well!
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