Friday, June 12, 2009
It really only gives me a headache.
We have been looking to adopt a dog, but it has to be the perfect dog. I'm kind of disillusioned by the whole process. Petfinder finds plenty of pets and if I lived in Arkansas or Tennessee that would be just grand, but I don't. I live in New England where none of the pups listed reside and the pounds are filled with bully breeds and not so much with the fluffy cute little pups one would seek to expose her 18 month old to. Spouse and I are going to meet one mix this Saturday and maybe go to the pound. A place thus far I have avoided because I just think it's too much for my heart to take.
My short list of dog requirements.
Must be a mixed breed.
Must not have squashed in face to encourage snoring.
Must be under 1 year of age and not the size of a house or a shoe box, respectfully.
I didn't think that was so much to ask. The hunt goes on and on.
I went to my first dance recital last weekend. The 3 1/2 minutes of my BF's little darlings twirling and tapping was a dream!! I love these girls as if they were my own and I bubbled over with pride to see them perform.
The other 3 hours and 12 minutes made my eyes BLEED. At the end of the debacle every other adult had the same glazed over dazed expression on their faces that my companions did. Human rights violating torture, thy name is dance recital. I will do everything in my power to steer my girl away from them.
I'm the accumulation of 6 generations of Gemini woman. All of us, one after the other on my mothers side. Crazy Twins. Except for my girl. My girl is a Sagittarius. I broke the cycle. She has a chance to be normal.
I am going to admit something huge.
I can't stop watching the Real Housewives of NJ. Gack, I know!
Totally not my type of reality TV. Think Top Chef and Project Runway. Swoon.
But Real Housewives? Again, I say Gack!
That was until a friend of mine from Rhode Island asked me "Is that what people from NJ are really like". So I had to watch a couple of minutes to see right? Well a couple of minutes turned into the whole episode which turned into me setting my DVR and gleefully awaiting new episodes.
Because you know what...no those are not what people from NJ are like because them bitches (love the phrase btw) are from New York. They just live in NJ. Except for one of them. One of them, I will not validate my obsession by naming her, is from NJ....and her accent? OMG, I can not get enough of it. Its like this fucked up cure to any home sickness I might have. Her voice and emphatic hand waving is like a warm cozy blanket that makes me feel like I'm home nestled among the strip malls and McMansions.
Because that's what Jersey girls really do sound like.
It's like butta.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Monday, June 1, 2009
Monday, May 18, 2009
**All before pictures taken by Spouse while I was in NJ and he had the inspiration and drive to just move everything without
Before: Eat in kitchen.
After: It's a playroom!
Before: Playroom/Office (desk already removed).
Please note I have no idea, how or why, I bought red couches when I was specifically looking for blue couches. This caused 6 weeks of total consumer remorse and panic until they finally arrived.
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Monday, May 4, 2009
Friday, April 24, 2009
The theater we went to was one from my younger years; top of the line circa 1992.
The last time I was there was the winter of 2005 when I watched a Gummi bear travel across Middle Earth.
When I took my seat I was shocked at how, erm, small it seemed. I wondered...had they made the seats smaller or had my ass just become that much bigger....
At the end of the show the lights came on and I absorbed my dated surroundings. Examining the seats, I rationalized and justified.
It was the seats fault. It had to be.
Cause' you know...it couldn't possibly be my ass.
Friday, April 17, 2009
With my desktop, everyday I felt like this...
Sunday, April 5, 2009
I don't remember the name of my 3rd grade teacher. Or the kids in my class. I don't really remember my classrooms or my bus stop.
But what I do remember was my best friend in the world, Heather, who lived two doors down. She was blond and beautiful and every one loved her. She had a queen size bed and a chocolate poodle named Coco. She had a piano and her mother let her eat spray cheese.
My mother scoffed at such requests. I thought I was neglected. No poodle! No over sized bed! NO CHEESE??
Heather and I used to collect gypsy moth caterpillars and make "homes" for them in her sandbox. We would crawl into the thicket in the woods and watch the sun filter through the leaves. We would put her Holly Hobbie dolls into her play baby carriage and walk them around on her drive way.
Heather was always the mommy and I was always the baby sitter. She said it had to be that way beacause she was older.
I have no memories of Heather ever being at my house.
One of my only young childhood school memories is from Kindergarten. I remember hiding underneath a table with my fingers plugging my ears. I remember belting out "The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow" to drown out the teasing chants of my fellow classmates. I remember Heather leading the pack. I have foggy recollections of sitting alone at recess while the other kids, following Heather, played "keep away" from me.
I never told my mother and I always went to Heather's house after school to play.
I clearly remember being in her basement with her puppy. I picked him up and spun really fast in a circle. When I put the dog down it wavered while walking. I felt awful. I still do. My adult self knows why I did it, but still I can not reconcile myself with it, to me it was cruel even then. I feel it speaks of my character but at the time I felt trapped inside myself with my feelings and I had no one to talk to.
I didn't know I was supposed to talk to someone. I thought I was supposed to just feel that way. That was how things were.
Heather moved that year. I only saw her once after. I went to her new house to play. I remember her new room and her things. I remember sitting in the back of her fathers car with her singing Johnny 'B' Goode. She made fun of me because I didn't know all of the words and told me I couldn't sing with her anymore.
My mother always said "I was delightful until I entered school". She thought it was the structure, she thought it was the curriculum. She said maybe I was bored, maybe I needed something more tailor made to the way my mind worked.
I was sent to private school in the 4th grade. My problems with other kids, teachers and discipline continued until I was in high school.
Had I been raised in today's society I believe I would have been 'labeled' and most likely medicated.
I've never really talked about this to anyone. I certainly have never breathed a word to anyone about the puppy. It shames me.
I am terrified for my daughter. I am so afraid of what her future may hold for her. The cruelty of children. The harsh and cold things that mold us into who we are just as much as the beautiful things. I see her compliance, her patience and how she yields to other babies and I'm afraid for her; she is so timid.
This story is only the beginning. For all of the wonder my childhood held there were dark secrets that I never speak of. Memories deep inside. I know the ugliness that can exist for a little girl and I have a fierce need to protect mine.
I just don't know how.
Friday, April 3, 2009
We are buying new couches. (Totally hated the denim ones. Its amazing how things look more comfortable on the internet then in real life). As a direct result of the new couch purchase (still to be made) we are rearranging our entire house. I assure you before/after pictures will follow.
I bought new bras! Of the non-nursing variety!! I can not express how thrilling it is to lean over to pick up
And the best part of stimulating the economy?
This baby replaces my 2001 desktop with 0% capacity. So bad that I can't even update the virus protection, I have to wait 20 minutes for a website to load and if I win a game of Scrabble the whole system crashes.
And I win a lot.
8 more days until delivery.....
Friday, March 27, 2009
I was assigned the task of sifting through the tower of jewelry boxes to separate the costume from the sentimental from the genuine articles.
When I was done I was a sobbing mess curled in the middle of my parents king sized bed.
I lay clutching a red leather box in one hand....and in the other my mother's engagement ring.
From the time I was very small I was always fascinated by it. She didn't wear it often but when she did oh how I was drawn to it! "Sparkle plenty" she would say, waving her fingers so the diamond would catch the light. She wore it when they went out, or for a special occasion with a matched diamond wedding band. It was dazzling.
A far cry from the plain gold braided band that adorned her finger on most days.
When my sobs began to subside I held it up to the winter sun streaming through the window. It's prisms danced across the bed spread as I turned it this way and that. I examined it from all sides and tried to memorize it's every facet while picturing it on her hand.
It left an imprint in my palm from how tightly I squeezed it. Blood from a stone; tears from a diamond; I felt like I was letting the last little bit of her go when I returned it to it's box. I brought the humble pile of jewelry to my father and fell so deep into depression that there was no light. There were no prisms for longer then I can even remember.
Eventually, I healed. Slowly. I forgot the rings size, it's sparkle, it's details. I reached a point where if asked I could only assure its existence but nothing else.
That was until I found myself sitting on a piece of driftwood on the northern California coast. I felt Then Future Spouse shift beside me and I looked over to see him perched on one knee.
He held a red leather box in his outstretched hand; nestled in it was the most beautiful ring I had ever seen. My mothers ring. My ring.
He said wonderful things. I said yes and cried. It was more then I ever thought that moment could have been.
Unlike my mother I wear it everyday. Even filthy from soap scum and lotion it still flashes in the sun. Clean; it could blind you. It still dazzles me.
Riley loves to finger it, she says "prewwy" and tries to pull it from my hand. I tell her how much her grandmother would have loved her, that the "pretty" is a piece of her. I tell her to have patience. Someday...a day further away from today then either of us could ever imagine it will be hers.
Because that is how I want it passed on. From mother to daughter. Sparkle plenty.
Friday, March 20, 2009
How toddlers help clean.
You see the ugly couch? What you don't see is the black industrial photography studio (thank you RIT) tape holding it all together. And the ugly rug? Well that I will spare you the close up of. Just ewwwww.
So here is where you come in. Help me spend my tax return.
and this (with ottoman) ala 'Cindy Crawfords Collection' at Raymour and Flanigan...
Or should I stick with a sectional? If you were coming over for a gathering** lets say...where would you want to sit? Would you find a 3 seat sofa (remember someone must park it on the crack because there are only 2 pillows) and chair/ottoman enough seating?
Would you want to put your footsies on this?
There is a little blue in there right?
Just pretend you see it, its on sale and its Pottery Barn.
**Where a gathering indicates 6-8 people for informal food and company.
***Edited to add that I don't like the throw pillows so much. Cause in now way do those things go with that rug.
Monday, March 16, 2009
After another failed attempt at socialization today for me and Riley at the park, I went to Target and bought 7 different types of cheese.
If thats not depression I don't know what is.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
The Wood Song by the Indigo Girls ties my Blanket Girls...my best friends and me together.
I was listening to Bob Marley's Acoustical Medley the moment when my mother slipped away.
These are the songs I hear in my head everyday of my life. They are the songs I always come back to; the ones I am always humming.
When I am not humming "Give me back that fillet of fish, give me that fish..." Seriously, someone help me!
From the moment I knew Riley was growing inside me I began to sing to her. Everyday of my pregnancy and every day of the last 15 months. They are varied fun tunes, theme songs or the aforementioned commercial.
Give me back that smelly dipe, give me that dipe....
The first night in the hospital I held her sleeping body close to me. I found the words to a song I have always known, and knew in that moment that it would always be hers. That night, and every night after I have sung her The Beatles, I Will.
I nursed her and rocked her. I would sing it and then hum it before finally settling her peacefully in her crib.
While I am no longer nursing her I am still singing to her...its our bedtime ritual.
But I wonder for how long. She grows restless for more books or for her bed. It is crystal clear to me in these moments how quickly she is growing and changing. How fast she makes up her own mind.
Sometimes I worry that this song will fall away one day to be one I only sing to myself.
But them I remember the times she has heard it on the radio and has raced towards me. "Mamamamamamama..." Shes climbed into my lap and snuggled for a minute before racing back away.
I know little moments like that will be a fleeting gift as she grows. But she will always be mine, I will always remember and I promise I will always sing for her and to her.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
People ask me how I am...my answer; It could be worse.
It's the first thing I said when I was diagnosed 3 years ago. I don't have cancer right? It could be worse.
I couldn't feel my right leg, I couldn't turn my head and walk at the same time without falling over.
It could be worse.
Then I got better, so much better...and then pregnant, and then 100% better. And when people asked me how I was I said "I've been worse".
So now that disease begins to creep back into my body, now that it starts to win the occasional battle I remind myself. It could be worse, it has been worse and if it's up to me it's not going to get any worse then it is right now.
I have gone to bed everyday for the last few weeks saying the same thing. 3 years ago you could stick a needle in my right ankle and I wouldn't have felt it. Today, that is not the case and I think I would kick you if you tried.
So I lay my head on my pillow and repeat it again and again and I concentrate on my left eye. In the morning maybe my vision wont be as blurry. A week from now maybe I won't be getting headaches anymore from straining to see. 3 years from now I will look back at this time in my disease and remember.
It's been worse.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Originally I avoided returning to my thrice weekly injections because I thought it would mean I had to stop breast feeding (and I was like totally La Leche crazy about breast feeding). For a year I risked my own health to continue nursing.
When my doctors told me I no longer had a choice I was devastated. Nursing was so second nature, so much a part of my relationship with my child that I couldn't, wouldn't walk away. I became my own advocate. I started researching and talking and investigating.
At the end of a month I was privy to information that is not so easy to come by. And for the benefit of any other woman with MS who needs the answers to the same questions I had, I say wrap your Google keywords around this.
Multiple Sclerosis, Breast Feeding, Nursing, Rebif, Interferon.
Here is what I found out.
Nursing and taking Rebif is possible. I was given information from my local lactation consultant who used a book written by a Dr. Hale. I brought this research to my doctors and the baby's doctor. They are fully supportive of the information I found.
The drug company has a blanket statement of "don't do it" because they a) have done insufficient research and b) refuse legal responsibilities. I get that. But it's not the whole story.
Dr. Hale has done studies on breast feeding mothers and this drug. He has tested the milk.
Rebif is an Interferon. A protein naturally produced in the human body.
On a molecular level it is too large to pass into breast milk in measurable amounts.
Even if it did, the reason why it's an injectable is because the GI track of the human body destroys it.
Call me crazy but that was good enough for me and I am still nursing. Granted Riley is 15 months old and can go days without wanting it, but if she asks it's there.
I only wish I had taken hold of the situation sooner. Because while medication is no cure for MS, it can certainly slow its progression....and that's what it has been doing for the last year. Progressing.
Nursing or not nursing is a personal choice. Dealing with this disease and negotiating the options is personal. No one is going to do it for you, no one is going to make your choices.
I agonized over this decision. Even with the knowledge I have today I would still have waited 6 months before returning to the medication, but I would have been informed. Personally, I like to know all sides of a story.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Well ok, I can. It was like 5 minutes ago on The New Girls new news.
The thing is though I try to subscribe to the "If you can't say anything nice" theory. And lately I just haven't been up to nice.
Whats dragged me from my hole? This...
Where is Clink? Where is Clink?
Hope you're ok! Hope you're ok!
We miss your witty self We miss your witty self
Come back please Come back please
Sung to the tune of "where is thumbkin"
That was a comment from Swiggy. Too much right. So I figured I owed maybe a teeny little update to my reader(s).
Well...I'm not up for it. It's just too much right now. In the thick of it you see.
So. Something I have spent a good amount of time thinking about these last few months.
Fucking Sesame Street.
Right...so, when Riley turned one I realized that crap! I had never let this kid watch TV
This is what I have learned and I am none too happy.
Snuffalufagus is no longer invisible. WTF?
Elmo is the MC leaving poor Big Bird to sit on a door step and shake a cup for spare change just so he and Snuffy can get by one more day.
Oh and on that Elmo thing...totally baby crack. Riley is obsessed, this is her guy. So much so that when an older episode comes on when Big Bird was still top puppet, she points and whines at the TV until I make Elmo magically appear with the power of my modern day DVR.
Oscar the Grouch has a girlfriend. ummm....
Maria and Gordon NEVER age....which makes me wonder...are they perhaps puppets? Because they look just as fresh as they did in "Follow That Bird" which is the last time I remember seeing them.
The little letter and number of the day skits are EXACTLY the same as 20 years ago.
Bert and Ernie totally don't get any play and I wonder if it's because of all the rumors.
Elmo has a chick in his life called "Abby" and she is a fairy and can fly and talk to her Mommy through her wand. They are reaching here right? Or is it just me?
Regardless, Riley loves this stuff so I suffer through. I buy the merchandise and make her Elmo dance for her at bed time because it makes her laugh and laugh.
And that's what its all about right? Making them happy? Even if it means we have to buy into imaginary friends no longer being imaginary and furry little monsters who refer to themselves in the third person all the time! So maddening.
But in all fairness to said furry red monster. When Elmo goes to "ask a baby" in his little bit it makes me smile. And for a moment I see what Riley sees. The cutest friendliest furriest cat there ever was.
Because that's what she calls him. Loudly...and a lot....CAAAATTTTTTTT!!!!!!
Now...Promise. A real update and real comments and real involvement back in my blogger life...sooner then later.