Uppercase Woman

Yet Another Reason To Avoid Texas

OH MY GOD Ew.

Fun Days

Why are they fun? Well, let me list the reasons:

1. Tori has a cold and gave it to me.

2. Tori is breaking in not one, not two, but THREE molars.

3. Tori may have decided to switch to only one nap a day. Today she would not go down for her morning nap and wailed and wailed like she was the saddest baby in the universe when we tried.

4. Charlie and I fought over letting Tori cry it out. Wanna guess who was for crying? Clue: it ISN'T the person who is having a birthday tomorrow*.

5. Charlie and Tori's health insurance premium is going up $150/month. Bringing our household total premium to over $1,100. A MONTH. But there's no health care crisis in this country! Everything's fine! Nothing to see here! We have the best health care in the world! Yadda yadda yadda ug.

But it's not all bad. Tori's cold seems to be passing already, although my throat is killing me and my nose is running terribly. We thought her symptoms might have been related to the teething, but I don't think I can catch teething. I know right when I gave myself this cold too--we play a game where I put her binky in my mouth and she tries to pull it out. When I did that the other day, I realized the bink was covered in snot. Yummy. Perhaps we'll stop playing that game soon.

Now she's down for a nap, so at least she'll have one nap today. And if she switches to just one nap a day, she can start doing a lot of activities that start at 10am, which has been her nap time for ages. So that's good. The bad part is that I have a ton of work, and between my stuffy head and her not napping it's getting tougher.

But now I'm off to run and get cold medicine and library books. Life could be worse, eh?

*Charlie turns 45 tomorrow. Head on over to his blog and remind him he's still sexy, would ya?

Faith & Trust

The other day at a recovery meeting the leader shared on the idea of trust, and how--for her--being sober has helped her learn to trust people, trust recovery, and trust God.

I found myself scoffing at her and her shining-faced happiness. I thought to myself, "Well, clearly, nothing really bad has happened to her yet." And, condescendingly, "Well, she's still pretty new to recovery, she'll see--it gets harder." Many folks that then shared talked about the connection between trust and faith; I found this equally galling. Even though I know many of them have suffered horribly over the last few years.

I worked hard to listen, though, while shutting up my inner voice. And I realized that I envied them all that simple trust and faith--I miss it. For years I felt very connected to God, and was very grounded in sobriety and I had lots of faith and trust that things were going to be, all in all, OK.

Of course, you all know what happened. Infertility fucking happened. During the early years of that struggle I felt like I was being punished by God. For what? Maybe my previous years of slutty behavior, or for not taking care of myself, or for being fat. I wrestled with this the first few years, but I managed to hold on to just a shred of faith. I could still pray, I could still trust, and I still believed that God was watching out for me.

Then we lost the boys, and that shred of faith turned into a tattered thread, and then it disappeared completely.

I didn't realize that I was still suffering from a lack of trust and faith now until I heard that woman speak about it. I realized then that I was still roiling with anger and resentment toward God. That I don't believe in my heart of hearts that God has my best interests in mind.

I thought I'd gotten better thanks to Tori. Holding her close, smelling her sweet neck, listening to her laugh--I thought that it was there that I saw God again. But that's not really true. Where I once believed in a personal God--one that heard my prayers, one that held me in the palm of his or her hand--now I believe only in a hazy, distant God that could care less about me personally. I believe in the overall flow of the universe; that it's possible to direct yourself into a negative or positive flow of universal energy based on your actions. But prayer is just spitting in the wind--no one cares, and no one is listening.

I don't like feeling this way; I was much happier when I really felt like I was cradled in God's hand, safe and cared for. Shit, who wouldn't? But I feel now that if there is a personal God (personal to me, that is) he or she is kind of an asshole, and full of arbitrary moods and inclinations. A God like that is impossible to trust. It's like trusting an abusive parent. Seductive, compelling, and impossible.

But I've been continuing to behave in a spiritual way, even if I don't feel particularly spiritual. I have continued to go to church (missing the last few Sundays notwithstanding). I go to meetings. I participate in my church's online prayer circle, dutifully bowing my head and praying over for the health and joy of others. I hold hands with everyone at a meeting and mouth the words to the closing prayer.

Basically, I've been acting as if I have faith.

Recovery is based largely on the idea of "acting as if." In recovery, we believe that you first have to change your behavior and then eventually your mind and heart will catch up (somewhat the opposite of most therapy). It worked for me in my first few months sober; I just acted as if I didn't want to use alcohol and drugs so badly that my eyeballs hurt. Eventually, I didn't want to use anymore. So I figure I'll just continue acting as if I have faith until I find myself willing to have a better opinion of God. I don't know when that will happen, or even if it will ever happen. But what else can I do?

Luckily, it turns out I'm in good company. It was with great interest that I heard this last week that Mother Theresa, of all people, struggled this same way. It turns out that her letters reveal a profound spiritual crisis, one that left her bereft and angry. In one letter, she says:

"Jesus has a very special love for you ... [but] as for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great, that I look and do not see, — Listen and do not hear — the tongue moves [in prayer] but does not speak ... I want you to pray for me — that I let Him have [a] free hand."

She gets right to the heart of the matter, doesn't she? I find that I feel the same way--YOU all get to have a kind and benevolent God, but me? Not so much. For me as well, the silence and emptiness is so great. It feels impossible to overcome, no matter how glorious Tori's giggles.

I have no idea how to cross this hurdle. It is so immense and solid. I don't want to be this way--I want Tori to look at me and see a woman that believes the best about the world, people, and God. I want her to be open to the idea of God working in her life, and not stymied by my lack of faith and her father's lack of belief (oh, I still believe--yes, indeed).

But I feel better knowing I'm in good company, that others lived a spiritual way of life even while they didn't believe. I never thought I'd have much in common with Mother Theresa,  much less discover that she's put words in my mouth. But I feel a lot less alone knowing that is true.

OK! OK! I'll GIVE THE TV UP!

It's funny. Out of all those comments I got, only a handful of folks said, "That's too much TV!" OK, plus a bunch of people sent me private emails. But those are the ones that are sticking with me.

I do feel uncomfortable with it. I guess that's why I brought it up. So we're going to try to cut it down and see how she does. But I do have to say a handful of things in my defense. Ready?

1. Tori is not, at all, mesmerized by the television. When it's on, she looks it at now and then, but mostly she runs around the living room. She plays with her toys, she reads her books, and sometimes--if there is music on the television--she dances to it. If she plopped down on her butt in front of it and was hypnotized, we would have cut it out a while ago.

2. I don't allow her to watch anything that is too loud, to frantic, or too stupid. She watches few or no commercials if I can help it. We like to choose shows that feature music.

3. Sesame Street taught me to read.

Let's talk about that third one.

My television time was pretty restricted as a kid. I watched those early PBS shows, like Sesame Street (first generation!) and The Electric Company. There was also Zoom!  My mom let me watch M*A*S*H sometimes, and I hovered around when she watched the news (I still remember footage from Vietnam). I wasn't allowed to watch cartoons (too violent) but I did sometimes turn the TV on with no sound before my mom woke up to watch them (sorry Mom) on Saturday mornings. Of course the TV died when I was five and my mom never replaced it, so after that my viewing was restricted to other people's houses (which really fucked me when I played TV tag at school).

The summer before I started first grade I went to stay with my paternal Grandmother for a few weeks. She had been an elementary school teacher, and to entertain me (or distract me) she gave me a bunch of early reading workbooks she still had lying around even though she'd retired. Thanks to the solid foundation I had in the alphabet from Sesame Street (and my mom, too, but Sesame Street made it visual), I taught myself to read.

By the time I got to first grade, I was able to easily read books (even chapter books).

Admittedly, this caused no end of trouble for me. When I returned the first grade reader to the teacher a day or two after she distributed it and asked her for the next one, she was completely flummoxed. She asked me to read some of it to her, which I did, then to read some other books to her, which I did. Finally she pulled a novel out of her purse and had me read that to her.

Eventually, she and my mother managed to argue my way into second grade, but I still read better than all my classmates. Today I still read voraciously (three books a week or so), and quickly (I read so fast that when Sarah and I were first roommates, she thought I was faking it).

So even though Sesame Street isn’t now what it once was (I have a DVD of the old show, though), it’s still pretty good. I’m going to let Tori still watch an episode while she eats breakfast.

But right now she’s sitting at my feet playing with pointy kitchen utensils* while we play classical music on the radio. That’s better, right?

_________________________________________________________

So here is something that is really fucking weird.

A few weeks ago I decided to join the 52 Weeks project on Flickr; so every week for the next year I'm going to take a self-portrait and post it to the group. Sound familiar? It is--I'm totally imitating Sarah and her 365 project (now in year two!). But imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, no?

So my first shot was nice and tame, my second one was funny, and I decided to really go for it with the third one. Don't click on it at work--might not be work appropriate. After all, with Sarah as my mentor, it means there has to be nudity. I thought that it would be really wild to take close up shots of my nipples with milk coming out of them.

So I did, and they came out cool. But in the process I got milk everywhere, and I ended up tasting some from both nipples (what? you don't lick it off when it gets on your hands?). And here's what's fucked up and weird: the milk? from my left nipple? IT TASTES BITTER AND SALTY. But the milk from the right boob? Just as sweet as ever.

Tori hasn't been nursing on the left side for a while, and no fucking wonder! Has this happened to anyone else? For some reason I'm completely freaked out by this.


*Tori's playing with a whisk and a bowl. Obviously I was kidding.

Arg! Fucking Rain

It has been raining for what feels like forever here in Philly. It's really only been since Saturday, but still--we've been trapped in the house for the most part (except for yesterday's excursion). The dog is starting to go a bit insane, chasing his tail around the living room and knocking over the baby while he does it. She doesn't seem to mind much, thank god.

As a result--when I've finally hit the point where sitting on the floor while Tori whacks me in the head with toys as is no longer fun--we've been leaning pretty heavily on the television. I've been checking out some new shows on our cable's "on demand" section, and all I can say is GOD BLESS ON DEMAND--no fucking toy commercials. Between that and PBS we've been able to remain somewhat sane.

We've discovered the Noggin shows. Menita told me about them a long time back (when she was hosting a blorgy at her place), but it took me a bit to check them out myself. To my surprise, I've found I like them nearly as much as I like the PBS stuff.

Over the last few days, I've completely developed a crush on Steve from Blue's Clues (not Joe--blech Joe. Luckily, all the on demand episodes are Steve). It helps that Steve looks a lot like my friend Jim G. did in high school--Jim was one of the sweetest young men I'd ever met back then, and the first male I knew that was a genuine feminist. Steve's wide eyed wonder and sly asides make Blue's Clues great fun--plus, now I can sing all those silly songs. And yes, Charlie and I have both been known to break out into song as a result, say, when the mail comes. I think our mail carrier is slightly terrified at the thought of the two of us wagging our tails when he comes.

The other show I totally fucking LOVE is Jack's Big Music Show. Seriously, I would watch it by myself. I love the opening thing where his mom says something crazy ("Jack, it's almost time for your polka lessons!"), I love the first song (I sing it so loudly that Tori stops watching the TV and starts watching me), I love the little musical interludes, the wacky guests (even if most of them are the same woman). And Jon Stewart was even on an episode! I hope Tori grows to like the show as much as I do.

Other shows have begun to become slightly, well, creepy. Like, seriously--what the fuck is up with Thomas the Train? The more I watch it (and we watch it to honor Charlie's train hobby), the more fucked up and twisted it seems to me. Someone is always showing off and getting into trouble, and when the trains have their mean faces on I find myself wanting to change the channel. Plus, as Charlie frequently points out, whenever Alec Baldwin is narrating we keep waiting for him to call one of the trains a "rude little pig." I'm finding myself less entranced with Bob the Builder as well; it just does nothing for me. And the newer episodes of Sesame Street? The ones with the stupid "funky" remake of the song, and the CGI critters? UG. I hate, hate, hate them.

I worry that we let Tori watch too much TV; but honestly, it's nearly impossible to get her to eat these days if the TV isn't on to keep her in the living room (she won't eat at all in the high chair now unless we're out). Throw in trying to work at home (my office is now in the kitchen so she can wander in the living room and dining room), and I have to rely on it a bit or I'd never get any work done. Charlie doesn't worry about it--after all, his mom plopped him in front of the TV since he was a tiny infant and he's fine, right? But I didn't have a television as a kid (well, I did until I was five) and it made me the big reader that I am today.

We do read to Tori every day (although I have to say, her godmother Sarah is much better at reading books aloud than I am); she brings her books to us and asks us to read them (OK, she thrusts them at us until we begin reading). Tori also sees me reading, often while she's playing or even when her dad is watching something on television. I take Tori with me to the library when I go, and I plan to take her to the library story times as soon as they don't conflict with her naps (they are all at 10am, exactly when she's napping). I really want to instill a love of reading in her, particularly if we are going to home school her (which is more and more likely if I am still able to work from home).

How do you all balance it? Are you all perfect moms following the American Academy of Pediatrics recommendations and not allowing any TV before two years old? How much do you let your kids watch? Between Sesame Street in the morning (she watches--wince--two episodes in a row most days, and with the other stuff, she's probably been seeing about three to four hours a day's worth of kid's programing; she also probably sees a bit more of adult programing, news, that sort of thing. More on rainy days. But--and I feel compelled to write a "but" here because I don't want to look like a rotten mother--she also gets a daily walk outside, we go to the pool when we can, we take her on adventures like that boat ride around the city (she still plays with the duck-noise toy they gave her), and we do interact with her extensively.

It's all a big balancing act, isn't it? Sigh. I'd love to hear what you do about your kids and TV, and--because this could be one of those topics--let's all be nice and non-judgmental, eh? Feel free to judge me, but don't judge the other commentors, m'kay?

It Was Raining, But We Went Out Anyway

Visited Tyler Arboretum's butterfly exhibit with Sarah. Somehow we thought it would be inside. Oh well. It's been raining for three days and we had to get out. Hope you enjoy my little photo montage! Full photo set here (look for Sarah's photos too). And yes, there was only one butterfly out cause of the rain.

Blue...

I've been suffering from a mild case of the blues of late. No reason, really; just feeling old, tired, fat, and bored. You know, the usual. Heh.

I can see where the problems lie; I'm not exercising anymore, for one. When I first quit my job to work from home I had a great plan (and for a while I even carried it out) of taking the baby and the dog for a walk every morning. But then it got hotter than fuck, and it's really hard for me to find the willingness to strap the baby to my back and walk with her when it's 95 degrees out with 95% humidity.

Plus as Tori gets more mobile, I am finding it harder to get buckled down and working as efficiently as I should. Charlie and I are trying to find a way to balance it, but it means I end up doing my work early in the morning, then while she naps, and then while she naps again, and when she's gone to bed. I don't really like working at ten o'clock at night, or at six in the morning. I know it will shake out, but it's been a bit of a challenge lately.

Then there are the migraines; better now, but still--I have a headache of some sort every single day. No, really.

Then there are the constantly dying cats--we've lost three in the last year. It's not a shock--they were all incredibly old, and I always knew that once they started to go it would happen really fast. First it was Spot with her stroke, and then Frank with his incessant vomiting, and now Fifi. And now Dylan is biting Tori, and I don't really know what to do. My last (joking) post notwithstanding, I would never torture an old cat by making him adjust to a new home at this point in his life--or ask someone to take him in and love him for only a short while. Torture all around. But I don't know what steps I'll take if he actually hurts her by biting her (these two bites were really just scratches--her feelings were hurt more than her arms). I'd hate to resort to keeping him in the basement (even if it is finished), but I might have to, at least during the day when she's awake. Ug. I hate this. I suppose there is the slightest chance that she'll choose to avoid him now. I really hope so.

I stopped eating wheat for about two weeks to see if it would help the migraines, but I didn't notice any change. I know I need to give it longer, and I will try--of course I ate all kinds of wheat yesterday. Just cause.

Sigh.

I know, also, that some of this is lack of sleep. Thursday night I was just about to fall asleep when the baby woke up to nurse, and then I heard a noise in the bedroom closet, and then the dog freaked out, and the next thing I knew I had a screaming baby and I was trying to catch a bat flying around my bedroom naked. Not the bat--the bat had fur. I was naked. I'm not afraid of bats, particularly (in fact, the last bat that got in the house I successfully caught in a towel and released outside). But I don't like catching them while I'm naked, and I certainly did not want to try to go to sleep with a bat in my bedroom. It finally got out the way it got in (that's a whole other story). But it took me hours to fall asleep.

Then Friday night I went out to celebrate Catherine's upcoming nuptials, and even though she was totally not into the idea of strippers we managed to con her into karaoke at a crazy busy bar downtown. I didn't get home until late and it took hours again to wind down.

Then last night I simply could not sleep. No reason.

So, anyway, I'm now blathering--but you get my point. I'm blue, and it could be for any number of reasons. Including the fact that now it's cold and rainy here. Sigh. Just call me the self-pity goddess. Heh.

How are you?

Free To A Good Home

One old, curmudgeonly, cranky cat, somewhere around 14 or 15 years old. Overweight, white with gray spots. Requires routine shaving because of inability to groom, related to an old back injury incurred while jumping off a chair. Eats compulsively all available cat food and prevents other cats from eating enough. Doesn't particularly care for litter pans, prefers basement carpet. Not at all friendly, will bite more often than purr. Whines rather than meows, and demands all bowls containing milk be shared, and will bite feet when NOT shared.

Not safe around children, having bitten toddler twice in the last 24 hours and has now developed a taste for it. Toddler's feelings (and her arm) were hurt, because other cat in the house is very sweet to baby. As is the 100lb pit bull.

Anyone interested?

Pointless (but cute) Video Post

Tori being adorable. Oh, and Charlie and I discussing eggs.

Ack

Charlie and I are having a hell of a time adjusting to Tori's newfound mobility. Yesterday we bought some new baby gates because what we've been using as a gate is no longer secure enough to keep Tori out of anything. She's apparently able to transform herself into smoke and slip through any gap that's at least a quarter of an inch wide.

After the stair climbing incident (my heart still quails at the thought of her climbing those stairs by herself--they aren't carpeted or anything, just plain hardwood--arg!), we knew we needed some sort of gate we could put at the bottom of the stairs, so after several attempts (Ikea didn't have any, sorry Beth!) to find inexpensive gates, we finally broke down and went to Giant Baby Store to buy what they had.

So we bought a nice, sleek wall-mounted gate for the bottom of the stairs but I forgot one minor detail: plaster. Fucking plaster walls.

I don't know why, but all the houses in Philadelphia have walls made out of plaster. This means it is virtually impossible to hammer even the slimmest and most delicate of nails into the walls without causing fist-sized chunks of plaster to fall out. I suppose it's good--plaster won't burn, after all--but it is damned infuriating.

So even though we bought this lovely gate system for the stairs, we had to put the locking mechanism at the bottom on the molding (which is, thankfully, wood) meaning that if you are coming down the stairs you need someone else at the bottom of the stairs to let you out. And, as a bonus, because of the shape of our first banister post, you can't open the gate all the way--meaning I have to hold my gut in and slide past it, and will probably cause it to break from the strain eventually. We may have to saw a chunk of the banister off.

Grrrrrrr.

When I win the lottery, and can build my own house from the ground up, I am going to have all of the walls built like an art gallery--with half-inch plywood underneath the drywall. That way you can hang yourself off of a god damned nail you've driven into the wall.

______________________________________________

I'm worried that Tori is going to lose an eye before her second birthday. Last week she gave herself her third black eye in her very short life by falling on her doll stroller (hmmm, perhaps that's why it says you must be three years old to play with it?).  Luckily, her eyeball was fine even though her upper eyelid was swelled to nearly closed. For three days she looked like Tori Balboa.

Am I a bad parent? Is this really just normal for new walkers? Tori falls constantly. Constantly! She has no muscle tone issues, I'm sure of that--she's extremely agile and flexible and can climb anything and get back up from any fall without a problem. She almost never cries when she falls either. I just feel like, surely, there is something else I should be doing to keep her safe.

Why do I feel like that is going to be my battle cry for the rest of my life?

Sexism, TV, and I'm Glad I Live in This Era (even with George Bush)

Lately Charlie and I have been scouring the bottom of the barrel for stuff to watch on TV (ah, summer), and as a result have become fans of the new AMC show Mad Men. The show had created a lot of buzz (particularly on NPR--you could practically hear the cream hitting the jeans during the reviews). I thought I'd missed it, but thanks to the advent of our cable's "on demand" service, we've been able to watch the show from the beginning.

Charlie has always been fascinating by other eras, and Mad Men perfectly captures the officeplace of the late 1950's in Manhattan--and since Charlie's parents met in a very similar situation (finance, though, not advertising), he's riveted by the show. There are some very funny moments--in one scene, two kids are playing and one little girl is wearing a dry cleaning bag. Upon seeing this her mother calls her over and says, "Missy, if the dry cleaning that was in that bag is all over the closet floor, you are in serious trouble." Then she sends her off to go suffocate (ok, the little girl doesn't suffocate, but you get my meaning). It really reflects the many changes in attitudes over the last 50 years.

I like the show as well, but sometimes it can be a bit hard to take. First off, the smoking... oh my god, no television show or movie has made me want to start smoking again more (it's been over nine years since I quit). Lord, do they ever smoke (as EVERYONE did back then). Secondly, the drinking. On the second episode one of the characters sips his drink and then glances at his glass and says, "There you are." I could practically taste it. It's amazing these people have time to eat what with the drink in one hand and the cigarette in the other.

But the biggest problem I have with the show is the fucking sexism. It's not being deliberately misogynistic--not at all. It is merely accurately portraying what it was like for women at that time in history. It is damned painful to watch as the women are belittled, harassed, and betrayed routinely. In the second episode, the wife of the main character goes to a psychiatrist due to "nerves" (she has a lot of anxiety about things like, oh, her husband cheating on her). After her first appointment, her husband calls the psychiatrist to discuss her case. Ye gods.

Watching the show has led to some interesting discussions between Charlie and I. Because of his fascination with past eras (particularly the 1930's and 40's), he often feels he was born at the wrong time. He was genuinely surprised when I said that there is no other era in which I would want to be a woman than the one I'm in now--in fact, I wouldn't mind being a woman 50 years from now if the trends of the last thirty years continued (the last eight years notwithstanding). I know that I have had it better than my mother did, and Tori will have it even better than I did (God willing).

Charlie actually tried to argue the point with me a bit. But for God's sake--it's been less than 100 years since we've been allowed to vote. My grandmother had to quit her successful teaching career to raise her kids (although she returned to it later). My mother had difficulty opening a checking account after her divorce (in 1970) without a signature from either her husband or father. In eight grade, I was told by my (female) teacher that I was breaking the law by having my mother's maiden name and not my father's name (she was very, very wrong). When I took Driver's Ed in high school (in 1984),  my teacher (a man) told us matter-of-factly that women were terrible drivers. Until the Clarence Thomas senate confirmation hearings, no one talked about sexual harassment, except to dismiss it as being "no big deal." Sexism has still been alive and thriving in my lifetime.

It's funny to me that Sarah's daughter, who is 11 now, will have little sense of this (although body facism has gotten worse for her, I think--but that's another entry). This is even more true for Tori. What's even more amazing is that there is a chance that Tori will never know a world that didn't have a female president of the United States. Can you imagine? I mean, my mother told me that I could become president when I grew up--but Tori might actually believe it.

Of course, the issues surrounding choice in the last ten years have set us back considerably. After all, they are now trying to pass laws demanding that the biological father of a child has to give permission for a pregnancy termination. While on the face of it that might not sound so bad; but imagine if Charlie were a different man and insisted that his son's life was of more value than mine and refused to give permission to terminate my pregnancy with the twins? Well, I sure as hell wouldn't be writing this entry today, now would I?

I'm hardly happy with the current status of women's rights; I mean, I would have LOVED the Equal Rights Amendment to pass back in 1983.  I would feel much better about the world Tori is going to grow up in if that had become law. But even so, I'm so glad I wasn't born in an earlier, more restrictive era. I mean, after all, think of the trouble I would have gotten into back then!

Money, Money, Money--oh holy shit! **EDITED**

I was just beginning to type this post when Charlie hollered in alarm upstairs.

Tori had broken through her living room barricade and climbed upstairs. The ENTIRE flight of stairs. While I was working.

Holy shit.

Off to buy a better baby gate for the bottom of the steps. We have one we use at the top but it doesn't work downstairs. Oh boy.

___________________________________________

Back to the original point of this post.

So, I've been doing some freelance work for a guy that specializes in Internet marketing. As a swap, he's agreed to take a look at my site and tell me how I can make some money with it (much more effectively than I do with the Blogads, which pay me very little and take up a huge amount of space).

I would love to be someone that didn't need to pursue this, someone who was a "pure" blogger that had no ads on my site. But he thinks he can help earn enough to pay off my monthly cable bill (TV, phone, and Internet in one fell swoop)--just for starters! And now that I'm working from home, and trying to stay afloat as a freelancer every little bit helps. A lot.

So, I'm going to look into it. You guys are my faithful readers, some of you have read my blog for more than three years. If you will be tolerant of this little change, I make you the following promises:

1. I will always blog at least four times a week, unless I'm on vacation or have been hit by a bus.
2. I will post photos and/or a video blog post featuring Tori at least once a week.
3. I will swear just as much and stay just as liberal as I am now (sorry, some of you)
4. I won't change what I write for advertisers (although you may continue to see reviews)
5. I will work to keep gross and sexist ads off this site.

OK?

OK.

So, in the spirit of this new venture, could you take a moment and fill out this survey? There are only ten questions, and it will help me figure out the whole ad thing.

Click Here to take survey  **Oh, shit. I guess you don't get much for free! It only let 100 people respond. Damn it all. Sorry, guys!**

Thanks. And sorry. But thanks. :)

14 Months

My darling Tori Anne,

Today you are fourteen months old! While I am still amazed by this fact, your continued presence in our lives make me feel less and less startled by the passage of time these days. You are clearly getting older, and you are clearly here, in our lives, being your perfect self. So for the first time I feel happy to recognize another milestone in the beginning of your long, long (long, long, long) life without that shaky giddiness of "I can't believe it's true!" You are here, you are staying here, and you are as much a part of my life now as is my left arm (I never look down at my left arm and say, "I can't believe you're here!" anymore--I totally grew out of that when I was two). So, you are here, and you are perfect, and you are fourteen months old.

The big news, of course, is that you are walking. Just a month ago (I know, cause I checked) you were still just cruising and crawling. You took a couple of steps at the playground a month or two ago but you didn't seem all that interested in actually walking. In fact, you would cry when you walked. But then, suddenly, in the baby pool you began taking more steps, and then it was at home between the couch and the chair, and then BOOM! You were walking. Just like that.

In fact, you walk with such ease now that while we were on our week-long trek across the country, we didn't break out the stroller once. You walked from the car to the hotel room, to the restaurants, and more. We go out every evening and stroll about our neighborhood, sometimes even doing a full turn about the block. It's a lovely family event, with the dog trying to catch the neighborhood bunnies (he's very slow of course, so he never stands a chance, but he loves to try), and you picking up and eating every. single. stick. that is on the sidewalk. We love walking with you, and you love walking.

We did think we'd have just a bit more time between walking and climbing, however. The other day we were sitting together in the baby pool and you walked over to the steps and climbed out and were halfway to the big pool before I could haul my fat ass up off the ground. Yikes! When we go for our little neighborhood sojourns I have to fight to keep you off every stairway we see. I had no idea how many there were on our little block. Sheesh. I'm pretty sure you'll figure out how to crawl out of your crib much sooner than I'm ready for you to do so. I'm so sure, in fact, that while on vacation when you walked over to the bed and woke me up I thought it was because you'd crawled out of the travel crib (you hadn't--your father had taken you out and scared me near to death). It will happen, and soon, I think.

You are incredibly flexible. You allowed us to uproot your whole routine, toss you in a car, sleep in strange place, play in strange playgrounds, meet new people, eat every meal out, and bathe in strange tubs with barely a whimper. You tolerate just about anything, and that is why you are such an joy to parent and why I totally feel like I'm somehow cheating because you make it so damned easy.

You are also just so darned fun. The other afternoon you and I ran around the living room laughing at nothing for 15 minutes. Seriously; we just ran around, hands in the air, laughing at the top of our lungs like a couple of crazy people for no reason. It was awesome, and probably the most fun I'll ever have in my whole life.

You've returned to being a near-perfect sleeper, with (usually) only a single waking per night, and that waking is usually before I've gone to bed. This morning you tried to get up at 5 am, but with a little persuasion you went back to sleep and stayed in bed until almost NINE. It was lovely, for all of us. Napping is easy too; you are still taking two naps a day, each for about two hours. I thought you were working towards a single nap a day, but I was wrong. You wake up happy and chatty, usually, and always want to tell me about the toys around your crib when you first get up. It's adorable.

You are nursing less and less. These days, you nurse pretty much in the morning and right before bed and that's about it. Sometimes you'll still do the drive-by nursing in the mid-afternoon, but not often. You are just too darned busy exploring to bother nursing during the day. My left boob has nearly dried up, I think, and you spend most of your time on the right one now. I thought we'd make two years, or even at least 18 months, but I'm not sure. You seem to be losing interest fast. I'll keep offering, though.

We've had a lot of adventures this month. You rode a boat, you added three new states (Ohio, West Virginia, and Michigan) to your repertoire (previously including only Pennsylvania, New Jersey, and Delaware). You've ridden on my shoulders, been dunked in the pool (not by choice--you fell), and eaten (and rejected) all kinds of new foods. You are afraid of nothing.

You snuck in a new tooth this month without letting us know; I happened to see your bottom teeth and there was suddenly a fourth one on the bottom. Go figure! Now you just need one more on the top to be symmetrical. You'll get there.

I am so glad I'm home with you every day. I don't want to miss a moment. You are the best baby ever, and a bright shining light in the lives of everyone you know. I love you more than anything, and you are my darling baby girl, yet again. Tori Anne, I can't thank you enough for choosing us.

Blog Book Tour: Maximum Ride #3

I must be in a reviewing mood lately. Heh. I'm part of the MotherTalk blog book tour for the new young adult fantasy novel by James Patterson called Maximum Ride #3. When I saw the email asking for reviewers and it said "young adult novel, kids that can fly" and I was all like, excellent!

See, I love young adult fantasy novels. I routinely check one or two out at the library on each library trip. This shouldn't come as a shock to anyone--I mostly read fantasy or supernatural novels, whether they fall into the young adult, mystery, or even the romance genres. I love 'em all.

So it was with great excitement that I tackled this novel. I mean, all the elements are there--kids that can fly (they are bird-human hybrids); they are on the run from the 'man'; there is burgeoning romance; and they take on a big, evil corporation. What's not to like?

Turns out, for me, plenty.

It was difficult, at first, for me to put my finger on exactly what is wrong with this novel. The first thing that leaped out to me was that I couldn't tell whether the main character, Max, was male or female for quite a while. That clued me in to the fact that James Patterson has trouble writing female characters (I noticed this in the one other book I've read by him). Eventually she displayed some "nurturing" tendencies to make her femaleness obvious.

Ug.

Additionally, the main character commonly breaks the fourth wall and talks to the reader. This is not set up in anyway to make sense--such as, the book is a diary or journal left somewhere deliberately for someone to find and read. No, the main character just talks to the reader randomly throughout the book. It is distracting and completely derails the plot each time it happens. And it happens constantly.

Lastly, one of the other characters has a blog. It bothers me; not, obviously, the idea of blogging itself, but because it feels like it's completely pandering to the media's idea of kids today. Like, Mr. Patterson said to himself, "Hmmm... I hear that teenagers today are into that weird thing 'blogging'... better put it in the next book!" It's just plopped in as an awkward plot device without there being any sense of what blogging is really about. I guess I should feel grateful that he left out Myspace (in fact, the absence of Myspace seems almost deliberate--like Mr. Patterson thought about it and discarded the idea because of the negative press around Myspace these days).

According the information that arrived with the book, this series is popular (you know it's a series, by the way, because on page 10 you are admonished by the main character for not having read the other books). It's clear that they are hoping to target the audience that is now bereft (sob!) without Harry Potter.

Having just finished the last Potter book (sigh...) last night (read it in 24 hours!), I've been thinking about why J. K. Rowling's books work for me when Maximum Ride didn't. Part of it is the fact that Ms. Rowling constructs better sentences (although I agree with many that she could use a heavier editing hand), but the most obvious element is the kids themselves. They are just more believable and more present in the Potter books. There is an emotional distance to the characters in Maximum Ride that makes it hard to really invest yourself in them (although less so with the male character Fang--he's much more believable).

Also, I think that while the last Harry Potter book is incredibly violent (ah, the deaths killed me in the last one), having magic softens the blow to some extent. In Maximum Ride, there is no magic--just genetic manipulation--and the violence seems much more cruel. Actually, as I write this, I realize that the difference in the perception of the violence is that in the Potter books it's clear that Harry and his friends are all fighting for the greater good of the world; in Maximum Ride, the kids are fighting merely for their survival alone--and that seems much more stark and harsh.

I won't be reading the other Maximum Ride books. There are so many other amazing young adult novelists out there--I mean, come on!--that could better fill Potter's shoes. I hope that kids and parents take some time to explore and find them. One great candidate is the Philip Pullman trilogy that starts with The Golden Compass. I read these books years ago and they are simply marvelous--and I just saw the new trailer for the movie and it looks AMAZING. Much better choice!

I'll be checking out the other reviews to see what other moms thought, especially those that read it with their kids. If you've read it, I'd love to hear your thoughts. What other young adult novels do you love?

Hairspray

Yesterday I was feeling a bit wiggy (thanks menstruation!) and Charlie was sweet enough to kick me out of the house send me out to spend some time by myself. I decided to go check out the new movie version of the musical version of the movie Hairspray.

Did you follow all that?

I'm sure you all know the history--many moons ago (1998) the wacky and wonderful John Waters decided to change his ways and make a "mainstream" movie. After a fascinating career that included highlights like "Pink Flamingos" and "Female Trouble" he mellowed out (and left out things like recreational incest and poop eating) and created the absolutely delightful and fantastically subversive original movie of Hairspray.

Why was it subversive? Well, not because he used the fab drag queen Divine to play the mother of the main character-- although that WAS pretty fucking cool. No, it was subversive because the fat girl kicks ass and gets fame, fortune, AND the hot guy.

I absolutely and utterly LOVE the first movie. Seriously. It's one of my favorites, and when it comes on, I have to watch it. I love every little silly moment in it from Link dragging himself on stage to dance with broken knees that magically heal to Blondie's exploding wig. It's a masterpiece with an awesome soundtrack, a perfect commentary on the racial tensions in the mid-sixties, and--best of all--teenage love and self-discovery.

In the original movie, the role of Tracy Turnblad was played by the still-fat-at-the-time Ricki Lake. Sure, Ricki Lake isn't the world's best actress, but she brought a unique combination of self-confidence and ironic sexuality to the role that was just pure perfection. Best of all, Divine brought her massive personality down about ten notches to play the working-class laundress that is Tracy's mother Edna. It was a star turn by Divine, and he--oops, I mean she--was so dead-on that I never once thought about the fact that Divine had a penis (remember the scene where Tracy drags her into the hair salon? Was that not perfect?).

And that sexy love interest Link... ah, Link. The actor that played Link was so damned handsome that he was immediately cast in a movie to play the young Elvis--and rightly so (I'm sad to hear that he's left acting and is now a preacher that is unwilling to discuss his time as an actor). The scene where he makes out with Tracy in an alley is one of the best screen moments EVER (even with the rats!).

The idea of the fat girl getting the handsome guy (and stealing him from a skinny blond, no less) was deeply appealing to this then fat and single girl back in 1988. I saw the movie in the theater more than once.

So, knowing all this, you can imagine my trepidation in seeing the musical version on the big screen. I read the reviews, and thought long and hard about it. There was one major thing that made me not want to go.

John fucking Travolta.

In drag. AND a fat suit.

In BAD drag. He looks AWFUL. Did you ever notice that his eyes were that close together before? I hadn't. Yuck, yuck, yuck. Just so fucking wrong. Not convinced? Here's Divine. And here. And this is John Revolting. Ug!

This was a major mistake in my opinion. The gag in the original movie was NOT that Tracy's mother was played by a man. It was that his mother was played by a DRAG QUEEN (a "naturally" fat drag queen, no less). NOT a man in drag. See the difference? It's a crucial one, and it why John Travolta was wrong, wrong, wrong for the role.

The saddest thing, of course, is that Harvey Fierstein won Tony after Tony for his portrayal of Edna Turnblad on Broadway. Harvey is alive and well (unlike Divine) and would have been exactly the right person to play the role--at least he's been in drag for years (off and on). But I guess he wasn't a big enough draw in by Hollywood standards, and of course John Travolta has been kicking himself for years for not taking the role of Billy Flynn in the latest movie version of Chicago, so there you go (ironically, I think John Travolta would have been a much better Billy Flynn than Richard Gere was with his awful machine-gun vibrato). John Travolta has said in interviews that he wanted to play Edna as if she was a woman and not a drag queen, and when I heard that I thought "Gee, why the fuck didn't they cast a fat woman for the role then?" The whole POINT is that she's a drag queen, for fuck's sake.

Ug. But, I had a free afternoon and only one movie was scheduled right during Tori's nap. So off I went.

First off, I was stunned--no, knocked over--wait, I mean blown away immediately by the lovely young woman playing Tracy Turnblad. This 4' 10" tall stunner was so cute, so adorable, and so sweet as Tracy that I just couldn't help but love her. She is so graceful and light on her feet you would think she was wearing a fat suit, but of course she's not. She is the perfect epitome of the idea of "fit and fat." She danced and danced and danced and did not look even remotely out of breath. I love, love, love her.

But she is all light to Ricki Lake's mildly dark, and I missed that darkness. But still--I would give her a big hug if I met her, and it deeply saddens me that right this very moment she is probably surrounded by people telling her that she can play the "fat best friend" if she just loses a few pounds.

Overall, everyone else in the movie was delightful, although Zac Efron was nowhere near as hot as Michael St. Gerard in the first movie. Michelle Pfieffer was great although she is scary thin--seriously, if she ate a couple of cheeseburgers she'd look about 15 years younger (don't these Hollywood people ever realize that fat plumps up wrinkles? I guess fatness is SO HORRIBLE that they would rather look OLD). And weird and wonderful Christopher Walken as Tracy's father was just about the only nod to John Waters in the whole movie. Last but not least, of course--you can NEVER go wrong with Queen Latifah. She was excellent as Motor-Mouth Mabel.

Oh--and the love scene between Edna and Wilbur Turnblad was so fucking surreal (we're talking Christopher Walken trying to woo John Travolta in drag--with SINGING AND DANCING) that it almost--ALMOST--made casting John Revolting acceptable.

While the movie was rolling, I was tapping my toes and feeling like dancing in the aisles--which is really all you can ask of a musical, right? But as the initial glow has faded, I find myself more and more seeing what was right in the first one and what was wrong and just off in this latest version (for instance, there was no cockroach dress in the musical--why oh why not?).

Mostly, I guess, I miss the subversive nature of the first one. The latest movie is just so light and fluffy! Instead of a toned-down Pink Flamingos it's a toned-up High School Musical. And that's just sad, and wrong--I mean, come ON. We're talking JOHN WATERS here, folks.

Did you see it? What did you think? Were you a fan of the original?

The Trip

You probably don't care, but here's the run down of our trip. :)

First up, we drive a rental car (we did NOT take our piece of shit car across the country--it was in the shop while we were gone) to Altoona, Pennsylvania, about four or so hours from Philly. Tori was a total trooper, not at all complaining and taking a nice 45-minute long nap in the car at one point. We stopped for about an hour in the middle, and that was fine.

We check in to our hotel, and it was very nice--rather accidentally luxurious since it was a cheap chain. We got some dinner at another cheap chain, where Tori got to torture a small crustacean. Then it was off to bed, which presented some challenges since Tori was in a hotel crib (just a pack-n-play, but easier than hauling our own) in the room with us. Until I hit onto the parrot theory; I used the hotel bedspread to (lightly) cover her crib so she couldn't see us, and she fell asleep. We left her covered until we turned out the lights, and she slept very well.

The next day we spent hanging out at the Horseshoe Curve. Tori had a good time running around, but I had a hell of time getting her to nap in the cool travel pod thingy. Eventually, though, she did. Then we headed back to the hotel where Tori and I went for a swim while Charlie went to check out some other train stuff (the shops where they work on the trains). We had dinner at the hotel, and went to bed early.

The next day it was off to Columbus, Ohio. It was supposed to be a four or five hour drive, but we hit some construction delays that fucked us up (apparently, all of Ohio and Michigan is currently under construction), so it took more like six hours. But arrive we did, and after resting a bit at the hotel we headed on over to Dawn's place. After getting lost (why don't you Midwesterners build things in a nice grid like the east coast?), we arrived to a welcoming party that included the whole family plus Ally! Sadly, we missed someone else which was sad but I understood (harrumph).

Dawn is lovely, her family is gorgeous (it was all I could do to stop myself from picking up her daughter and smothering her with kisses--I mean, I guess I could have, but since she doesn't really know me it might have been weird for her. Meeting babies you've watched grow on the internets is cool and strange). We had a great time at dinner and ice cream, and if I were to live in Columbus I'd see these folks all the damn time.

But it had to end too soon, since the kids were tired and the husbands were sick of wrangling them so that we could sit and chat, endlessly. Back to the hotel, for an early morning drive to good ol' East Lansing, Michigan.

Again, supposed to be about a six hour drive, but due to more construction, we were in the car more like eight hours. The only reason we survived is because Tori is awesome, and we had tools that helped a ton. We arrived exhausted, but managed to relax enough to hook up with my friend Leah for dinner. It was lovely to see her, and it was great to meet her man, and see her kids again (two energy-filled boys destined to be great young men).

After dinner, it was back to the hotel again. Leah reminded me that my friend Mara had moved back to East Lansing, so I put in a call to her and then we went off to bed. Or we tried to. The stupid hotel was built around an indoor pool that was open until ELEVEN PM (I've NEVER heard of a hotel allowing such a late pool opening) that was filled with about 30 children. 30 screaming children. Our room? Right above the pool. Their parents sat nearby DRINKING. It was making me nuts. I called the desk about 100 times, but they claimed they could do nothing about it until 11. Thankfully, at 11 they cleared the place out. Good thing too, cause I was about to kick some ass after they woke up Tori twice.

The next morning Mara called while we were at breakfast and we met her and her kids at a playground that happened to be a block from both our hotel and her place. I haven't seen Mara in about 15 years so it was great to connect again. Even if the woman hasn't aged a day since high school. Beotch.

After our play date and a nap, we finally hooked up with my friend Katie, the one that drove out and surprised me at my baby shower. Katie comments here frequently, and has a blog of her own, so we've been pretty connected again this last couple of years which has been awesome. She took us to the coolest place in town for lunch/brunch (ah, Golden Harvest, we loved you) and then we hung out for the afternoon and then went to one of our old high school haunts for dinner (OK, it's not in the same location and looks totally different, but still). After dinner Tori played in the fountain (check out this excellent photo here). Then it was back to the hotel for the last night. Katie met us for breakfast the next morning, and then we were back on the road.

In two short days (only about 36 hours) I got to reconnect with all three of my "best" high school friends. It was awesome, and emotional, and draining in a good way.

The next day we decided to go from East Lansing ALL the way back to Altoona (Charlie deserved more trains after East Lansing). It took about nine hours. But Tori, again, was great, and Charlie rented us the "super deluxe" room at the hotel which meant I got to do this. Just a tip--if you want to use the jets in the jacuzzi, do NOT bathe the baby in it first. Cause that little dollop of shampoo? Makes a LOT of bubbles.

The next day we took the long way home, which meant another six or so hour drive. Then you know the rest; sick cat, vet, yadda yadda.

So there you go. More than you ever wanted to know about my vacation. But what was great about it was the fact that we are a family that was on it's family vacation. With all the bickering (me and Charlie), all the yelling (Tori) and all the great memories (like Tori saying "hello" and waving to cows we passed).

Road trips rule, and Tori seems up to the task. So... hmmm... where to next?

Um, NOT. Full trip photos here.