Not Your Nana's Sales Representative

Once upon a time, those persons who are paid to help you spend money you don't have were trained about how to do their job well. This training included, but was not limited to, teaching young persons how to arrange sellable items in appetizing fashions. Falling until "not limited to" were things like personal appearance, attitude, customer interaction, and ability to do subtraction without a computer.

The last went the way of the dinosaur about the time Cortez discovered Disneyland, but the other items in the list lasted until more recently. I thought. After all, I learned them when I worked in retail, and that wasn't too long ago. However. Comma.

After a fabulously enjoyable two days of shopping with my mom, I've decided that only grumpy, overly-made-up, poorly clothed, English-butchering chicks are hired by retail entities. No eye contact? No smile? No "Hello!"? No "What the fajita can I do for you?"? Nope. No nothing, in fact, but my being treated to the conversation above mentioned chick is having with her companion chick (sometimes a man-chick, which is a subject for another post) about hail, nails, altering surgeries, school grades, or whateverthehellelse she wants to talk about.

Sigh. My Nana would not approve.

*Cue Sarcastic Violins*

So, while completing my morning toilet, I was struck by a series of thoughts I wanted to post on the blog. They were good thoughts, and halfway through them would have been the bracketed indication: Cue Sarcastic Violins. Unfortunately, that bracket is all that still remains among my synapses. Can't remember a thing about the rest of my thoughts for the post. Oh well.




Cue sarcastic violins.

Wond'rous Strange

So, I decided to get off Facebook, effective the end of the month. No one that I've talked to, so far, has attempted to dissuade me from this resolution. I find this an interesting [tacit] commentary on Facebook itself--no one thinks it's so good for me that I ought to continue using it as a means of social networking. Having been pregnant at the time, I have no memory of how I voted during the Facebook debate last semester, but I think that (except for my continued effort to vote based on the debate presented and not necessarily my actual opinion) I think I would have been pretty down on it had the vote been offered me right now.

Of course, it doesn't necessarily have to be about Facebook itself. It's mostly about me, in fact. It seemed, honestly and truly, like I was in to Facebook because of a sense of personal fame that it gave me. There's a pride in seeing your status liked, or your photos viewed and commented upon, and I decided it wasn't for me. Besides, when you're sitting around on Facebook actively thinking, "You know, I'd really like to go do X project," but you never do it because you're sitting around on Facebook...well, it's time to quit.

If people want to email me, I'll email back. I'll return to the blog. Mary Beth has inspired me to only write something worth, well, writing. While I doubt I'm as capable of writing meaningful things as she, I know for a fact that I'll put more effort into it if it's on the blog. A status (or a tweet, or anything like it) just takes too little time. A blog post takes some thought. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And if I'm narcissistic about the blog, well by golly, at least I'm being prideful about something I actually put effort toward.

Finally, the whole thing is funny because I do this as I begin a spring full of scheduled responsibilities (i.e. raising child, teaching piano, caring for husband, going on travels) and I just know deep in the heart of my self that the blog will fall by the wayside as it always has. But oh well. Facebook, farewell. And good riddance.

p.s. I will continue, dear listeners, to utterly fail in my proofreading of blog posts. They are always ended upon the occasion of (a) the phone ringing, (b) the doorbell ringing, (c) my husband returning, or (d) the baby crying. I never finish a post a couple minutes before disaster strikes, so that I may carefully check for errors before A-D happens. I always finish because A-D is happening. And who's going to proofread during all that?

Grumble Grumble

Well, we might not have 20+ inches of snow on the driveway like most of the Eastern US, but it's still nice and chilly outside. Not only is it chilly (upper 30s/low 40s), there's this massive body of water out in the back yard that keeps it respectably damp at all times. Feels very chilly.

I'm sick. As a consequence of this fact, we've been turning off the heat at night to help alleviate the dryness/sore throat part of my sickness. This works pretty well, since everyone but the big cat tends to share a bed at night, and we stay mostly toasty. Joe turns the heat on when he gets up for work, and it's all good. However, "nice and chilly" having arrived, this is a less-perfect solution all of a sudden. Additionally, on mornings like this when I have to get up early to go to Mass, I'm out in the rest of the house before it has warmed back up. Specifically, the office/nursery/guest room is FREEZING COLD AT ALL TIMES. I climbed (stupidly enough, in socks) onto the nice smooth changing table top this morning to open the vent even further, but I think the real culprit is these stupid windows. They don't seal well, methinks.

But this is where the action is, including my sewing machine at the moment, as I was working feverishly to finish the tree skirt last night before Joe got home with the tree we had picked in the afternoon. This mad dash for project completion, however, ended with a fizzle. Turns out, the tree stand substitute (or, if you like, "plastic bucket") we had intended to use will not work after all. That was the first problem. The second problem is that, after much phoning and driving, we learned that there was not a tree stand to be had for love or money in the whole metropolitan area. [Interesting digression: Ever thought about what exactly "love or money" means? Naughty, naughty.]

So, the tree is still all wrapped in her traveling garb, standing rather awkwardly in a bucket of water in the corner of the living room. She will be unfurled later this week, once we've made our already-scheduled trip to Wilmington and have obtained a tree stand. Why, you ask, did we even get the tree without making sure we had a stand that worked? Well, I answer, that just wouldn't be like us...

A New Woman

And now, Best Beloved, I begin my new life! In the new house at last, with my new desk, in possession of a new and pristine daily planner for the next year. I'm like Sally Forth or something, completely coordinatedly equipped to tackle everything life can throw at me.

We'll see how this works out...so far, so good. The last 48 hours have not been a total loss. In fact, I learned a new introit and made two kinds of cookies. I'm on a roll. This is, of course, aided by the freak sleeping cycle of my son, which is running in 5-6hour spurts for some unknown reason. These blissful days are numbered, I know, but while he's doing whateveritis that makes him so sleepy, I'll take what I can get.

In the meantime, Advent is flying by at a breakneck pace--much faster than any year previous. This is the time that usually drags on awfully for me, but not now. Oh no. Granted, Gaudete falls (frustratingly) right in the middle of Advent, almost, since Christmas itself falls so late in the week, but having that pink candle aglow on the kitchen table is still such a great sight. We're almost there.

Almost there.

New Life

They weren't kidding. When a baby actually arrives, post-utero, at the house, it does rock your world. You have a whole new life. One characterized by many tears, much leaking of fluids, and countless coos, smiles, and laughs. And we haven't even started talking about the baby yet.

Joseph was on the range all week, leave between 0230 and 0330 every morning, so not much happened other than surviving here around the house. Last week we were out every night doing things that just couldn't be put off, like going to Wilmington for Five Guysl The week before that, his mom and sister were here.

Blogging simply isn't a priority now. Of course, it never really was, and the eldest readers out there can vouch for the fact that I've always been hit-or-miss, at best. Now that the little man is here, I'm probably more miss than hit. And of course stupid Facebook takes its toll...

BFF

The piano tuner is here today. Who knew? A little WD-40 and a hair dryer, and viola! The whole action actually functions now. Oh, and we got more of the wax off because the tuner took the action further apart.

Of course, the poor instrument is still badly in need of physical therapy and other medical attention, but just hearing all 88 notes was a thrill this morning. At the very least, we'll easily get our investment back if we decide to sell.

Not much else going on...the other baby (the real one, the important one) is going to come on Saturday with professional assistance, if he doesn't come on his own before then. My mom has been heroically walking with me in the evenings/afternoons, but so far no go. As dear Mrs. H. says, "Mr. Gravity is our friend." We'll see what happens with that project over the next couple days. I'm carefully watched, like unto a bomb, but nothing interesting to report as yet. Ugh.

Poor small cat is suffering from the cold...the heat is just now coming on in the house (long story, don't ask) due to a miscommunication with maintenance, and she's just dying. Sixty degrees indoors just isn't cutting it for the little girl. Thankfully, she's got lots of people to heat leech on in the night.

Randomnimity

First of all, I've developed an awful habit which is rendering three hours of my day practically useless. I listen to the radio. Joe paid for the year's subscription and our AM (to put it plainly) is nonexistent, so I turn on the computer and stream Rush from noon to three. This is problematic because I get started listening to him and looking up or reading the articles and news items he references. And nothing happens except that I become informed on how wrecked our world is. No laundry, no packing, no chores. Too much trouble to move the computer every time I switch rooms.

Second, I honest to goodness have eaten junk food for most of today's broadcast. Banana and yogurt for breakfast, good, good....then it all goes to the dogs about 1315, when I found the half box of Milk Duds. And a coke. And some sun chips. Wow. Poor Baby is probably going to have a sugar attack, too, because I don't ever go through sweet junky stuff like that. Ick. Oh well. Maybe I'm more upset over this FEX than I thought. 12 days left...stupid Braggistan. Also, I ate cereal for dinner last night, because I wanted to. But it was healthy cereal, with lots of folic acid and fiber. (I'm a big fan of fiber these days. That and apples.)

Finally, the small cat likes to blog. She sits upon my tummy, ruining my spelling and kneading away at my neck and left shoulder. Life as a kitten (okay, an almost grown up kitten) must just be the schnizzle. So cozy, so relaxed. Except for having the pee-diddlies scared out of you by things like clocks, twist ties, and the completely inanimate carpet.

Wif Our Baby...

Okay, this is our baby, at least for the next two weeks. (Then the other one will be here and we'll have two high-maintenance items in the house.) After spending several known months in a NC garage, and several undocumented years being treated (quite obviously) as a piece of furniture and who knows what else, this Model R is now happily taking up the better part of our living room. Built around 1928 by the Premier Grand Piano Company of New York, she needs a LOT of work and care in order to be back in playing order. But hey, who are we to turn down a piano, right? Check out what $150 and some heavy lifting will get you:
Baby with her insides all out.

Cleaning the lid--GROSS buildup of pollen and dust on the entire box.

Vacuuming under the sound board, which is in miraculously good condition.

Wax inside the action of one of the bass octaves (yes, the whole octave worth).

Wax -0, Jennifer - 1. This is just what came from the box. I got another 1/2lb or so from inside the action, and can't reach the rest without dissasembling the hammer assembly (something I'm not about to try).

The action lying in state upon our dining room table.

OPSEC

Just thoughts today...

First, please don't be confused or feel left out if I fail to mention things about my life or schedule that you know are going on. I might have just forgotten, it might be a question of keeping myself secure by not mentioning (for example) when Mr. Bird might be away from the next. I might have just forgotten.

Also, many kudos to the famously-stuffy IOC for denying Chicago the 2016 Olympics. Hurrah! I mean, I'm sorry for the Chicagoans who have genuinely been excited by the prospect. I remember how it was the greatest thing to have the Olympics in my own back yard during 1996--good times, so many things to see! It was awesome, and I'm sorry for people between 7 and 18 who are now sad. But poo on the heads of the people that run Chicago, and go Europe for putting them back in their place. Such ego, such self-confidence and self-importance....wasted.

Epic fail. I love it.

Natum Videte!!

It's that time of year again.

Okay, fine. It's that time of year for 7.8 out of 12 months in my case, but still...I can't wait for Christmas! Part of the problem is that I'm sick to death of Halloween decorations in stores, and part of the problem is that a few places already have their red and green and fir-scented line out on the shelf. Most of the problem is that I'm always like this, with Christmas music playing whenever no one is around to hear it.

Does this ruin my enjoyment of the season? Don't be silly. In fact, I'm finally learning how to channel the Christmas Blues into something productive--I make Christmas gifts! This way, I feel like I'm actually getting something done and, at the same time, get to enjoy a Christmas -themed afternoon. Thus my table has been covered with red paper and x-acto blades for the past several days. There are little angels and fun latin phrases stuck all over the mushy ridges of my cerebral cortex...ahhhhhhh.

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Waiting until the full moon

Well, let's hope not. The next two available full moons do not fall during optimal baby-having times. I'll wait for the new moon, though. That's acceptable.

So, had an interesting week. Spending 48 hours in the hospital does, as the wise man once said, actually destroy an entire week. I'm starting new this morning (slowly, obviously) at exactly the point I left off last Monday. Well, maybe a little ahead. Father came over and blessed the house yesterday, so that's progress at least.

Hospital staying is not something I recommend. For one thing, at least if you're me, it exacerbates whatever might or might not have been wrong with you in the first place. I went in to see if I had the flu (I didn't), and ended up staying for two days so that they could make sure I had neither suffered a heart attack or was going to throw an embolism. All this, basically, becaus my heart rate stayed above 135bpm long enough that they were able to justify an EKG, then ultrasounds of my legs and heart, then a CT scan, then chest x-rays. And so on. And so forth.

The poor doctor (whom I liked very much, btw, and whom I will hear no ill words against despite my belief that perhaps my trama was treatment-induced) wanted very badly to know what was wrong with me. He, in fact, spent a very long hour out of his busy day talking to me/Joe about my condition, what could be wrong, why he recommended certain treatments, etc. All of the poor doctors were frustrated that nothing clear cut could be said about me. Still, they gave me a list of meds, I declined one right off the bat and went home with the rest, and agreed to get a meter to check my blood pressure and pulse twice a day--as a compromise, for my loving family was greatly afeared for me.

So far, in the peace and tranquility of my own home, my heart and my blood pressure are very cooperative. No hypertension, no sinus tachycardia. Just me, my baby, and a nagging head cold (which two days in the hospital failed to fix, interestingly enough). Still, I have to go back today for them to test baby for stress, and I have to go back Wednesday for the new OB to have a look at me, and I go back for both every week from now until the party starts. In a way, I feel silly that I went in last week and put myself (and poor, poor Joseph!!) through all that, but oh well. I've got 7-day benchmarks, which ought to make the time go faster. That's just the best way to look at it.

Time Eaters

There are many, of course. House, chores, husband, bills, pets, appointments, phone calls, etc. However, number three seems to have sucked away every extra second between here and two weeks ago, without effort and certainly without me noticing. How? Well, besides the week in PA, how?

I don't know. Maybe I'm still getting as much done as I used to, but he creates "stuff" that needs to be done that I'm not yet ramped up to take care of yet. For example, I know that I'm still doing laundry on a regular basis, but there's twice as many dirty clothes around all the time. I know that I get up at a decent time, but breakfast doesn't get eaten until after nine. I know that the downstairs bathroom was clean when I left here, but...

All this is, I realize, shades of things to come. Soon there will be two people on his team, and still only one of me. There will be two laundry factories, two trash machines, two time eaters. Will I get only 1/3 of everything done? Sigh. My mom's solution to this problem is to Never, Ever, Ever create messes of her own. There are no mom-produced chores to address, only those the others in the house have come up with. It's a thought, you know? Her next step in the brilliant plan was to raise us up in the fear of the Lord [and Mother], so that we more or less cared for most of our own messes ourselves. We made beds a lot of the time, we took our own dishes from the table almost without exception, we took out trash in the early thursday mornings just because running out the driveway in pajamas and bare feet was fun.

But one cannot raise up an infant in the fear of oneself. He does not change his own diaper, he does not wash his own clothes. He definitely does not do his own dishes. And my husband has already been raised up, but he only fears the Lord, and forgets about most everything else. ("What dishes? Oh, that's where I put them! I was going to put them in the sink...") I'm trying to instill a fear of something into the two cats in the meantime, since they're the only living things around that I think I might have an effect on. So far, no good. They still start crawling around on me about 0545, ready for breakfast. The little one still follows me around he house crying until I sit down, then climbs up on my stomach to take a bath. The big one still throws litter all over creation every time he uses the box.

Sigh. Time to do the chores.

A Complete Set

So, Mr. Bird comes back within the hour...man, it has been a long summer. :) Stay tuned for the fall, though. You never know what I'll decide sounds like a good idea to try.

The Nest: Revisited

For anyone who only reads the blog and doesn't actually talk to or with me (or have Facebook, which is practically the same thing)--the air conditioner was leaking because a lead line was busted, they fixed it, it still doesn't cool the house, but I had two window air conditioner units installed and life is much more livable. So there it is.

Also in nest news, though, are some good things. With the motivation of someone special coming home, as well as the helpful presence of my mother, I've been finishing all the other little projects around the house that have been wanting done since we moved in six [freaking] months ago. There are now curtains in the bedrooms, for example. I am not using my night stand to hold the silverware. Little things like that, you know. The place looks like real people might live here now, and I'm so happy. Only a week and a couple days left...

Spent yesterday morning washing all kinds of teeny tiny little clothes. Can you just imagine the convenience of being able to wash every item of clothing you owned in a single load through the washing machine?? It was amazing. His whole wardrobe cleaned in an hour and ten minutes. Unfortunately, I'm told that he'll go through the whole wardrobe at least once a week, so maybe there's not so much to be thrilled about there. Still, imagine putting everything Joseph owns into the machine at once. Ha. The dryer would have a hernia.

p.s. Posting once a week? Every two weeks? Is this is future of my literary career? I dunno...I've had company or help in the house every day for three weeks, so not a lot of time is spent communing with the virtual world. Then again, who cares? :) September is coming. I'm so happy.

"Edema"

It's a fancy name for retaining water, and not really in the sense of "oh, wow, I feel fat today" but in the sense of "the climate is confusing my body so bad that my fingers and knees don't bend properly because of how edemic I am." The more you drink, of course, the less trouble you have with this problem. The human body is a funny thing. Somebody's RN mother explained to Joseph that my getting dehydrated could cause premature labor, and he asked me if that was why I drank so much water. I said yes, but if I got so bad that that was an issue, there was a serious problem. I'm still stuck, I told him, at the stage where I drink lots of water so that my fingers stay skinnier than my ankles.

Also swelling, by the way, is the number of people my very own age (or younger!!) who are having babies, going to have babies very soon, or have had a baby within the last six months. Among those I know in the college classes immediately above and below my own, I can name over a dozen mommies without even thinking--and a bunch more if I dig deep. This is cool, and wierd, and wonderful, and wierd. Joe said that he realizes a lot more just how un-normal it all is, though, from being around the other Marines. One of them told him the other day that we "were the first people he really knew personally, his own age, who were having a kid." Wow. And for us and our school perspective, we're actually "behind" the curve by about four months. How funny.

Smellin' Coffee

Always a bad thing--I'm trying to make coffee this morning, but (a) I have no chart for measuring the stuff and (b) I don't drink it so I wouldn't know nasty from nice. My company usually makes their own, for safety's sake, but I'm trying to be brave this morning.

So, this pregnant memory loss thing is really funky. I am unable, even whilst swearing upon the phone book, to remember anything about conversations I've had in the last month. I forget whether I locked the door. Two seconds ago. Spelling and typing are olympic events. However, all these great memories from the first two years of college are positively flooding my mind! It's wonderful! I mean, I remember down to colors and smells these snapshots of life when I had first met all my friends. I remember really early conversations with Joseph, I remember "first seeing him again" after those long, long, long mid-term breaks. I remember choir things, I remember the presidential election and staying up all night in the chapel to pray about it. I remember walking out toward Guardian Angel and back between Sunday choir and Mass, saying morning prayer with Joseph. I remember my first van run to town. I remember my first trip to Shoe Show with Cass and Laura, and my first trip to Winchester with them (on which we also bought shoes). All that stuff is coming back to me, at the expense of dinner, which I forgot was in the oven.

I'll take the memories. Such sweet things.

"Hey, great reception in here! Like, four bars!"

So, I vicariously lived the life of a woman's handbag last night, thanks to a special friend (you know who you are) who toted me through the length and breadth of O'Hare last night on her way to a flight. It was delayed, else we would never have made it in time. I went through the x-ray machine, I went to the restroom, I sat on the floor while she checked in, I stood in line while cappucino and danish were ordered, I waited on the seat while carry-on items were safely stowed in the overhead bin. It was great--and at the end, I knew exactly how one's purse feels. There to hear every conversation, there to endure every long wait and line full of cranky people. I enjoyed even (and especially) the conversations that the human has with herself as she tries to find the correct gate after an airline switch.

Who knew that you could run a phone through the x-ray machine and not drop the call, anyway? That was the coolest part. I could hear the machine running, then all the voices and people and bumpings of baggage as I came out the other end. Now we know.

Also, found out that "vicariously" has the same root as "vicar." A substitute or representative.

Treble Without a Clause

Feeling a bit schizophrenic today...Joseph has gotten me started on all these little projects that involve networking, getting in touch with people in one's field, etc. The obvious rock in my path is that I don't have a field right now. However, the networking website forced me to invent something, so I examined my life and decided, fairly enough, that I'm currently a self-employed researcher. I'm not paying myself anything at the moment, but I'm certainly undergoing a very eclectic, fairly rigorous set of tasks that involve researching things.

All kinds of things, of course, and that's what renders this exercise a little silly-feeling. After all, I have a grand plan in mind, but it's hard to explain what a Montessori handbook, neuroscience study, leadership manual, and Blink have in common. The only clue to my strategy, which is now sitting in the "to read" pile in my office [the dryer] is Classical Education at Home: Strategies and Systems for Teachers Learners to Learn. Taken broadly, I'm learning how to educate, all on my own. So, that's what I'm up to these days. I had no idea.

The Great Pumpkin

So, another interesting divergence of viewpoints on holidays. This time, though, it's more a funny story about my next door neighbor (whom I know does not read the blog--she has dialup) than a diatribe about the raising of children.

Due to an ongoing renovation project, a continual shifting of families from their [old] house to a [still old but nicely resurfaced] new house is taking place within my immediate neighborhood of about 60 homes. My neighbor and I are in Phase Eight homes, which means we'll be moved into resurfaced homes in October. (Phase One households were supposed to get their resurfaced homes by July 31st, though, and it didn't happen. I'm personally not holding my breath for October.)

Anyhow. For reasons which continue to cramp my drinking style (this is funny if you know me) and my fashion options (this is funnier if you've seen me in the last month), I am not excessively thrilled by the prospect of moving "sometime in October." Especially since I'll have a spouse in the field during most of the month. Moves, even moves financed, boxed, carried, and unboxed by the government, are things which one hesitates to do while nine months pregnant. I am not happy about moving in October, and I religiously waddle down to the housing office once a month to (a) let them see me waddle and, (b) find out if "sometime" has been narrowed down a bit. It never has, but I usually walk away thinking that it could be worse. I could be having twins. My housing lady is apologetic, but more or less useless. Things will not change, they will only continue to change on a weekly basis (this is funny if you know anything about the military).

My neighbor, on the other hand, is no tame woman. She's a steely-eyed sailor-swearing she-man. (Whom I like, kinda, in a keep-your-distance kind of way.) As I relayed the scuttlebut from most recent waddle, she became steelier eyed. She glinted. She tossed her mane and dragged a hoof across the linoleum menacingly.

"You know," she said, "I'm going to have to get myself down there and talk to those people. I mean, if I have to get in her boss's face and get serious with him, well then I'll do that, too, but she has got to understand. Being told we're moving 'sometime' in October just does not work! I mean, I have a child! I am NOT about to ask him to be moving the week of Halloween! No, I am not. No, there are things that have to be done that week, things that I re-fuse to have screwed up by their stupid moving schedule!"

Location, location, location.