02.17.08
Posted in daughter, dusty, husband
at 9:12 pm
Well, it has been so long, hasn’t it? I know you must be pretty pissed at me, Internets. But I have been really busy, you see…
I gots this new job, and my husband went back to school, and then my kid started school for the first time.
I had no intention of ignoring you, but… oh fuck it. Let’s just go straight to some pictures of my new puppy. You can’t be mad at me looking at pictures of a fluffy puppy.
This is Dusty. He is 8 weeks old and we think he is a shepard/retriever/pancake mix.
We have delayed getting a dog for a long time. The primary reason is that we have not had a fence for our backyard until about 5 days ago, which Husband built very well.
Daughter went to her friend’s birthday party yesterday. With three hours to work, Husband and I planned to hit up the local animal shelters to find us a dog. Our search concluded at the first animal shelter we went to, the main Charleston shelter on Leeds Avenue.
The first dog we looked at was a skinny, long-legged thing, and she really didn’t seem to give a damn that we were interested in saving her from death. She completely ignored us, not even approaching us when we offered to let her smell our butts.
NEXT!
In the last cage were three puppies: two girls and a boy. The volunteer who was helping us let us know that the girls were spoken for, but we could take a look at the boy. I picked him up, and that was pretty much it. As soon as he laid his little head on my shoulder, I was sold. Husband smirked at me for being such a tender-hearted wuss.
During our previous discussion about getting a dog we had made Daughter understand we needed a fence before we could get one. At that time, we had also discussed doggy names. Daughter held firm to her stipulations that we get her a girl dog and that she wanted to name her Belle. Or Ariel. Or Jasmine. Or Sleeping Beauty.
We brought the puppy home to Daughter and she was only 50% thrilled when she learned that he was male. I asked her what she wanted to name him because “Belle” wasn’t a name for boy dogs.
“Spider-man?”
Dusty, you are lucky I’m sticking up for you.
More pictures of the boy are in my Flickr stream to the right.
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06.15.07
Posted in Sangaree, daughter, photos
at 3:23 pm
I was on the news last night regarding the tax increase for Sangaree. The video is online now. I think the audio is broken on it because for some reason there is none. I can hear the weak-wristed Hamburgler trying to break windows, but once the story comes on… nada nada nada. If the audio works for you, please let me know and tell me what browser you are using.
Even though the audio doesn’t work, you can at least see Daughter running around like a maniac and my fantastic hair.
I’m not entirely happy with the story. I need to hear the audio to articulate precisely why, but I think it was mostly that the Tax District is spinning the tax increase to be the result of the fire station and the more expensive garbage contract. Meanwhile, they are still not telling the residents that they need bring taxes up because they were under-collecting for several years. Why is that so hard to say?
Meh…
My hair looked fabulous though…
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06.14.07
Posted in daughter
at 9:08 pm
Husband and I have been wrestling with Daughter over one of the most common problems a parent faces: the bed-wetting. Daughter potty-trained on schedule at about 2 years old. During the daytime, she has always been a champ. She is aware of when she needs to use the potty and does so without assistance (unless I have dressed her that day in complicated clothing, like overalls or a straight jacket). However, bedtime is a different story. More often than not, in the morning she will wake up to a wet bed. Lately, the problem has escalated, and she is wetting the bed during her afternoon nap also.
Husband and I have tried all (I think) classic strategies of dealing with this:
- No drinks after 7:00 PM (her bedtime is 8:00 PM)
- Waking her up before we go to bed and taking her to the potty. (Forgetting to do this is almost a guarantee of wet sheets in the morning.)
- Avoiding shaming her for wetting the bed, or punishing her for doing so.
- Giving her lots of praise for making it through the night without wetting the bed.
I really think the problem is that the girl is just a really heavy sleeper. The child, once she is asleep, can sleep through anything. Last night, we had a thunderstorm and the claps of thunder were so loud that I think God must have just seen the last episode of the Sopranos on His DVR. Daughter slept right through that.
So here are my questions: Is there anything else we can try? Are my expectations just too high to expect stay dry through the night? Does anybody have any twin-size sheets that we can have?
Daughter thinks this post sucks
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05.23.07
Posted in daughter, photos, sick
at 6:59 am
This weekend sucked.
On Thursday, when I arrived to pick up Daughter from daycare, she was sitting at one of those miniature children’s tables with her head down. At first, I thought maybe she had gotten in trouble, but when I got on my knees and looked in her eyes, I knew that she was not feeling well. Daughter said that her tummy was hurting.
I wasn’t feeling spectacular either, but I couldn’t take us straight home because I needed to drop off some survey cards at the Sangaree Crime Watch meeting. I handed off the survey cards and Daughter and I went home. I promptly took Daughter through the Standard Mommy Medical Diagnosis and Treatment Protocol. It goes something like this:
- Take child’s temperature. If child lies passively with the thermometer under his/her tongue, the child is definitely sick. If child twirls the thermometer with his/her lips, resists having his/her temperature taken, or fidgets during the process, he/she is healthy. The actual temperature of the child is largely irrelevant.
- Administer the standard dosage of Children’s Tylenol. Daughter took her medicine willingly and without a fuss. Something was definitely wrong.
- Now that Daughter came up positive for illness, so did her lunch and most of the Tylenol. All over the couch and me.
- Daughter was given a bath, and at her request, she was put to bed at 7:30 p.m. Her father and I began figuring out who would get her stereo if she passed away.
In a rare moment of energy, Daughter tried to fit her sandals on her knees. Note the circles under her eyes and the blue sheet on the couch. The cushion covers were in the washer due to events from Step #3.
The rest of the weekend was spent much the same way. Daughter was doing lots of thermometer action, Tylenol drinking, and sleeping. What Daughter was not doing was eating or drinking. Just as her fondness for her bed was alarming, this was disconcerting also. The girl loves liquid refreshments. It is a rare moment that she is not sucking on a sippy cup. However, in the midst of all of the puking, bathing and sleeping, Husband and I didn’t notice her lack of thirst and appetite until Monday morning.
That morning, Daughter woke up with a disturbing red rash on her cheeks, arms, and thighs. Her bottom lip was dark red, swollen, cracked and bleeding. Daughter’s fever rebounded from a low of 99 degrees the night before to 102 degrees. On top of that she had a sickening belly-busting cough that was clenching her entire little body every time she hacked one out.
Husband called the doctor and he said that Daughter was likely dehydrated from the vomiting and fever and that we needed to get her to drink lots of water and juice. Easy enough, our kid if the Olympic champion of Juice Pounding. We loaded up her sippy cup and handed it to her with expectant smiles.
Daughter looked back at us with empty eyes and begged, begged!, us to let her go back to bed. For FOUR YEARS, this child has been drinking me out of house and home, and now that it is vital for her to suck down that juice, she wouldn’t do it. I can’t stress how frustrating this was for Husband and I. Our baby looked like a hunk of rotisserie gyro meat, and there was nothing we could do about it. All she wanted to do was go to sleep in a pita pocket.
After a full night of begging, pleading, and blackmail failed, Husband and I took Daughter to the nearest Wal*Mart. We purchased a small jug of PediaSure, milk, grapes, kiwis, and lunch meat (if on Death Row, I’m pretty sure this would be Daughter’s Last Meal). When we got home it was 4:30 in the morning. The girl had finally cracked and began drinking the PediaSure and snacking on grapes and lunch meat. I collapsed on my bed at 7:00 a.m. this morning.
When I woke up around noonish, Daughter’s rash was completely gone and she was alert and smiling for the first time in three days. Today, we played outside together, she assembled two jig-saw puzzles, and drank about a half-gallon of various juices, water and milk. My girl is back.
As I reflected on the irony of Daughter’s refusing to drink in the one moment that it was vital for her to do so, I turned to her and said, “Daughter, you sure know how to drive me crazy!”
Indignant, she snapped back at me, “Mama! I do not!”
“Uh, huh”
“Nuh uh!”
“Uh huh!”
She settled the dispute with this perfect summation of her mother’s complete idiocy, “Mama! I do not drive you crazy. I don’t even know how to drive. You know that!”
I relented. “Yes, baby, you are right. I’m sorry.”
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05.15.07
Posted in blogging, daughter, husband
at 3:22 pm
At her daycare, Daughter’s teachers have been insisting that she call them, “ma’am.” Growing up in California, the only people who were called “ma’am” was an 85 year old grandmother, and usually not even then. Needless to say, Husband and I have been amused and bemused to hear our little one call me “ma’am.”
Last week, when she wasn’t feeling his boobies, Daughter started calling Husband, “Ma’am!” We explained patiently to her that grown-up women are called, “ma’am,” but grown-up men are called “sir.”
She has yet to call him, “sir.” Not sure what that’s about.
This morning, Daughter asked me to help her put on a necklace and I replied, “Yes, ma’am!” (I’m funny like that)
Daughter replied indignantly, “I’m not a Mannnnn!”
“I didn’t call you a man, I called you a ma’ammmm.”
“Oh.”
Then the lightbulb turned on, “Is that why you were calling Daddy that? Because you thought you were saying “Man?”
“Yes, Mommy.”
Great. For a month now, my daughter has been calling me a man.
P.S. I added Flickr to the sidebar of the blog.
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05.12.07
Posted in daughter, husband
at 7:13 pm
As I was making dinner last night, I listened to Husband and Daughter playing in the living room. They were engaged in a rollicking game of “Supergirl.”
You probably remember that game. Your father or older brother lays prone on the floor with his legs in the air. Then you balance somewhat precariously on his knees, or if you are really adventurous, on his feet. With both arms stretched out in front, you pretend to feel the wind in your face as you fly faster than a speeding bullet. Of course, when your partner’s legs start to get tired, balancing yourself becomes more difficult and you topple down onto the floor, or in Daughter’s case this time, on her daddy’s chest.
I listened to Daughter’s raucous giggles as she exclaimed, “Daddy, I felt your boobies!“
Daddy, who honestly does not have any man-titties, was indignant and replied sharply, “I do not have boobies!”
Daughter wasn’t buying this. “Yes, you do! I grabbed your boobies! Daddy has boobies!”
Husband called for reinforcements from the only family member who genuinely has breasts and could explain to Daughter that he did not have boobies. “April! You need to handle this one!”
I came into the living room, and got down on my knees so that I could look Daughter squarely in the eyes. “Daughter… do not grab Daddy’s boobies. Those are private parts and you should never grab or touch anyone’s boobies. Do you understand?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Now Daughter, you need to tell Daddy that you’re sorry.”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
Husband gave me a look that clearly meant, “That’s not what I needed you to say,” and then looked back at Daughter.
He sighed, “That’s okay.”
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05.07.07
Posted in daughter, general nonsense
at 8:22 pm
Mi familia y yo went to see Spider-man 3 this weekend at the super-cheap theater this weekend. ($7.50 for all three of us!) It was hella fun to be there with Daughter. She absolutely loves Spider-man and Tobey Maguire, much in the way her old lady had a crush on Christopher Reeve back in the day.
The movie was just okay. It was about three hours long, and while I understand why it needed to be longer than the first two in order to set up the Venom villian, the pacing was just sloooow. I can think of at least three areas that the filmmakers could have and should have cut. Namely, almost everything to do with Sandman, Mary-Jane’s celebrity angst, and the dance scene *mild shudder* About two hours into the show, Daughter was nudging me with her empty Sour Patch Kids box and saying, “I want to go home!”
What redeems the movie for me (yes, I get cheap thrills out of stuff like this), Aunt May has my dishes! If you go to see the movie, pay close attention in the scene where Peter visits Aunt May’s apartment. She serves him coffee in Kensington Balmoral cups. If you look carefully, as I did since I was stoked and all, you can see a plate with pill bottles on it, and the sugar bowl too.
I originally inherited these dishes after my grandmother died. She had them as long as I can remember, and just like her I use them every day. And apparently, so does Aunt May!
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03.16.07
Posted in daughter, general nonsense, husband
at 2:48 pm
Last night, Husband and I attended a local meeting to elect officers for our neighborhood crime watch. We have been very active in setting up the crime watch, including starting the new website, designing and printing survey cards, and offering ideas and suggestions to our neighbors. The meeting last night was a great success. Over 80 residents attended and they seemed pleased with our efforts.
At about 5:00 p.m. yesterday afternoon, shortly before the meeting, I received a phone call from my neighbor. She said that Live 5 News was coming to her house in a few minutes and wanted to interview local residents about the crime watch and the problems in our neighborhoods. My neighbor is sick with the flu and there was no way she could appear on camera. Would I be willing to be interviewed? Oh, why the hell not!
First problem, I had been working on Sangaree Connection since 9 o’ clock that morning. When I am in full web development mode, I don’t eat, I don’t bathe, I don’t brush my teeth. The only breaks I allow myself is sucking down cigarettes while trying to figure out why Internet Explorer is such a piece of crap.
Fortunately, because of the meeting, I had stopped working and I had just stepped out of the shower when my neighbor called. Unfortunately, my hair was soaking wet, my legs unshaved, and I had no idea what I was going to wear to the meeting. I went to the bathroom and busted out the good makeup that I normally reserve for receiving the Queen and attending movie premieres. I slathered that shit on thick! I raced around the house collecting the materials for the meeting and tried to figure out what I was going to wear. I settled on a pink button-down shirt, blue jeans, and my cutest (and therefore most uncomfortable) shoes. I would regret the shoe choice about two hours later.
Husband had come home from work while I was getting ready. He has immediately pummeled with a barrage of “Do I look okays?” and “Are you sures?” and “You didn’t even look at mes!” as I hurdled past him to find my camera and my binder and my purse and my keys and my survey cards. We left the house as quickly as possible and naturally as soon as we reached my Daughter’s daycare to pick her up I realized that I still hadn’t brushed my teeth. Oh well, I hadn’t eaten so far that day, how dirty could my teeth be?
We met with the reporter, Katie, and she asked us some background information regarding how long we lived in the neighborhood, were we scared to live here now, and why we were involved in the crime watch. Daughter supplied her own background information to Katie:
When I was a baby, I had a birthday when I was one! And I ate the wrapping paper! *giggle* Then I had another birthday when I was two. That was my second birthday. Then I had a birthday when I was three. And then I had my fourth birthday when I turned four!
Katie looked perplexed and asked Daughter, “So how old are you now?” In unison, Daughter and I told the reporter that she was now four years old. I then pulled out of my arsenal of Parental Distractions the permission for Daughter to play with my neighbor’s cats. She raced on pudgy legs into the house.
Time was running short, so with our neighbors’ help, we all agreed that Katie would interview me near a fence that was vandalized. Initially, Katie wanted to interview Husband, but he declined (coward!) some lame comment about how he was so over being on TV when he was a kid. Over at the fence, the cameraman handed me a mini microphone. As instructed, I threaded it up under my shirt and attached it to my jacket. After finding suitable lighting, the camera began rolling. Katie asked me a series of intelligent questions and my mouth began issuing forth noises.
My mind was racing ten thousand miles per hour and for the most part I was thinking deep thoughts such as “Shit, my glasses are sliding down my nose! Shit! I was gonna take my glasses off for this! Oh crap, she asked another question, what was I gonna say?”
When we were done filming, Katie assured me that I had done well and provided her with lots of good soundbites. She practically did a little dance in her sharply tailored pink suit when she thought of my fantastic soundbites.
The video is now online and I have to admit, I didn’t come off like a complete asshat. If I were to critique myself (like I ever stop doing that) I would say that I need to stand up straighter, stop weaving my head and neck like I am a hungry chicken, and find a method of digging facts and figures out of my brain that doesn’t involve rolling my eyes.
My favorite part of the video is definately the last soundbite where I was talking about the vandals who destroyed $25,000 worth of equipment in our new library, “And these people come in here and they destroy it! And for what purpose?”
That’s right, feel my outrage! Boo-yah!
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01.22.07
Posted in daughter, sick, work
at 5:10 pm
Meh…
Daughter has been in daycare for about two months now and has already gotten sick twice. This time, she managed to infect a total of four people with her germies. Well, I guess I can’t really blame her because I’m sick, as my bedside manner involves kissing her all over and sucking on her cheeks at every opportunity. What can I say? She’s four now and she only let’s me do that when she is physically incapacitated.
I’m staying home from work today as I recuperate from my illness. I do feel icky, but really it’s a career-preservation move. I turn into a cranky-ass bitch when I don’t feel good and unlike Husband, my boss isn’t married to me and really doesn’t HAVE to put up with that shit. So, I’ll stay home ’til I am once more my positive, life-affirming self. (My boss snorted coffee out of her nose, right now)
The other reason for staying home is this cold has settled into my lungs and a good deep cough is sending dime-sized chunks of phlegm across the room. It’s just not good office etiquette to make your co-workers clean spittle off their monitors. I swear though, I’ve got a range of about twenty feet right now. It’s kind of cool!
Right now, I have instituted April’s Never Fail Patented Feel All Better Recuperation Plan, Level 2. It goes a little something like this:
1) Put on sweats, the grungier the better. No one is going to treat you like the ailing patient you are if you look good. Likewise, don’t comb your hair. Just coerce it into a makeshift ponytail, if you are feeling ambitious.
2) Do brush your teeth though, just because you are sick doesn’t mean you get to neglect good oral hygiene. Besides, phlegm-breath is just nasty.
3) High-tail it to the nearest pharmacy and stock up on the essentials:
- Kleenex brand disposable tissue, with lotion and vitamin E. This is the time to splurge on the good tissue. You’ll probably be going through it so fast that if you get the cheap 99 cent box of tissue you will scrape off five layers of skin from your septum. You are sick already, don’t make things worse!
- your favorite brand of symptom-disguising medicine. Currently, I’m using DayQuil, but whatever floats your boat will do.
- A 2-liter bottle of ginger ale. I don’t know why it works, but it does. Ginger ale will ease your scratchy throat, clear your sinuses, and if you have any left over post-ailment, you can use it to make a tasty rum punch.
- Optional, depending on if your symptoms include tummy troubles: go to your favorite fast food chain and order everything you never let yourself have. Who needs to cook at a time like this?
- Take a nap every couple of hours or so.
Within 24-hours, you should be feeling a bit more like yourself, or at least well enough that you can make it through the work day doped up on DayQuil without killing anybody with projectile phlegm.
Alright, I’m exhausted now, so I’m going to take a nap and then watch Dr. Phil.
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01.11.07
Posted in daughter, overheard
at 2:48 am
(after the wind blew away her napkin during a picnic) “God! Leave my napkin alone! That’s not nice!”
(looking up at the sky, and yelling) “God! I love you!” (pauses, and turns to her mother) “Aww… He said He loves me too.”
“You are so wonderful. I’m so glad Daddy and I made you.”
(indignant) “Actually, Mama, you and Daddy didn’t make me. God did!
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