I'm not ready for winter yet when this is what fall looks like.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Have you met my housekeeper Maria?
On Saturday while Tara and I were at the snooty mall in Natick, we stopped to grab a quick bite at the food court before we bought the rest of our stuff off of the registry from Crate and Barrel. While we were there, we flirted for several minutes with a cute two year old and his disengaged father, who spent most of the time he was supposed to be having lunch with his son talking on the phone making stock trades and talking about basketball.
The little one and I shot glances back and forth as he shoved pieces of meatball and hunks of saucey pizza into his mouth, both of us having a great time. Once his father got off the phone, he was still interested in flirting with me, much to his father's frustration. Finally I turned around to leave them be so that Dad wouldn't get mad at the crazy woman tempting his son to stray from the task at hand.
Once both I and the boy had finished our lunches, I resumed my conversation with them, and he just grinned, silly as can be, back in my direction. His father commented, "Oh he's such a flirt! But I know why he really likes you -- you look just like his nanny!"
Blink. Blink blink.
I turned around and told Tara we needed to leave and she asked why I was so pissed. Clearly she had not heard what he said.
While I understand that he really didn't mean anything by it, what it did accomplish was knocking me down several pegs, and putting me beneath this guy and his son. It's not short of telling a hispanic woman she looks like your housekeeper or the woman who cleans your hotel room, and while it may not be inaccurate the Asians raise the best children, it is insensitive to put it so plainly, and blankly into this Asian's face.
The little one and I shot glances back and forth as he shoved pieces of meatball and hunks of saucey pizza into his mouth, both of us having a great time. Once his father got off the phone, he was still interested in flirting with me, much to his father's frustration. Finally I turned around to leave them be so that Dad wouldn't get mad at the crazy woman tempting his son to stray from the task at hand.
Once both I and the boy had finished our lunches, I resumed my conversation with them, and he just grinned, silly as can be, back in my direction. His father commented, "Oh he's such a flirt! But I know why he really likes you -- you look just like his nanny!"
Blink. Blink blink.
I turned around and told Tara we needed to leave and she asked why I was so pissed. Clearly she had not heard what he said.
While I understand that he really didn't mean anything by it, what it did accomplish was knocking me down several pegs, and putting me beneath this guy and his son. It's not short of telling a hispanic woman she looks like your housekeeper or the woman who cleans your hotel room, and while it may not be inaccurate the Asians raise the best children, it is insensitive to put it so plainly, and blankly into this Asian's face.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Is this thing on?
Call me a miscreant. A slacker. A loser -- anything you want. I have not blogged and I know it, so don't complain to me! The dog ate my homework, Mrs. Jackson!
Let's start with Friday, October 14 and something you already know: I was in a car accident. That day started a nearly three week long saga of phone calls, police reports, doctor's reports, insurance companies, auto body shops, written reports, agency findings, and headaches (literal and figurative). Now, almost four weeks and $2100 of some other lady's money later, the car is repaired, sans pride sticker, and on the road. Whew.
Then, let's move to Tuesday, October 18th. With the veil of concussive headaches and narcotic hangovers lifting, I caught Tara's cold. My last day at work before Weddingtravaganza2005 began was supposed to be Wednesday, but I called out* that day and went in the evening to finish up some must-do-before-I-leave stuff. On Thursday, feeling better but still crappy, I cleaned the house and ran MANY errands in preparation for Sarah and Jenna's arrival Thursday evening. On Friday Tara and I hosted our rehearsal dinner for 25 people, and on Saturday we had the long-awaited wedding reception. It was perfect, but more on that later.
On Sunday, the crash came. I was so exhausted from the last week that I slept all day and all night. All day and all night, just like how Max sailed in Where the Wild Things Are. I returned the work that Thursday to a PILEOFCRAP, and then on Saturday went to my co-worker's wedding which went from 1 pm until after 11. In case you're bad at math, that's a long-ass day. It also was a Catholic wedding, so most of the church portion of the day was spent talking about having babies and breeding, and be a good father and mother, and having babies, and if you're not too busy right now maybe you could go make babies and why is this ceremony so long when you could be elsewhere making babies?! It affirmed my choice to leave the Catholic church, particularly after the guy behind Tara and I refused to shake our dirty lesbo hands during passing of the peace. Hey, DUDE?! It's PASSING OF THE PEACE. Think about Jesus. I don't think you get to decide that we're going to hell and you don't want to touch us! After all, Jesus touched leopards. (Only Tara will get that joke so if you want a clue ask her.)
Then Sunday, oh to be original, cruel fate, I got someone else's cold. I don't know whose, but if I did I'd send a hit out on them. I was out this week Wednesday as well, then had to work all day Saturday...and what do you know, I've just explained the reason I haven't blogged. Suck it.
The last remaining vestige of what needs to be cleaned up from all of the above is sending out thank you cards, which is sort of a warped description of what really needs to be done and that is that they need to be written first...In truth, I'm looking forward to writing them and reconnecting with all of those who held Tara and I in their thoughts and prayers during our marriage blessing. I may write a whole blog about that experience, but if you're really curious and reading this and want to know, send me an email. I'll post pictures here soon, as long as no one else rear ends me first!
*QuickPoll: Do you say "call out" sick or "call off" sick?
Let's start with Friday, October 14 and something you already know: I was in a car accident. That day started a nearly three week long saga of phone calls, police reports, doctor's reports, insurance companies, auto body shops, written reports, agency findings, and headaches (literal and figurative). Now, almost four weeks and $2100 of some other lady's money later, the car is repaired, sans pride sticker, and on the road. Whew.
Then, let's move to Tuesday, October 18th. With the veil of concussive headaches and narcotic hangovers lifting, I caught Tara's cold. My last day at work before Weddingtravaganza2005 began was supposed to be Wednesday, but I called out* that day and went in the evening to finish up some must-do-before-I-leave stuff. On Thursday, feeling better but still crappy, I cleaned the house and ran MANY errands in preparation for Sarah and Jenna's arrival Thursday evening. On Friday Tara and I hosted our rehearsal dinner for 25 people, and on Saturday we had the long-awaited wedding reception. It was perfect, but more on that later.
On Sunday, the crash came. I was so exhausted from the last week that I slept all day and all night. All day and all night, just like how Max sailed in Where the Wild Things Are. I returned the work that Thursday to a PILEOFCRAP, and then on Saturday went to my co-worker's wedding which went from 1 pm until after 11. In case you're bad at math, that's a long-ass day. It also was a Catholic wedding, so most of the church portion of the day was spent talking about having babies and breeding, and be a good father and mother, and having babies, and if you're not too busy right now maybe you could go make babies and why is this ceremony so long when you could be elsewhere making babies?! It affirmed my choice to leave the Catholic church, particularly after the guy behind Tara and I refused to shake our dirty lesbo hands during passing of the peace. Hey, DUDE?! It's PASSING OF THE PEACE. Think about Jesus. I don't think you get to decide that we're going to hell and you don't want to touch us! After all, Jesus touched leopards. (Only Tara will get that joke so if you want a clue ask her.)
Then Sunday, oh to be original, cruel fate, I got someone else's cold. I don't know whose, but if I did I'd send a hit out on them. I was out this week Wednesday as well, then had to work all day Saturday...and what do you know, I've just explained the reason I haven't blogged. Suck it.
The last remaining vestige of what needs to be cleaned up from all of the above is sending out thank you cards, which is sort of a warped description of what really needs to be done and that is that they need to be written first...In truth, I'm looking forward to writing them and reconnecting with all of those who held Tara and I in their thoughts and prayers during our marriage blessing. I may write a whole blog about that experience, but if you're really curious and reading this and want to know, send me an email. I'll post pictures here soon, as long as no one else rear ends me first!
*QuickPoll: Do you say "call out" sick or "call off" sick?
Image: Gaylen likes big butts and she cannot lie!
Despite this being an absolutely terrible picture by all photographic standards, it makes me laugh outloud every time I look at it.
Friday, October 28, 2005
Have you met my hubby? He's dashing!
As part of Val and Tara's Wedding Celebration 2005 (VATWC05), we registered for gifts in case people wanted to get us something. Our friends Lisa and Tanya, who also got married last year, sent us four napkins and napkin rings off of our registry from one of our lists. The company, in error, sent us the Pomagranite napkins instead of the Sienna napkins. Oh no!
I just called them to straighten this out. The good news is: the right color of napkins are on the way from C&B, but since I didn't have my registry number on me, they needed to know my last name and first name, and my husband's first name, to which I answered:
"Tara"
and she responded:
"Um...okay?"
And I'm thinking, 'Are you asking me? Because I'm pretty sure that's his name."
I just called them to straighten this out. The good news is: the right color of napkins are on the way from C&B, but since I didn't have my registry number on me, they needed to know my last name and first name, and my husband's first name, to which I answered:
"Tara"
and she responded:
"Um...okay?"
And I'm thinking, 'Are you asking me? Because I'm pretty sure that's his name."
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Saturday, October 15, 2005
Ouchie for Mr. Froggie!
Like I do every morning, yesterday I dropped off Tara at work, turned around and headed back into Northampton to go to work. Same thing every morning, like all the other people I was traveling with. Every morning there's traffic on the bridge and every morning, at least for the last eight days, the bridge has been wet. And yesterday, like every other fall of every other year forever, there were wet leaves all over the bridge, too.
When I'm stopped at a stop light or stopping at a stop light I often check my rear view mirror to make sure the person behind me is also stopping. My dad taught me how to drive, and defensively at that, so this is not atypical of my driving behavior. So yesterday, I knew I was doomed when I looked in my rear view mirror to see a silver Jeep Wrangler careening over the crest of the bridge far too fast to stop in time before using my Teach Peace Focus butt as her brakes. It happened fast enough that I couldn't not watch it happen, and at 35 miles per hour, she crunched and pushed me and my car, and then came to a full stop. Luckily for her, her car had a metal cage on the front to protect it in case some negligent person who later said, "Oh I guess I do need new tires like I suspected!" hit her while speeding on the bridge. Oh, wait. That negligent person WAS HER and I was the victim!
After the Wrangler ate my bumper, the cops came and I filed a report with the insurance company, I went to work. After about three hours, I developed a splitting, rabid headache and an irresistable desire to sleep. I called my doctor who directed me to the emergency room, where I eventually ended up and where I was diagnosed with a concussion.
After some lovely Oxycodone and 13 hours of sleep, I feel much better. Unfortunately, Mr. Focus didn't fair so well.
When I'm stopped at a stop light or stopping at a stop light I often check my rear view mirror to make sure the person behind me is also stopping. My dad taught me how to drive, and defensively at that, so this is not atypical of my driving behavior. So yesterday, I knew I was doomed when I looked in my rear view mirror to see a silver Jeep Wrangler careening over the crest of the bridge far too fast to stop in time before using my Teach Peace Focus butt as her brakes. It happened fast enough that I couldn't not watch it happen, and at 35 miles per hour, she crunched and pushed me and my car, and then came to a full stop. Luckily for her, her car had a metal cage on the front to protect it in case some negligent person who later said, "Oh I guess I do need new tires like I suspected!" hit her while speeding on the bridge. Oh, wait. That negligent person WAS HER and I was the victim!
After the Wrangler ate my bumper, the cops came and I filed a report with the insurance company, I went to work. After about three hours, I developed a splitting, rabid headache and an irresistable desire to sleep. I called my doctor who directed me to the emergency room, where I eventually ended up and where I was diagnosed with a concussion.
After some lovely Oxycodone and 13 hours of sleep, I feel much better. Unfortunately, Mr. Focus didn't fair so well.
Friday, October 07, 2005
Hello my name is...Hello?
As a way to bask in our utter nerdiness, Tara and I actually TiVo Jeopardy! Tara and I have watched Jeopardy! together for almost six years...just about since day O.N.E.
Tonight, there was a female contestant on named Helen. During Double Jeopardy! she signaled in to answer the question, and in typical Trebek fasion he starts, "Yes..." and then follows with naming the contestant who won the signal, except he says, "Hello." So there's an awkward pause until Helen realizes Old Trebek means her, and answers with the question.
There's another awkward pause and Trebek's acknowledgement that Helen had answered the question right, then a little giggle from Alex. Then he says, laughing at himself, "Why did I call you 'Hello'?"
Um, what is, you're a robot for $400?
Tonight, there was a female contestant on named Helen. During Double Jeopardy! she signaled in to answer the question, and in typical Trebek fasion he starts, "Yes..." and then follows with naming the contestant who won the signal, except he says, "Hello." So there's an awkward pause until Helen realizes Old Trebek means her, and answers with the question.
There's another awkward pause and Trebek's acknowledgement that Helen had answered the question right, then a little giggle from Alex. Then he says, laughing at himself, "Why did I call you 'Hello'?"
Um, what is, you're a robot for $400?
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Homophobics "R" Us
I am currently sluggishly plugging away at my MEd at UMass, reveling as often as I can in the disenfranchisement of part-time student/full-time worker. Everything there is geared towards the full-time student. Offices are only open from 9 - 4 when, I don't know, I'M WORKING, and readings are email access-only, which is great, because I, as a non-degree student don't qualify for an email address. So, I've run into a variety of obstacles in my experience so far, but none larger than the obstacle I ran into in class last night.
I am taking College Student Development Theory, which might sound really boring to most people but is actually very interesting and the psychological theories we learn are much more widely applicable than just to college students. We are study everything in stages: first, the general theories of college-age development, then specifically and in this order: gender development, sexual identity development, racial development, cognitive development, moral development and faith and religious development.
The general theories were interesting enough, but fell short in that 99% of the studies were done on upper middle class white males from Princeton, and, for variation, sometimes upper middle class white males from Harvard. When it came time to discuss gender development I thought, "All right. Now we can get into the nitty gritty. We can talk about feminism, marginlization, sexism, skewed studies, identity intersections! It will be great and lively!" Well, I was wrong. Our potentially wonderful conversation about gender development was instead replaced by a discussion about popular media and Barbie and Ken. BARBIE and KEN and GI JOE, people. Do you really want to know when I last talked about Barbie and Ken and GI Joe in relationship to my gender identity formation?! Do you?! Nine years ago in my first-year of college in Women's Studies 101. Have we not progressed in our conversation about gender beyond Barbie? Did we not have six massive theories in front of us to discuss in a more relevant way?
Yesterday we discussed sexual identity formation, reading articles that, for variation, studied upper middle class white GAY men from elite colleges. Really, it's all about diversity in sources. Being the hyper-intellectual class that we are, we spent most of the discussion talking about (sounds of trumpets blaring here):
Will and Grace.
Oh, and for flavor:
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
After several assaults on Carsen's "character" I thought it was important to point out that Carsen is actually a real person who is not acting as himself but rather is actually HIMSELF. And it is TELEVISION, which is, generally speaking, very very loosely rooted in reality ANYWAY. The professor found it problematic that Jack from W&G is so effeminate, and "won't that be a problem for someone watching the show who will then think that all gay people act that way?" We started talking about perception and identity, and how maybe Jack was an important character for gay men who are silly and snarky and funny and effeminate, and maybe FUCK ALL to those who leap to conclusions about all those they meet who might be gay and act like Jack.
She ended the conversation by saying that she thought only gay actors should play gay characters, and that gay characters should only be played by gay actors. This is the same as blackface, she said. Then, to top it all off, she throws in some lovely comments about four of the five African American women in her study of five African American lesbians felt that gay marriage wasn't a civil right. No context, no follow up. She just felt that was important to put out there.
Needless to say I was fuming, and when I talked to Sarah later I told her all of the above. She said that she thought only cancer patients should play cancer patients on TV, and then paused....
"Not that being gay is like having cancer. That's not what I mean..."
And I replied, "Well, you know, it is a disease of the mind, so I'm not sure if it's fair for me to comment."
I am taking College Student Development Theory, which might sound really boring to most people but is actually very interesting and the psychological theories we learn are much more widely applicable than just to college students. We are study everything in stages: first, the general theories of college-age development, then specifically and in this order: gender development, sexual identity development, racial development, cognitive development, moral development and faith and religious development.
The general theories were interesting enough, but fell short in that 99% of the studies were done on upper middle class white males from Princeton, and, for variation, sometimes upper middle class white males from Harvard. When it came time to discuss gender development I thought, "All right. Now we can get into the nitty gritty. We can talk about feminism, marginlization, sexism, skewed studies, identity intersections! It will be great and lively!" Well, I was wrong. Our potentially wonderful conversation about gender development was instead replaced by a discussion about popular media and Barbie and Ken. BARBIE and KEN and GI JOE, people. Do you really want to know when I last talked about Barbie and Ken and GI Joe in relationship to my gender identity formation?! Do you?! Nine years ago in my first-year of college in Women's Studies 101. Have we not progressed in our conversation about gender beyond Barbie? Did we not have six massive theories in front of us to discuss in a more relevant way?
Yesterday we discussed sexual identity formation, reading articles that, for variation, studied upper middle class white GAY men from elite colleges. Really, it's all about diversity in sources. Being the hyper-intellectual class that we are, we spent most of the discussion talking about (sounds of trumpets blaring here):
Will and Grace.
Oh, and for flavor:
Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
After several assaults on Carsen's "character" I thought it was important to point out that Carsen is actually a real person who is not acting as himself but rather is actually HIMSELF. And it is TELEVISION, which is, generally speaking, very very loosely rooted in reality ANYWAY. The professor found it problematic that Jack from W&G is so effeminate, and "won't that be a problem for someone watching the show who will then think that all gay people act that way?" We started talking about perception and identity, and how maybe Jack was an important character for gay men who are silly and snarky and funny and effeminate, and maybe FUCK ALL to those who leap to conclusions about all those they meet who might be gay and act like Jack.
She ended the conversation by saying that she thought only gay actors should play gay characters, and that gay characters should only be played by gay actors. This is the same as blackface, she said. Then, to top it all off, she throws in some lovely comments about four of the five African American women in her study of five African American lesbians felt that gay marriage wasn't a civil right. No context, no follow up. She just felt that was important to put out there.
Needless to say I was fuming, and when I talked to Sarah later I told her all of the above. She said that she thought only cancer patients should play cancer patients on TV, and then paused....
"Not that being gay is like having cancer. That's not what I mean..."
And I replied, "Well, you know, it is a disease of the mind, so I'm not sure if it's fair for me to comment."
Thursday, September 29, 2005
Thursday, September 22, 2005
Life is Beautiful
Today, on her way to work, a 23 year old woman was killed 250 feet from my office door when an armored car hit her while she rode her bike. It is not known yet exactly what happened, other than she was hit, then pinned, then died before they even got an ambulance there. Her bicycle was mangled into a horrific twist of metal, pedals, and parts.
This morning, before I knew what happened, I went about my day and took care of business. My coworker came into my office to tell me what happened, and choking back tears I immediately called Tara at work to tell her I love her. You see, Tara walks that same sidewalk everyday, and crosses in front of cars everyday, and 100s of people, literally, stand, everyday, where that woman was killed. She died today. She started out her morning like any other morning, ate the same breakfast she always eats, and rode her bike like she does everyday. Who knows what could have changed what happened to her today. Maybe if she forgot her wallet in her apartment or stopped to pet the cat one last time -- or didn't -- she would still be on earth right now, watching tv and thinking about her bike commute tomorrow morning.
Things change on a dime. Hundreds of thousands of people on the Gulf coast, in Asia, and in Iraq are learning that and living that everyday. Some of these things we can't control, but it underscores the importance of always and everyday treating people the way you want them to remember you, and don't ever let a day go by that you don't tell people who you love that you love them so much it hurts.
This morning, before I knew what happened, I went about my day and took care of business. My coworker came into my office to tell me what happened, and choking back tears I immediately called Tara at work to tell her I love her. You see, Tara walks that same sidewalk everyday, and crosses in front of cars everyday, and 100s of people, literally, stand, everyday, where that woman was killed. She died today. She started out her morning like any other morning, ate the same breakfast she always eats, and rode her bike like she does everyday. Who knows what could have changed what happened to her today. Maybe if she forgot her wallet in her apartment or stopped to pet the cat one last time -- or didn't -- she would still be on earth right now, watching tv and thinking about her bike commute tomorrow morning.
Things change on a dime. Hundreds of thousands of people on the Gulf coast, in Asia, and in Iraq are learning that and living that everyday. Some of these things we can't control, but it underscores the importance of always and everyday treating people the way you want them to remember you, and don't ever let a day go by that you don't tell people who you love that you love them so much it hurts.
Monday, September 12, 2005
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Friday, September 02, 2005
Selfish
Everything I could possibly complain about in my life pales in comparison to the horror that those on the Gulf coast of the US are facing right now, and that which they have faced all week. I have been riveted and floored by each new photo, report, piece of footage, and interview. I cried quietly at my desk today thinking of those people, chest-deep in waste water, pushing bodies and material goods aside as they sought something -- anything-- to bring them relief. I am shocked by the pictures of young mothers of young babies looking anguished and dehydrated, hoping they might be able to give thier babies a meal tonight. I am hurt and angered by how abandoned many of those people feel, by their city, their state, and their federal government. I am sad that every face that looks back into each camera is a black face. Everyday I wake up and what was bad the day before has now gotten worse. First the storm, then the people stranded, then the flooding, then the fires, then the shooting, then the starvation, then the dying.
I can't imagine losing everything, hanging on to only what I could carry, while the world slipped away in chaos around me. I am thinking about and praying for those people for whom that is their reality.
I can't imagine losing everything, hanging on to only what I could carry, while the world slipped away in chaos around me. I am thinking about and praying for those people for whom that is their reality.
Oh, that pesky English language!
In conclusion, as part of my job. Because I ran in to problems all the time with people that can't right. Its really annoying, and often people don't check there grammer and then I have to. Its not something I can get around. Some highlights from the passed weak:
- Someone writing me an email thanking me for my 'patients'
- A document from another office on campus including the word 'varietiations'
- Someone who called telling me they weren't sure if they were qualified because they hadn't yet finished their 'bachelorette's' degree
- A menu suggesting I might try their 'streusal' or their 'blacklened chicken'
I have made my fair share of errors, but come on people! I kahnt dew aul thuh werk four eww!
- Someone writing me an email thanking me for my 'patients'
- A document from another office on campus including the word 'varietiations'
- Someone who called telling me they weren't sure if they were qualified because they hadn't yet finished their 'bachelorette's' degree
- A menu suggesting I might try their 'streusal' or their 'blacklened chicken'
I have made my fair share of errors, but come on people! I kahnt dew aul thuh werk four eww!
Monday, August 29, 2005
Not for the squeamish!
OWWWWWW!!
Sometimes at the end of the day I get sick and tired of sitting face-forward in my office chair so if I'm sort of checked out by 4, I spin my chair around and kneel on the seat, elbows on my desk. It makes my back and legs and shoulders feel better, and while it inhibits my typing mobility, I find myself in this position at least three times a week.
All of my weight rests on the back of the chair, which has to be the perfect distance away from the desk in order to be properly supported by the edge of the desk while I maneuver some weird alien typing position. If the phone rings there is balancing and leaning and all kinds of acrobatics necessary to not have the entire ridiculous system go flying into the air in an eruption of phone, arms, pencils, feet, and keyboard. I've been working for a long time to achieve this balance.
Today I was in my usual position when I moved my hand to do something on my desk. Without realizing it, this set in motion a very painful lesson for me. As I reached out for whatever it was I wanted, I managed to push the chair back out of balance, hurtling it towards the desk's edge. Normally, this would not be an issue, but since I was reaching, the planets aligned to place perfectly that tender tag of skin, nerves, and tissue that adorns my breast between the edge of the desk and the chair, in perfect position for my chairback closing in for a good hard pinch, then squeeze, then crush.
I screamed, "OWWWW!" but could accept no sympathies because I didn't want to explain what I had done! I quickly lifted my body weight off of the chair and had to actually check for (1) continued connectedness and (2) blood. It was a horrible, horrible low, and while things are not bleeding and still connected, I hope my hypothetical baby doesn't mind always being stuck on the one working side that's left. I think the other side has been pinched off and sealed for good.
Sometimes at the end of the day I get sick and tired of sitting face-forward in my office chair so if I'm sort of checked out by 4, I spin my chair around and kneel on the seat, elbows on my desk. It makes my back and legs and shoulders feel better, and while it inhibits my typing mobility, I find myself in this position at least three times a week.
All of my weight rests on the back of the chair, which has to be the perfect distance away from the desk in order to be properly supported by the edge of the desk while I maneuver some weird alien typing position. If the phone rings there is balancing and leaning and all kinds of acrobatics necessary to not have the entire ridiculous system go flying into the air in an eruption of phone, arms, pencils, feet, and keyboard. I've been working for a long time to achieve this balance.
Today I was in my usual position when I moved my hand to do something on my desk. Without realizing it, this set in motion a very painful lesson for me. As I reached out for whatever it was I wanted, I managed to push the chair back out of balance, hurtling it towards the desk's edge. Normally, this would not be an issue, but since I was reaching, the planets aligned to place perfectly that tender tag of skin, nerves, and tissue that adorns my breast between the edge of the desk and the chair, in perfect position for my chairback closing in for a good hard pinch, then squeeze, then crush.
I screamed, "OWWWW!" but could accept no sympathies because I didn't want to explain what I had done! I quickly lifted my body weight off of the chair and had to actually check for (1) continued connectedness and (2) blood. It was a horrible, horrible low, and while things are not bleeding and still connected, I hope my hypothetical baby doesn't mind always being stuck on the one working side that's left. I think the other side has been pinched off and sealed for good.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
And the theme of the weekend is...
Well, it's not chicken.
I'm back at work after several glorious days of hanging out with Sarah, Doug, and monsterHarrison. It was a wonderful visit, though all too brief, but we did a lot together this weekend, including a trip to the farm, an outing at the park, going to church together, and spending lots of time lounging about, chasing Harrison around, and visiting. Oh, and zombies. There were zombies, too. And, um, some x-rated infantile searches on Google.
I got to put Harrison down for bed both nights, which is just an incredible experience. I loved snuggling him with his freshly shampooed yummy smelling hair while he picked through each book he wanted read and drank his milk. He roamed around the bed, jumping on and off and explored things in room. He chatted with himself and told me unintelligible things about what he was finding, then he'd climb back up into my lap and we'd read another book together. It was simultaneously the most intimate and most uncomplicated experience of my life, to sit with him, fully trusting, enthusiastic, loving and curious. I loved hearing him squeak and grunt as we learned about Mr. Brown's sounds and as we read Goodnight Moon. I loved lying him down in his crib, watching him prop his butt up in the air, snuggle his blanket, and quickly quiet himself down to sleep. I loved catching him 40 minutes later thumbing through Tara's Beginning Chinese books, the only books he could reach from the crib.
I loved being with family, and playing cards, and watching movies. I loved chasing Harrison around everywhere, and watching Sarah and Doug parent him together. I loved pushing Harrison in the swing, seeing Tara hold him, and watching him laugh as I tickled his tummy. I loved seeing how much he develops in the six week gap between times that I see him. I loved laughing so hard I cried with Sarah, Doug, and Tara, the kind of laugh you only have with your most intimate friends. I loved the endless debate of tandal, and pony.
I will post pictures of Bub in the Tub when I download them from home. Until then, goodnight, moon.
I'm back at work after several glorious days of hanging out with Sarah, Doug, and monsterHarrison. It was a wonderful visit, though all too brief, but we did a lot together this weekend, including a trip to the farm, an outing at the park, going to church together, and spending lots of time lounging about, chasing Harrison around, and visiting. Oh, and zombies. There were zombies, too. And, um, some x-rated infantile searches on Google.
I got to put Harrison down for bed both nights, which is just an incredible experience. I loved snuggling him with his freshly shampooed yummy smelling hair while he picked through each book he wanted read and drank his milk. He roamed around the bed, jumping on and off and explored things in room. He chatted with himself and told me unintelligible things about what he was finding, then he'd climb back up into my lap and we'd read another book together. It was simultaneously the most intimate and most uncomplicated experience of my life, to sit with him, fully trusting, enthusiastic, loving and curious. I loved hearing him squeak and grunt as we learned about Mr. Brown's sounds and as we read Goodnight Moon. I loved lying him down in his crib, watching him prop his butt up in the air, snuggle his blanket, and quickly quiet himself down to sleep. I loved catching him 40 minutes later thumbing through Tara's Beginning Chinese books, the only books he could reach from the crib.
I loved being with family, and playing cards, and watching movies. I loved chasing Harrison around everywhere, and watching Sarah and Doug parent him together. I loved pushing Harrison in the swing, seeing Tara hold him, and watching him laugh as I tickled his tummy. I loved seeing how much he develops in the six week gap between times that I see him. I loved laughing so hard I cried with Sarah, Doug, and Tara, the kind of laugh you only have with your most intimate friends. I loved the endless debate of tandal, and pony.
I will post pictures of Bub in the Tub when I download them from home. Until then, goodnight, moon.
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