Posts tagged ‘friends’
It’s Friday, y’all.
(By the way, I’m just going to pretend that I’ve been blogging continuously for the last month. It’s cool, right?)
For the last few weeks, and for the next two weeks, I have iron infusions on Fridays. And Mondays and Wednesdays. It started when my hemoglobin went below 9. Which is like, if I saw you on the street and you happened to share that your hemoglobin was below 9, I’d probably ask what charity you wanted me to donate to in lieu of flowers for your funeral and also, you look really really really pale. That was me. Every morning was a big dramedy because I’d think to myself, there’s no way on god’s green/brown/blue earth that once I go downstairs I’m going to make it back upstairs unless there’s a giant cockroach down there that I need to escape from and all the downstairs doors are dead-bolted from the inside and I have no other choice but to run upstairs like some idiotic soon-to-be-dead heroine in a horror film, so I better have everything I need. And thank goodness my kids are old enough to run up and down the stairs for me.
I sat in My Chemical Romance’s “battery charger” and ignored the following:
We wasted a lot of expensive raw milk because I didn’t have the strength to pour it into the kids’ cereal bowls. So I let them pour. In addition to having no energy, motivation, or desire to breathe, I also had some pretty nasty diarrhea. I wasn’t too shocked when my labs came back sucktastic; I was shocked at HOW sucktastic they were.
The OB I see occasionally, who knows I’m planning a homebirth and generally leaves me alone, called me to make sure my brain was functioning and said that the labs had been run twice and yes I really needed to start iron pills. Which I take, by RX, twice a day anyway. So I called the hematologist and went in to see him and we agreed on the iron infusions.
I really didn’t want to turn this entry into a whine-fest. The basic are: I felt sucktastic, I started getting iron infusions, I’m continuing to get them, my amazing friends have been ABSOLUTELY FREAKING AMAZING at helping me with the kids and around the house (and honestly I feel terrible because Das Goofendorfer scrubbed my kitchen floor on her hands and knees and in about 2 days it was back to dirt/sand/mud/dog fur/dry food), and now I’m feeling better and very glad for Jugs.
Also, My Chemical Romance got a new car, and I’m doing NaNoWriMo in November to kill time before Tax Deduction is born. Nice-Nice and Das Goofendorfer are doing it too! I’m pretty excited. We all know I’m the best writer in the history of ever, but now we’ll see if I can actually harness my awesome into 30 straight days of writing. So far, we know I kind of fall off the face of the earth every few weeks, so this will be a challenge.
I liken it to labor and birth — lately I liken EVERYTHING to labor and birth — because I think at times it will be uncomfortable and difficult and I won’t want to continue (NaNo vets say it happens in week two) but ultimately I’m only “competing” against myself, and the glory is all mine.
I’ve noticed lately that I’m getting a lot of hits from things like golden*shower.com and areal*s*xvideo.com and things like that, and I thought, Oh come on! It’s not called a ‘fistula’ because of fisting, people!
My Chemical Romance says it’s because of my name, Cream of Mommy Soup. But, you know, it’s like Cream of Celery or something! Not… ewww.
Should I change it? (again?) Sometimes I lean toward MommyMarinade.com since I love to marinade. Or is it marinate? Whatever. I can actually purchase that domain, mommymarinade, should I choose to.
Please let me know what you think!
In other news, Prop 8 (aka PropH8) was overturned. To which, if you can’t guess, I say HELLSTHEEFFYEAH!
I used to have my minvan covered in bumper stickers of all kinds — including “Don’t blame me. I was raised by wolves.” (Sorry, mom) and “Visualize Whirled Peas.” I had probably 10 stickers on there. Then I decided to get rid of everything except the ones that were really important to me.
So I kept my Cardigan Welsh Corgi Euro-sticker, and
However, when I was looking for that bumper sticker image, I totally wanted to buy this one:
There is something about gay rights that has always been a big thing for me. I can’t explain it. I have no dog in the fight. I don’t even have any close gay friends.
Maybe it’s not even gay rights — I just have empathy for people who are told that they can’t do XYZ because they’re ABC. I’m sure if I’d been around in the 1960s, I would have marched for equality; I definitely would have been all about suffrage. Gay rights seems to be the hot topic for my generation.
I just don’t get wanting to deny the right to marry. Seriously, why not? Marriage is a legal thing, but don’t we all have our own interpretation of it? No two marriages are alike. If two people genuinely want to get married, who am I (or you, or anyone) to say NO? Sorry, you do not have the opportunity to be an idiot like Britney Spears and get married in Vegas for 20 hours. Nor do you have the right to be like Elizabeth Taylor and pledge commitment to someone “til death do you part” — seven different someones.
Apparently we simply hold gays to a higher standard than that.
A really interesting book on the subject of marriage — historical through contemporary — is Elizabeth Gilbert’s follow up to Eat, Pray, Love, which is called Committed (A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage).
Every Friday night, My Chemical Romance goes to Nerd Night; Animal, Mineral, The Informant, and My Masterpiece watch a movie, and I have my girl friends over for Friday Night Jugs.
I have no idea how FNJ officially started. I love playing cards — my parents are actually professional card players, so games are part of my vernacular – but I refuse to play with My Chemical Romance because he is smarter than me and usually wins, and I’m a sore loser. Wii, on the other hand, is more my intellectual equal — at least when it comes to cards. Wii’s husband works very late most nights, so we were probably hanging out on a Friday night with our kids and they were bogarting the TV, so we decided to play cards like intelligent adults (SNORT).
Then we invited Nice-Nice, because she lives very close to me now, and she brought her baby, E, who still refuses to eat anything that doesn’t have Nice-Nice’s nipple attached to it.
I think next we invited Renaissance Redux — there! You officially have a nickname, RenRedux! I’ll explain it later — and Das Goofendorfer, both of whom have nursing babies.
In fact, everyone but Wii is either pregnant or nursing. I do not think she feels left out, though. She did nurse for four straight years.
Finally, Wii brought in The Mathlete, because we needed someone smart. She has the youngest baby, less than three months.
Occasionally we have She’s Super Sweet, and once we were graced with Six Degrees of Lora. She’s a photographer and everyone in the crunchy community “knows” her.
There are a few rules:
1. It’s always at my house and I make the best food. It’s at my house because four kids — and a half — trumps two (the next closest), and those two are Wii’s kids, who can hang with my kids if her husband isn’t home. Everyone else has not-quite-mobile babies. Also, Nice-Nice, RenRedux and She’s Super Sweet live very close. So it’s easy to get together for a game of four.
I make the best food because… I just do. Last night I cooked baked potato skins (sans bacon), mashed potatoes (made from the insides of the baked potato skins for Nice-Nice, whose baby doesn’t tolerate cheese), and black forest chocolate cake with overly-sweet vanilla frosting that I’d made for Nice-Nice the day before, when she watched my kids. Prior to that, I spent a few weeks experimenting with various deviled egg recipes.
I love cooking for FNJ because they appreciate my food!
2. When we have food, it stays in the kitchen.
This rule was instituted after a game-less game week in which we brought the food into my dining room and rather than play cards or games, we all stuffed our faces and yacked like girlfriends do all night. Wii said it was because the food took up the table, so we didn’t have any room for games.
3. Nice-Nice finds something offensive.
Nice-Nice herself isn’t actually offended; she merely points out that a certain phrase, gesture, word, look, food, child, joke, story, name, picture, internet site, magazine, book, movie, article, or Face*book game could be considered offensive. And how.
4. We offer three invitations to Friday Night Jugs; if you are invited and turn us down three times — without good reason — you are crossed off The List.
Honestly, I can’t see why anyone WOULDN’T want to come back after they attend once. The Mathlete drives over 25 miles one way for FNJ. Because it’s that awesome
I love Friday Night Jugs. It’s very refreshing after a long week, to hang out with my girlfriends. I look forward to Daylight Savings ending, when I can put my kids to bed even earlier and get more girl time!
1. Organic Milk. 2%.
This isn’t that weird — except for the fact that I’m craving non-raw milk right now. Maybe it’s the consistency of raw that is turning me off. The first few cups of raw milk are practically cream; the last few cups are like drinking skim ::vomit:: Sometimes the place I buy my raw milk runs out, which is how we’ll end up with a gallon or two of organic, and I’m totally hoarding it.
I just finished Orange is the New Black and it was the best book I’ve read in a long time. Which is really saying something when you consider that I probably read two books per week. Another recent nonfiction winner? Women, Food, and God by Geneen Roth. I’m on a wait list for the Oprah bio; I can’t wait for that one either. Along with The Imperfectionists, which is supposedly creative non-fiction.
I love to cook, that’s not a secret. Baking has never been my thing because it’s so scientific; you really can’t play around with it. You can see or taste if you put in too much flour or not enough baking soda *Not that I would ever do that. Perhaps baking is appealing to my current control-freak tendencies, leading us to #4…
Yes, that evil witch with her stupid fairy wings and lace-up shoes — and her ridiculously clean house. I’m trying to form a long-lasting relationship with my “swish-and-swipe” routine. FlyLady is probably improving my marriage: she has taught me that expecting My Chemical Romance to do all the dishes is futile; six people plus a Dog Without a Downside use more plates and bowls than one person can keep up with. Even when using that modern convenience called a dishwasher — and we always use a dishwasher. I am morally opposed to washing dishes by hand. It is perhaps the one way in which I’m totally not-crunchy.
5. My Sixth Sense for Pregnancy
Recently I’ve noted that two women were pregnant long before they even announced it. One, I realized it on the very day she peed on a stick. Another was from a Face*book status. I thought it was abundantly clear to everyone who read it, but so far I’m the only one who has even guessed. Clearly I’ve got some ESP going on with my fellow breeders.
Oh, whine. If I pick up one more book that involves a “birth gone wrong” scenario, I’m going to live webcam my homebirth so that people can see that birth is normal. Seriously, even that bestseller that I waited on a library lists for months for, The Postmistress, somehow brought in a HORRIBLE TRAGIC BAD BIRTH STORY. The most frustrating thing is trying to find a book that (1) is well-written (2) doesn’t involve HORRIBLE TRAGIC BAD BIRTH STORIES (3) is well-written. Seems like you get either well-written or you get normal birth/no birth.
2. My therapist
Actually, I love her. Possibly too much; I want to know how much longer therapy is going to continue. I started seeing her because I needed a note from a psychologist clearing me for weight-loss surgery; two years later I’m skinny and still problem-plagued. At least in my mind. But having a therapist is a bit of a crutch for me: I use her to gauge where I am, and I need to trust myself to gauge where I am. She says I’ve made progress. Eh, I probably have, but who’s to say I wouldn’t have progressed on my own without her and her $10 copay?
3. Pregnancy brain
What was I just typing about? Where am I? What time is it? I got on this computer to do something, and now I find myself doing something completely different with absolutely no recollection of what I am supposed to be doing, and a vague sense that I’m forgetting something important when I go out in public, like my purse. Or a bra.
4. The Library’s New Hours
Or lack thereof. Due to city budget cuts, my local library is currently open four days per week, two of those days only until 5pm. All I want to do is read (nonfiction; or well-written fiction about non-breeders) and I get agitated when I realize it’s going to be three days before I can even browse paperbacks again. The next closest library is 20 minutes away.
5. The Heat.
GO. AWAY. Seriously.
I’m grateful for the following:
Several friends — who all have babies born in December! So when their babies turn one, Tax Deduction will arrive! — have loaned me maternity clothes. Thank you. Thank you! Thank you! They are cool maternity clothes. They are — dare I say it — stylish?
My last pregnancies, I wore things like this
And now? I wear things like this
Thank you, Das Goofenheimer and Friend Without a Nickname *for now. (There are several possibilities but I haven’t narrowed anything down yet.) They are also regular members of the Friday Night Girls Card Game, which takes place here when My Chemical Romance is at Nerd Night.
2. CAR SEAT HELP
Have I mentioned I’m a Child Passenger Safety Technician?
For a while, when I was overwhelmed with too many things to do, I wasn’t so into car seats. Now I’m back. First, The Informant outgrew her Bri*tax Marathon by height, so she needed a new seat. I got her a Gra*co Nautilus. I loooooooooove the seat. Love. What a great install, what a great design, what a great seat! It’s a forward facing-only seat, that goes to 65lbs with a harness (although will be outgrown by height before 65lbs) and then converts to a high-back booster and also a backless booster. Fantastic seat, and the price is good, around $150.
Then I found out about Tax Deduction and one of my first concerns was where the hell everyone would fit in my car. Seriously. I have five seats in the back of my minivan. I will soon have five children filling those seats. When car seats are wider than about 10 inches across — and this includes cup holders and arm rests — it’s hard to fit them. I’ve been stressing and dreaming of winning the lottery so I can buy a 2008 Dodge Sprinter Passenger van which seats a bunch of kids — with LATCH and tethers!
I’ve been toying around with “puzzles” — car seat lingo for different configurations of car seats that work together in one row — and practically crying. My car and my seats — and my kids! — don’t puzzle well. Finally, after poring over http://www.car-seat.org and talking to my friend J who is a very experienced, highly OCD-about-car-seats tech, I came up with a solution: get an extra third-row and put it where my second row is (currently two captain’s chairs), and then use the following puzzle configuration in the second row: Animal, My Masterpiece, Tax Deduction. Third row: Mineral, The Informant.
It works. Somehow. And we don’t need a new car that we can’t afford. (Just a new seat: the supremely narrow Sunshine Kids Radian XTSL for My Masterpiece, which will puzzle nicely between Animal’s booster and Tax Deduction’s infant seat.)
Yeah, still a bit freaked out about the pregnancy. Four kids is overwhelming at times. Sometimes, it’s so overwhelming that the mere idea of five makes me want to crawl into bed with a good book (I have been reading like a total maniac for the last few weeks. I merely finish a book, take a breath and begin a new one. I start to panic when I have less than three books on my nightstand.) Anyway, I’ve gotten a lot of support.
My Chemical Romance looks at me like I’m crazy when I mention my trepidation about five kids ages seven and under. He just accepts things at face value; I’m pregnant with Tax Deduction so therefore we will have five kids ages seven and under so therefore it will be fine. Oh, to be that… sane.
My friends have been very understanding. Wii tolerates my incessant crankiness — combined with whining about a pregnancy-cold that is driving me absolutely freaking out of my damn mind — with great aplomb. My nose! Won’t stop running! I can’t breathe! And it never gets better!
My Face*book “friends” who have scheduled inductions-that-turn-into-c-sections (or, more frequently, just scheduled c-sections for suspected macrosomia or being GBS positive or just plain old “my doctor told me it was time for me not to be pregnant anymore”) remind me why I’m happy to have a homebirth. Someone I know is being induced in late June because she’s due on July 4 and if she goes into labor then, “there won’t be enough staff on at the hospital because it’s a holiday.” Really???? Better tell all the rednecks not to play with fireworks, in that case!