Via Happy Notions/Kaylen:
1. Respond and rework. Answer the questions on your blog, replace one question you dislike with a question of your own invention; add a question of your own.
2. Tag eight other un-tagged people.
What is your current obsession? knitting, quilting (again)
Good brunch place? A little on the pricey side, but I like Nadoz.
Do you nap a lot? Not anymore...
Who was the last person you hugged? Maeve after she got in trouble for spilling her lunch on the floor.
What’s for dinner? Fish. Fry.
What was the last thing you bought? Groceries
What are you listening to right now? For the buzzer on the cake for the fish fry.
What is your favorite weather? About 60 degrees, bright, sunny sky, with a slight breeze.
What’s on your bedside table? A lamp, the Breastfeeding Answer Book, lanolin, neosporin, chapstick, lotion, a portable DVD player, Law & Order Season One.
Say something to the person/s who tagged you. Are you going to Cairo this weekend?
If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you want it to be? If it's my only house, it would be right here. If it were my second house, it would be...umm...dang it. Anywhere beautiful near water and forest.
Favorite vacation spot? Big Sur.
Name the things you can’t live without. water, air, redi-whip
What would you like to have in your hands right now? the magic homeopathic remedy to make Leo ok with lying on a play mat for ten minutes withOUT screaming.
What is your favorite tea flavor? red zinger and lemon zinger.
What would you like to get rid of? heh. How about all the grass in my yard, replaced with kid-friendly landscaping.
If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go? Clyde. It's been kind of a harried two months (duh).
What did you want to become as a child? 1. A waitress, until my mom told me I couldn't. 2. A nurse because my dad was one. 3. An elf. Tolkien, not Santa.
What do you like better, e-mail or telephone calls? Email. I am phone-shy.
What is your favorite sport to play? I guess biking isn't a sport. Fencing.
What was your favorite concert you attended? Willy Porter and Tori Amos. Lovely.
What is one thing that will ALWAYS make you smile? Babies smiling at me.
I don't tag folks, but I couldn't help but do this one.
Friday, March 27, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Life's Work
I've been emailing an old La Leche League friend the past few weeks as I dealt with thrush and what looked like might have been a supply issue due to thrush (and in fact, probably was, but more on that later). I was thinking about how I'd done so much work with League, but in the end, it wasn't my life's work, and I left. Basically, I found myself getting unsympathetic, and that's the last thing a new mom needs to hear on the phone (I was fabulous online, but then they took that help form away...). League is Cathy's life's work. She is so good at what she does and so passionate. But it isn't mine, even though I am eternally grateful for their support and I didn't leave because I was angry or something like that. I just couldn't make it be all I did.
The woman I run the Atrium with at Pius called a couple weeks ago and we chatted about the woman who runs the program at Margaret's, and has started a morning Atrium at Pius for other 3-5 year olds who couldn't make it to the afternoon session. We lamented how busy we were, how hard it was to find time to make materials, to prepare, and how natural it seemed to be for Therese. Atrium is her life's work. It isn't mine, even though I love it. But I'm learning that I'm not very good at it, compared to Therese. Because she has sunk her soul into it and I just can't figure out how.
I'm not sure I know anyone who takes Girl Scouting as her life's work, but let me tell you, it ain't mine. Not just because of the cookie situation, but also the paperwork, the bitter volunteers who are short with me via email or in person because I haven't filled out my ABC-123 form yet. The red tape involved with simply taking a group of girls to a park is really over the top. I want girl scouting to be my life's work, probably more than Atrium or La Leche League, but it isn't. Maybe it will be after we get over this hump. I love working with the girls, I think I'm pretty good at it, but I have a hard time with several aspects of it. I will stick with it...but it isn't my passion.
It's silly to even mention it, but Irish Dance isn't my life's work either. Nor is montessori education or heirloom gardening or old house rehab or local politics or mah jongg. Well, if mah jongg could be a "life's work", maybe I'd sign up for that. But I can't make myself sink my entire self into any of this. I simply can't get all riled up about it. None of it, as my friend Ann would put it, makes my heart sing in a way that says "this is what you should be doing."
Not even math.
Last night I went to an Art & Environment meeting at church. Also not my life's work, this plant and linen care, decorating and maintaining. But rather subtly, the idea of making a banner for Easter came up. I don't know if there was this intention or not, or even if I was the one who said it first. We went out into the nave and looked up at the crucifix and the rose window (which we couldn't see because it was dark, but we knew what we were looking at). We talked a bit about whites and golds and starburst designs and what to do, what to do. I told them I'd do some thinking.
I went home and did some talking with Mike, who gave me yet another look (this one I'm referring to as the "900 boxes of cookies" look--meaning, "are you sure you want to do something else right now?"). I'm not sure. I don't know if I have enough time and this baby, oy, he's starting to be tougher. But quilting for church may be something I could call a life's work.
But not really. I love it, I do sink energy and time into it without complaint or bitterness. But if I never made another quilted banner for church, I'd find something else to do with my time.
Maybe I really am just a jill-of-all-trades and I need to stop pondering this. Do what I can where I am and learn something new and do that for a while. It strikes me as seriously ADHD to be this way, but maybe that isn't so bad.
The woman I run the Atrium with at Pius called a couple weeks ago and we chatted about the woman who runs the program at Margaret's, and has started a morning Atrium at Pius for other 3-5 year olds who couldn't make it to the afternoon session. We lamented how busy we were, how hard it was to find time to make materials, to prepare, and how natural it seemed to be for Therese. Atrium is her life's work. It isn't mine, even though I love it. But I'm learning that I'm not very good at it, compared to Therese. Because she has sunk her soul into it and I just can't figure out how.
I'm not sure I know anyone who takes Girl Scouting as her life's work, but let me tell you, it ain't mine. Not just because of the cookie situation, but also the paperwork, the bitter volunteers who are short with me via email or in person because I haven't filled out my ABC-123 form yet. The red tape involved with simply taking a group of girls to a park is really over the top. I want girl scouting to be my life's work, probably more than Atrium or La Leche League, but it isn't. Maybe it will be after we get over this hump. I love working with the girls, I think I'm pretty good at it, but I have a hard time with several aspects of it. I will stick with it...but it isn't my passion.
It's silly to even mention it, but Irish Dance isn't my life's work either. Nor is montessori education or heirloom gardening or old house rehab or local politics or mah jongg. Well, if mah jongg could be a "life's work", maybe I'd sign up for that. But I can't make myself sink my entire self into any of this. I simply can't get all riled up about it. None of it, as my friend Ann would put it, makes my heart sing in a way that says "this is what you should be doing."
Not even math.
Last night I went to an Art & Environment meeting at church. Also not my life's work, this plant and linen care, decorating and maintaining. But rather subtly, the idea of making a banner for Easter came up. I don't know if there was this intention or not, or even if I was the one who said it first. We went out into the nave and looked up at the crucifix and the rose window (which we couldn't see because it was dark, but we knew what we were looking at). We talked a bit about whites and golds and starburst designs and what to do, what to do. I told them I'd do some thinking.
I went home and did some talking with Mike, who gave me yet another look (this one I'm referring to as the "900 boxes of cookies" look--meaning, "are you sure you want to do something else right now?"). I'm not sure. I don't know if I have enough time and this baby, oy, he's starting to be tougher. But quilting for church may be something I could call a life's work.
But not really. I love it, I do sink energy and time into it without complaint or bitterness. But if I never made another quilted banner for church, I'd find something else to do with my time.
Maybe I really am just a jill-of-all-trades and I need to stop pondering this. Do what I can where I am and learn something new and do that for a while. It strikes me as seriously ADHD to be this way, but maybe that isn't so bad.
Leaving
Saturday night, I had this dream. And I know there is nothing more boring than listening to someone describe in excruciating detail something their subconscious mind thought about while sleeping. But a quick summation: we were moving to Omaha. I was having arguments with realtors on the phone, I was breaking the news to friends and family, and I was making a list of everything I was going to have to do: find new doctors, new schools, new house, new friends...it was so upsetting in the dream that I told (dream) Mike that this must just be a bad dream.
The next morning, we went to church, and after communion I sat and idly watched people coming back from communion (we were sitting up front, which is rare for us, but Mike is a confirmation sponsor and there was a rite of welcoming, etc). And I noted how many of the people I knew. Which ones I knew from school, which from committees, from neighborhoods, from RCIA, volunteering for the the picnic, girl scouts, and so on. I have worn many, many hats at St. Pius, and having done so, I know a lot of people.
This realization combined with the dream about moving shook up my day. And my week. I moved so much growing up, that I never really had a chance to realize what it does. I was never in a place long enough to sink these kinds of roots down--I was always this somebody who was in that class for two years or lived in the house on the corner for 18 months. Now, though, I've been in this house and parish for almost 11 years; in St. Louis (contiguously) for half my life. Packing up and leaving now? Not only would it be shatteringly devastating for me, but I began to realize it would change people I left behind, too.
I'm not leaving. I told Mike Sunday afternoon about the dream, about what I'd been thinking all morning. I reiterated my plan to have folks from the coroner's office come to take me out of my house when it was time for me to leave (meaning, I hope to die here--not soon, but that's how I hope I'll wind up leaving). He gave me that look that Dara gives me when he's out of town. Sort of a "I am resigned to your craziness" look.
Stand in the place where you are
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before
The next morning, we went to church, and after communion I sat and idly watched people coming back from communion (we were sitting up front, which is rare for us, but Mike is a confirmation sponsor and there was a rite of welcoming, etc). And I noted how many of the people I knew. Which ones I knew from school, which from committees, from neighborhoods, from RCIA, volunteering for the the picnic, girl scouts, and so on. I have worn many, many hats at St. Pius, and having done so, I know a lot of people.
This realization combined with the dream about moving shook up my day. And my week. I moved so much growing up, that I never really had a chance to realize what it does. I was never in a place long enough to sink these kinds of roots down--I was always this somebody who was in that class for two years or lived in the house on the corner for 18 months. Now, though, I've been in this house and parish for almost 11 years; in St. Louis (contiguously) for half my life. Packing up and leaving now? Not only would it be shatteringly devastating for me, but I began to realize it would change people I left behind, too.
I'm not leaving. I told Mike Sunday afternoon about the dream, about what I'd been thinking all morning. I reiterated my plan to have folks from the coroner's office come to take me out of my house when it was time for me to leave (meaning, I hope to die here--not soon, but that's how I hope I'll wind up leaving). He gave me that look that Dara gives me when he's out of town. Sort of a "I am resigned to your craziness" look.
Stand in the place where you are
Now face west
Think about the place where you live
Wonder why you haven't before
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Enfamil P.S.
Ok, now having said that, I'm going to say this. I know how expensive this stuff is. If this is your brand already and you want it, I'm happy to pass it on to you--the few folks I know who read this blog and have babies. Otherwise, I'm stumped as to what I should do with it. I guess post it on freecycle.
Just in case I was desperate, I guess
Today two packages arrived in the mail. One was from amazon.com, something I ordered last week. The other was from my good friends at Mead Johnson.
A pretty little girl baby on the front with the tag line, "Nourish the dreams you have with a free sample of Enfamil LIPIL."
Huh. I guess, you know, two months in, surely I've given up on all that breastfeeding nonsense and now it's time to get down to which brand of formula I'm going to sink hundreds of dollars into over the next 10 months.
It's the Enfamil Family Beginnings Pack--"Our closest formula to breast milk." I remember folks telling me this when Sophia was a baby. Don't bother nursing, Bridgett, Enfamil is just as good! It has DHA! People who research for weeks before buying a DVD player, who don't believe a thing the ads say about a cell phone company, take all this at face value. There are pretty babies on the packages, after all.
This isn't a diatribe against mothers who choose formula. Trust me, I know how hard and awkward and uncomfortable early breastfeeding can be. And for some moms, it isn't an option at all. This is about Mead Johnson and my very favorite, the Nestle family of companies.
This is about the package of formula labeled "breastfeeding support" that my otherwise fabulous pediatrician's office tried to give me--it was free, after all. Some sort of warped newspeak, labeling a package of formula as supporting breastfeeding.
The audacity of the marketing amazes me, even now. The whole time Sophia and Maeve were infants, we never ever received formula in the mail. Coupons, yes, but never the actual product.
On the cover of the cans inside, there's a drawing of a faux Peter Rabbit and a baby on Mrs. Rabbit's lap using a bottle.
Except everybody knows Peter Rabbit was breastfed.
A pretty little girl baby on the front with the tag line, "Nourish the dreams you have with a free sample of Enfamil LIPIL."
Huh. I guess, you know, two months in, surely I've given up on all that breastfeeding nonsense and now it's time to get down to which brand of formula I'm going to sink hundreds of dollars into over the next 10 months.
It's the Enfamil Family Beginnings Pack--"Our closest formula to breast milk." I remember folks telling me this when Sophia was a baby. Don't bother nursing, Bridgett, Enfamil is just as good! It has DHA! People who research for weeks before buying a DVD player, who don't believe a thing the ads say about a cell phone company, take all this at face value. There are pretty babies on the packages, after all.
This isn't a diatribe against mothers who choose formula. Trust me, I know how hard and awkward and uncomfortable early breastfeeding can be. And for some moms, it isn't an option at all. This is about Mead Johnson and my very favorite, the Nestle family of companies.
This is about the package of formula labeled "breastfeeding support" that my otherwise fabulous pediatrician's office tried to give me--it was free, after all. Some sort of warped newspeak, labeling a package of formula as supporting breastfeeding.
The audacity of the marketing amazes me, even now. The whole time Sophia and Maeve were infants, we never ever received formula in the mail. Coupons, yes, but never the actual product.
On the cover of the cans inside, there's a drawing of a faux Peter Rabbit and a baby on Mrs. Rabbit's lap using a bottle.
Except everybody knows Peter Rabbit was breastfed.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Ramona, Ramona, Ramona
I don't assume everyone knows the Ramona series of books by Beverly Cleary, but the majority of people who have either been a girl, have taught children, have been in first grade, or have for some reason had a fondness for children's literature, probably have.
I have figured something out. I live in a Beverly Cleary novel. I don't play the sensible, lovely mother with the hair she tucks behind her ear, with the part time job that she magically transforms into full time in order to support her family when her husband loses his job, with no complaint seen or heard by her children. I am not so graceful or charming as that. No, I am Ramona. I am.
I have just squeezed a giant tube of toothpaste into the bathroom sink just for the thrill of it--and now, I'm trying to hold the bathroom door shut before my older sister comes in and finds it. And tells on me.
That's how I'm looking at this cookie situation. I could have been the sensible voice of reason last month. I could have put my foot down firmly and gotten into a shouting match. I could have threatened and cajoled and gotten my way. But no. Instead, I watched while it just happened. Totally gave up control but maintained the responsibility.
And now, there's the big pile of toothpaste staring back at me. Or in this case, a missing thousand dollars. Do realize that she paid $2528 already. But still owed $1000 and thought she had time to pay it back--maybe months and months worth of time, because while Council is a scary unknown entity, this little brownie troop isn't anything to be frightened about.
So this morning, I talked with Council. They gave me permission to resubmit paperwork and report her as non-paying. Turns out, they will take on the responsibility--I had assumed incorrectly that we were alone in shark-infested waters.
[Side note: some girl scout volunteers just shouldn't be girl scout volunteers, but the woman who runs the cookie stuff at the Council level is very nice and patient]
So the meeting began with no Cookie Mom showing her face. She dropped off her daughter but didn't come into the building. At the end of the meeting, I had another mom wrapping things up with the girls and I was sitting at the front table handing out the newsletter when she came in.
She came in and gave me a hug. Thanked me for everything I do.
I told her I needed the money. I've never been in such an awkward position--I've never had to argue over money with someone, not a roommate, husband, sister, no one.
She backpedaled and gave me a lot of "I know" and "I will." I told her she had until next week Monday. I told her about the forms I'd been given, how we'd filled them out the wrong way before and that she needed to be reported as a non-paying parent.
Then she started with the excuses. There were three, in fact, just like I thought:
1. Car accident
2. Trip to a conference this weekend with her teenaged daughter
3. Her sister stole money out of her uncle's estate, which she was going to use as collateral on the cookies. This one I believed (I mean, I believed them all as things that happened, but this one struck me as plausible--cover yourself with money you have in a shared account, but then the other person takes it all).
She went on at length about the money her sister took, but I remembered back to RA training in college. Folks in trouble like to change the subject. Your goal is to stay on target and get results. So I asked her, "How close are you?"
"Not close at all. We haven't talked in years. We're not even close in age, but--"
"No. Not your sister. How close are you to selling the rest of the cookies?"
She looked like I'd shaken her. She stammered and admitted that due to the trip for the teenaged daughter, she hadn't sold much at all. Plus the car accident resulted in the loss of her van. She estimated that she had $150 of the GRAND she owes me. I nodded sympathetically and told her that I'd give her until Monday.
"After that, I'm going to have to provide some kind of explanation to Council."
"Trust me, I will never do this kind of thing again."
"That's part of the form's reason to exist, actually," I told her. "You won't be allowed to do it again. You won't be allowed to sign permission forms for cookie sales, you won't be able to be in charge of any money or products. You need to get me the money by Monday."
"I'm selling cookies right now, you know," and she mentioned the unauthorized booth. I countered by telling her that the booth itself wasn't allowed under council rules, which was part of the reason why council wanted the forms filled out right now.
"I will have it for you. I'll get it to [cookie manager] no problem, Monday morning."
I nodded, told her that I knew she didn't mean for any of this to happen. And then she said something that struck me as oddly misled, if true, or pathetically pandering if false: "I did this for you. For the troop. I didn't know it would go this way."
"I know," I answered, successfully not losing the remainder of my cool. My cookie manager gave me a look that told me she expected me to lose it. But I grabbed up my kids and the remaining stuff from the meeting and we all headed out together.
I will not be using toothpaste out of a plastic bag for the next 6 months (to continue the Ramona analogy). I have it covered. Council can handle it. Or else it will handle itself within the week.
Whee.
I have figured something out. I live in a Beverly Cleary novel. I don't play the sensible, lovely mother with the hair she tucks behind her ear, with the part time job that she magically transforms into full time in order to support her family when her husband loses his job, with no complaint seen or heard by her children. I am not so graceful or charming as that. No, I am Ramona. I am.
I have just squeezed a giant tube of toothpaste into the bathroom sink just for the thrill of it--and now, I'm trying to hold the bathroom door shut before my older sister comes in and finds it. And tells on me.
That's how I'm looking at this cookie situation. I could have been the sensible voice of reason last month. I could have put my foot down firmly and gotten into a shouting match. I could have threatened and cajoled and gotten my way. But no. Instead, I watched while it just happened. Totally gave up control but maintained the responsibility.
And now, there's the big pile of toothpaste staring back at me. Or in this case, a missing thousand dollars. Do realize that she paid $2528 already. But still owed $1000 and thought she had time to pay it back--maybe months and months worth of time, because while Council is a scary unknown entity, this little brownie troop isn't anything to be frightened about.
So this morning, I talked with Council. They gave me permission to resubmit paperwork and report her as non-paying. Turns out, they will take on the responsibility--I had assumed incorrectly that we were alone in shark-infested waters.
[Side note: some girl scout volunteers just shouldn't be girl scout volunteers, but the woman who runs the cookie stuff at the Council level is very nice and patient]
So the meeting began with no Cookie Mom showing her face. She dropped off her daughter but didn't come into the building. At the end of the meeting, I had another mom wrapping things up with the girls and I was sitting at the front table handing out the newsletter when she came in.
She came in and gave me a hug. Thanked me for everything I do.
I told her I needed the money. I've never been in such an awkward position--I've never had to argue over money with someone, not a roommate, husband, sister, no one.
She backpedaled and gave me a lot of "I know" and "I will." I told her she had until next week Monday. I told her about the forms I'd been given, how we'd filled them out the wrong way before and that she needed to be reported as a non-paying parent.
Then she started with the excuses. There were three, in fact, just like I thought:
1. Car accident
2. Trip to a conference this weekend with her teenaged daughter
3. Her sister stole money out of her uncle's estate, which she was going to use as collateral on the cookies. This one I believed (I mean, I believed them all as things that happened, but this one struck me as plausible--cover yourself with money you have in a shared account, but then the other person takes it all).
She went on at length about the money her sister took, but I remembered back to RA training in college. Folks in trouble like to change the subject. Your goal is to stay on target and get results. So I asked her, "How close are you?"
"Not close at all. We haven't talked in years. We're not even close in age, but--"
"No. Not your sister. How close are you to selling the rest of the cookies?"
She looked like I'd shaken her. She stammered and admitted that due to the trip for the teenaged daughter, she hadn't sold much at all. Plus the car accident resulted in the loss of her van. She estimated that she had $150 of the GRAND she owes me. I nodded sympathetically and told her that I'd give her until Monday.
"After that, I'm going to have to provide some kind of explanation to Council."
"Trust me, I will never do this kind of thing again."
"That's part of the form's reason to exist, actually," I told her. "You won't be allowed to do it again. You won't be allowed to sign permission forms for cookie sales, you won't be able to be in charge of any money or products. You need to get me the money by Monday."
"I'm selling cookies right now, you know," and she mentioned the unauthorized booth. I countered by telling her that the booth itself wasn't allowed under council rules, which was part of the reason why council wanted the forms filled out right now.
"I will have it for you. I'll get it to [cookie manager] no problem, Monday morning."
I nodded, told her that I knew she didn't mean for any of this to happen. And then she said something that struck me as oddly misled, if true, or pathetically pandering if false: "I did this for you. For the troop. I didn't know it would go this way."
"I know," I answered, successfully not losing the remainder of my cool. My cookie manager gave me a look that told me she expected me to lose it. But I grabbed up my kids and the remaining stuff from the meeting and we all headed out together.
I will not be using toothpaste out of a plastic bag for the next 6 months (to continue the Ramona analogy). I have it covered. Council can handle it. Or else it will handle itself within the week.
Whee.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
How much you wanna bet?
How much you wanna bet that:
1. Cookie Mom will not have the $1000 she owes us tomorrow at the meeting.
2. I will then have to get firm (meaning confrontational) about the money getting to me by Monday or else I will go to council.
3. She will then cry and have at least three implausible excuses.
4. She will take her daughter and leave in a huff, and then call me crying tomorrow night begging me to give her another chance.
5. Then I will have to go to council and explain it all.
6. My cookie manager will not volunteer next year.
7. I will never be able to rustle up another cookie manager as long as Cookie Mom is in my troop.
8. Council will name a specific kind of situation after me, "Pulling a Bridgett Wissinger" will come to mean allowing mothers in your troop to pull cockamamie schemes and sell cookies illicitly outside of shoe stores or bars or other inappropriate places.
9. The money will eventually get paid to our troop, but then council will be upset at how much we carry over to next year.
10. Cookie Daughter will lose the I-Pod in a matter of weeks.
1. Cookie Mom will not have the $1000 she owes us tomorrow at the meeting.
2. I will then have to get firm (meaning confrontational) about the money getting to me by Monday or else I will go to council.
3. She will then cry and have at least three implausible excuses.
4. She will take her daughter and leave in a huff, and then call me crying tomorrow night begging me to give her another chance.
5. Then I will have to go to council and explain it all.
6. My cookie manager will not volunteer next year.
7. I will never be able to rustle up another cookie manager as long as Cookie Mom is in my troop.
8. Council will name a specific kind of situation after me, "Pulling a Bridgett Wissinger" will come to mean allowing mothers in your troop to pull cockamamie schemes and sell cookies illicitly outside of shoe stores or bars or other inappropriate places.
9. The money will eventually get paid to our troop, but then council will be upset at how much we carry over to next year.
10. Cookie Daughter will lose the I-Pod in a matter of weeks.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Photo Friday: Edible
Fair Shares is done for the year. We're signing up again. There have been definite pros and cons to this program, but the cons are not even worth mentioning (but I will...of course).
Reasons we belong to a CSA (or, as ours is, CCSA, a Combined Community Supported Agriculture--we draw from all sorts of farmers):
1. Local Eating is an important value for us. Organic is another value, but when the choice is organic from California or local farmer who may not be completely organic but is within 100 miles of my house? I'm going to take the local farm and find out how close they are to organic. And not everything I eat has to be organic--some things I don't care about.
2. Mike and I both have very recent ancestors who farmed in Missouri, Illinois, and Arkansas (as, I would propose, most everyone has). Mike's raised grapes; mine were dairy and hardscrabble family farms.
3. I think it's good for children to begin to realize that food comes from farmers.
4. Eating food that is minimally processed tends to be a good idea.
5. It makes us eat food in season. That means zucchini in August, apples in October, and acorn squash in December. A lot of all of those, in fact.
6. We eat far less meat than we used to. Mike killed a deer this year (and actually, I think we inherited some other folks' deer as well), and that combined with the pound a week (or whole chicken, depending on the week) from Fair Shares is all the meat we do. Fair Shares' year ended last week and doesn't start again until mid-April, which meant I bought meat at the store for the first time in 11 months (well, I overstate that a bit--we did buy a turkey breast in November, I will confess).
7. It makes us eat food we might not otherwise encounter. Like acorn squash, for instance. Candy-striped beets. Sunflower shoots. I would probably walk by all of this at the farmer's market, and besides the squash, I wouldn't even see it at the grocery store. But this makes me use that squash, dang it. It teaches me to shred beets into a salad. That shoots make a good watercress substitute in fancy-pants salads.
8. Because it isn't just local farms, but also local food producers, we get hummus and coffee and the occasional chocolate marshmallow pie. And if we aren't coffe drinkers (like I wasn't when I was pregnant), we can trade (non-produce) for other items.
9. The two women who run the show know my name. This is one of those really important details for me--part of that whole stability/live in one place/shop local/etc thing I try to do.
10. I really honestly spend less at the grocery store.
Reasons that a CSA is a bad idea:
1. There really is only one, if you accept the idea that you pay for groceries anyway (since it isn't free food), and that is winter squash. The overabundance of summer squash, the occasional beet or turnip or too many greens--none of those are intrinsically bad. And the non-produce, if it's weird (like onion cheese), can be traded for something else. But no one in my family likes winter squash. And they are big. And require lots of preparation. And I can't trade them in for something else. And I can't pretend I forgot about them and then they go bad--we still have a butternut squash, a BIG ONE, sitting on our counter from before Christmas. It looms in front of me. I guess I'll stick it in the crock pot and mush it all up. It makes a fine pumpkin pie. But you can't turn all of them into pie. Really.
Overall, it's extremely edible.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Julie's Baby Quilt
I've been doing some quilting. Just a bit--this is the year of small projects, if I can help it. I'm working on knitting a sweater for Sophia, which is small, of course; I just made two hats for the girls and I'm thinking about some cabled mittens just for fun. Quilting, too, this year, I've decided to stay kind of small. I need to make a queen sized bed quilt for my room, but I'm letting some of it make itself (the spiderweb blocks are safely in Lisa's hands and will be home in the next few weeks).
Not making anything for church this year, I suspect, unless Advent needs something new (I like what we did this last year, though, and so I would vote against it). I just finished a baby quilt (sitting at a Worship Commission meeting pinning the binding on last night) for Katie next door--the girls on the block each made a square and I put them together and quilted it at the very last moment. I have in my quilting queue several half-finished projects: Leo's baby quilt that the girls on the block made needs quilting, Maeve's bunk quilt, and a vintage rail fence top I found at a yard sale needs putting together.
But, as Ann would say, I'm a process quilter, not a project quilter. I like learning something new, doing it, and then moving on to something else. And this quilt was a new process for me. A combination of things I knew already--paper piecing, curved seams--but put together in a new way. It's taken from Bella Bella Quilting, a book I picked up a little while ago as inspiration for church. Haven't used it for that yet, but now I've dipped my feet in this pool and know I can, as Rina my printmaking teacher used to say, "go large."
It's done mostly in earth tone batiks and it's effin amazing if I do say so myself. It's a good thing I quilted the baby's name at the bottom, because otherwise I would have found myself at Target an hour before the shower picking out some lovely onesies for Julie and keeping this for myself. But it makes me happy that it has a good home.
"St. Peter's Circle" is the title. Note: the quilt is far more square than these photos indicate. It's hanging up, pinned to the curtain on my front door, and so I got some rippling effects there on the sides. Laid out flat, it's flat and rectangular.
Center detail
That's a fleur de lis, although it's hard to pick out in this light.
Andrew, in a pseduo-Celtic script.
Not making anything for church this year, I suspect, unless Advent needs something new (I like what we did this last year, though, and so I would vote against it). I just finished a baby quilt (sitting at a Worship Commission meeting pinning the binding on last night) for Katie next door--the girls on the block each made a square and I put them together and quilted it at the very last moment. I have in my quilting queue several half-finished projects: Leo's baby quilt that the girls on the block made needs quilting, Maeve's bunk quilt, and a vintage rail fence top I found at a yard sale needs putting together.
But, as Ann would say, I'm a process quilter, not a project quilter. I like learning something new, doing it, and then moving on to something else. And this quilt was a new process for me. A combination of things I knew already--paper piecing, curved seams--but put together in a new way. It's taken from Bella Bella Quilting, a book I picked up a little while ago as inspiration for church. Haven't used it for that yet, but now I've dipped my feet in this pool and know I can, as Rina my printmaking teacher used to say, "go large."
It's done mostly in earth tone batiks and it's effin amazing if I do say so myself. It's a good thing I quilted the baby's name at the bottom, because otherwise I would have found myself at Target an hour before the shower picking out some lovely onesies for Julie and keeping this for myself. But it makes me happy that it has a good home.
"St. Peter's Circle" is the title. Note: the quilt is far more square than these photos indicate. It's hanging up, pinned to the curtain on my front door, and so I got some rippling effects there on the sides. Laid out flat, it's flat and rectangular.
Center detail
That's a fleur de lis, although it's hard to pick out in this light.
Andrew, in a pseduo-Celtic script.What to say about the shower
Ann, Janet, and I (mostly those two--I just bought a cake, really) gave a shower for Julie this past Sunday at Ann's house. When we first decided to do this, we debated the guest list and came up with book club, neighbors, and church/choir. Who could have imagined how this would turn out--I mean, the women who came to Ann's house Sunday were an amazing powerhouse of energy and intelligence. It was really a wonderful gathering. Especially considering that Sr. Cathy and then Sr. Mary held Leo all night long. That was awesome. So was the cake and the key lime pie and the wine and so on. I got to talk with folks I wish I spent more time with (and I would if we weren't all so dang busy).Julie, I would venture to say, made a haul. Some highlights:
Stroller!
Stroller!
Sr. Cathy holds Leo. For a long time. This is a good thing.
The reason I didn't try to knit something. Ann's gorgeous lace baby blanket. Voila.
The first baby shower I've ever attended with so many books--this was just a sampling. I'd say 5 or 6 different people gave this baby things to read or have read to him.
More later about this.
Marie and Katie and wine.
You know you've done good when the new mom cries as she opens your gift. Really. 
Ann, Cathy (and Leo), Julie
Maureen, Kari, and Roberta.
Leo has many lady friends. Here he is with Sr. Mary.No shower games, no weird traditions. Just wonderful company, good dessert, and celebration.
Saturday Parade
Just a few pictures, even if, as ~Easy said, it's like moving Christmas to the weekend. I had never been to this or the Dogtown parade, the entire time I lived in St. Louis, until last year. My experience? As the parade goes on, it starts with people waving and yelling at you, and ends with drunks accosting you. But that's just one year--this year, Mike walked in the parade with Sophia's dance school. Good Mike.
The last photo is from McMurphy's Grill, where Sophia eventually danced that afternoon. For the second year in a row, I slurped down Irish beef stew and thanked God that the wind wasn't blowing in my face.
Very Quick Post
Pain numerical values:
Right side: zero
Left side: 2
Life is getting better by the moment. I cannot believe how much I hurt last week. I cannot believe, even more so, that I weathered it reasonably ok. If I forgot to do something that was my job last week, I will try to make up for it.
But now, I must clean the house whilst the baby sleeps. Later, I will post pictures from the baby shower Sunday, and the parade Saturday. And perhaps change the color scheme since SPRING is here tomorrow.
Right side: zero
Left side: 2
Life is getting better by the moment. I cannot believe how much I hurt last week. I cannot believe, even more so, that I weathered it reasonably ok. If I forgot to do something that was my job last week, I will try to make up for it.
But now, I must clean the house whilst the baby sleeps. Later, I will post pictures from the baby shower Sunday, and the parade Saturday. And perhaps change the color scheme since SPRING is here tomorrow.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Rehearsal Dinner Photos
It was a nice time, from the sister-in-law's point of view. Mary Helen got to town around noon; I'd taken Maeve to the doctor for an ear infection (that's all it was, and I was beginning to really worry about her health over all), and so we met after that and went to Viviano's for spaghetti and cheese to go with the other groceries she'd brought. Then we went over to my parents' house and started getting everything ready. Three tables were involved--there were 18 adults and 4 children on the list, although in the end we had 19 adults somehow. Dinner was spaghetti and meatballs, one of those Baudino recipes that is the same every time--I mean in a good way. I grew up in a house where very few meals repeated themselves. This is not so with my in-laws.
The girls played with cousins and the adults ran errands, cooked, and set things up. I picked up tulips and they brightened the table nicely. My mom's good china ("Friendly Village" if you know that set by the Johnson Bros) mingled with her plain white everyday to make enough sets--her Aunt Emily's silver mixed with pieces she'd picked up along the way. Almost enough chairs--I had to bring two from my house. Everything was set and ready for Mike and his dad to watch (along with kids) while the rest of us went up to Pius.
Quick little rehearsal.
And then we were back on Pestalozzi, the house filled with folks, most of them younger than me and unknown, which was a little strange for some reason (for me, I mean--suddenly I'm one of the adults, or something...).
As at all weddings, there were tensions, but I don't think an outsider would have noticed (I only did because I happened to overhear two tense conversations, and then a couple of knowing glances--but I wasn't involved, so I handed Leo to my sister-in-law and ate dinner).
Mary and Steve are so dang cute, really.
Maeve was feeling bad halfway through dinner, though, with that ear infection coming on strong, and so soon after this photo she went upstairs and fell asleep. I took Sophia, Leo, and cousins back to my house to hang out while I did Sophia's hair (Irish Dance stops for no wedding); Mike brought Maeve home later. Needless to say, nobody went to school on Friday.
The girls played with cousins and the adults ran errands, cooked, and set things up. I picked up tulips and they brightened the table nicely. My mom's good china ("Friendly Village" if you know that set by the Johnson Bros) mingled with her plain white everyday to make enough sets--her Aunt Emily's silver mixed with pieces she'd picked up along the way. Almost enough chairs--I had to bring two from my house. Everything was set and ready for Mike and his dad to watch (along with kids) while the rest of us went up to Pius.
Quick little rehearsal.
And then we were back on Pestalozzi, the house filled with folks, most of them younger than me and unknown, which was a little strange for some reason (for me, I mean--suddenly I'm one of the adults, or something...).
As at all weddings, there were tensions, but I don't think an outsider would have noticed (I only did because I happened to overhear two tense conversations, and then a couple of knowing glances--but I wasn't involved, so I handed Leo to my sister-in-law and ate dinner).
Mary and Steve are so dang cute, really.
Maeve was feeling bad halfway through dinner, though, with that ear infection coming on strong, and so soon after this photo she went upstairs and fell asleep. I took Sophia, Leo, and cousins back to my house to hang out while I did Sophia's hair (Irish Dance stops for no wedding); Mike brought Maeve home later. Needless to say, nobody went to school on Friday.
Leo at Seven Weeks
He's a mixed bag of tricks, let me tell you. But we're getting by. He's sleeping in the baby carrier right now. He's a good sleeper. But eating? Oy.
Many Things to Say
Ok, so there are many things to fill in about the past week. I will run them down very quickly here, with pictures to follow:
1. Thrush is under control, quite possibly gone, but I'm not giving it any chances right now. And of course Leo has new quirks--he's injured me a couple more times towards the end of this week, which made me start to realize we had more issues than just the thrush. He's Sophia all over again--an "arching" baby, hypertonic, head held high and all his muscles tense. So now we're nursing with him sitting up, in sort of a football hold, and that seems to help a bit. If he weren't gaining weight I'd be more concerned--things are different from the girls--but at this point, the only thing I'm concerned about is my injuries. Which are healing.
2. The rehearsal dinner at my parents' house was, from my point of view, lovely. Exhausting as well (I can't believe how much better I feel now, which amazes me when I consider how much I did that day).
3. The wedding on Friday evening went off just fine. The reception was, in a word, cute. I only got all verklempt one time, and that was when Mike's mom's cousins Nona, Frank, and Leslie, all children of Leo's namesake (Leo Baudino died last spring), kind of gathered around Mike, holding Leo, quietly, just taking a look at this new one. The three of them have always seemed unassuming and quiet, and this is how they met Leo. I stood there to the side, nervously wondering what they thought, if they were ok with our choice of name, and so on. Then Leslie said, "I'm just wild about his name," and I had to turn away.
4. Mike marched in the parade this year in my place. Sophia and Maeve rode on the float. I sat in the sun and wind and watched all the weirdness go by. After the parade, we went back to McMurphy's Grill, which seemed to be a gigantic timing snafu. Sophia was exhausted and I think felt a little left out--it was a long day and she just seemed a little lost by that point. She danced 4 dances, but seemed rather unsure of herself in comparison to what I've seen her do at the latest feis or more recent shows. Ah well. When we left to go home, she said she was done with dancing for the week. I agreed--we didn't go on Sunday to the nursing home show.
5. On Sunday, we did make it to church and then took a walk in Laumeier Sculpture Park, which the girls were completely enchanted by (as they should be). And then we went home and I worked my rear end off on the baby quilt for Julie:
6. Julie's baby shower was so much fun. Relaxed, filled with brilliant lovely women and babies, good food--just such a nice time.
7. And then today, the cookie saga continues. But that gets its own post after the photos...
1. Thrush is under control, quite possibly gone, but I'm not giving it any chances right now. And of course Leo has new quirks--he's injured me a couple more times towards the end of this week, which made me start to realize we had more issues than just the thrush. He's Sophia all over again--an "arching" baby, hypertonic, head held high and all his muscles tense. So now we're nursing with him sitting up, in sort of a football hold, and that seems to help a bit. If he weren't gaining weight I'd be more concerned--things are different from the girls--but at this point, the only thing I'm concerned about is my injuries. Which are healing.
2. The rehearsal dinner at my parents' house was, from my point of view, lovely. Exhausting as well (I can't believe how much better I feel now, which amazes me when I consider how much I did that day).
3. The wedding on Friday evening went off just fine. The reception was, in a word, cute. I only got all verklempt one time, and that was when Mike's mom's cousins Nona, Frank, and Leslie, all children of Leo's namesake (Leo Baudino died last spring), kind of gathered around Mike, holding Leo, quietly, just taking a look at this new one. The three of them have always seemed unassuming and quiet, and this is how they met Leo. I stood there to the side, nervously wondering what they thought, if they were ok with our choice of name, and so on. Then Leslie said, "I'm just wild about his name," and I had to turn away.
4. Mike marched in the parade this year in my place. Sophia and Maeve rode on the float. I sat in the sun and wind and watched all the weirdness go by. After the parade, we went back to McMurphy's Grill, which seemed to be a gigantic timing snafu. Sophia was exhausted and I think felt a little left out--it was a long day and she just seemed a little lost by that point. She danced 4 dances, but seemed rather unsure of herself in comparison to what I've seen her do at the latest feis or more recent shows. Ah well. When we left to go home, she said she was done with dancing for the week. I agreed--we didn't go on Sunday to the nursing home show.
5. On Sunday, we did make it to church and then took a walk in Laumeier Sculpture Park, which the girls were completely enchanted by (as they should be). And then we went home and I worked my rear end off on the baby quilt for Julie:
6. Julie's baby shower was so much fun. Relaxed, filled with brilliant lovely women and babies, good food--just such a nice time.
7. And then today, the cookie saga continues. But that gets its own post after the photos...
Friday, March 13, 2009
Photo Friday: The Weekend
This weekend is the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Except it's on Saturday the 14th. Downtown at noon. Here I am with other Clarkson moms marching last year.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Inconceivable Tornado
When I had Leo, the nurses would come in and offer me wonderful narcotics every 4-6 hours. It was a beautiful thing. But when they did, they had to record on the computer what I thought my pain level was, from 0 to 10. I would always place it somewhere in the 2-4 category, usually closer to 2, because, frankly, I was on narcotics. I had no idea what it would be without them--I didn't try this time to be strong and stupid.
I remember asking a nurse what they would qualify as a nine or ten on that scale. "Oh, you know, screaming pain, unbearable."
So I'm thinking a 0 has to be something like "I am completely filled with morphine" and a 10 is up there with the inconceivable tornado (6 on the Fujita scale). It just doesn't happen in situations where a nurse is asking you what your pain level is. By the time you've hit inconceivable, you're not answering stupid questions anymore.
Tuesday night? I think I was up at around an 8 every time Leo nursed. At least for the first few minutes of each time.
Just now? Probably a 5. It's getting better.
I remember asking a nurse what they would qualify as a nine or ten on that scale. "Oh, you know, screaming pain, unbearable."
So I'm thinking a 0 has to be something like "I am completely filled with morphine" and a 10 is up there with the inconceivable tornado (6 on the Fujita scale). It just doesn't happen in situations where a nurse is asking you what your pain level is. By the time you've hit inconceivable, you're not answering stupid questions anymore.
Tuesday night? I think I was up at around an 8 every time Leo nursed. At least for the first few minutes of each time.
Just now? Probably a 5. It's getting better.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Phone Rang
Yes, she called finally, about 2:30. But now I'm waiting on her to call in the prescription. God help me if it doesn't get done in the next half hour.
Memes Are Good Distractions From Pain
~Easy at Brokedown Palace did this meme and frankly, I need distraction whilst I await my doctor's office's return phone call. I'm so desperate I called my GP as well. I've been playing such a cruel game of phone tag with the OB's nurse that I can't leave her another message or I will burst into tears on the phone. In good news, the grapefruit seed extract mixed with diligent positioning and lots of internal pep talks is keeping me afloat. It no longer hurts between nursing sessions. But right at the start? Imagine skinning your knees on a cold day. Every time the baby latches on, which, with thrush, means about 8 times in two or three minutes. Another analogy involves a lit match held up against a skinned knee.
Did I mention we have an Irish dance show this evening, Maeve slept through preschool, and my washing machine keeps turning off in the middle of a wash? Repairman has been contacted, Maeve is now vegging out on the couch (can she possibly be sick AGAIN?), and Sophia's hair won't be anything to sing about, but she will be there. She and Mike, actually, should consider taking a long vacation away from the rest of us.
Anyway, Easy did this meme:
Considering that I wrote about a song a day for a whole year, I think I can do this. In no particular order:
Hem Rabbit Songs
U2 Joshua Tree
Jimi Hendrix Are You Experienced?
Jesus Christ Superstar Soundtrack
Robert Earl Keen Gringo Honeymoon
Dave Matthews Band Under the Table and Dreaming
Simon & Garfunkel Bookends
Simon & Garfunkel Bridge Over Troubled Water
Pearl Jam Ten
Tori Amos Little Earthquakes
Nine Inch Nails Broken
U2 Rattle and Hum
U2 War
Willy Porter Dog Eared Dream
Willy Porter Falling Forward
Taj Mahal Senor Blues
Peter Paul and Mary Late Again
Cowboy Junkies Trinity Sessions
Beatles White Album
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Will The Circle Be Unbroken?
Billy Joel Greatest Hits Volume III
The Eagles The Long Run
Willie Nelson Willie And Family Live
Joan Baez From Every Stage
Smoke Soundtrack
Ok, now I've finished it. My magical thinking OCD brain thinks publishing this will make Kathy call from the doctor's office. Pray that this is so.
Did I mention we have an Irish dance show this evening, Maeve slept through preschool, and my washing machine keeps turning off in the middle of a wash? Repairman has been contacted, Maeve is now vegging out on the couch (can she possibly be sick AGAIN?), and Sophia's hair won't be anything to sing about, but she will be there. She and Mike, actually, should consider taking a long vacation away from the rest of us.
Anyway, Easy did this meme:
Think of 25 albums that had such a profound effect on you they changed your life or the way you looked at it. They sucked you in and took you over for days, weeks, months, years. These are the albums that you can use to identify time, places, people, emotions. These are the albums that no matter what they were thought of musically shaped your world. When you finish, tag 25 others (which I obviously will not do).
***No being cool, which albums have you actually listened to hundreds of times? Readers should feel free to guess (or ask) why particular albums are there.
Considering that I wrote about a song a day for a whole year, I think I can do this. In no particular order:
Hem Rabbit Songs
U2 Joshua Tree
Jimi Hendrix Are You Experienced?
Jesus Christ Superstar Soundtrack
Robert Earl Keen Gringo Honeymoon
Dave Matthews Band Under the Table and Dreaming
Simon & Garfunkel Bookends
Simon & Garfunkel Bridge Over Troubled Water
Pearl Jam Ten
Tori Amos Little Earthquakes
Nine Inch Nails Broken
U2 Rattle and Hum
U2 War
Willy Porter Dog Eared Dream
Willy Porter Falling Forward
Taj Mahal Senor Blues
Peter Paul and Mary Late Again
Cowboy Junkies Trinity Sessions
Beatles White Album
Nitty Gritty Dirt Band Will The Circle Be Unbroken?
Billy Joel Greatest Hits Volume III
The Eagles The Long Run
Willie Nelson Willie And Family Live
Joan Baez From Every Stage
Smoke Soundtrack
Ok, now I've finished it. My magical thinking OCD brain thinks publishing this will make Kathy call from the doctor's office. Pray that this is so.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Babies Suck
It's thrush. Started hurting like mad last night. Found some cheesy white patches on the inside of Leo's mouth about two hours ago.
Sigh.
At least it's not a positioning problem--I felt like things were going so well, and then BAM. I spent all yesterday evening trying to figure out what the heck I was doing wrong. But I don't think anything is wrong--nothing has changed from my point of view. He does have the remnants of a cold, but you'd think if that were the culprit, it would have started hurting more gradually and/or last week. Nope. I have some tell-tale signs, he has some, too. So here we go.
With Sophia, I had systemic thrush. I won't go into details. Just to say that there's nothing that can make you more crazy, tired, and in pain like that. I had it for 6 weeks before it was diagnosed appropriately, and another 4 weeks before it was gone. With Maeve, I was paranoid, for good reason. I started taking grapefruit seed extract when she was born, and I had one or two days when I thought it was starting and increased my dosage and used it topically for a few days. That took care of it.
I've caught this early, so I'm hopeful that GSE will do the trick, but I've also put a call in to the OB/GYN and the pediatrician. They'll prescribe something daft, I'm sure, but maybe I'll get lucky and get the week's worth of diflucan. I'm not giving him nystatin in its sugar base.
So it explains a bit why I've been craving sweets like crazy (yeast needs to eat, after all). So here goes the thrush diet: no bread, no alcohol, no refined sugar, no milk. I can get more restrictive, but that plus the GSE should kick it in a few days.
And, like they say on G.I. Joe, knowing is half the battle. I am no longer filled with despair about the pain. I know what it is and how to make it go away.
It's just, couldn't we have picked a better week? I'm heading out here in 10 minutes to take Sophia to the first of 6 shows this week (Irish dance), Steve and Mary are getting married on Friday, the St. Pat's parade is Saturday. Yesterday was girl scouts, I have a baby shower to go to Sunday, another to help put together for a neighbor next week, two quilts to finish by deadlines...next week really would have been a better choice. Really. Then again, if I can take care of this perfect storm now, next week will be a walk in the park.
Oy.
Sigh.
At least it's not a positioning problem--I felt like things were going so well, and then BAM. I spent all yesterday evening trying to figure out what the heck I was doing wrong. But I don't think anything is wrong--nothing has changed from my point of view. He does have the remnants of a cold, but you'd think if that were the culprit, it would have started hurting more gradually and/or last week. Nope. I have some tell-tale signs, he has some, too. So here we go.
With Sophia, I had systemic thrush. I won't go into details. Just to say that there's nothing that can make you more crazy, tired, and in pain like that. I had it for 6 weeks before it was diagnosed appropriately, and another 4 weeks before it was gone. With Maeve, I was paranoid, for good reason. I started taking grapefruit seed extract when she was born, and I had one or two days when I thought it was starting and increased my dosage and used it topically for a few days. That took care of it.
I've caught this early, so I'm hopeful that GSE will do the trick, but I've also put a call in to the OB/GYN and the pediatrician. They'll prescribe something daft, I'm sure, but maybe I'll get lucky and get the week's worth of diflucan. I'm not giving him nystatin in its sugar base.
So it explains a bit why I've been craving sweets like crazy (yeast needs to eat, after all). So here goes the thrush diet: no bread, no alcohol, no refined sugar, no milk. I can get more restrictive, but that plus the GSE should kick it in a few days.
And, like they say on G.I. Joe, knowing is half the battle. I am no longer filled with despair about the pain. I know what it is and how to make it go away.
It's just, couldn't we have picked a better week? I'm heading out here in 10 minutes to take Sophia to the first of 6 shows this week (Irish dance), Steve and Mary are getting married on Friday, the St. Pat's parade is Saturday. Yesterday was girl scouts, I have a baby shower to go to Sunday, another to help put together for a neighbor next week, two quilts to finish by deadlines...next week really would have been a better choice. Really. Then again, if I can take care of this perfect storm now, next week will be a walk in the park.
Oy.
Monday, March 09, 2009
The Cookie War
A little more about the Cookie Mom, just as background. She's intense. She has this way of talking where she nods while she's trying to convince you of something, like the nodding is a subliminal message of "agree with me." And she has a hard time maintaining an American sense of personal space (about an arm's length most of the time, but she is about 5 inches from your face). That said, she has been an active member of the troop's background workings--goes on field trips, comes to meetings, runs to the store at the last minute if I've forgotten anything. She's a good volunteer. She's just not the sort I would want 100% in charge or, really, to spend a long weekend with in the wilderness. I might go so far as call her difficult.
She picked up her boxes when my cookie manager went to pick up the rest (essentially, our troop sold a thousand, and Cookie Mom picked up a thousand more). She came to the following meeting all smiles, seemingly normal. We all acted totally dysfunctionally, too, with me pretending I didn't know, Cookie Mom pretending she hadn't done anything weird.
Sunday was our booth sale at a local grocery store. It's in a plaza with other stores, smaller little chain places. Mike dropped Sophia and one of the neighbor girls off to work after church and came back to report that we were almost out of Samoas.
Hmm, I thought. Maybe we could help everyone out and take some Samoas out of the Cookie Mom's stash. I kept this in mind and headed over to the grocery store a couple hours later to pick up my girls and talk with my manager about this possibility.
I went in the back way into the plaza. And I saw our table--huh, not in the grocery store like it's supposed to be, I thought. Outside one of the little shops. Table set up, customer in front, a sign that said girl scout cookie sales...as I drove past, I realized it was Cookie Mom with Cookie Daughter. Sitting out on the sidewalk selling cookies, when our troop was just down the way inside the grocery store selling cookies at a booth.
I parked and went in and asked my manager if she knew about the table at the end of the plaza.
"I know!" she said. "The Shop N Save people told me they've been there all week. You know, it's against the rules. One of the cashiers said they've been making a killing over there!"
Listening to her, I know she doesn't know.
"It's Cookie Mom," I tell her (but I use her real name--I don't refer to her as this in every part of my life, just here).
"What!?" is the reply.
And then we stand there. Irritated because we're a TROOP and they are renegades. Irritated because this is some cockamamie plan to "earn" an I-Pod and our girls are working towards troop goals. I know both of us wanted to tell on her, just so that she didn't pull this sort of thing again.
But if we did, if we screwed this up, what would happen? Maybe Cookie Mom wouldn't be able to meet her goal. Maybe the troop would be stuck with cookies and debt. Maybe we'd get in trouble other ways, for letting her do it in the first place? I just don't know.
So I didn't cut off my own nose to spite my face (for a change). I figured I'd ask her at the next meeting how things were going. Be nice. Get an idea of how much trouble we were in.
She didn't come to this week's meeting. Of course. She had to have seen me in my van as I drove by with my mouth agape. She probably thinks I'm mad (I was then; now I'm just hopeful that it will all work out). Mike convinced me it was a stupid rule--let her sell them however she can. If the manager of that store didn't care, we shouldn't either. So I'm taking a deep breath, still hopeful, but I'll be damned if Cookie Daughter gets in I-Pod if I'm stuck hawking her cookies in the end. That's pretty much my leverage at this point.
It's still so weird.
One week to go. More when I know something.
She picked up her boxes when my cookie manager went to pick up the rest (essentially, our troop sold a thousand, and Cookie Mom picked up a thousand more). She came to the following meeting all smiles, seemingly normal. We all acted totally dysfunctionally, too, with me pretending I didn't know, Cookie Mom pretending she hadn't done anything weird.
Sunday was our booth sale at a local grocery store. It's in a plaza with other stores, smaller little chain places. Mike dropped Sophia and one of the neighbor girls off to work after church and came back to report that we were almost out of Samoas.
Hmm, I thought. Maybe we could help everyone out and take some Samoas out of the Cookie Mom's stash. I kept this in mind and headed over to the grocery store a couple hours later to pick up my girls and talk with my manager about this possibility.
I went in the back way into the plaza. And I saw our table--huh, not in the grocery store like it's supposed to be, I thought. Outside one of the little shops. Table set up, customer in front, a sign that said girl scout cookie sales...as I drove past, I realized it was Cookie Mom with Cookie Daughter. Sitting out on the sidewalk selling cookies, when our troop was just down the way inside the grocery store selling cookies at a booth.
I parked and went in and asked my manager if she knew about the table at the end of the plaza.
"I know!" she said. "The Shop N Save people told me they've been there all week. You know, it's against the rules. One of the cashiers said they've been making a killing over there!"
Listening to her, I know she doesn't know.
"It's Cookie Mom," I tell her (but I use her real name--I don't refer to her as this in every part of my life, just here).
"What!?" is the reply.
And then we stand there. Irritated because we're a TROOP and they are renegades. Irritated because this is some cockamamie plan to "earn" an I-Pod and our girls are working towards troop goals. I know both of us wanted to tell on her, just so that she didn't pull this sort of thing again.
But if we did, if we screwed this up, what would happen? Maybe Cookie Mom wouldn't be able to meet her goal. Maybe the troop would be stuck with cookies and debt. Maybe we'd get in trouble other ways, for letting her do it in the first place? I just don't know.
So I didn't cut off my own nose to spite my face (for a change). I figured I'd ask her at the next meeting how things were going. Be nice. Get an idea of how much trouble we were in.
She didn't come to this week's meeting. Of course. She had to have seen me in my van as I drove by with my mouth agape. She probably thinks I'm mad (I was then; now I'm just hopeful that it will all work out). Mike convinced me it was a stupid rule--let her sell them however she can. If the manager of that store didn't care, we shouldn't either. So I'm taking a deep breath, still hopeful, but I'll be damned if Cookie Daughter gets in I-Pod if I'm stuck hawking her cookies in the end. That's pretty much my leverage at this point.
It's still so weird.
One week to go. More when I know something.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Girl Scout Cookies, Anyone?
We're at the Gravois Shop N Save at Gravois and Gustine tomorrow afternoon, if you need any.
Really.
I almost fear asking my cookie manager for an update about the Cookie Mom. But I will tomorrow.
We're going to a neighbor's for dinner. I'm bringing a bottle of wine, but I really should be bringing a box of cookies.
Really.
I almost fear asking my cookie manager for an update about the Cookie Mom. But I will tomorrow.
We're going to a neighbor's for dinner. I'm bringing a bottle of wine, but I really should be bringing a box of cookies.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Think Positively
I'm having one of those days, you know, when I just have spent too much time alone (meaning without adults), or when it's just been winter too long. I almost stopped by the local yarn shop because Ann was working today, just to sit and be a "table vampire" but with both Leo and Maeve? That would have sucked for more than just me. So I need to think about what's going well, besides all the things that are already going well (reasonably healthy children, husband with a job).
My blocks that were lost have been found. I'm in a row robin group, which I explain here, but again, all five women in the group each make a row of a quilt and pass it on to the next person in the round robin, who then adds a row and passes it on again. My blocks, and the two ladies who added to mine, making a total of 15 spiderweb blocks, were missing. Teresa wasn't answering email, her phone was disconnected or not in service. The woman in charge was trying other ways to reach her, but I pretty much just let it go. I'd already finished all the ones that had come my way, and so I didn't resent any of the work I'd done...ah well, I thought eventually, it's only quilt blocks. You know? And I was ok with it. I figured if Teresa's life had gotten so complicated that she couldn't reply to emails, that's fine. The woman in charge had the person who mails to Teresa put a hold on mailing any more to her, and all we could do was wait and see. Well, lo, she emailed last night. She's been out of town with work for 3 weeks. And her husband was supposed to have mailed the blocks on to the next gal weeks ago. So I'm confident now that sometime in early April I'll have 25 spiderweb blocks coming home to me to be added to and quilted and thrown across my bed.
The item I'm making for an upcoming baby shower is so kick-ass that I wish I could show you right now but she reads my blog. That's all I can say.
The weather is starting to behave better. It's 55 today, and the next few days look about the same or better. I really needed a mild winter this year, and I got it, but even with the mildness, I am done with being cold all the time.
Our photographer took amazing photos of Leo. I have to remember this evening to sit down and spend lots of money, I mean order from the proofs. Amazing photos. She always does...
I get to eat cake next Sunday. I always take Sundays off from Lenten obligations (except when they're things like complaining about the weather, you know, that seems just weird--but when I give up something more tangible, I do relax on Sundays). Good cake, too.
Mike is going to fix the bathroom faucet this week. It's been dripping. And therefore, the cats have taken to drinking out of it. Not cool. Or hygienic.
Upcoming Dates: Steve and Mary's wedding next weekend. St. Pat's Parade and hullaballoo the next few weeks. Sophia's first communion on May 3. Leo's baptism on May 31. Rock Eddy over Memorial Day. Camping over Father's Day weekend. Things will be busy. And good.
Ok, that's probably plenty. Lots of good news, right? Now I just need to convince myself...
My blocks that were lost have been found. I'm in a row robin group, which I explain here, but again, all five women in the group each make a row of a quilt and pass it on to the next person in the round robin, who then adds a row and passes it on again. My blocks, and the two ladies who added to mine, making a total of 15 spiderweb blocks, were missing. Teresa wasn't answering email, her phone was disconnected or not in service. The woman in charge was trying other ways to reach her, but I pretty much just let it go. I'd already finished all the ones that had come my way, and so I didn't resent any of the work I'd done...ah well, I thought eventually, it's only quilt blocks. You know? And I was ok with it. I figured if Teresa's life had gotten so complicated that she couldn't reply to emails, that's fine. The woman in charge had the person who mails to Teresa put a hold on mailing any more to her, and all we could do was wait and see. Well, lo, she emailed last night. She's been out of town with work for 3 weeks. And her husband was supposed to have mailed the blocks on to the next gal weeks ago. So I'm confident now that sometime in early April I'll have 25 spiderweb blocks coming home to me to be added to and quilted and thrown across my bed.
The item I'm making for an upcoming baby shower is so kick-ass that I wish I could show you right now but she reads my blog. That's all I can say.
The weather is starting to behave better. It's 55 today, and the next few days look about the same or better. I really needed a mild winter this year, and I got it, but even with the mildness, I am done with being cold all the time.
Our photographer took amazing photos of Leo. I have to remember this evening to sit down and spend lots of money, I mean order from the proofs. Amazing photos. She always does...
I get to eat cake next Sunday. I always take Sundays off from Lenten obligations (except when they're things like complaining about the weather, you know, that seems just weird--but when I give up something more tangible, I do relax on Sundays). Good cake, too.
Mike is going to fix the bathroom faucet this week. It's been dripping. And therefore, the cats have taken to drinking out of it. Not cool. Or hygienic.
Upcoming Dates: Steve and Mary's wedding next weekend. St. Pat's Parade and hullaballoo the next few weeks. Sophia's first communion on May 3. Leo's baptism on May 31. Rock Eddy over Memorial Day. Camping over Father's Day weekend. Things will be busy. And good.
Ok, that's probably plenty. Lots of good news, right? Now I just need to convince myself...
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Dentist, Movie, Lent
So what's going on? Been to the dentist, watched some movies, got obsessive:
I like my dentist. I do. Until this past visit, things had been going well, even when they weren't going well (I have, like the old wives' tale, lost a tooth for every baby thus far--six months post-partum, a root canal, both girls). I have bad teeth and great gums.
I now no longer have great gums. They have receded. Damn them. It's pregnancy, that's what I've decided. But this meant that the last trip to the dentist, this past Wednesday, involved poking at exposed roots. They'd even make me hold a mirror and then say, "see that?" and then poke. It was horrible. The hygienist did it, and then the dentist came in and did it again. Finally, on one that pretty much made me rise out of my chair, she said she'd have Donna make me an appointment to get a couple of those filled.
Then she asked me if I drank soda. No, I told her honestly. Probably 10 sodas in the past year.
"This gumline problem is what I see in people who drink 10 sodas a day."
Oh well.
In other recent news, Mike and I have been getting old movies from Netflix lately. The last two were 12 Angry Men, which we had both watched several hundred times before but still love, and To Sir With Love. I was surprised at liking the latter--I've read the book (duh, it's about teaching in a hopeless situation) but was afraid of how it would be handled as a movie. It did have some very very dated parts, like the montage visit to the museum, and I'm sure I remember it being a rougher story when I read it. But I wound up letting myself get drawn in and yelling at the screen at the end when Poitier tears up his (literal) ticket out: "Don't do it! Save yourself!"
And lastly, for now at least, it is Lent. The past two years I gave up complaining about the weather, but I found myself doing less of that this winter and so decided maybe it was time to move on to something else. I went back to childhood and gave up sweets. Really. Sugar in my coffee is ok, and even hot chocolate, but all the others--cookies, candy, etc--are verboten. Including girl scout cookies and those damned marshmallow pies they keep giving us at the CSA. Let me tell you. This is nigh impossible. All day long I'm thinking about sugar, especially between about 1:30 and 3:30, when I pick up Sophia. Yikes. Perhaps I needed to give this up more than I thought!
I like my dentist. I do. Until this past visit, things had been going well, even when they weren't going well (I have, like the old wives' tale, lost a tooth for every baby thus far--six months post-partum, a root canal, both girls). I have bad teeth and great gums.
I now no longer have great gums. They have receded. Damn them. It's pregnancy, that's what I've decided. But this meant that the last trip to the dentist, this past Wednesday, involved poking at exposed roots. They'd even make me hold a mirror and then say, "see that?" and then poke. It was horrible. The hygienist did it, and then the dentist came in and did it again. Finally, on one that pretty much made me rise out of my chair, she said she'd have Donna make me an appointment to get a couple of those filled.
Then she asked me if I drank soda. No, I told her honestly. Probably 10 sodas in the past year.
"This gumline problem is what I see in people who drink 10 sodas a day."
Oh well.
In other recent news, Mike and I have been getting old movies from Netflix lately. The last two were 12 Angry Men, which we had both watched several hundred times before but still love, and To Sir With Love. I was surprised at liking the latter--I've read the book (duh, it's about teaching in a hopeless situation) but was afraid of how it would be handled as a movie. It did have some very very dated parts, like the montage visit to the museum, and I'm sure I remember it being a rougher story when I read it. But I wound up letting myself get drawn in and yelling at the screen at the end when Poitier tears up his (literal) ticket out: "Don't do it! Save yourself!"
And lastly, for now at least, it is Lent. The past two years I gave up complaining about the weather, but I found myself doing less of that this winter and so decided maybe it was time to move on to something else. I went back to childhood and gave up sweets. Really. Sugar in my coffee is ok, and even hot chocolate, but all the others--cookies, candy, etc--are verboten. Including girl scout cookies and those damned marshmallow pies they keep giving us at the CSA. Let me tell you. This is nigh impossible. All day long I'm thinking about sugar, especially between about 1:30 and 3:30, when I pick up Sophia. Yikes. Perhaps I needed to give this up more than I thought!
A Wedding in Lent
Gearing up for St. Pat's and Mike's brother's wedding...those two are so cute and laid back. I've been involved with some crazy brides-to-be, oy, but Mary is the queen of "Whatever," said with a little bat of the hand. They're getting married, get this, on Friday the 13th, a Friday in Lent, at my parish, just as the fish fry ends. My pastor at first told them, "Absolutely not," but then relented (hah) because they were bringing their own priest and in the end, there isn't any reason not to get married during Lent.
Looking back through history, the furthest we can stretch the Fricks back to Germany (Aloysius' family--his great grandparents) involved a wedding in Lent. I hadn't thought about it before, but it was the last week of February, which would be Lent no matter what the year, right? The couple had just had a baby at the beginning of February (this seems to happen at an alarming rate in my family history, actually), and the baby didn't look like he was going to survive. They got married to make him legitimate and he died the next day. That's horrible, yes, but they did go on to have 4 more children. I can only hope it was happy.
Ok, not the most wonderful example, and I don't intend to compare the two. It just struck me finally that yes, I did know someone else (a Catholic someone else, that is) who was married in Lent.
I'm looking forward to it, even though the next day is the PARADE downtown and I have to do hair that night. I'm breaking down: we're getting Sophia a wig before the next feis. She loves shows and a wig will make life just that much easier. Plus, she seems pretty much in for a penny-in for a pound about this Irish dance stuff. It seems like such a waste of her naturally curly hair, is all. Ah well.
So it's a busy couple of weeks coming up. I'll see if I can stay in touch.
Looking back through history, the furthest we can stretch the Fricks back to Germany (Aloysius' family--his great grandparents) involved a wedding in Lent. I hadn't thought about it before, but it was the last week of February, which would be Lent no matter what the year, right? The couple had just had a baby at the beginning of February (this seems to happen at an alarming rate in my family history, actually), and the baby didn't look like he was going to survive. They got married to make him legitimate and he died the next day. That's horrible, yes, but they did go on to have 4 more children. I can only hope it was happy.
Ok, not the most wonderful example, and I don't intend to compare the two. It just struck me finally that yes, I did know someone else (a Catholic someone else, that is) who was married in Lent.
I'm looking forward to it, even though the next day is the PARADE downtown and I have to do hair that night. I'm breaking down: we're getting Sophia a wig before the next feis. She loves shows and a wig will make life just that much easier. Plus, she seems pretty much in for a penny-in for a pound about this Irish dance stuff. It seems like such a waste of her naturally curly hair, is all. Ah well.
So it's a busy couple of weeks coming up. I'll see if I can stay in touch.
Monday, March 02, 2009
A second cup of coffee, another glass of wine
I am normal.
I mean, I'm back. We went to Steve & Mary's shower yesterday (Steve is one of Mike's brothers) and folks kept asking me how I was doing, which made me realize that, hey hey, I'm doing all right. I'm 6 weeks post-partum and life is pretty good.
This is not to say that all the snags are worked out. Last night did not go well because Leo has a cold. After he scratched his own face yet again, I put socks on his hands. And balancing new baby with two older kids, a house, two cars, 4 pets, and a husband is not simple either. But it no longer seems insurmountable, even when Maeve throws up on my bed (guess what--the waterproof mattress pad we put on because of potential baby messes? It works!).
What has helped most is actually healing from surgery and falling down the stairs a week later. I realized, getting up from a chair at the shower, that I didn't hurt. I haven't taken ibuprofen in four days, even at bedtime when I'm worn out.
But I am self-medicating in other ways. I'm limiting myself to two cups of coffee a day, which is easy--yesterday I had one; Saturday I had none. But today, I'm on the second because it's so good. I cleaned out my coffee maker and had fresh beans and filtered water...sigh. Saturday night, I opened a bottle of my favorite wine, a Cabernet by Bon Terra out in California--the wine we found on our honeymoon, made from organic grapes, that is the only red wine that doesn't make me flush like a drunk Irishman. I had two glasses that evening, and two last night. I'm planning a trend.
Not enough wine to get drunk, and not enough coffee to get my heart racing. But enough. Enough that I can glide through my day reasonably awake and happy (it's terrible to say that, but it's true) and feel like I'm indulging myself in the evenings.
Leo has some good head control, he doesn't spit up every waking moment, and he's started smiling with more purpose behind that face. Maeve isn't doing so hot, but she's at school and did not repeat seizure-fever-terror this weekend like I thought she was going to. And Sophia, well, she's resenting me, I think, but she loves school. And she's looking forward to the new piano teacher this afternoon.
So it's ok for now.
I mean, I'm back. We went to Steve & Mary's shower yesterday (Steve is one of Mike's brothers) and folks kept asking me how I was doing, which made me realize that, hey hey, I'm doing all right. I'm 6 weeks post-partum and life is pretty good.
This is not to say that all the snags are worked out. Last night did not go well because Leo has a cold. After he scratched his own face yet again, I put socks on his hands. And balancing new baby with two older kids, a house, two cars, 4 pets, and a husband is not simple either. But it no longer seems insurmountable, even when Maeve throws up on my bed (guess what--the waterproof mattress pad we put on because of potential baby messes? It works!).
What has helped most is actually healing from surgery and falling down the stairs a week later. I realized, getting up from a chair at the shower, that I didn't hurt. I haven't taken ibuprofen in four days, even at bedtime when I'm worn out.
But I am self-medicating in other ways. I'm limiting myself to two cups of coffee a day, which is easy--yesterday I had one; Saturday I had none. But today, I'm on the second because it's so good. I cleaned out my coffee maker and had fresh beans and filtered water...sigh. Saturday night, I opened a bottle of my favorite wine, a Cabernet by Bon Terra out in California--the wine we found on our honeymoon, made from organic grapes, that is the only red wine that doesn't make me flush like a drunk Irishman. I had two glasses that evening, and two last night. I'm planning a trend.
Not enough wine to get drunk, and not enough coffee to get my heart racing. But enough. Enough that I can glide through my day reasonably awake and happy (it's terrible to say that, but it's true) and feel like I'm indulging myself in the evenings.
Leo has some good head control, he doesn't spit up every waking moment, and he's started smiling with more purpose behind that face. Maeve isn't doing so hot, but she's at school and did not repeat seizure-fever-terror this weekend like I thought she was going to. And Sophia, well, she's resenting me, I think, but she loves school. And she's looking forward to the new piano teacher this afternoon.
So it's ok for now.
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