Deep thought of the day

I don't understand why he says he can't dance but he wishes he could. I mean, if it's The Hypnotizin' Boogie, why doesn't he just ask the hypnotist to tell him he can dance?

What about me?

Do I have the right to be angry?
Do I have the right to be upset?

I certainly hope so.

I am angry.
Really angry.

Deal.

Fun with J

Early Childhood Development has been good for J. He is becoming more outgoing. He is learning to sleep on his own. He is experimenting more with language skills. He is eating slightly better.

J does not give kisses. He is just far too busy. But he does plenty of other things. Like high-fives. Which he loves and will ask for over and over again.

J says "night night" when he wants his soother (he only gets it when it's sleep time). And he says "please" when he wants more food and "all done" when he is finished. He also knows sign language for "all done", and uses that fairly often.

He sits in his special toy car to watch television, and he pushes it backwards. And as he moves in reverse, he says "beep beep". When pushing cars forward, the sound he uses is "vroom vroom". Sometimes he falls off the car's little seat, and he doesn't like that so much. Most often, though, he tries to stand up on the seat. He knows he's not supposed to do it. He thinks of it as a game. He climbs; we say no; he sits down. Repeat.

J likes chicken. Specifically, breaded chicken, like chicken strips or nuggets. His favorite meal these days consists of chicken nuggets and french fries. Not the healthiest thing I've ever heard of, but as long as he eats it, I won't complain much. And it should help him put on some weight. Tonight, he followed it with a piece of chocolate cake. Odd how he was too full to finish his chicken but made room for the cake, isn't it?

He is also on a bananas kick these days. He eats bananas every day, and loves them. Quite the difference from the child who hated all things banana. Now, he just can't get enough of them. I am happy about that.

J's school has music classes twice a week. J loves music. Now, every time he hears music, he starts to dance. So cute!

I tried to update my sidebars menu tonight, but it didn't work. The blog isn't publishing properly this evening. Hopefully tomorrow, I'll get the "New This Week" items from back in July out of there, and maybe even put up more pictures! If I have the time. Hopefully soon, though.

I am doing this

I am doing this.
I am doing this for a purpose.
I am doing this for my son.
I am doing this for my family.
I am doing this for myself.

I am on the right track.
Finally, I am on the right path.
If I keep doing this, things will change.
Things will happen.
Things will improve.

There's a light.
I can see it.
But sometimes, it seems so distant.
And I just lose sight of it.
If only for a short while.

Focus.
Remember.
See.
Know.
Believe.

There is hope.
There is an end.
Just as there was a beginning.
Then, there will be laughter.
Nothing is as hopeless as it sometimes seems.

Spasm

Back. Neck. Shoulder. Chest. Arm. Head.

Basically, my whole right side hurts.

I had to go to the chiropractor today. On an urgent basis. It was so bad I was starting to cry. At my desk at work. Who does that?

Got adjusted. Still hurts. But at least I can feel my arm again, and I made it through most of the rest of the day without weeping.

Physical and mental health are inexplicably tied together. When I feel bad physically, it manifests itself in my mental space too, and then I get all irritable. Just now, my body is working against me. Things that usually make me happy are starting to make me miserable. I hope this eases up soon. Then I will feel happy again. Happy is good.

I'm gonna lie down now. Try to relax, and hope the terrible spasms cease and desist. Hopefully, this will feel better in the morning. One day of it has been more than enough.

Frustrated Incorporated

Yes. Incredibly frustrated. Searingly, sickeningly, ridiculously frustrated.

I don't want to say why. Why? Because I feel like an idiot, and I'd rather not share the reasons for that with the world. Or even the two or so other people who read my blog. But I am stupid. And that is all you need know.

**********

Now J is calling both his Panda and his Grandpa "Mama". I am unimpressed.

**********

I got a new haircut today. It's short! I can feel the back of my neck without lifting my hair. It's nicely layered, for movement and wave. I think it will look better when I redo it myself, though; people at salons can never get my hair to look "right".

**********

H took J out today. I got some studying done. Not enough, but some. Working away. This course is going fairly smoothly thus far. I hope that continues.

**********

Random fact of the day: If you forget to put a plastic jug of milk in your fridge, and instead, you just leave it in a plastic bag in your entranceway for three days because you don't notice that it is still there, it will leak all kinds of hellishly horrible slimy crapiness all over your linoleum. It will be roughly the colour of urine, but stickier, and much, much more disgusting. It may make you want to hurl. So remember the milk. Put it away. Don't leave it in your entranceway. Seriously. It smells really bad.

I call him "Panda"

J, I love you.

I'm sorry I had to go back to work full-time. I'm sorry you are in daycare and not spending your days at home with me. I'm sorry that I have to study at night and be away from you even more. I'm sorry I don't get to spend anywhere near as much time with you as I want to. You are my priority. I want to spend all of my time with you, but I also have to look after you and provide for you. I want you to have the best of everything. It's a sacrifice right now, and it's one I have to make. And I'm sorry. Please try to understand.

I know that you love your Panda. I am glad that you have him. I am glad that he can go with you to daycare and sit in your crib watching you play. I am glad that he is there, waiting for you to come and cuddle during naptime. I am glad that he comes home with you each night, and that you can carry him about by his wee paw, dragging him behind you wherever you go. I am glad that your Panda is such a special friend to you. I am glad that he comforts you. I am glad that you love your Panda.

But please stop calling your Panda "Mama" now. That is my name. I am your mother. Panda is your bear. Please, sweetheart. I feel badly enough about leaving you each day. I don't want you to tell me that your Panda is raising you in my place, and that he makes a much better parent.

I want to be the only "Mama" in your life. Can I please be "Mama"? And we'll just call your Panda something else.

Okay? Please?

A day off!!

Today, I took the day off. I stayed home with J. It was wonderful!

We had a huge list of things to accomplish. In actuality, we accomplished very little.

We were supposed to:

Go visit H at work, then meet J's Memaw for coffee at 11:00. From there, we would go to my workplace where they were doing "The Cat's Away" while the partners are at conference. We would join my coworkers for the noon hour games and pizza party. Then we would go and visit a couple of old workplaces of mine so everyone could see how sweet J is now. And then, we would go to J's doctor's appointment.

I knew this would not go according to plan. How did I know this? Because I am not delusional, for one. But also, I just haven't forgotten what it is like to be a stay-at-home mom. Nothing goes according to your well-orchestrated plans. Accept it.

Last night, J woke up at 1:00 a.m. He lay in his crib, cooing: "Mama; Daddy" over and over for a bit. Then he stood up and screamed. I relented and brought him to bed with us. Where he continued to fuss. Eventually, I moved him back into his own crib. He awoke for the day exactly one hour later. It was extremely early. He was extremely angry. I was extremely exhausted. He is apparently getting his molars. I wonder when they will pop through?

J was tired today. I tried to feed him breakfast. Oatmeal? He threw it. It coats things nicely. I washed up. Me, J, the floor, the toys ... Fine. We'll save the oatmeal for later. Apple? He threw it at the cat. Cat doesn't like apple. But cat does enjoy a nice bowl of oatmeal that is being saved for later. Chase cat off counter, and throw out half cat-eaten oatmeal. Desperate now. Arrowroot cookies? J's favorite! J eats most of two cookies, then insists that he is done.

Take J to living room. Watch Sesame Street. Tremendous fun is had! I miss watching Sesame Street with J.

Take J upstairs. Change and get ready for the day's busy activities. Take J to give him a new diaper before we go out. J lies on the table, and looks weepy and forlorn. I figure it out. J is tired. I pick J up, and I put him in his crib. J curls up with his Panda and his blankie and falls asleep immediately.

Call H and explain delay. Call Memaw and move plans to later.

Do quiz for school. A moment of peace like this may not arrive again, and I should take full advantage of it. I got a couple of questions wrong, but the quiz only counts for 3% of my final mark. I got 2.5 out of 3, so that will be just fine. I could still get 99.5% in this class. I won't; but I could.

Review student lounge. Get annoyed. Students should stop asking the same questions over and over. They should read responses that went before. They should read the handbook. And perhaps the materials that came with their course. And they should post with descriptive subject lines, and not just say nondescript things like: "Question". And they should start new subjects when asking questions of the course tutor which are unrelated to the thread they are currently in. Don't ask a question about installing Accpac on your system in a thread that asks about a quiz!! Accpac isn't on the quiz!!

I am impatient. People in this program should be literate. Other students do not want to hold your hand and walk you through the printed material. The course clearly says when things are due. It tells you how to install Accpac. It talks about accessing the midterm. It details computer requirements. Quit asking stupid questions that are spelt out for you! And another thing ...

J wakes up.

Skip work activities. J is up now, but he is still tired and irritable. Phone time with friends instead. Yesssss!

Go meet Memaw. J screams through entire visit. And refuses to eat anything except Memaw's special currant cookies. Arrowroots aren't yummy enough after that; no sirree. J wouldn't even try them. Fun to see Memaw, but this was just not relaxing. But (and this is important), I have now tasted the world's best cup of hot chocolate. OMG, it was fantastic! It's "The Pomegranate" French hot chocolate. (They also make Belgian hot chocolate, but it's apparently not as sweet.) This special treat consisted of big chunks of French chocolate, ground up and melted into steamed milk, then frothed to perfection. Heavenly! (Nez would swoon, I swear.)

Not a good day to visit people, be they former coworkers or H at work. J is too screamy. I don't know why. But we skip the visits, and I drive J home. I give him Tylenol, thinking his teeth are probably hurting. He spits the Tylenol out on the carpet. He screams. He cries. He will not be consoled. Is he hungry? I try to give him pieces of bagel with cream cheese. J licks the cream cheese off, then throws the bagel pieces around the room. I make a mental note to vacuum later.

And off we go to the doctor. Let's weigh the baby. How's he doing? We're sure he's gained weight. He's eating a bit better these days. He doesn't throw up any longer. We've been relieved.

But that's over now. J has not gained weight. J has lost weight again. I am given a list of very specific instructions on ways to clog my child's arteries and kill him by the age of two get his weight back up. I leave, determined to follow the doctor's orders, help my baby to put on weight, and be a good mommy. J screams. Frustrated and at the end of my tether, I scream back. I am a terrible mommy. I apologize, and then sing "Baby I Love You" all the way home to make up for my tantrum. J likes "Baby I Love You".

We get home, and I make J a pile of sugar and grease special calorie-enhanced grilled cheese sandwich for dinner. J eats about half of it. H doesn't realize what it is and takes a bite before I can stop him. I think he's stopped vibrating now, and the colours have probably returned to normal. I hope so, anyway.

How to make J a grilled cheese sandwich nowadays:

1. Butter two slices of bread.
   
2. Spread a spoonful of Polycose calorie-enhanced powder (carbs and sugar; yum yum) over the buttered side of each slice of bread.
   
3. Layer several slices of full-fat cheese on the buttered side of one piece of bread and top with the other piece (buttered side down).
   
4. Melt lavish amounts of stick butter in a frying pan and put sandwich in the hot butter.
   
5. Add more butter. It should come halfway up the side of the sandwich.
   
6. Turn the sandwich periodically with a spatula, to brown both sides.
   
7. Add more butter. It should continue to be halfway up the side of the sandwich during the cooking process.
   
8. When the sandwich is nearly done, stop adding butter. Continue to turn the sandwich periodically.
   
9. Sandwich is done when it is a nice golden-brown and (and this is important) there is no more butter left in the frying pan.

Now, doesn't that sound yummy? I mean intensive care, leave your worries behind you, I hope you've done up a Will before you eat this, kind of yummy? Have you experienced heart failure just reading about it? Yes. That's what I thought.

J had a Minigo for dessert. More Polycose mixed into that. And milk. With Polycose. Polycose must be added to every component of every meal. It should be a separate food group on the Canada Food Guide. But it's not, and I hate giving it to my child.

Later, H vacuumed, and I took J for a nice walk. J was in the stroller, and we went down by the lake. It was a lovely time! J fell asleep in the stroller. Later, we canceled out on plans to visit with friends and eat pie this evening, because we were so excited that J was sleeping.

Probably just as well; I'd forgotten to take a tub of Polycose, a stick of butter, and a deep fat fryer to "enhance" J's pie-eating experience.

Why can't J be a healthy, chubby little baby, while I have problems gaining weight? Wny do I gain five pounds every time I look at a picture of a carrot in a menu?

I still feel fat. And I'm a bit irritable this evening. But tomorrow is a new day. I go back to work, and J goes back to daycare with specific instructions to fatten him up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey.

Pleasant.

Who says chickens can't fly?

We have a baby gate between the kitchen and living/dining room. We have to climb over the baby gate to go between the rooms. The kitchen is quite baby friendly, but it has a lot of angles to it. We still prefer that J hang out in the living room with his toys rather than in the kitchen. We can keep a better eye on him in the living room and, since he's starting to climb, it just works better that way.

We had KFC for dinner tonight. I was coming out of the kitchen with a big plate of chicken. I attempted my usual maneuver to climb over the baby gate into the living/dining room. But it didn't go as planned. There was a cat on the other side of the fence, and I stepped on her head. As I tried to move my foot, the cat tried to move her head, and ...

And that's when I lost my balance.

The result was massive carnage, as deep fried bits of chicken flew off the plate, piece by piece, landing in various spots in the living/dining room whilst I attempted to stop my fall. Unsuccessfully.

Eventually, I crashed into the side of the door leading to the basement, the chairs that are upended to prevent J from entering the little landing to the basement, and the aforementioned baby gate. It hurt. A lot.

And as I crashed, I watched helplessly as the rest of the chicken flew off the plate. Piece by piece.

Now, through all of this, H was standing in the living room, not two feet away from me. And what, might you ask, did he do? Did he try to stop my fall? Did he help me up? Or did he just stand there, doubled-over in hysterics, laughing 'til the tears ran, like a jackass? Hmm. Let's see if I can remember. While I kick him.

Now, I am bruised and appear to have several pulled muscles in my torso. But as long as I can amuse my husband, isn't that what really matters?

Yah. I hope you enjoy your floor-chicken, buddy-boy.

**********

On another note, I received a very cool letter in the mail today:

"On behalf of the [Association's] Alberta Research and Education Fund, I congratulate you on being named the recipient of the Level 2 Tuition Scholarship. This $750 award recognizes the highest average for the 2005/2006 academic year."

The letter goes on to invite H and I to a very nice luncheon at a fancy-schmancy restaurant for the awards ceremony. A cool letter! $750! Lunch! Much wootness!

I hope they don't serve chicken.

My car

My car is a fixer-upper.
Except that it's too old to fix up.
But my car has character.

My car was in an accident before I even got it.
Written off, and rebuilt.
Repainted.
My car has faded over time.
Now the front is coral.
Body is red, and back bumper is maroon.
My car is not beautiful.

My car has dents.
Big honkin' paint-scraped-off dents.
And one of the rear doors no longer opens.
Without strain.
Because of the dents.

My car has windows that don't roll down.
And it only blows mildly warm air.
When it's cold and wet out, the windows are prone to fog up.
Unless I use both hands.
Fight and curse.
Force the window to crack open.
Then, it's a bit better.
But I get rained on.

My car has a clock radio.
It's not so hot.
My car only gets bad a.m. radio.
On more than one occasion.
I have driven to work.
Listening to "The Name Game".
The clock is set to some preposterous time.
It's not that I can't tell time.
But the clock is set by disconnecting the battery.
Then you have to reconnect it.
At either noon or midnight.
So the time will be right.
And I can't be bothered.

My car has an interesting dashboard.
All of the dashboard lights are burnt out.
The gas gage doesn't work.
So we fuel according to mileage.
The tacometer is affected by the windshield wipers.
And the wipers only run on really-extra-super-fast.
But the temperature gage is starting to work again.
Knock wood.

My car has a leaky radiator.
We have tried to fix it.
Recently, we have given up.
Now, we just top it up with coolant when it's low.
It's a slow leak.
It doesn't bother us much.
But the pavement out front has dark patches.
Under my car.
I don't care.
I don't own the pavement out front.

My car is gutless.
It won't do more than 60 km/hr on a hill.
But it gets me where I need to be.
And I appreciate it.

My car is old.
And it lacks many finer luxuries.
But it is my car.
It runs.
All of its exterior lights work.
It has signal lights.
It comes equipped with mirrors.
It has a fully functioning battery.
It is red.
Or reddish.
Depending on where you look.
It takes me to work and home each day.
In rush hour.

I like my car.
I think it's charming.

But my car is, apparently, invisible.
I see no other explanation.
My car gets rear-ended every other month.
I would think that my car would stand out.
Given its rather unique appearance.
But it apparently does not.
It cannot be seen.
Except by me.
And other drivers.
But only after they have slammed into it.
Apparently.

Dear other drivers.
If you're going to hit me.
And injure my neck.
Could you please hit me at higher speeds.
So that there will be more damage to my car.
And I can claim my resultant injuries.
On your insurance.
Without raising eyebrows.
But no.
Instead, I must pay the chiropractor.
Out of my own pocket.
Each and every time.
At least I can be grateful for benefits.

I like my car.
I like other drivers.
I really do.
But my neck hurts.
Again.
And I must go and lie down now.

Tired

I am tired. I am tired of being a fat girl. Can't find clothes to fit, nor a flattering hairstyle. Everything makes me look huge. Because I am huge. I feel like I am starting to look my age, and I hate it. My age is ... old. Drunken homeless people stop me on the street to ask for change, and then they tell me that I'm ugly. I try to lose the weight, but I just can't seem to do it. Fat and ugly, and that's who I am. Apparently.

Also, sick. Sick this week. Have a cold. Last night, managed to fight off an impending migraine. Still not all better. Have to leave for work soon.

Must get in better spirits. I can't feel like this at work. It's a fantastic job, and I like it a lot. I'm sure my mood will improve while I'm there. Isn't that an interesting concept ... work improving your mood. First job I've ever had that can accomplish that one.

Very busy. Work, school, family. No time to feel poorly.

But I do.

Mountain View

We went to the mountains this past weekend. Had a blast! Despite the fact that little J was sick the entire time, and kept sneezing everywhere.

Here is a photo recap of our trip.

This is where we got to stay:




In Lake Louise:


Kananaskis Country:




Bullwinkle Was Here:


Scenery Shots:





Home Again, Home Again:

J started school

Yes, my boy is in school now. Early childhood development, to be exact. Three days a week. He started yesterday.

H is on vacation for the next couple of weeks, so we figured that would help with J's transition to school; H can stay with him for a bit in the mornings and then pick him up early.

H dropped J off. J clung to him and refused to let go. But H had forgotten to take some things, and he had to go home to get them. He waited for a short time, then left to go get J's missing items. J screamed and cried. H left anyway.

H returned. It was music time. J wouldn't let the teachers put him down, and was insisting on being held. When H returned, J was sitting in a teacher's lap, and she was helping him to clap his hands and feet to the music. J's back was to H, so H figured he'd just sneak in and out. J turned around and saw him there. Held out his arms. Screamed.

H left. He felt that his presence was becoming disruptive to the entire class. He went and ran errands instead. Specifically, we quite suddenly needed four new tires. Yikes! (Don't ask.) Fortunately, my dad got a line on some tires from an auto-wrecker, so we didn't have to pay full price for brand new ones. (You rock, Dad!)

When H returned to pick up J later in the afternoon, J was sitting at a table refusing to eat the Minigo that we had taken for him. Instead, he was trying to steal another baby's Fig Newton. He saw H, and just held up his arms and said "Up". At least no more tears.

The teachers said he was much better after his nap. That was good.

At least they didn't phone and ask us to come and get him.

McDonalds

Today, Mommy and Daddy took me to McDonalds for breakfast. Since egg, ham, cheese, and bread are some of my favorite foods, they thought I might like to try an Egg McMuffin for breakfast. But I decided to have a McFit instead.

They are wonderful, and I highly recommend having several each and every day.