Another truth about motherhood (and marriage, I suppose).
Your life is no longer your own.
30 March 2008
The Truth About Motherhood
Her Bad Mother linked to an invitation put forth by PBN and Discovery Health. The task is to tell the truth about motherhood. I'm going with HBM's challenge of doing it in twelve words or less.
You can't ever quit, but color-changing spoons can avert disaster.
19 March 2008
15 March 2008
Sick
He slept fourteen hours last night. Fourteen hours from a child who doesn't ever sleep more than eleven. He took a three hour nap this afternoon, was up for an hour, and has been down for another hour. He doesn't want to play. He doesn't want to drink. He only wants to eat a little. His body temperature has ranged from 101-103.7. Today he's lethargic and cuddly and has been content to just sit on the couch. He makes a few attempts to make me laugh-thinking he's tickling my neck, trying to share his pacifier and his juice-before flopping his head back against my chest and closing his eyes. The eyes open groggily as he tries to fight the tired, and he points to the light or out the window and says "da" or "duck" with no apparent energy. He doesn't protest when I strip off his shirt and lay him in his crib. He doesn't protest when I give him a kiss, then hand him his sock monkey and blanket and leave the room.
14 March 2008
Easter '08, Part 1
This year Easter falls on the day before my kid's birthday, so someone (me) had the brilliant idea that Easter should be held at my house. Like with us hosting. It was definitely a moment of stupidity or brazen ambition, that caused me to suggest hosting. So in about a week we have the following coming over:
my parents
Husband's parents
Husband's grandmother
Auntie Caroline and Matt
Auntie Leighann
my sister
Dick (my cantankerous grandfather)
my uncle
Jen +3
my other sister-in-law and her husband
So counting me, Husband, and our child, we've got seventeen people. I'm not sure my house can even fit seventeen people.
I'm working on the menu right now. I think it's a little ambitious. Luckily my sister is taking care of the cake, and I think my mom will be around to help me a bit. Husband has requested that I make pork tenderloin for the main part of the meal, but three of us can tear through one, so fixing it to serve 14 or 15 (assuming children aren't interested) is slightly daunting. I'm not worried, though. I like to cook, and I've been known to be pretty good at it. And we've got all our information stored on papajohns.com.
my parents
Husband's parents
Husband's grandmother
Auntie Caroline and Matt
Auntie Leighann
my sister
Dick (my cantankerous grandfather)
my uncle
Jen +3
my other sister-in-law and her husband
So counting me, Husband, and our child, we've got seventeen people. I'm not sure my house can even fit seventeen people.
I'm working on the menu right now. I think it's a little ambitious. Luckily my sister is taking care of the cake, and I think my mom will be around to help me a bit. Husband has requested that I make pork tenderloin for the main part of the meal, but three of us can tear through one, so fixing it to serve 14 or 15 (assuming children aren't interested) is slightly daunting. I'm not worried, though. I like to cook, and I've been known to be pretty good at it. And we've got all our information stored on papajohns.com.
Not me
Someone left the refrigerator door open for several hours last night. Because I'm not my mom, I tend to be pretty picky about things going bad, so I knew I'd have to throw away everything except unopened alcohol. I filled four trash bags about half-full and placed them by the door for Husband to take out when he sees fit.
My fridge now contains: the wine cube Husband got me for Christmas, a bottle of champagne my parents left here at some point, and five beers. It's five beers not because I needed sustenance for the task of throwing away corn tortillas, goat cheese, milk, juice, jelly, cream cheese, slimy rotten salad greens, the cous-cous I wasn't able to take for lunch today, the lunchmeat I continue to buy for Husband even though he prefers to get lunch out, several yogurts, horseradish, and several different mustards and salsas. It's five beers because I bought beer for the SuperBowl and decided after about half a beer that I was already drunk and didn't like the beer I'd purchased.
So tomorrow, I have to suck it up and go to Kroger. I've been avoiding it for about six weeks now.
My fridge now contains: the wine cube Husband got me for Christmas, a bottle of champagne my parents left here at some point, and five beers. It's five beers not because I needed sustenance for the task of throwing away corn tortillas, goat cheese, milk, juice, jelly, cream cheese, slimy rotten salad greens, the cous-cous I wasn't able to take for lunch today, the lunchmeat I continue to buy for Husband even though he prefers to get lunch out, several yogurts, horseradish, and several different mustards and salsas. It's five beers because I bought beer for the SuperBowl and decided after about half a beer that I was already drunk and didn't like the beer I'd purchased.
So tomorrow, I have to suck it up and go to Kroger. I've been avoiding it for about six weeks now.
11 March 2008
06 March 2008
Truthiness
As a teacher, I am often in a position where I have to choose my words very carefully. The other day I was teaching about something-fractions, maybe-and one of my students raised their hand and said, "Other Student says Santa Claus doesn't exist."
"Hmmm," I replied mildly. "I think that's Other Student's problem."
"But they said it," the First Student continued. "Mrs. G, is it true?"
In situations like these, I like to do a very teacher type thing and turn the question back on to the student. I put down my dry erase marker and looked at the worried student, who looked as though they'd just been informed that there was not, Virginia, a Santa Claus.
"Do you think it's true?" I asked First Student.
"Well, no," First Student hesitated.
"Then does it matter what Other Student says?"
"Well, no." First Student started to relax a bit. Then Other Student revved their engines.
"Your mom is the one who buys the presents and puts them under the tree and just says they're from Santa," Other Student argued passionately. First Student and several other students appeared to be close to weeping, and I dreaded the flurry of emails that would no doubt come my way that afternoon.
"Uh," I stammered. I scanned my brain for something reassuring to say, something that wouldn't be a lie, but wouldn't crush these children's worldviews. As I searched, I was saved by First Student.
"Anyways," First Student countered, "That's how I know it's not my mom. My brother got an ipod touch for Christmas, and there's NO WAY my mom would let my brother have an ipod touch." I was relieved the conversation was over. And then...
"Mrs. G, do you believe there's a Santa Claus?" Oh, shit. I don't think I can distract my way out of this one. I wondered where the integrity lies in a situation such as this. Eighteen faces staring at me looking for confirmation either way. The ones who know or suspect might have their suspicions confirmed. And the ones who don't know, well, they've lasted this long. They will find out sooner or later.
"Oh, absolutely."
"Hmmm," I replied mildly. "I think that's Other Student's problem."
"But they said it," the First Student continued. "Mrs. G, is it true?"
In situations like these, I like to do a very teacher type thing and turn the question back on to the student. I put down my dry erase marker and looked at the worried student, who looked as though they'd just been informed that there was not, Virginia, a Santa Claus.
"Do you think it's true?" I asked First Student.
"Well, no," First Student hesitated.
"Then does it matter what Other Student says?"
"Well, no." First Student started to relax a bit. Then Other Student revved their engines.
"Your mom is the one who buys the presents and puts them under the tree and just says they're from Santa," Other Student argued passionately. First Student and several other students appeared to be close to weeping, and I dreaded the flurry of emails that would no doubt come my way that afternoon.
"Uh," I stammered. I scanned my brain for something reassuring to say, something that wouldn't be a lie, but wouldn't crush these children's worldviews. As I searched, I was saved by First Student.
"Anyways," First Student countered, "That's how I know it's not my mom. My brother got an ipod touch for Christmas, and there's NO WAY my mom would let my brother have an ipod touch." I was relieved the conversation was over. And then...
"Mrs. G, do you believe there's a Santa Claus?" Oh, shit. I don't think I can distract my way out of this one. I wondered where the integrity lies in a situation such as this. Eighteen faces staring at me looking for confirmation either way. The ones who know or suspect might have their suspicions confirmed. And the ones who don't know, well, they've lasted this long. They will find out sooner or later.
"Oh, absolutely."
Dread...
Things one doesn't want to hear from a second grader's mouth...
1. So, Mrs. G, I'm looking in the dictionary, and I found the word virgin...
2. So, Mrs. G, when you were giving birth...
3. Exactly how do people get new eyes?
4. Do you have to be married to have a baby?
5. Do you have to have your stomach cut open to have a baby? Isn't that what happens?
6. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE TOOTH FAIRY'S YOUR MOM?????
1. So, Mrs. G, I'm looking in the dictionary, and I found the word virgin...
2. So, Mrs. G, when you were giving birth...
3. Exactly how do people get new eyes?
4. Do you have to be married to have a baby?
5. Do you have to have your stomach cut open to have a baby? Isn't that what happens?
6. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THE TOOTH FAIRY'S YOUR MOM?????
24 February 2008
A page from the Britney book of parenting
On more than one occasion I've been the mama who takes her baby into the liquor store. I always feel like maybe my clothes should be more than a little tighter than they are, my fat should be spilling out more than it currently does, one or two teeth should be missing, and I should be sporting a mullet when I do this. Normal people don't bring their babies to the liquor store, but when I am the one who does all the errands and most of the childcare, it is inevitable that my baby will occasionally end up in the liquor store. When this happens, I don't linger. I get what I need quickly, so as to minimize the time I spend under the judgmental eyes of the store clerk. I give a half-assed smile when they make a joke along the lines of "Can I see his ID?" or "That baby's proof enough for me," as I struggle with a liter of vodka, the baby bag, and my drivers license.
Side note: I am not hitting the ABC store on a regular basis. I've probably gone two or three times in the last year.
Well, last Monday I further solidified my not getting mama of the year award and took my baby to a tattoo parlor. I've been wanting to go all Angelina Jolie and get a third, commemorating my beloved child, but I had some design questions and wanted a professional opinion. So after a thoroughly disheartening meeting, I threw Baby in the car and drove 20 minutes to a tattoo parlor that had been recommended to me via an online forum.
I pulled into the parking lot and sat in the car trying to discern if the tattoo parlor was open and if I should actually go in. A girl noticed my indecision and beckoned me in. I unpacked Baby and headed in, clutching my phone and the designs I'd come up with on the computer.
I told the guy that I just wanted some advice right now, and he nodded. I asked a few questions, and he grunted a few replies that really didn't tell me much. The parlor was dark and dingy and looked as though it might be a place where one could not only get tattoos and "exotic piercings," as their website advertised, but also get chlamydia at no extra charge. We left after about 2 1/2 minutes, and I knew that I am an awesome mom.
Side note: I am not hitting the ABC store on a regular basis. I've probably gone two or three times in the last year.
Well, last Monday I further solidified my not getting mama of the year award and took my baby to a tattoo parlor. I've been wanting to go all Angelina Jolie and get a third, commemorating my beloved child, but I had some design questions and wanted a professional opinion. So after a thoroughly disheartening meeting, I threw Baby in the car and drove 20 minutes to a tattoo parlor that had been recommended to me via an online forum.
I pulled into the parking lot and sat in the car trying to discern if the tattoo parlor was open and if I should actually go in. A girl noticed my indecision and beckoned me in. I unpacked Baby and headed in, clutching my phone and the designs I'd come up with on the computer.
I told the guy that I just wanted some advice right now, and he nodded. I asked a few questions, and he grunted a few replies that really didn't tell me much. The parlor was dark and dingy and looked as though it might be a place where one could not only get tattoos and "exotic piercings," as their website advertised, but also get chlamydia at no extra charge. We left after about 2 1/2 minutes, and I knew that I am an awesome mom.
A good friend for the baby
When I told him this story, Husband said, "Well, that sounds like a blog post," so here it is:
I was walking into Barnes and Noble tonight, and this guy came up to me wearing a trench coat and smoking a cigarette. It was somewhat open, so I knew it wasn't one of those trench coats. He stopped me and said, "Do you want a pit bull?"
"Excuse me?" I replied politely.
"Do you want a pit bull puppy?" he asked again, opening his coat wider. Inside was a pit bull puppy.
I was too shocked to say anything, so I just stood there. Finally I said, "Um?"
"It would make a great friend for the baby," he urged, nodding at my child.
I was too stunned to say anything, so I just squeaked "No, thank you," and walked into the store as fast as I could.
Later, I was struck by the fact that this guy was walking around a parking lot carrying a pit bull puppy and trying to donate it to strangers. That's more of a New York thing, not a Virginia thing.
I was walking into Barnes and Noble tonight, and this guy came up to me wearing a trench coat and smoking a cigarette. It was somewhat open, so I knew it wasn't one of those trench coats. He stopped me and said, "Do you want a pit bull?"
"Excuse me?" I replied politely.
"Do you want a pit bull puppy?" he asked again, opening his coat wider. Inside was a pit bull puppy.
I was too shocked to say anything, so I just stood there. Finally I said, "Um?"
"It would make a great friend for the baby," he urged, nodding at my child.
I was too stunned to say anything, so I just squeaked "No, thank you," and walked into the store as fast as I could.
Later, I was struck by the fact that this guy was walking around a parking lot carrying a pit bull puppy and trying to donate it to strangers. That's more of a New York thing, not a Virginia thing.
Needs
I am currently putting my child's needs ahead of my own. All weekend I wanted to go to a local museum, two actually, and get a little culture. Yesterday Baby was in great spirits, but timing didn't work out, due to the fact that he is actually sleeping in his cribs for naps. I decided I want to reinforce that as much as possible, especially since he's trying to prove to his day care friends that naps are for babies and doesn't really do it during the week. So I didn't go yesterday. He took two solid naps, and I took one. I also managed to whip up a batch of 3 bean chili (my own invention), so I'd have some lunches to freeze.
Today Baby has not been in great spirits. I had a lot of plans, which included going to Kroger to get ingredients to make slow cooker risotto (not my own invention), getting a book for my book club, and once again going to a museum or two. This morning, Baby slept for 1 hour and 50 minutes in his crib. Husband and I slept during that time as well. We all slept solidly, and we got up and restarted our day at 11:30. Husband and I took turns taking care of Baby while the other got dressed. By 1 p.m., we'd left the house and were headed to Qdoba. My plan was to drop Husband off at school, then Baby and I would hit one of the museums, Second Debut, Kroger, and Barnes and Noble. We'd head home, and I'd quickly throw the risotto together. Then we'd play in the living room and have a snack.
I haven't made it to the museum, Second Debut, Kroger, or Barnes and Noble. Since Baby was uncharacteristically fussy during lunch, I debated what I should do. I drove towards the museum, which was also towards my house. I drove in the left lane, since I'd need to turn left to get to the museum. Then, hearing heavy breathing from the backseat, I got into the right lane and headed home. Baby ate a bottle and went down in his crib without protest. Since we've been home, I've created a Word document with summer camp info for Husband, swept the dining room, changed into a new t-shirt, put all my recipes into page protectors and a binder, and now I'm whipping up a batch of this to freeze and have on hand.
It's been about two hours since I've been home, and the kid's still sleeping soundly. In a few minutes I will have to wake him, as we do actually have to go to the bookstore and grocery store before picking up Husband. I am so proud of how far my kid has come in regards to the whole sleeping thing, and I guess it's worth missing the museum for some alone time. We can always try again next weekend.
Today Baby has not been in great spirits. I had a lot of plans, which included going to Kroger to get ingredients to make slow cooker risotto (not my own invention), getting a book for my book club, and once again going to a museum or two. This morning, Baby slept for 1 hour and 50 minutes in his crib. Husband and I slept during that time as well. We all slept solidly, and we got up and restarted our day at 11:30. Husband and I took turns taking care of Baby while the other got dressed. By 1 p.m., we'd left the house and were headed to Qdoba. My plan was to drop Husband off at school, then Baby and I would hit one of the museums, Second Debut, Kroger, and Barnes and Noble. We'd head home, and I'd quickly throw the risotto together. Then we'd play in the living room and have a snack.
I haven't made it to the museum, Second Debut, Kroger, or Barnes and Noble. Since Baby was uncharacteristically fussy during lunch, I debated what I should do. I drove towards the museum, which was also towards my house. I drove in the left lane, since I'd need to turn left to get to the museum. Then, hearing heavy breathing from the backseat, I got into the right lane and headed home. Baby ate a bottle and went down in his crib without protest. Since we've been home, I've created a Word document with summer camp info for Husband, swept the dining room, changed into a new t-shirt, put all my recipes into page protectors and a binder, and now I'm whipping up a batch of this to freeze and have on hand.
It's been about two hours since I've been home, and the kid's still sleeping soundly. In a few minutes I will have to wake him, as we do actually have to go to the bookstore and grocery store before picking up Husband. I am so proud of how far my kid has come in regards to the whole sleeping thing, and I guess it's worth missing the museum for some alone time. We can always try again next weekend.
13 February 2008
A Brief History of Valentine's Day
I hate Valentine's Day. I think it's a stupid, made-up holiday that
really does more harm than good. For years it made me miserable, as I was the girl who didn't get notes on her locker or have plans when all the roommates did. My parents always gave me presents, which was nice, but I always waited for the day when I'd be the girl who got red roses and could brag about a fabulous date with a fabulous guy the next day.
I was stupid.
The best Valentine's Day I ever celebrated was in 2003, when I lived in New York. Leighann, some of her grad school friends, and I went out to get some sangria at Panchitos. We spent several hours there, very few of which I remember, and stumbled home to call Caroline, fresh from a date with her future husband. The only male we spoke to all night was the waiter. It was great.
2004 brought my first ever Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I was secretly excited, anticipating whatever surprise he'd bring with him/plan on his trip to visit me for the weekend. I was certain there'd be some sort of romantic surprise, even though (attempting to be a cool girlfriend) I'd assured him that I thought Valentine's Day was a stupid, made-up holiday. We spent the evening cooking tacos and watching Signs with my roommate.
By 2005 the boyfriend from 2004 had evolved into a fiance. I took the day off of work to surprise him with a day of hanging out. That year, the big day fell on a Monday. By the previous Friday evening, we were engaged in a weekend-long argument over the holiday. We went round and round having conversations like this:
Him: I don't understand why you're upset.
Me: Because you celebrated it with her.
Him: Well, yes, but
Me: Well, why did you want to celebrate it with her and not me?
Him: Um, maybe it was her idea to celebrate it in the first place? Besides, you told me you hate Valentine's Day.
Me: I do hate it. But you still celebrated it with her and not with me. Was it her idea?
Him: I don't remember. This conversation is stupid.
Me: So?
Him: I think it's a stupid holiday. So do you!
Me: I know, but you still celebrated it with her.
Him (sighing): I know that. It wasn't a big deal. She bought me a book I already owned.
Me: Well, what book was it? Why do you still have it?
etc, until we were exhausted and it was time to eat or sleep or something like that.
Eventually we made up, but not before this conversation, which occurred shortly after I told him I'd used one of my precious personal days.
Him: Well, do you want to go get breakfast or something?
Me: Is that what you do on Valentine's Day? Is that, like, your thing?
Him: What are you talking about?
Me: Well, that's what you did before. You know, with her.
Him: I did?
Me: That's what you told me.
Him: Okay. I don't really remember.
Me: Well, I don't really want to go to breakfast.
Him: Fine.
We ended up getting lunch and having a civil day together before he had to go to class, and I had to go to work at my other job.
In 2006, the fiance had evolved into a husband, and based on the previous two years, I decided I'd just ignore the whole thing. Pretend the stupid day didn't exist. Instead of trying to be the cool girlfriend, I was actually going to be the cool wife. I didn't mention it in the weeks leading up to the holiday. I didn't say anything as I painstakingly wrote out 19 individual Valentines signed, Love, Mrs. G. I didn't say anything as I got ready for work that morning. He grabbed my arm as I turned to walk out the bedroom door. "I got you a present," he said.
"Why?" I replied.
"Cause it's Valentine's Day," he reminded me.
"We don't do that. And I didn't get you anything."
"That's okay. It's nothing big. But I wanted to get you something," he said.
"Um, I have to go to work," and I sprinted out the door.
I spent the entire day freaking out, wondering what he could have possibly gotten me and debating with myself over stopping to get him a present. I eventually decided that I wouldn't stop because I didn't want to insult either of our intelligences. I got my present when I got home. He'd written me a letter. I'm a sucker for that sort of thing.
Last year, I wasn't going to let history repeat. My friends Katie and Jamiee and I had started getting together for semi-monthly dinners at each others houses on Wednesday evenings. One of our dinners happened to fall on the big day.
"Well, I can do dinner that night," I said cheerfully. "I ain't got plans." Katie and I looked at Jaimee, who was engaged.
"I can do the 14th as well," she said, and that settled it. When I got home, I told my husband of my plans. "I figured you wouldn't mind," I told him.
"Well, I guess I can change my plans to a different day," he said, a bit sulkily. Oh shit. What did I do?
I didn't cancel my plans with my friends. I'd been that girl too many times in the earlier stages of our relationship, and I'm still paying for it. We had a lovely dinner, and two days later, my husband surprised me with a home-cooked meal. That is, a meal that he cooked, completely on his own. He made pasta with chicken and red sauce, garlic bread, and salad. It was yummy, and, at least to my knowledge, the most complicated meal he's ever cooked, and the only meal he's cooked, by himself, for another person.
We had a conversation later that night about Valentine's Day. "I still think it's a stupid, made-up holiday," I told him. "But I feel bad that I didn't do anything for you."
"You don't have to do anything for me," he replied. "I can just do something for you."
I don't know what tomorrow holds. Keeping with the tradition of my parents, I had my husband get the baby some books as a Valentine's Day present. Then I told him to take the books back because a conversation I had with one of my students had me freaking out over my child growing into one who expects presents every V-Day. My retelling of the conversation with the student turned into a rant about about our materialistic culture which ended with me saying "You know, I really don't want to be the mean mom who writes 'no gifts, please,' on the birthday party invitations, but I really see no other way around it," and my husband reminding me that it's just two books, he's a baby, and to him, it's just going to be another day and another thing to put in his mouth.
really does more harm than good. For years it made me miserable, as I was the girl who didn't get notes on her locker or have plans when all the roommates did. My parents always gave me presents, which was nice, but I always waited for the day when I'd be the girl who got red roses and could brag about a fabulous date with a fabulous guy the next day.
I was stupid.
The best Valentine's Day I ever celebrated was in 2003, when I lived in New York. Leighann, some of her grad school friends, and I went out to get some sangria at Panchitos. We spent several hours there, very few of which I remember, and stumbled home to call Caroline, fresh from a date with her future husband. The only male we spoke to all night was the waiter. It was great.
2004 brought my first ever Valentine's Day with a boyfriend. I was secretly excited, anticipating whatever surprise he'd bring with him/plan on his trip to visit me for the weekend. I was certain there'd be some sort of romantic surprise, even though (attempting to be a cool girlfriend) I'd assured him that I thought Valentine's Day was a stupid, made-up holiday. We spent the evening cooking tacos and watching Signs with my roommate.
By 2005 the boyfriend from 2004 had evolved into a fiance. I took the day off of work to surprise him with a day of hanging out. That year, the big day fell on a Monday. By the previous Friday evening, we were engaged in a weekend-long argument over the holiday. We went round and round having conversations like this:
Him: I don't understand why you're upset.
Me: Because you celebrated it with her.
Him: Well, yes, but
Me: Well, why did you want to celebrate it with her and not me?
Him: Um, maybe it was her idea to celebrate it in the first place? Besides, you told me you hate Valentine's Day.
Me: I do hate it. But you still celebrated it with her and not with me. Was it her idea?
Him: I don't remember. This conversation is stupid.
Me: So?
Him: I think it's a stupid holiday. So do you!
Me: I know, but you still celebrated it with her.
Him (sighing): I know that. It wasn't a big deal. She bought me a book I already owned.
Me: Well, what book was it? Why do you still have it?
etc, until we were exhausted and it was time to eat or sleep or something like that.
Eventually we made up, but not before this conversation, which occurred shortly after I told him I'd used one of my precious personal days.
Him: Well, do you want to go get breakfast or something?
Me: Is that what you do on Valentine's Day? Is that, like, your thing?
Him: What are you talking about?
Me: Well, that's what you did before. You know, with her.
Him: I did?
Me: That's what you told me.
Him: Okay. I don't really remember.
Me: Well, I don't really want to go to breakfast.
Him: Fine.
We ended up getting lunch and having a civil day together before he had to go to class, and I had to go to work at my other job.
In 2006, the fiance had evolved into a husband, and based on the previous two years, I decided I'd just ignore the whole thing. Pretend the stupid day didn't exist. Instead of trying to be the cool girlfriend, I was actually going to be the cool wife. I didn't mention it in the weeks leading up to the holiday. I didn't say anything as I painstakingly wrote out 19 individual Valentines signed, Love, Mrs. G. I didn't say anything as I got ready for work that morning. He grabbed my arm as I turned to walk out the bedroom door. "I got you a present," he said.
"Why?" I replied.
"Cause it's Valentine's Day," he reminded me.
"We don't do that. And I didn't get you anything."
"That's okay. It's nothing big. But I wanted to get you something," he said.
"Um, I have to go to work," and I sprinted out the door.
I spent the entire day freaking out, wondering what he could have possibly gotten me and debating with myself over stopping to get him a present. I eventually decided that I wouldn't stop because I didn't want to insult either of our intelligences. I got my present when I got home. He'd written me a letter. I'm a sucker for that sort of thing.
Last year, I wasn't going to let history repeat. My friends Katie and Jamiee and I had started getting together for semi-monthly dinners at each others houses on Wednesday evenings. One of our dinners happened to fall on the big day.
"Well, I can do dinner that night," I said cheerfully. "I ain't got plans." Katie and I looked at Jaimee, who was engaged.
"I can do the 14th as well," she said, and that settled it. When I got home, I told my husband of my plans. "I figured you wouldn't mind," I told him.
"Well, I guess I can change my plans to a different day," he said, a bit sulkily. Oh shit. What did I do?
I didn't cancel my plans with my friends. I'd been that girl too many times in the earlier stages of our relationship, and I'm still paying for it. We had a lovely dinner, and two days later, my husband surprised me with a home-cooked meal. That is, a meal that he cooked, completely on his own. He made pasta with chicken and red sauce, garlic bread, and salad. It was yummy, and, at least to my knowledge, the most complicated meal he's ever cooked, and the only meal he's cooked, by himself, for another person.
We had a conversation later that night about Valentine's Day. "I still think it's a stupid, made-up holiday," I told him. "But I feel bad that I didn't do anything for you."
"You don't have to do anything for me," he replied. "I can just do something for you."
I don't know what tomorrow holds. Keeping with the tradition of my parents, I had my husband get the baby some books as a Valentine's Day present. Then I told him to take the books back because a conversation I had with one of my students had me freaking out over my child growing into one who expects presents every V-Day. My retelling of the conversation with the student turned into a rant about about our materialistic culture which ended with me saying "You know, I really don't want to be the mean mom who writes 'no gifts, please,' on the birthday party invitations, but I really see no other way around it," and my husband reminding me that it's just two books, he's a baby, and to him, it's just going to be another day and another thing to put in his mouth.
Mama's Day Off
I’m slightly ashamed of this, but right now I’m sort of enjoying the cold that is tearing up my body. This is the first time since way before the baby was born that I have been sick and not had to worry about anything else. Granted, that will change soon, but today, the hours between 9 a.m. and 5 p.m. are all mine.
Okay, so yes, I feel like crap. My head’s so stuffy I feel like I can barely breathe, and walking from bed to the bathroom is exhausting. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I choked down 32 oz of orange juice for the second day in a row. But the day’s been MINE. Mine in a way that I haven’t experienced in as long as I can remember. No worries about when someone has to eat or get a diaper. No concerns about anyone needing to be entertained. I have spent the day in bed with a 32 oz bottle of water, a book, the laptop, and a DVD.
I’m appreciating my alone time while it lasts. Soon, I’ll have to go out in the rain, in the cold, to pick up a baby from daycare. The next 2 1/2-3 hours will be devoted to him and his needs. At some point after that, I will have to remember that I am a teacher and do some work for school tomorrow. But until then, I am enjoying every moment of my day.
Okay, so yes, I feel like crap. My head’s so stuffy I feel like I can barely breathe, and walking from bed to the bathroom is exhausting. I haven’t eaten anything since breakfast, and I choked down 32 oz of orange juice for the second day in a row. But the day’s been MINE. Mine in a way that I haven’t experienced in as long as I can remember. No worries about when someone has to eat or get a diaper. No concerns about anyone needing to be entertained. I have spent the day in bed with a 32 oz bottle of water, a book, the laptop, and a DVD.
I’m appreciating my alone time while it lasts. Soon, I’ll have to go out in the rain, in the cold, to pick up a baby from daycare. The next 2 1/2-3 hours will be devoted to him and his needs. At some point after that, I will have to remember that I am a teacher and do some work for school tomorrow. But until then, I am enjoying every moment of my day.
10 February 2008
Fun with online coloring sheets
Yeah, I'm a dork who is easily amused.
http://www.apples4theteacher.com/coloring-pages/presidents-day/george-washington.html
http://www.apples4theteacher.com/coloring-pages/presidents-day/george-washington.html
09 February 2008
I love my ipod
I did a 3 mile run this morning. My ipod told me I ran 3.71 miles. While I accept that my ipod is clearly not calibrated correctly, I'm going to choose to believe what the ipod tells me. It's good for my self-esteem. Go me!
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