Bad assed shoes

So my office-y shoes KILLED my feet today. I got to the station at about 12:30 and went barefoot for the rest of the day. They're just not Crocs or Birks...

Hospice was fine... after I settled in. I got there a little early. I'm always early. I sat in the reception area for 20 minutes before my supervisor showed up. I could see my car from the window and I just kept thinking about the knitting in my backseat. I kept thinking that it would only take a minute to go get it and then not only would I have something to do while I waited I would have something calming to do while I waited. The stress of the morning, or the heat of the day, or the fact that I didn't eat anything before I went made for a pretty good-sized headache by noon. I almost didn't get to work there because of my migraine medicine and working there made me need my migraine medicine. Jeez.
I also discovered that the big weekly meeting that I need to attend is on Wednesdays so I have to go in Wednesday mornings too. Bleh.

I still have no real idea what my responsibilities will be, but I did get to go on a home visit this morning. It was odd but interesting.

When I got to the station I discovered that some genius in the building where our server is located didn't check the temperature. The air conditioner broke and our server is not just down, it's melted. This means no internet, no email... and all of the network connections we rely on for things like, oh, operator logs are toast. Literal toast - well, maybe more like server soup. They thought they might have it fixed by mid-afternoon. Nope. People walked around sort of dazed because they couldn't check their email (or eBay listings... which reminds me...) and I'm like, "People, if this doesn't get fixed soon we're going to be off the air. Like, big, silent HOLES in our schedule."

I had someone else download the program we needed for tonight and burn it onto a CD for me. That's messed up.

So anyway, we're going to miss any of the underwriters and day sponsors for tomorrow. People are not going to be happy.

Dum-de-dum

I swear that this is worse than the night before the first day of school. I colored my hair (finally, jeez) and have used six different of moisturizers, (hair, nails, feet, eyes, face and body). I cleaned out my purse (so as not to look like the total bag lady that I am). I watched Under the Tuscan Sun (must read the book) and While You Were Sleeping on ABC Family (ick - to the channel, not the movie).

AHHHH! Scary Televangelist on with no warning after the movie. (Which would be why ABC Family gets an "ick"). Not my favorite thing. "You must repent-ah your-ah sins-ah. Gawd-ah will forgiiiiiive yew and know that you are truly-ah his chiiiiild if you call our prayer line now and give. Just a hundred dollars a month-ah and you will know your souuuuul is free-ah." Scary televangelists give me the screaming heebie-jeebies. The husband likes to watch (purely for entertainment value) this crazy man (Pastor Bob) who speaks in tongues and lectures against "eating your seed." Me? I'd rather watch reruns of Full House. Seriously.

I can't even knit. I can't focus on one thing long enough to finish a row of anything. If I had size 4 needles and the right yarn I could make this headband I saw online today - it's basically row after row of garter stitch, but each row is like, 5 stitches. I might have the concentration for five stitches at a time. Maybe.

So I sent an email to Crazy Aunt Purl. Basically saying that I think she's great and I wish I lived closer so we could be best friends. (Shut up, I am not a stalker. But seriously, there are a lot of similarities). And she's really smart... like she says if you eat Cheetos with chopsticks there is no lingering Cheetle to pollute your knitting. Genius. And she employs the tried and true "what would Loreli Gilmore do?" method of decision making. Love that. AND she is quoted in the new Interweave Knits. (~le sigh~).

I had all the kids in the world today. The baby was clingy and the nephew... well, he's a great kid, but he will dink around and take 45 minutes to eat a hotdog but the second he swallows the last bite he's suddenly in a big 'ol huge hurry to get to the next thing. "Can we go now?" "No." "Cause I really want to go." "Noted, we'll go in awhile."

The cool thing about the nephew is that we end up in these existential discussions. He's, you know, six... but the things that come out of his mouth are astounding.
"How did dogs get made?"
"God made them"
"What about cats?"
"God."
"And grass and telephone poles and McDonalds?"
"God made the heavens and the earth and everything in between."
"I thought God was a spirit."
"He's the spirit that made all that stuff." (This from Bean).
"Oh. Who made God?"
"Nobody and nothing. God wasn't made, God just is."
"He just appeared one day?"
"Nope, he just exists. He always was and he always will be."
"Can we go to Krispy Kreme? I like chocolate donuts."

Last time it was that you should always choose life over death, even if life is crappy sometimes, because if you die you can't have pizza anymore.

I love that kid. He's the coolest thing since Bean.

Ok. Must try to sleep. There's a Leave it to Beaver marathon on TVLand right now... if that doesn't do it I don't know what I'll do. I used to count sheep, but lately all that does is make me want to learn to spin...
'Cause I've got time for that!

Night all!

Send Booze. Oh, and more ice.

It's going to be hot here again. Like over 100 degrees hot again. Nooooooooot goooooooooood. It was over 75 degrees when I left the house this morning - that would be before the sun came up. Fucking July.
So that's why I need the ice... here's a few reasons to need the booze:

1) I stopped at The Happiest Place on Earth (Not Disney, haven't you been paying attention?? Quik Trip!!!) and got my morning Diet Dr. Pepper. Oh, and Pop Tarts were on sale. Oh, and also chocolate milk.
So there's this guy there... and I think he was drunk. Drunk or crazy or both. Here's the thing: in this day and age, most men have figured out that with very few exceptions women see strange men who come up and suddenly start talking to them sort of, well, threatening is not exactly the right word. It's not exactly the wrong word either. Especially at odd hours. I think it's sort of annoyance with a strong undercurrent of alertness. The kind of alertness that is inherent to any group of people who has some history of being attacked with no provocation for one reason or another. Women, different races, gay men and women... you know.
So this guy, late 50's maybe. Rounds the corner, blocks my way (though not aggressively, just in a way that I would have to be really obvious and rude about getting past him), looks at my chest and says "university of... in divernity... uni..." It takes me a minute to realize he's trying to read my shirt. (Rewind 20 minutes to me, stumbling around in the dark, hands plunged up to the elbows in the pile of clean laundry on the couch. I find a t-shirt, throw it on over my jeans and stumble toward the door). I look down and say, "Unity in Diversity."
"University Diversity?"
"It's just a shirt, man" and I edge past.
He says, "It's a great shirt. Mine says 'Hooters!'" Then he sees the back, "House of Blues!"
Yes, you drunk, fucking moron, it's a House of Blues shirt. Can I get my carbs and go please? The Quik Trip guy is smiling at me, I want to tell him to shutthefuckup but he's the Quik Trip guy. I see him every weekend morning at this time. He makes it possible to get Diet Dr. Pepper and whatever else looks edible before 6 am!!
Crazytown is yelling "I see you in there!" to the rows of drinks in the cooler. Nope... he's yelling at someone hiding in the cooler. Bet it's a female employee. I pay for my carbs and as I'm leaving I see Crazytown coming toward the door from the other side. I'm thinking, "GETINTHE CAR! GETINGETINGETIN!!"
I get in, put my keys in the ignition and start to back out of my space, pretending I don't see him coming toward me. This, in my opinion, is where he really crossed the line. It's one thing to make conversation (crazy as it is) in a well-lit convenience store. It's a whole other thing entirely to approach a woman in a parking lot in the dark. He's AT my window so I crack it and say "What?!?"
He's now holding a black pen. What looked like "Laurie" is now written on his chest. "Sign my shirt!" I blink. "I want you to sign my shirt." He's so fucking cheerful about it. I don't ask why on earth he wants me to sign his Hooters shirt. Some things you just don't want to know.
"I am late for work," I say, continuing to back out of the space. He's standing so close to my car that I think my mirror clipped him a little.
Good.
Something like that happened to my friend Melissa when we were undergrads. She was in the library and some guy she had never seen before came up to her and cheerfully told her he was "Stalking her." He knew what classes she had on Wednesday afternoons, and he knew she liked Diet Coke. (Turned out that he was in both classes and Mel drank Diet Coke like they were going to stop making it and she had to store it in her body for the future of the free world). He was just trying to meet her... but that was a lot inappropriate. "Hi" can seem threatening in the wrong context.

2) Bean has been complaining that her stomach hurts for the last few days. It's a nonspecific hurt and it comes and goes. My mom came to pick her up last night and she was all sigh-ful and asked if she could take our peppermint tea to grandma's. I said of course she could, and explained to my mom that she'd been feeling weird. "And," my husband adds when Bean goes inside to get the tea, "She's been a moody little thing." My mother and I locked eyes and my husband and dad are standing around oblivious. You know, like men. "Fuuuuuuuuuck." I breathed, really slowly and reached for my husband's cigarette. "What?" asks my husband. "What? Asks my father. "Oh shit," say my mother and I at the same time.
I AM NOT OLD ENOUGH TO HAVE A MENSTRUATING CHILD. and, I AM NOT AT ALL READY TO LIVE IN THE HOUSE WITH A TEENAGER. And trust me when I say it does NOT matter that she's only almost ten. When the boobie and hair fairies come, then the period monster isn't far behind and that is the absolute end of Bean the Good Natured. At least, it's the end of Bean the Perpetually Good Natured.
I need to lie down. For like, seven or eight more years.

3) I looked at some houses yesterday with my realtor aunt. What we can afford is pretty much the exact house we have (too small, rooms way too small). She gave me some information on houses in other neighborhoods. Jeff and I drove around last night and there is one house that we thought was going to be too close to a bad neighborhood but it's really not bad and it's BIG. It's old, though, and we're not do-it-yourself people.
I guess we could learn...

4) Practicum starts tomorrow. At this point it's the getting up early that's making me whine. I just need to figure out what to wear.

If I were a smartie girl...

(mmmmmmm. Smarties.)

WARNING: This post might be rambling and long and not make any sense at all. Oh and change subjects with little or no warning and then change right back. Just deal, ok? It's early.

If I were a smartie girl I would NOT have taken a whole entire xanax last night after 10pm no matter how on edge and weepy I was. I also would not have followed that xanax with every chocolate thing I could find in my house. I think that it's interesting that pot and xanax both make you calm and snacky - and xanax doesn't give you burny throat. Oh, and is legal. Not that I know about the pot - I've just, um, read about it. Smartie girls remember that they have to be at work on Saturdays at 6am and that if they take a whole entire xanax they are just asking for xanax-head at work. Did I mention that I got here at 6?

Smartie girls would stop at Quik Trip on their way in to work(yay! I'm a smartie girl) but would stick to buying Diet Dr. Pepper. Only. (Oh. So I'm not a smartie girl). They would certainly not think maybe some coffee would be good, too, and then get sidetracked by the fake-o "capuccino" that is really hot, coffee flavored sugarwater. Smartie girls would also not take that time to remember that you can get Krispy Kreme at QT, and even though EVERYONE KNOWS Krispy Kreme are only good from the actual Krispy Kreme store and even then, only when the "hot" sign is on. Smartie girls would not buy more than one... ok, more than two QT/Krispy Kremes. So now I'm xanax head and I'm full of sugar and I'm sleepy and I feel like I'm stoned.

(Dear Hospice people, I have a prescription for the freakin' xanax, which I ALSO showed the guy who took my pee for the drug test, so back the fuck off).

I got comments on my blog yesterday!! I love, love, love comments on my blog.
I ripped off that bra yesterday like, three seconds after I walked into my house. My husband got a big ol' boy grin on his face until he saw my face (partly cloudy with a good chance of storms) and said cautiously, "You ok?" I said, "Yup," threw the offending bra toward the pile of laundry and then checked the mail... A Netflix AND the new Interweave Knits. Did you know that Knitpicks has some new, pretty pretty yarn coming soon? The ads in Interweave are fantastic. Probably my favorite yarn ads ever. (Half page ads on pages 76, 77, 80 and 81 - I almost missed them). I, of course, went right on over to the Knitpicks website but didn't find any of them yet. I MUST make something out of Quarry (75% Superfine Alpaca, 20% Peruvian Wool, 5% Nylon) and Gloss (70% Merino Wool, 30% Silk).

(~le sigh~)

Oh, right, comments... So I LOVE to get comments. Thank you, thank you!

Emy- Thanks for the Elann update. Those loser-heads. I signed up for updates and they have not told ME anything. I was the person who wanted it... there's a wrap sweater in Big Girl Knits that MUST be mine - I'm thinking in purple. Of course, I have not finished either of the sweaters that I started - though I did knit three and a half rows on the (easy) red tunic one last night.
And to Handknitbyafailedfeminist - use the tampon quote... I know that people who think they're funny aren't ever funny, but I was actually pretty proud of that one.

To the rest of you... Handknit was talking on her blog about how her husband bought a super expensive car and she was not going to take any crap from him anymore about buying yarn... I said that I thought life would be so much better if they would think of yarn like they think of tampons - vital to our existence, and not something they want to know any more about than absolutely necessary!

When I told MY husband this he got that look they get when you use the T-word and then it hit him that I was talking about buying yarn and his "t-word" look was replaced by the "oh shit she wants to buy more yarn - what about our savings?!?" look for a half-second and then the two looks sort of merged. He looked like someone hid broccoli in with his buffalo wings - part disgust, part total panic and part "why oh why am I being punished in this cruel way?" I don't think my giggling helped at all.

Also, don't tell him, but I was on E-crackden-Bay yesterday and bid on (and won) some pretty ribbon yarn:




Oh, and some pretty twisty yarn:









I wasn't going to buy more than one but they came in lots of 6 and it comes all the way from Istanbul so I saved on postage by getting more than one thing.
(So if you've a date in Constantinople she'll be waiting in Istanbul...)
A-hem.
The ribbon says it wants to be a (probably heavily lined) skirt for Bean and the twisty yarn says it is going to be a huge pain in the ass on the needles but that it will all be worth it in the end.

Ugh. Time to do some actual work now...

Or maybe I'll just knit.

Rollin', rollin', rollin'...

Ever leave the house feeling like you're probably going to have a pretty good day? Ever smile as you drive because your favorite song is on and you're running early? Ever think, wow, what a beautiful day? And then realize that you somehow managed to wear the most uncomfortable bra in the world.

I don't even know how I still have this ridiculous thing. I thought I threw it away after the last time I wore it. And it LOOKS like a normal bra. It's white and it clips in the front and I actually have another one just like it that is FINE (shit, do you suppose that's the one I threw out??).

But this one has straps that won't stay put and for some reason the back of it - like from one side all the way across my back to the other side - ROLLS up, causing a very unattractive lump and, seriously, it makes it tighter around which hurts.

I have friends whose breasts are perfectly normally sized, who remove their bras (from under their shirts like we all learned to do at Girl Scout Camp) every chance they get and sigh in relief as the offending bra is stuffed in a glove compartment or under a sofa. I sleep in a bra, because if I don't I tend to roll over on them in a funny way and it hurts and wakes me up. Or I sleep on my back and the lack of support makes them achey. I usually sigh in relief as I put the damn thing ON. I am friends with my bras, they're my support system through the day. So why does this particular one hate me so much??

I don't often wish for small breasts... I wish they were a little smaller, just because they're big because I'm big and if I lost weight they'd be a little smaller, but I rarely wish I were a small-boob girl (not that there's anything wrong with that). But today I wish my bra was a purely incidental item that could be removed and flung under my desk. Today I wish that walking around braless and brazen wouldn't 1) hurt, 2) be disturbing to those around me and 3) cause damage to the psyche of my child.

Maybe if I click my heels together I can magically have a different one on...
There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home...

Well, anyway, if you happen to see me today and I have a big lump across my back or am tugging in a weird way, just understand that I'm being held prisoner in a horrible bra and I don't get to go home until much, much later tonight.

Today's word is...

Slug.

That's what I feel like. I (somehow) managed to not get any caffeine until just a few minutes ago. And it's dark and rainy. And I'm tired anyhow. And Kerri and I split a large pizza for lunch. The goal was to get the large and have leftovers for tomorrow or whatever... there's not much left - and I thought (as I started my second slice) that I should dig out the Lactaid from my purse (extra cheese and all that)... Guess what I didn't have?

I spent the morning on the air (not really, I was babysitting the automation. The automation was on the air). Ok. I spent the morning reading email and checking my bloglines and playing spider solitaire. (It's a hard knock life for us...). I have discovered another blog to read ('cause I needed another one): Crazy Aunt Purl. She is not crazy, she's fabulous y'all. I wish I knew her in real life and had been there to talk (and drink) with her. She makes me (almost) want to live in California. Don't tell the husband, he wouldn't like it. But I wish, oh I wish we were neighbors.

So I've been doing that thing I do when I find a new and established blog - I read from the very first post and catch up to the present time. I did that with Wendy and cried my eyes out when her cat died. I wanted to send her flowers. And The Yarn Harlot's daughters grew so fast that I wanted to cling to mine to keep her small.

But mostly today I just sat. And sat and sat and sat. And then it was time to pick Bean up from camp and I got wet because it reallyreallyrained from about the time I found my keys to the time I got in my car. So now I'm damp (but caffeinated thanks to a trip to Quik Trip - don you just looooove QT? Clean bathrooms, every pop in the world on tap and they have everything you could ever need and they're on pretty much every corner. Why do people live in states that don't have them??) - but I digress. So I'm damp and I'm sleepy despite my caffeine and it's so quiet here. I really, honestly could curl up under my desk right now and sleep for a few hours...

But I will resist. I will find something to do for the next 30 minutes and then I will be on the air for just a little while and then I will go home - where a fabulous dinner is cooking itself in my crockpot. I woke up 5 whole minutes earlier than I needed to and put chicken and K.C. Masterpiece in the crock pot and when I get home I'll make mashed potatoes and corn. AND my whole house will smell like BBQ Chicken for days.

(Ahhhhhhh.)

And then I'm going to "pajama up" and form a bed nest and watch Windfall and the rest of the Felicity DVD I got from Netflix yesterday.

Ain't nuthin' but a slug thang.

How sad...

Not my usual topic... bear with me.

So Andrea Yates was found innocent (?!?) by reason of insanity today. I'm really sad about it. Sad that it happened at all, sad that her husband was so oblivious (and so, so stupid). Sad that she had such problems and didn't get help and kept having babies. Sad that she is not being held responsible for it.
Don't get all in a fit about it... I know that she's not being released, just moved to a mental hospital. I know that post partum depression is a real and serious thing and that there were a lot of contributing factors. I know that the knowledge that she did such a horrible thing to her own children is something that she will carry with her whether she is in prison or a hospital or home. I know.
But there is nothing innocent about her. There is nothing innocent at all about deliberately and methodically drowning your children. She will probably spend the rest of her life in a mental hospital. But she might not. She might be "cured" and go on to have another family which frightens me more than I can even say. It happens, though. People do terrible things to their children and the children either die or are taken away and then they just have more kids and it all starts again. I'm not saying that people can't learn and change, I just don't really believe that they do.
The whole situation makes me so unbelievably sad. There are so many horrible things in this world - so many people who deliberately hurt or neglect children. I just don't understand it. I don't understand what makes people so hateful and evil and I don't know what makes our society say that under some circumstances that can be pardoned.
That's really all I wanted to say... maybe that's all I really can say.

(Note to self: must stop listening to the news).

Some knitting... and a funny drug story.

So here's an actual finished object. A close-up of the second washcloth for Kerri's new house. Yay me. The first one is the opposite color scheme of this one. I have two more balls of yarn for Kerri, so at least 2 more - and her house is almost hers - closing is on Monday. Everyone send serious good-house vibes to Kerri on Monday.
Nothing new on our house front. We haven't even looked at anything yet.

Next...
The Log Cabin baby blanket:


When is it done? Anyone know?
It's about receiving blanket size now - I'm thinking a few more rounds. I bought some yarn to make one for Bean - there was a sale on the cotton yarn that you use for the washcloths. Apparently people are using that yarn for these blankets too... I thought I'd give it a shot. I bought bright colors: lime green and hot pink and bright blue and yellow... I'll post a picture when I start it.
I really need to finish this one first. AND sew in the frickin ends.


Now on to the funny drug story... I know that drugs aren't funny. I know. But remember yesterday's drug test drama? I drove across town and picked up a letter from my doctor saying that I was taking the meds for migraines and that I was not a crazy addict. I drove it back across town and went to the corporate office of the Hospice. I brushed my hair and made sure I looked innocent and nice and drug free... and I seriously AM. (Hell, if I were on drugs I wouldn't be so freaked out about this. I'd be all mellow).
I figured that if I made sure to do it in person and I wasn't just a name on a positive drug test it might help. So I walked inside and asked for the "program integrity" person. The receptionist said I should sit and wait... and wait... and wait. Seriously? I would have brought in my knitting if I'd known I was going to have to wait so long. I practiced sitting still and calmly and tried to radiate clean living, and mentally went through my purse trying to remember if there was a sudoku book or something at the bottom.
After about 30 minutes I thought, "My hands are sort of dry and itchy, I'll put some lotion on them."
Here is a picture of the only lotion that I have in my purse right now:

Sorry about the fuzziness of the picture. It's a small bottle.

Of COURSE Hempz lotion would be in my purse. Big 'ol pot leaf on the front and everything. (It's really good lotion!! Try it... unless you're trying to prove to someone that you are totally NOT a drug person.

I decided to just go dry and itchy.

The woman finally came to talk to me. She said she thought my note would be sufficient. She's supposed to call me - so far nothing. The whole thing is funny at this point. It sort of has to be. I have done everything that can be done at this point and if it's not good enough then so be it.

Investigation?

Remember a few weeks ago when I had to take a drug test for Hospice? Remember how they said if I was on any prescriptions I should let them know and it wouldn't be a problem?

It's a problem.

I got a call today from the "program integrity" person because barbituates showed up in my test.
-Yes, and I showed him the prescription for that.
-What are you taking that for?
-Migraines.
-And how often do you take it?
-Maybe 4 or 5 doses a month.
-Uh-hummmm

Now I need to have my doctor fax a letter stating that I am, in fact, entitled to take these pills for migraines, and am not, in fact, a drug stealing criminal who wants to work at hospice to steal morphine. It doesn't have to SAY all of that, necessarily, but it should at least imply that. Says the "program integrity" person, that should be enough for their investigation. Surely I can understand that their drug policy is rigid. Of course I can understand that. But I'm due to start this program in SEVEN days, and everyone has a placement already, and WHAT IF THEY DON'T WANT ME ANYMORE???????

I guess I can beg for placement at my mom's hospital. They actually have a program that would work for me.

I'm already full of anxiety about this Hospice thing, this in not at all helpful. I would take a xanax (for which I have a freaking prescription, by the way) but I don't want it to show up on a test.

Day OFF!!! dayoffdayoffdayoff.

Yesterday was bee-you-tee-full. I slept in... well, we both slept in. It was great to wake up with the husband and see a smile on his face. Usually waking up involves a lot of swearing and grunting and whining. We woke up, we stretched, he got up and roamed the house. I knitted. In bed. I love it when the only reason to get up is to pee, get another diet dr. pepper and go back to bed.
We ended up going to lunch together and then I went back home (and got back into bed with Netflix - "Weeds" and "Felicity") and he went to run errands. The plan was to go see a movie later in the afternoon. My husband is not a movie-goer. He hates how expensive it is. He hates how much actors get paid, and how they act in public (though sports guys? ok with him. who knows what makes his mind work??). He doesn't even really watch tv. So to find a day when he is actually suggesting a movie is like finding that Lucky Charms guy. I knitted and watched my shows and dozed all day and finally we decided to check movie times. There was a showing of Click at 9:45 and a showing of Clerks II at 10:00. Who can decide between those?!? Rather than a coin toss, we decided to call my friends Michelle and Joel to see if they were free and what movie they wanted to see. She was tired and Joel was going to go see my brother's band play. Wha?!? I'll go see my brother's band play. I called my parents and found out where they were playing and we went, felt really, really old, and watched the band. I even wore my band t-shirt. I felt cool (not really - I felt old and fat). But I have a green sharpie scribble that sort of looks like a graffiti tag on the back of my hand so NOW I look like I'm still sort of cool. (I did make sure not to sleep on my hand. I've woken up with marker on my face before. Not a good look - sort of takes the "coolness" right out of the mark on your hand).
We ended up at Buffalo Wild Wings (the husband's favorite place to eat, not so much mine). I completely kicked his ass at trivia. Then a bar fight broke out - let me rephrase that. It was a bunch of white frat boys who (seriously) were wearing polo shirts with the collars up. (Hello, the 80's called, they want your look back). It was more like a bar-posturing contest. Like reruns of Roadhouse had been on tv earlier in the week and these drunkity drunk babies had to act it out. One guy was all, "hold me back bro, hold me back" and another guy was all "what the fuck?" I started humming tunes from West Side Story.
The "hold me back" guy was taken outside by his friend. He had changed lines, though. On the way out he had moved on to "What the fuck is his PROBLEM?" I'm thinking, lover's spat? We go back to our trivia game. I'm still kicking ass. We hear, coming from the other side of the bar - the frat-boy side - "Bwock,bwa- bwa, Bwock". I looked at the husband and said, "Bwocking. That's never a good sign in a fight." Which made him laugh. We paid our ticket and went out to the car... and noticed the "hold me back" guy and his friend lurking in their truck. As we left the parking lot we saw the other group of guys come out. We circled around, parked a good distance away and smoked and watched. Nothing really happened. There was a lot more posturing and a lot more of me humming, "when you're a Jet, you're a Jet." Finally a girlfriend got involved, "I cold kick your ass myself, and your ass, and yours." In a really high-pitched, drunk girl voice. The "what the fuck" guy proclaimed that he was a "grown-assed man" and didn't have time to fight a "punk ass" like the "hold me back" guy, and we decided it was time to go home.
All in all it was a fun day.
I seriously don't understand the drunk at a bar mentality that leads to fights. The posturing and the "you disrespected me by looking at my girl" thing and the whole "my dick is bigger than yours" thing. As a girl, I don't find it particularly interesting or attractive. But then, I'm not the girl they're trying to interest or attract, and my husband is more likely to sit in the back and heckle with me than get involved.
Note to self: teach Bean about the frat boy and how to avoid him.

Joy, oh joy.

It's only supposed to be 90 degrees today (joy)... it's about 10:30 and with the fan on I'm actually a little chilly. Ahhhhhhh.
I'll be working most of today because I am OFF tomorrow (joyjoyjoy). Andie is taking pity on me and working this Saturday and part of Sunday. She is going on vacation with her family for a few days and she has promised to learn the automation so that I can take a "good chunk of time" off. I want to dance around... but we'll see. Things get busy and sometimes stuff like that doesn't end up happening. I used to take two weeks off at the end of every summer to be home with Bean but I haven't been able to do that for awhile.
Bean's last week of camp is next week. I still am not sure what I'm going to do with her when my practicum starts. Nine is too young to stay home alone for that long - especially when I'll be across town and the husband isn't able to leave. She thinks it would be fine... she says she'll probably sleep until ten or eleven anyway and then I'll be there to pick her up just after noon. In theory that sounds good, but who wants to bank on the fact that everything *should* be ok with your child?? The husband will actually be home on Mondays so I really just need to figure out what to do about Thursdays and Fridays unil school starts. Maybe my mom can help... I could ask my sister - we're moving her into an apartment close to me soon - but I am really worried about how her boyfriend is going to react to the fact that we're moving her out. It's a really bad situation and I'm worried for my sister and her kids. I hope it's all a very peaceful and calm series of events but somehow I'm doubtful. I just don't want Bean to be over there until we're sure it's safe.
It's going to be fine, right?
In knitting news...
I went over to K's house yesterday for conversation and knitting... I'm almost done with the second washcloth. They're nice to knit - easy and relatively fast. I have some sock yarn for Bean but I can't get past the heel. It uses the wrap and turn short rows and then you're supposed to pick up the wrapped stitches as you come to them. Sounds simple, right? Sure it is. I've done this stupid heel about six times and it's never quite right. I frogged it a few nights ago and I think I need to buy size 2 dpn's. I've been using size 3's and the pattern calls for 2's, so maybe using the wrong needle has turned the Knitting Goddesses against me.
The Natalie coat (I haven't forgotten about Natalie) uses wrap and turn short rows on the bust so I really need to figure these out before I can make more progress on it.
My fuzzy red sweater is moving along slowly: here a row, there a row, everywhere a row, row. It's just really hard to want to knit a big fuzzy sweater when the temperatures are above 100 degrees!

It's almost eleven... it's time to take a shower and go to work.

I have to stop having dreams.

I haven't even gotten up yet. I'm not dressed. I'm just watching judge shows in the dark coolness of my bedroom. The sun is climbing (a quick peek at the weather channel shows the current temperature at 94) but so far the a/c is keeping up with it nicely. I'm getting up in a bit. It's Thursday and I'm going to my friend K's house (yay!!). I've been missing her. We all get so busy and it's important to nurture friendships. Anyone ever played The Sims?? If you don't call a friend or invite them over they stop being your friend and you can't advance. Anyway, a few hours at K's house means some knitting will get done and some good conversation will be had. What's not to love about that??
Speaking of nurturing friendships...
Strange dreams lately. Last night I dreamed about my friend D. I have known him since we were seven, but I haven't seen him or heard from him in a few years. There was some serious drama with his wife that I heard about from her mother and after that his cell phone was off and he doesn't respond to email. His parents still live in town, and I figure if he wants to contact me he will... so for the most part I don't worry about him. He's a big boy and it's been a long time since we have been the kind of friends who sit on the phone for hours. But last night I dreamed that he was at a restaurant and I was so happy to see him. I cried and carried on with emotion I didn't know I had. I'd like to think that if I saw him I would be cooler than that. We used to be "call at 2am kind of friends," when I had my first miscarriage he sat up with me all night and just let me cry. In college, when his girlfriend left him and slept with his best friend he called me and he came over and we drank cherry kool aid with vodka. Once he married the girl who broke up with him and slept with his girlfriend we sort of lost touch. They moved to Oregon and she was not my biggest fan - and vice-versa, though I did try to respect the fact that she was his wife. Shit, we were all 18.
There is not a D-shaped hole in my life, but where did the emotion in the dream come from? In college and just after, dreaming about D meant he was sure to show up within a few days - it was creepy. Now it just means that something reminded me of him and ~poof~ there he is. (Odd thing... in the dream when I asked him where he had been he said he had moved to France and had two more kids. I think that was Johnny Depp, and while I totally wish I had been friends with Johnny Depp like I was with D, it was not to be so. Besides, D and I were mostly platonic). I hope he's not still in the military, though. I hope he's ok. The XXX says I can call his unit and see if they have any information, and actually, I could call his mom, but right after the whole drama with his wife I left a few messages and he didn't call back. My email has been the same for almost ten years, too.
Time for my least favorite part of the day: take whatever emotional crap my dreams brought up and just let it go. I'm so bad at letting people go in the first place, and when I have dreams with certain people in them I feel like I have to let go all over again. It's never ex-boyfriends. It's always people who were important to me and who are not a part of my life anymore.
Time to get up.

Bring it.

So last night I was watching the local news. I really hate our local news people. They all are really smarmy and dumb. There is one woman who is ok - but she gets a lot of criticism because she keeps gaining weight, which I think is just mean. I've seen her in person, the camera is not kind to her. In real life she looks like a normal sized person. I can't even imagine what I would look like on the news.
But I digress.
So the weather guy - the one who looks like he seriously needs a xanax whenever we get serious storms - said that it was going to be near 110 degrees for the next couple of days and then we were in for some severe thunderstorms. The anchor said, "I'm not looking forward to that!"
As though we would not all trade this miserable, oppressive, deadly heat for a good old fashioned thunderstorm. Do they not understand that the what causes thunderstorms are cold fronts! Air that is cold. Cold air. There has been a lot of cloud to ground lightning - hell, our station has been hit three times this year - and there have been fires and stuff, but I say bring it. My house leaks if it even looks like rain. BRING IT. Hot air plus cold air sometimes leads to tornadoes. BRING IT.
I would so totally rather be crouched under a mattress in the hallway with the husband for the twenty minutes it will take for the tornado to say "oh, nevermind" than sweating night after night after night. And I HAVE lived through tornadoes. Lots of them. Big, dark, swirly, scary masses of dirt and air. If it means an end to this ridiculous heat I'm all for it.

Oven/House, House/Oven

Stupid little heat-trapping box of death. I swear to god. It was still 85 degrees at one in the morning inside my house. I gave up and turned the thermostat back up to 75 where it usually lives when we're home. It was finally cool enough for me in the bedroom (under the fan) by four or five. My husband went out for a bit last night and when he came home he said he was going to make a snack and then come to be to snuggle for awhile. My first thought was "Are you crazy?!? Do you want to die from heat exhaustion?!?" I was almost comfortable alone with the fan on high and the lights off. He tends to radiate heat - great in the winter, not so great in the summer. He made some little gesture that indicated he might want the snuggling to "progress" and I sat up, turned on the bedside lamp and said, "Unless you come to bed with a hundred or so frozen Otter Pops strapped to your body you'd better stay far, far away from me." He thought that was pretty funny.

But no Otter Pops.

He DID, however, come and let me show him some houses online. He is starting to get used to the idea that I'm not going to abandon this whole house thing - especially now that a bank has agreed to a specific amount. It's funny, though. The houses that we are interested in fall into two categories: "Wow what a great house, do you have to actually join the neighborhood gang? Or can we just pay them not to kill us?" and "Wow, what a sweet neighborhood, and look at that closet - oh is that the kitchen/dining room/living room?? My bad!"

There is one little yellow house that we like. It has two bedrooms and we were hoping for three, but it's in a nice neighborhood, has a big back yard and a huge kitchen with more cabinets than you can count and actual cabinet space. Thinking about buying a two bedroom house, though, is just another admission of defeat. Going back on the pill is not nearly as "final" as buying a smaller house than we would need for another baby. I know that it's over. I know that there are a lot of reasons to embrace the whole Bean-is-an-only-child thing, but nobody likes to let go. And I have been having pregnancy dreams. That's just not right.
But enough of that. The three-bedroom house that I am absolutely in love with is in a "transitional" neighborhood and it's on a pretty busy street, and although he's not thrilled about the location, the built in shelves and hardwood floors have convinced the husband to at least look at it.
Here's the thing. I want a little space, I want a larger kitchen, I want a yard my kid can play in without me worrying so much. I want a nice yard. I would LOVE a covered porch and a basement that doesn't leak but I think that might be asking for too much.
So far, my favorite part of this whole online house hunt is that some houses are shown with window-unit air conditioners. When it's still over a hundred degrees at eleven at night and the air conditioner is not keeping up with the heat, the LAST thing in the world I want to think about is a house with no central a/c at all. Someone should tell them to change the pics with the seasons!!

Ice. Please send ice.

It's around 109 degrees Fahrenheit. What the hell? And according to Al Gore this is the tip of the very quickly melting iceberg. My house works like a little oven and I know when I get home it's going to be hot inside, too and my husband is going to be sweaty and cross. Maybe there are things I can do at work... Except that I don't want to spend any more time than I absolutely have to here.
I know it's July but anything over 95 is mean and anything over 100 is just plain hostility.
I intended to go to the gym today... I really thought I'd be ready to go back. But I can't even think about moving my chair closer to the keyboard right now.
I need to clean my house, too (I know you know that). Even if we're not going to move any time soon it would be nice to have things packed up and put away nicely.
But it's so hot. I'm craving otter-pops, not to eat, but to freeze and arrange inside my pillowcase and under my sheets.
I am not even in the mood for ice cream - it's so hot that ice cream seems too heavy. Maybe I'll stop on the way home and buy a watermelon. And ice. Must have ice.

So I cast on for some fun little socks for Bean (finally). I'll post pics tomorrow if there's anything worth showing off. It uses the wrap and turn short roes and then you're supposed to pick up those wraps and I don't think I did it right. The insides seem sort of lumpy - not a food feel for a sock - so I might frog it back and start over. Luckily, they're the footie-socks that have very little knitting before you get to the heel. There is about a half an inch of k2,p2 ribbing, 2 rows of stockinette and then you're on to the heel. Very satisfying. I was only knitting for about an hour last night and was on to the foot part. I am still deciding if I want to frog and try again, though. I've tried this heel a few times before and I always end up frustrated and sockless.

One more hour to go and then I'm home. I need a long, cool nap... maybe I'll nap until bedtime and then just roll on over into sleep. I haven't been sleeping well at all lately and it's really starting to show in this heat.
Is it fall yet???

Hottie Hot Hot

The forecast today calls for high temps over 100. I'm going to have to seriously rethink the whole "living close to my family" thing. That, or convince them that we should all move to Michigan. Although, I did recently see the Al Gore movie and maybe that's too close to the ocean.
Have you seen the movie yet? It's some scary, scary shit. If you're not an Al Gore fan you should still see this movie and try to get past the whole "Al Gore is too boring for words" thing long enough to listen to the science part of it. It's interesting, there was a special on Discovery that my husband watched and when I was telling him about the movie he said a lot of information from the Gore movie was also in the documentary he watched. The one thing to think about if you're one of those people who thinks global warming is an alarmist scam and even if there is warming it's not a big deal is that the ONLY people who think that global warming is a myth or at least not a serious and immediate issue are people without a science background. Scientists can't seem to agree on anything but gravity, evolution and global warming. I was ashamed to drive my SUV home.

Poor, poor Bean. This is the first weekend since my husband's new schedule started that she was home with us, and we both have to work on Sunday so she's at work with me. I hate having to wake her up that early (5:15) but I really can't leave her at home by herself. I was home alone at her age, and I think that she would be fine - she's responsible - but we don't have a home phone line. We each wanted our cell phones and when we did have a home line the only calls we got were telemarketers. Everyone who knows us just calls our cell phones. I know that she would probably just sleep until 11 and then I'd be home at noon but I just can't risk it. I complain a lot about my job, but not everyone can just take their kid to work when they need to.
She's at my desk, watching Pirates of the Caribbean on my laptop. We brought a pillow, blanket and bean bag chair so that she could nap... I'm so tired that I want to go up there and curl up with her.
I co-hosted a pretty nice baby shower yesterday... when I welcomed everyone I mentioned that we wouldn't be playing any shower games and there was this audible group sigh of relief. Does anyone actually like shower games?? They're so horrible. We had lots of food and beer and a cake that was really pretty and tasted good (how often does that happen for less then $50?) and it was a fun time (how often does that happen at a shower?). We did go around and offer advice to the new mom and then when she was opening her gifts we had people introduce themselves and say how they knew her as their gifts came up. The party was at Andie's groovy house and her husband took pity on Bean and the other 10-year-old girl there and took them to the park. He rocks.
I had "all the kids in the world" (my niece and nephew, 18 months and 6) for a few hours yesterday and they were both really good. The baby was not at all sure that she wanted to leave grandma's house with me, but once the other kids got in the car she was cool. Bean helped herd them around and we ran errands and got pizza. My nephew was more excited about the plastic toys that you can get for 50 cents in the machines than he was about the fact that he had to sit in his chair (not perch, stand or kneel) and eat his pizza (not just the cheese) if he wanted me to give him quarters. The baby just sat in her high chair, alternating between goldfish crackers and cut-up bits of my pizza. She hasn't found actual words yet, but the food was "Guh, guh, guh," and at Andie's house she looked out of the window and when she saw the dog she said something that sounded like a very muted "oh, the dog's outside" and when I asked, "do you see the dog?" she looked at me like, "Isn't that what I just said?" and nodded. The dog, Wookie, is the sweetest dog in the world but he's fluffy which makes him look big (and she's small, which makes him look bigger) so he scared her. My sister has a dog and my mom has three so it didn't occur to me that she would be scared.
I am sooooooooooooooo taking a nap today. I'm going to blame it on the heat.

Whatever.

I got to work yesterday at about 4:30. (Remember that Fridays are technically my day off - I *only* have to come in from about 5 to 7. I have a really short air shift and I take care of the automation for the night during that time). We still have an audio card out of commission from the last lightning strike so every day I have to load (in real time) a 2-hour locally produced show. No problem. He usually records between 10 and noon and on Thursdays and Fridays Andie loads it in for me so that it's ready to go when I get here. On Fridays, this person ALSO has a 1-hour show that needs to be loaded in. I had plenty of time from 4:30 - 7:00 to automate and load in a 1-hour show. Plenty of time.
When I got there at 4:30 he was on his way out. He said that he had just finished his show and it would need to be loaded in. "You've got plenty of time!" he said, not at all aware of what else I had to do. "Not really," I said, mentally rearranging my task list. I came in and immediately started his longer (and earlier) show and figured that if all went well I would be at work for an extra hour. It's not the extra hour that I mind. If he (or anyone else) had called me at, say, noon when he wasn't in to let me know I would have scheduled some afternoon time to get everything else done. I was irritated, but he doesn't necessarily know my schedule or what else I do - just as I don't know all of the things he does to get ready for his show. So I cooled down and then very carefully wrote an email - and I was seriously trying to not sound bitchy. Here's what I wrote and addressed to him and also to Andie (I have changed any identifying information - I'm not looking for a law suit!! This is part of why I don't put my real name or location in this blog):

It would be helpful if one of you would let me know next time that (Show One) won't be ready until later in the day - especially on those days that I am working only a few hours on my day off. There are a lot of things that I do in the production room during those few hours that I'm on the air beyond just loading in the show, and even I can't load three "real time" hours in the two hours I'm supposed to be here!! If I had known the show would be ready later I would have been in earlier this afternoon to load in (Show Two) and finish downloading the rest of the programming for tonight and tomorrow. As it is, I'm stuck here at least another hour or so - not a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it could have been avoided. Hopefully the sound card will be fixed soon and loading in (Show One) and (Show Two) won't be an issue, but even then, considering how nuts my schedule is going to be for the next couple of months any changes in the routine could really become problematic. Anyway, just please make sure someone calls me when the routine changes so that I can plan accordingly!

Not unpleasant, right??? Seriously... let me know if you find anything bitchy about it. Here's what I got back from him:

I had a funnel [sic] to attend and I had no notice. However I did leave you a note on your desk and I changed my taping time on the door. Yes maybe I should have e-mailed you as well. But I have been a bit distracted by the death of my friend. Don't get your nose out of joint with me, I did try to reach out to you.

Hey, nobody likes funerals. I can really understand that my schedule was not on his mind at all yesterday... I did not find a note at my desk - which doesn't mean there wasn't one, I just can't find one. And did anyone else hear the unwritten "young lady" before the last comma?? I wrote back:

I apologize if you thought I had my "nose out of joint," I thought my email was fairly pleasant. I am very sorry that you had another funeral today, I know how tough that can be. The problem is that when things change on a day that I am off, I am not at my desk to see a note or read an email. I work 40 hours a week but never 9 - 5 and with my work at Hospice starting in the next few weeks my hours will only get more irregular. The point of the email I sent to you and Andie was that with the schedule that I have it's really important to call me when things change. Andie was not aware that tonight's show was not already in the system - she thought you must have recorded ahead when she didn't see you this morning. If you either don't want to call me or don't have time, you can certainly have K- call me and let me know.

Sure, I was irritated that he was making such a case about it. I'm the operations person, he's the dj, I should be able to send him an email without it becoming a battle. This is not the first time a simple email has turned into this kind of exchange. He really thinks highly of himself and generally treats people like Kleenex. I think that he doesn't like that he doesn't impress me at all and he really doesn't like that he is not in any kind of authority position. So here's what I get back:

I also told Andie at 2:30 that I was late taping, maybe she should have called you as well. The point is no one is trying to mess up your day. And it is not that I don't want to call you, I have been in a rush trying to console other people and have not had the time to do much of anything. As far as your note, I have been in business along [sic] time and I know when a note has an attitude. Let's take 5 steps back and try again. I am sorry I did not call you and I did not mean any harm.

Better, right? Sort of? He's still getting his digs in, but I can certainly see where he's coming from. Then he has to screw it all up by accusing me of lying about whether or not I intended to have an attitude. I slept on it - well, I didn't really sleep last night for various reasons and I consequently woke up late and so far this day is in the toilet - but the point is that I gave it some time. Here's what I sent this morning:

I know that yesterday was emotionally difficult for you and I really do apologize if there was something in my first email that made you think there was an attitude. It was not addressed to just you - I addressed that first one to you and Andie and she responded by saying that she would make sure to call me next time. I really meant it to be that simple. I never meant to imply in any way that I thought anyone meant to inconvenience me - what I said was that in the grand scheme of things it wasn't a big deal last night. In the coming weeks, however, my flexibility will be changing dramatically, and that someone needs to call my cell phone as soon as possible if there are going to be changes to the schedule.
I know that you did not mean any harm, you did your job (the show was done in what I know you assumed was plenty of time), Andie did hers (she says she thought you had taped ahead and it didn't occur to her to call me), and I did mine (all of the shows made it on the air). I just want to make sure that the lines of communication are open. This situation hadn't come up before and I'm just trying to make sure that there aren't future problems.

So we'll see what I get back this time. I'm done, though, unless he sends something really ugly. Then I'll forward that on to someone higher up than I am and they can deal with it. I understand where he's coming from, and while I was irritated at the extra hour I certainly wasn't irritated enough to be unprofessional about it... Or do you think that first email was as bitchy as he seems to??

I'm really trying to take the higher ground, but it just irritates me when people assume I have the worst intentions. I try - for the most part - to give people the benefit of the doubt. I try to remember that I have my shit and they have their shit and we all have to look just a few inches beyond our own shit when we're dealing with other people.

And seriously, if I wanted to show him attitude? It wouldn't be at all subtle or pleasant and I'd probably get in a lot of trouble.

Target's hiring, right? Everyone's happy at Target, right?

All Hail the Soccer Mom

Seriously. You have no idea. (Unless you happen to be a soccer mom, that is).

Yesterday, in the 100 degree humidity that has engulfed our poor state (along with a few others from what I see on TV) I had a list of things to do. It was a relatively small list: take bean to camp at 9, fill out HR paperwork at Hospice, Pick Bean up by noon, work for a few hours, haircut, work, Andie's house for final baby shower planning. Not bad, right?

Because of the heat, every time we left the car we'd go from sort of cool to hothothot and then into the icy air of our destination. Then back to hothothot and then into the car, which was HOTTERHOTTERHOTTER until the a/c could catch up, which was usually about the time we arrived at our next destination.

Here's how it actually worked:
9:00 Bean to camp.
9:15 Arrive at Hospice sweaty because it's already in the upper 80's and the a/c has a lot of heat and car to compete with. Brush hair furiously and search back of car for clean paper napkins so I don't arrive in the nice HR lady's office looking like I just got done at the gym (as if!)
9:30 Nice HR lady finally has time to see me. Spend ten minutes signing my name to various contracts.
9:35 Nice HR lady says, "Now you have to go for your drug test." I say, "Okay" trying to look innocent without looking like I'm trying to look innocent. I am innocent, but there is something about that kind of thing that makes me feel like I've done something really wrong. She says, "Do you know where the hospital is downtown?" I say, "Yes, I do." She says, "Good. The building you want is just down from there. It's the white building with the parking lit next to it." "No problem."
10:00 Finally get downtown, past the trains that run through the middle of the city several times a day. EVERY SINGLE BUILDING around the hospital is white. I looked for one without any words on it and finally found the right one.
10:30 Leave feeling sort of dirty. It's hotter now and I'm sweaty and I'm starting to feel like maybe there's something not quite right with my bladder. Call doctor's office and beg for an appointment that will fit in my schedule. Offer to see anyone - ask if the janitorial staff can write prescriptions. In the "good old days" I would get that not so nice feeling, leave a message for my doctor and in a few hours a prescription would appear at Walgreens. Now the insurance companies get twitchy about that. I don't get it. I know what a bladder infection feels like. Anyone who has had more than one knows what it feels like. I don't think I should have to waste my doctor's time! They can fit me in at 3:45. Bless them.
10:45 Get to work, start downloading the evening's shows, check email, spend about 30 minutes filling in for Andie so that she can go to a meeting. Glasses place calls, Bean's glasses are ready. Mentally add that to the "to do" list.
11:45 Leave work, pick up Bean and head to the salon. Mom calls and says that there are skirts on sale, if I pick some out she'll buy them. I tell her I'll try to get there today. (Mom works in a hospital that has a gift shop that sells all kinds of things you wouldn't expect to find in a hospital gift shop).
12:20 Arrive, talk to the receptionist (the owner's daughter, I've known her since she was a little older than Bean is now), she brings me a diet Dr. Pepper - which elevates her to goddess level.
1:30 Bean and I have new haircuts and are cooled down significantly due to our hour rest at the salon. Head to the eyeglass place. Realize halfway there that I forgot to pay for my haircut (we were talking), promise to come back by this afternoon and mentally add that to my "to do" list.
2:00 Leave eyeglass place - her glasses look SO cute with her little haircut. She's all funky and cool now. Head across the street to our favorite bookstore/cafe for sandwiches and iced tea. Bean starts whining that she wants to go home. I think about what we have going on for the rest of the day and I sigh. We are starting to get a glimpse of Bean at Thirteen - sullen and uncommunicative.
2:45 Head toward the hospital, call mom, arrange to meet outside her office. Bean is seriously flagging by now. Her sandwich was not "big enough" and she didn't like her soup. Plus, I ran into one of my favorite english professors and spent a few minutes catching up and talking about books (she agrees with me about how poorly written most biographies are - score!!). Bean sulked at the table - not in a snotty "smack the crap out of you if you don't knock it off", more like a quiet "she might be shy or tired" kind of way - but I knew what she meant.
3:15 Leave the hospital (ran into some of mom's co-workers and talked with them for awhile. Bean's patience is thin. Tissue thin. But god love her, on the outside she looks serene and polite. Run home, grab her gameboy and drivedrivedrive to the west side of town.
3:45 Arrive (on time and starting to cool off) at the doctor's office. Wait. Feel very glad that Bean and I both have books to read and feel sort of relieved that there is a wait because it means we can sit in the same, air conditioned place for more than 5 minutes.
3:55 Get weighed. Cry a little on the inside and think about the diet I'm ignoring and the exercising I don't have the energy to fit in. Feel bad about myself.
4:20 Leave the doctor's office. Drive back to work, stopping by the salon to drop off a check and the pharmacy to drop off my prescriptions.
7:05 Leave work, stop by pharmacy, drive to Andie's house. Andie and Kerri and Andie's husband are sitting on the front porch. (?!?) It's 97 degrees and humid and they're sitting outside. Bean looked at me like I was totally insane. "Want to go home," she whine/whispered. I sent her inside to watch TV. We talked for awhile outside for about an hour (2 beers), went inside for a bit and then went to dinner.
10:30 Arrive at home. Bean made a beeline for her bedroom, I made a beeline for my bedroom, we both changed into clean, cool pj's. Bean went to bed, I had a cigarette with the husband (who had a much rougher, more frustrating day than I did) and went to bed.

Some people have days like that every day. I'm glad I'm not one of those people. I like my long periods of inactivity!!

Attention deficit

I don't know what my problem is today... I still have that headache and I've been dropping stuff. I also am finding it very difficult to stay on task. I almost lost interest in posting just waiting for the computer to boot up! I have two different knitting projects (washcloths and a baby blanket) next to me along with two books (Mockingbird and The Devil Wears Prada). I keep switching between the four things about every twenty minutes or so - about every two commercial breaks (is anyone else excited that the new Project Runway starts tomorrow??). I've tried to nap, but I can't focus on sleep long enough to relax...
So please forgive me if this rambles along, doesn't make any sense, and/or is terribly boring.
I am really worried about my sister. Actually, I am really worried about what effect the choices my sister makes (or refuses to make) will have on her kids. I worry that these babies won't know what it means to be stable and safe. She's in a "not ideal" living situation and despite the talk we had a few months ago, and despite the serious offers of real help my parents and her mother are offering (she's my step-sister) she won't make a move. They have handled it really well - I hope that I can handle difficult situations with Bean the way my parents have always handled difficult situations with us. They step in long enough to say "wow, you've gotten yourself in quite a mess. Here's what we'll do to help but here's what you have to do to help yourself." They get that there is a fine line between helping and enabling and I totally dig that. But I worry about the kids (six and 20 months - oh and the next one is due in September). It's so ironic. We tried for years to get pregnant. Years of temperature taking and fertility meds and thousands of dollars that we'll never get back - which would have totally been worth it if we had a baby but now seems foolish and wasteful. If we could get that money back we could put a very nice sized deposit down on a house.
ANYWAY. No baby for us - the stable, happily married couple. But the unmarried, unstable nightmare of a duo that can't afford rent (but can, somehow afford a new big-screen TV) are having babies like kittens. (But I'm not bitter. Swear to god).
So I'm worried about her and I'm worried about my practicum (which starts in twenty days, not that I'm counting). I think I've mentioned that working in radio means you either lose or never attain an office-wear wardrobe. I have twenty days to find appropriate shoes and clothes. I have twenty days to obsess about not fucking up, not spilling something on my new clothes, not falling on my ass in front of clients and not breaking any office or hospital equipment.
I think we've already established that I'm not good with new situations. I am much better at dealing with things and people and events when I have a pretty good idea what I can expect (and what is expected of me) before I get there.

Enough anxiety for one post. I'll close this with a funny... I saw a t-shirt online yesterday. It said:

Scarf Ace

"Say hello to my needle friend"

That's funny as hell, and I hate puns.
I'll try again tomorrow to find something interesting to say...

Bleh.

Headache again today... but it's the first really bad one in about three weeks - maybe I should be happier that I'm back on the pill. I think the weather might be playing a part - thunderstorms are threatening. Changing barometric pressure and all that. It was cool and humid this morning and it's hot and muggy now. Haaaaaate hot and muggy.
I am still not in the knitterly frame of mind and my book is sucky. I'm just in a sucky mood I guess.
Bean, mom and I went to a play last night - we all thought it was really good. We got home late and then Bean reminded me that we were out of milk so I was at the grocery store at 10:30... but we got Cinnamon Life (my favorite cereal this week) and more diet Dr. Pepper. So that's not so bad.
So the husband is off today, wonder if he'll have dinner ready when I get home. (Pardon me while I roll around laughing). Sigh. Actually, in a totally "not like me" move I bought some smoked cheddar brats and will cook those when I get home. The husband is quite pleased. It really sounds good to me. I'm not a huge fan of stuff like that - sausages and processed meats and "boy" food - and it's really not at all good for my headache situation but oh well. Cravings, cravings! I hope we have some good mustard at home...
We went through this mustard-buying thing about a year ago that lasted a few months... we had brown mustard and honey mustard and dijon and sweet and hot and sweet-hot and plain old yellow. I have no idea what's left. Plain old yellow would be fine on these brats but a nice, grainy brown wouldn't suck.
Can you tell I'm hungry?? I did really well diet-wise today until I picked Bean up from camp. We ran a few errands and it was hot and our last stop was close to a DQ so I had ice cream. Now I feel like I could eat my car.
Apparently bad headache = boring blog.... I'll do better tomorrow!

Occasional showers and thunderstorms...

That 's the weather forecast for today. It's dark(ish) and smells like rain. I am finding it very difficult to stay awake, let alone focus on anything work-related. We're also going to have to re-air last week's Zorba Paster because whoever it is that posts it to the download site didn't post the whole show so when I tried to download it I got the first 60 seconds... we're going to get calls. At this point they can all bite me. If I didn't run last week's show they'd get an hour of silence and then they'd really be upset... Dream Engineer has informed me that my lovely boss has actually ordered the part that we're missing (finally) and the computer that changes the channels will be fixed soon. Like most broadcast stations we have some programs that are live from the satellite and some that are recorded and aired later. It's sort of like if you have TiVo - some shows you watch and some you tape and air later. Since the most recent lightning strike the "TiVo" part has been broken and I've been downloading all of our shows from a website designed just for that. The problem is, of course, it takes a lot more of my time this way, and the people who post the shows don't always double-check. Oh, and the "TiVo" part is also what keeps our clocks synched to NPR so with the drifting of time we're running about 5 seconds behind. 5 seconds isn't a lot of time if you're, say, in line at the grocery store or underwater or something but if your whole goal is to sound like you're on par with NPR it's usually a good plan to make sure your clocks match.

Just a few more days.

I've been trying to read more of Mockingbird, and I think I know what my snotty little problem is with it... I don't (generally) like biographies. I think they read as though they have not been edited. If you're writing a novel and you try to cram as much unnecessary information in one paragraph as most biographers try to do your editor has a fit and bloodies your copy with his little red pen. Writing should have clean lines. I don't think that every writer can be (or should be) as clean as Hemingway, but ok, read this:

"A.C. Lee's reason for moving his wife and newborn child, Alice, less than two years old, from Bonifay, Florida, to Monroeville was that he was now financial manager for the law firm Bugg & Barnett, handling their majority interests in the M&R" (38).

A couple of things... find something (anything) other than six commas to punctuate that sentence. If all you can do is use a comma, don't write complicated sentences. Also, either the child is a newborn or she's less than two years old. Both descriptors are unnecessary and imply very different things. Moving a couple of states away (even that long ago) with a three month old is a very different thing than moving with an eighteen month old. And if that's not the most important thing then don't describe it twice! Just say Alice. And contextually the sentence is clunky.

I'm just being a snob, right? I'm being too picky? It's just that I start to get into the narrative and then I get banged in the head by the writing and it's pissing me off! And I, frankly, don't care - even in the context of a biography (which I don't generally like anyway) - about most of the stuff that happened before she was born. I don't even really care all that much about the fact that my parents moved to Oklahoma and then back between their wedding and the time I was born. And Harper Lee' s father was (reportedly) quite unconcerned with their family origins - something that is apparently rare in the south - so why do we care? Where was the editor??

To Kill a Mockingbird is a really beautifully written book. I have never published anything, let alone anything as beautiful as that book. Reading this biography, and knowing that Harper Lee is not someone who grants interviews or is interested in anyone knowing anything about her makes me really sad for her. I imagine her reading the advance copy he sent and being sort of pissed off about it. I'm sure that factually it all holds up - as well as any segmented story that has to be pieced together can - but if you could write as well as Harper Lee wouldn't it piss you off if someone wrote about you and it was clunky? Even if it was fine by biography standards, wouldn't you want it to be better somehow?

I should be nicer. The author was in town and the nice women at the bookstore got him to sign a copy for me even though I wasn't there for the reading. On the other hand, part of the reason I was called on to lead these discussions is because I can't read a book without being a little critical.

A little crazy, a little critique, a little yarn, a little school

So here's what it sounded like inside my head this morning at about 5:40:

"I want a muffin."
"No, you don't want a muffin. Those muffins are full of calories and fat and carbs. Wouldn't a nice yogurt be better? Perhaps with a little sprinkle of Fiber One?"
"Nope. I'm buying a muffin."
"I don't think you really want a muffin, I think..."
"I don't really care what you think. I'm tired and there will be no nap today and I am going to eat that muffin."
"Maybe you could freeze the muffin and eat it later if you have been very very good all day."
"Nope. Eating the muffin now and will probably get something fried at the movies later."
"But that muffin is so bad for you, and eating at the movies is asking for an early death."
"You know, people who listen to the little voices in their heads are often crazy. Maybe we should try antidepressants again. Remember that? No sex drive, no food drive, no fun drive... just that little hum that ran through everything?"
"I'm just saying that a muffin might not be our best choice for breakfast this morning..."
"hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm..."
"Okay! Okay!! Eat the frickin muffin. Just don't come crying to me when your jeans are tight."

That's normal, right??

So my work-spouse, Andie and I went to the monthly book club last night (Red Weather, Pauls Toutonghi). I think it was a success... though it's difficult for me to be subjective about it. I don't honestly know what makes a discussion good - I've been doing this for almost a year and everyone seems happy but I don't feel like we're digging in all that deep. This time, the owner of the book store gave me a little pamphlet that the publisher sent out that had "discussion questions" and a little interview with Pauls... the questions were ok. My methods are a little more organic than sitting around in a circle asking questions off of a numbered list - and I don't think she expected me to do that. After the discussion was over I looked over the questions and we had managed to deal with most of them in our own way, so that's good. Next month is Mockingbird: A Portrait of Harper Lee, by Charles J. Shields. I started it this morning and was sort of amused... there is an introduction that goes into how hard it was to write the book because Harper Lee does not give interviews. In the introduction he mentions that Lee did not like introductions (me neither). The introduction is so clunky and self-conscious that I don't know that I would have continued if it weren't my job. I know he sent her a copy before it was published - which is appropriate, while she would not participate in the writing of this book, she also did not move to stop any part of the research - and I can imagine her cringe at some of the language. I don't mean to be so critical... I am really looking forward to this book - I just hope it gets over itself pretty soon. In the first chapter there is a little more clunkiness - the sort of clunkiness you find in profiles written for magazines, where they only have a few pages to get in a lot of information. I wouldn't expect to find it in a book of this length. I admire the amount of work Shields put into this book, so I understand why he included information about it in the introduction, but it feels sort of self-congratulatory and false.
But who the hell am I to criticize??
I don't know. I just think that if you're going to write a book about Harper Lee you'd better be a pretty fucking good writer. We'll see if he can get his tone under control.

After the discussion group Andie and I tried to see the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie but every show was sold out. We bought tickets for today and then saw The Devil Wears Prada. It was funny enough, but Johnny Depp was not in it. It was like craving pears and being handed a banana.

Oh yarn-y, yarn, yarn. There are no pictures (yet) but my Knit in Public meeting this week was a "naked needles yarn exchange" and was oh so much fun!! I traded a little sock yarn and two books for a little more sock yarn and some really pretty yarn that is probably going to become a blanket for me. I also bought some cotton yarn for washcloths (shhhhhh, don't tell Kerri. She is in the process of buying a new house so I'm making her knitted washcloths for her *first* kitchen). I think she might be on to me, though, as I was not at all subtle when I asked her what color her kitchen and bathroom was going to be.

So I realized this week that it's July already. Nothing gets by me! My semester starts August 17 and I can start my practicum two weeks before that... which would be the end of July. AND IT'S JULY ALREADY. I called the poor woman with whom I interviewed last November and she wasn't working there anymore (not a good sign at all) and then I called the other woman with whom I interviewed and while she didn't remember me or anything about our interview she apparently trusted that I knew what I was talking about and scheduled my first day for July 31. I'll be working with a Hospice Monday, Thursday and Friday mornings... just one more ball I can't drop!

Back in the saddle again...

I got an email today from Weight Watchers (tricky bastards, how'd they know how much garlic dip and jerk chicken I ate last night?) They said if I re-join now they'll remove the sign-up fee. I stepped on the scale, fainted, crawled back to the computer and clicked "for the love of god, yes". Seriously, I'm like, two steps away from being on Springer or Maury or whoever is scheduling fat shows this year.

So far today I've had 3 stupid points. I just finished my healthy snack of carrots and broccoli.
(bleh - no Ranch Dressing).
I'm not happy.

When I try to diet a civil war breaks out. Half of my head says, "Good. It's about frickin' time - how about an egg-white omelet with roasted bell peppers and mushrooms?" and the other half says "Did you know that Ben and Jerry's is on sale? Oh, and remember those soft sugar cookies?!? They're on sale too. You know what would be really good? A loaf of buttered white bread with sugar on it."

And, of course, I'm readying myself to go back to the gym...
That half of me that wants all of the bad food is reacting to this whole diet and exercise plan like my nephew reacts to bath time. Lots of screaming and stamping of feet and pouting.

Here's the great thing about Weight Watchers, though... tonight is a Knit in Public meeting and we're meeting at Panera - certain death, right? Nope. I looked up the points value for my favorite sandwich and I can work it in and still get a chocolate chip muffie. Yay me. (Grrrrrr).

I will NOT be posting my starting weight (~~SHUDDER~~) but if I do manage to stick with it I'll post my losses. I have never been a small girl - and I never will be. I'm not going to Star Jones my way into a size 4 (Is it just me or does she look better fat?!?). I honestly don't think I'd look very good if I was all stick and no figure. But healthy is good, and smaller is good.
Looking at where I am and then all the way down the scale to where I'd like to be is scaryscary - it's like starting on the top of a mountain in Oregon and walking to a beach in Texas.
So, small goal number one: I'd like to lose ten pounds.

Happy 4th of July

I'm not necessarily the most patriotic person. I don't think that we are the "greatest" country in the world - any more than Italians think Italy is the greatest or Canadians think Canada is the greatest. I think that there are certainly advantages to living here, but that's true of a lot of places.
I sometimes feel like we love our country the way abused kids love their parents - blindly, and despite the things we have to go through. I am totally against this idiotic "my dick is bigger than your dick" war. I support the troops - it's certainly not their fault - and I know that it is their courage and dedication that keeps my family safe, at least from the draft. At least for now.

I think that Dubya is a moron who sets a bad example for young people: his "look what a C-student can become" comment along with his flat out refusal to pronounce words correctly make it seem like average is enough to shoot for. Plus I think he's a rich bully. Good grades and diction along with the ability to sympathize and reason are values I want my child to embrace.

I don't usually speak out politically... but the fact that I can is reason enough to be happy that I live here. The fact that I can hate the President and am not afraid of being killed for saying it is another reason to celebrate. Also, I can read and write - that's a plus. And if you disagree with me, or my politics, or my anything that's ok. The thing about the United States is that we can all believe in different gods and ideals and lifestyles and as long as we can respect each other and get along it works. I know that it doesn't always happen that way but the fact that it CAN makes me want to buy some sparklers.

So celebrate your thing your way today - and make sure to keep a bucket of water handy - you never know when you'll need it!

Did you know that I knit?

I haven't posted anything knitterly lately so I thought maybe you forgot... I haven't been feeling very knitterly lately for some reason. The temperatures have gone over 100 degrees, so that might be part of it. Mostly I've been reading and playing spider solitaire or Sudoku when I have down time. (What down time?) I did get a nap today for the first time in awhile...

On Saturday afternoon my landlord showed up with his wife and the sewer guys. I ended up working in the yard with them (I couldn't very well sit in my house and watch him and his wife trim the hedges and haul branches to the trash, could I?). By the time he left my face was so red I looked like I was about to have a heart attack. We were in the exact part of the day when they say not to do physically taxing things outside. We really need to buy a house... we'd be more likely to keep up on the yardwork in our own yard and if we didn't keep up with it there would be no landlord to make us feel bad about it. It was mostly backyard stuff - it's not like we just didn't mow or something. Anyway, they left after two hours of yucky, dirty, sweaty physical labor but the sewer guys weren't done for another two hours so I was hot and gross and couldn't take a shower. I sat by the fan with a bottle of gatorade and an icepack on my neck. It took me almost an hour to cool down and then I had a headache for the rest of the night.

Heat sucks. Maybe we should look for a house in Maine... or Canada.

Now for the Knitterly stuff... while I was outside on Saturday the mail carrier brought a box. I hadn't ordered anything so I was sort of confused until I saw that the return label was from my friend Emilie. She sent a necklace and earrings and a jar of mango body souffle and this:


It's a much darker red in real life... a bright wine color. It's very softy and there are exactly enough skeins to make a sweater I found on the Lion Brand website. I am so happy!!! It's like she KNEW I wanted to make this sweater...

There is a pattern on the label for a really nice blanket that uses 6 skeins but it's a crochet pattern. It's not that I don't like crochet, I'm just not very good at it. Everything I've tried to crochet has ended up sort of wonky and misshapen. Knitting is a much better idea for me. So just a few weeks ago I was bitching about the cost of yarn and how I would never be able to afford to knit a sweater. (OK, I was really more whining than bitching). And now I have cast on not one, but two sweaters. (Two sweaters, ah ah ah).

Here is the detail on the lapel of the Natalie sweater. I haven't gotten very far on it (obviously) but so far I like it.
I know this picture is not the best... google "Natalie Coat" for a better picture of what it's supposed to look like if you're interested.


I also have two baby blankets on the needles and I'm supposed to be making Cubs socks for the husband and socks for Bean... and there's lace on circular needles somewhere - not to mention the fair isle socks that we're not speaking to. I need to finish something. Maybe that will be my goal for July - finish something. I'll try. I promise I will.
Well, despite my nap today I am very tired and it's time for bed.

Frankie Says Relax!

So things are calming down for my friend Marianne. The new baby is figuring things out, everyone is getting a little more sleep and I think she's turning out to be exactly the kind of mom she wants to be. She made an interesting comment - her baby is a really good baby and I said that Bean was the same way and she said she thinks that laid-back, relaxed parents make laid-back, relaxed babies. I agree to a certain extent - though I do know some parents who are more calm than I could ever be who have kids who are NUTS. I also have a friend who is a little poodle of nerves and you would swear her kids are high they're so mellow - of course, her husband is one of those guys who makes you calm just walking in the room. But babies can smell fear and uncertainty like dogs, and I guess when you can't even gold up your own head or control your arms (let alone find food) realizing that the people in charge have NO idea what they're doing might make you a little anxious. You might want to make absolutely sure that they remember you're around and that they can find you in the dark. Imagine how you'd feel if you were, say, on a plane and the pilot hadn't slept in three or four days and you overheard him on the phone with his mother, "I just don't know, mom, it's a plane full of people whose lives are in my hands. What if I screw it up?"

There is also a gender issue involved - now don't get that way. It's true. Ask any mom who has one of each and I'd bet that three out of four of them will agree. Boys are insane until they're done with puberty, girls are insane once they hit puberty. (Both should be locked away during puberty. Far away. In separate countries.) My sister was such a calm mom that I thought my nephew's screaming was somehow hypnotic - he screamed a lot. In a loud and piercing way. Swear to God I have hearing loss from his first few years - and they lived a state away until he was two. (The irony is that he hates loud noises. Movies that are too loud, 4th of July, any sudden really loud noise upsets him). He's a sensitive kid, and at 6 he doesn't cry so much anymore - he gets frustrated and can still be a frightening ball of negative and unreasonable energy with a flair for the dramatic, but he doesn't cry. At three (and four and part of five) if he said, "Next time can we ride on a rocket ship, 'cause I really want to ride in a rocket ship like Buzz Lightyear." And you said, "That would be a lot of fun, but we don't have a rocket ship and there isn't anyplace here to rent one for the day." He would cry. And then he would scream, "BUT I WANT TO RIDE A ROCKET SHIP LIKE BUZZ LIGHTYEAR! I WANT TO I WANT TO I WANT TO!!" And you'd slowly turn the radio up in the car and count backwards to figure out how many seconds left before your sister came to pick him up. I babysat a lot during those years. My sister worked until 7 - but often didn't pick him up until 7:45 or 8. There were days (lots of them) when he would get pouty and say "I miss my mom" and I would say, "Kid, I miss your mom, too."

And I'm a fun aunt!! (We're in the Midwest, by the way, so that's pronounced "ant," not "ohnt"). We fingerpaint and stop for ice cream and make up silly songs and play games. We are also expected to be cooperative and speak respectfully and not be a little booger when things don't go your way. Go with the flow, kid. Bean was confused by his tantrums and would look at him like he had three heads. But then, she grew up with me. I am fun and relaxed and am not so concerned with "the rules" all the time, but there is a time and a place and a mood. Bean gets it. Once at a picnic - she was almost two - she was doing something stupid... probably smearing her ice cream on the dog or something - I looked at her and said, "That is completely inappropriate behavior." The man sitting next to me (a new dad) laughed and said, "You honestly think she understands anything you just said?" Bean looked at him and said, "Mama said no." And she stopped.

This is not to say (or imply) that Bean did not have her share of acting out and tantrums. Ohhhhh no. While her episodes were infrequent, they were certainly impressive. We were in the grocery store once - she was about three - and it was payday and I was in a good mood so when she asked for extra stuff I put it in the basket. A Lunchable, some chocolate milk, a box of crayons and a new coloring book. At some point I said no. She screamed "BUT I WANT IT." I stopped the cart and looked at her - that mom look - for a long couple of seconds and said, "Mommy said no." Stubborn Bean that she is cocked her head and said "Beanie said yes. I WANT IT I WANT IT I WANT IT." I bent down so that my face was level with her face and in the low, mommy voice said something to the effect of, "This is not the behavior I expect from you and you need to figure out what's wrong and fix it pretty quickly because I'm losing my patience. Seriously." She looked me straight in the eye and said "NO!"

Someone once told me that parenthood makes you understand - not condone or participate in, but understand - how child abuse happens. I thought this was a terrible thing to say at the time. Now I totally agree. Sometimes you want to smack the crap out of their little snotty faces. You DON'T, of course.

Here's what you do: You smile and say in a Disney-caliber sweet voice, still at kid-eye level, "Well, you're not acting like a little girl who needs special treats!" And you retrace your steps through the store putting every single extra thing that she wanted back. No crayons "Bye bye crayons!" No coloring book, "See you later, coloring book." No chocolate milk or Lunchable, "We're having tuna sandwiches at home today, maybe next time!" And she'll probably throw a great big fit through the store, into the checkout line and all the way to the car. She'll scream "NONONONONONONO" until she falls asleep in her carseat on the way home (and she'll probably still be muttering "no" quietly in her sleep) but you've done the right thing and she's learned that tantrums in public mean that not only do you not get what you wanted at the time, you also don't get anything else fun. In time she'll also learn that when she's acting like a moron in public and mom gets all calm, stops arguing and smiles she's gone too far. In time, she'll figure it out that when you look at her for too long with your eyebrows raised that you expect her behavior to change. This doesn't mean she'll never throw another tantrum - they're kids. They can't always be reasonable. Hell, we're adults and we can't always be reasonable.

As your child squirms out of control, ask yourself if advanced planning would have helped. Sometimes the answer is no. Sometimes they're just being a booger-head and you need to get the heck out of the situation.
The trick is to figure out why the tantrum is happening. Sometimes it is totally justified - you can only expect so much from people under 5. If you are in line at the DMV and you've been there for more than thirty minutes and you don't have a snack and a couple of little activities or toys in your purse you are totally at fault. If you are going toy shopping for a birthday party and you don't de-brief the child in the car before you step into the store (We're buying a birthday present for Matthew now, ok? This is not the day we buy toys for you, toys today are for Matthew,") and then reinforce that as you put them in the shopping cart ("Remember, toys are for Matthew today") and then in every aisle, ("These aren't toys for Matthew, lets look at the next aisle. Do you think Matthew likes Dragon Tales?") you're setting yourself (and the kid) up for a very bad day. Bean is almost ten and I still enter every shopping opportunity with the statement "I'm not buying anything extra today."

And sometimes you just have to ignore them. In the grocery store again, Bean is two or so, and because I am so unreasonable that I expect her to sit in the cart with the seatbelt on and NOT throw her juice cup at me she starts to scream. Not words, just screaming. I give her the mom look. I say her full name. I say it louder. But the kid has herself closed off to me. Eyes shut, body rigid, mouth open and louuuuuud. So I took a deep breath and started pushing the cart again. She stopped screaming, un-squinted one eye and looked at me. I examined some grapes. She took a breath and started again. I selected a few apples. Calm and serene on the outside, totally embarrassed on the inside. A few people looked at me like I was beating her with a stick. I just kept shopping. An older woman came up to me in Dairy and said, "I just wanted to tell you that you're doing a really good job." I almost cried. I was doing the right thing!!! About halfway through the store she stopped, as suddenly as she had begun. I handed her juice cup back to her. She said "Ti-tou, baby," (she never just said 'thank you' it was always 'thank you, baby.' I have no idea why). She drank some juice, hummed a little tune. She was normal Bean again.

Imagine how hard parenting would be if they knew how much we didn't know! (Teen years, here I come!!)