In other news, last night he was being a hardcore crankypants, so we stuck an ice-cold teether in his mouth, which seemed, for the first time ever, to actually calm him down and soothe him. Obvious conclusion: teething. For real this time. Maybe. So we braced ourselves for a night full of wake-ups. Instead, he woke at around 11:30, when James went in to get him back to sleep. He woke again at around 12-something, but before I actually made it into the room, he'd quieted, and when I peeked in the door, his head was kind of wedged into the corner of the crib, but he was perfectly sound asleep (and yes, still breathing). The next time I heard a peep was 5:00 this morning. But what a peep it was! He didn't fall back to sleep until around 6:00, when he came to lie next to me in my bed and nurse because neither James nor I could actually get him sleeping again in the crib. We actually slept another hour in there, which never happens in the morning anymore, and when I woke up and stuck my finger in his mouth, there was a sharp little pointy thing right there. One night of teething, and not even a bad one. I hope the rest of the teeth come through like this. Because that will totally make every single parent on the planet hate me even more. Rock!

So on Tuesday, we had our usual play group, followed by lunch with three of the other moms and their babies at Panera. It was fun because while we do gab some about babies and various parenting issues, milestones and the like during the group, it's mostly focused on the book we're reading and discussion related to the themes of the book. And it's always nice to do some extra socializing.

On Wednesday, M and I drove up to the Fairfax area to meet up with one of the moms from the same Tuesday group and go swimming. Every time we go to the pool, M enjoys it even more than the last time. I should really take him out more often, but adding to a baby's daily schedule is often more difficult than it seems. It was nice, though, to have some one-on-one time with this other mom, because we seem to click fairly well. We're in agreement about a lot of things, and both of us are participating in this particular group more for the social outlet than for the spiritual one, though we're open to that other stuff too. It's too bad that she lives such a hike from us, but it's not like it's anything we can't overcome in the name of friendship. Because at least Fairfax is closer than, say, San Diego or Los Angeles.

Thursday I worked, and M kind of almost barely took one step on his own in the morning before I left. And yesterday, I had a dentist appointment that was made before I realized that James was actually going to be working during the day instead of his usually Friday night shift. So I had to leave M with someone else. For the first time. Ever. I brought along everything I could think of that he might possibly need or want or would distract him if he reached a point of crisis, but at the same time, I was fairly certain that he would be just fine. And I was right. For just under two hours, he puttered around a room in the home of another mommy from our Tuesday group while she played with him and her own 3-month-old. When I came back to pick him up, she expressed how impressive it was that he had absolutely zero meltdowns, even if he ever realized I wasn't around. I must admit, I was very proud of him, but I also know that it could have easily gone the other way if he hadn't gotten a good nap and feeding in beforehand. As it was, the timing was just perfect because all we usually do at that time of day is play anyway. Later on, as I mentioned, his mouth hurt, and I could totally sympathize because dental work sure does a number on one's pie hole. At least I was able to take a pain reliever. We didn't have anything for poor little M, but he handled it like a champ anyway. He always does.

i think plurk is so arb... :)But if you're on it..... add me to plurk

Not once would you look at me
Erased me from your memory
Carry me 'round flower to flower
I stay outside whilst you have your hour

'cause what am I but a masked disgrace?
Tying a noose around my face
Peculiar case of metamorphosis
Where I stayed caged and cased in silk

I tried to rip apart the seams
Read every single line between
Followed the 101's and such
Never did account to much

So here I am and there you are
I'm in a cocoon and you're a star
Shining up so high and bright
But I'll still try with all my might

If I could just get through my plight
At least I could share the light
Off the silk threads of my cocoon I reflect your light
I'm the moon of the sky that you run through at night

Some rights reserved. The above work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.

The above image is ©2004-2008 `frail

Wrote this poem last night, it's directed at three of the more important people in my life who I met in school. I've practically lived at their place, and shared a lot of my life with them. This in particular is directed at one of them... who was probably the closest to me... they all still are, but this is about something more recent.. it's not a big issue or anything... it's just something I'd like them to know.

So yeah... you know who you are.

We moved to Northern Virginia five years ago. I have had friends. Even one of those call anytime and get together on a moment's notice kind of best friends. But the biggest problem with Northern Virginia is its transient residents. My closest friends, the ones I met through my first job in the area (the bookstore), have all gone. Mostly to California. And the group of us who stayed sort of unglued as we all moved on to pursue different and varied employment (and residential) opportunities. And though I've been lucky enough to make some decent friendships through various other channels, including school, I don't have any one I would call for a favor or in a moment of frustration or celebration or just because.

Fortunately, I have an incredibly adorable almost-nine-month-old ice breaker. So, much like a single man with access to the same thing, I have been using the baby to try and meet women.

I'm shy. It doesn't take me long to share a lot about myself, so I'm sure that "shy" is definitely not the first word someone would think of when describing my personality. But that period of time between "Hello, my name is..." and sex jokes over decaf soy lattes is often a very anxious one, however brief it seems. But you know what? After reading Amanda's fool proof friend making strategy, I'm feeling more ready to get over myself and take some initiative. This is not easy. I was always the sidekick. One of the executors for the group's "Captain Plan." But without a group and without a Captain Plan leading the way, I have to step up or be lonely. So I'm choosing to step up.

I have started carrying around a little purple notepad and a little purple gel pen. This combined with the baby has already brought me a little closer to my friend-making goal. I pulled it out in a restaurant yesterday, and even though the other party lives quite some distance away, I have promised that I will get in touch anyway even if it means picking up the telephone. The worst that happens is that my friend situation stays the same and maybe I look too eager or a little foolish. The best? I get to talk to new people, share stories, swap babysitting, have lunch dates, be there for someone who will be there for me.

I think we all try to put on a confident, I-have-everything-I-need kind of attitude. But I have a hunch that I'm not the only person (especially stay-at-home-mom) who feels like there is a certain best friend type relationship lacking from her current baby-immersed life. So even though I would definitely rather be approached than approach, I will continue to make myself do it anyway. Because there's probably a good friend match out there for me, maybe even in my own neighborhood, who might appreciate not having to make the first move, herself. So now it's just a matter of finding her. Wish me luck.

By now you've been regaled with the story of my first marriage. Our time together lasted just nine months, but for reasons outside of my control, it took another three years to extricate myself from the man. If you want to call him a "man," I still think he was gay.

After the divorce, I spent ten years as a single person. This doesn't mean I was in a monastery or anything. Quite the contrary. By that time, it was the late 1970s and early 1980s, a rather hedonistic era of the 20th Century. I attempted to log in my boyfriends in my journal, but quickly ran out of room. Plus, many of the guys were one-nighters, so I didn't know their last names. They didn't even rate journal space. (PUH-LEEZE! Stay with me here... it was the age of disco and pre-AIDS epidemic. Everyone was doing it.) Eventually, I was engaged to a guy who was four years younger. This, also, turned out to be a mistake, but not a huge one, since I wised up in time.

In late 1980, I fell into a job with the federal government. It paid four times what I was making before at the menial jobs I had prior to that. Within a few months, I was living large.

Now here's where Mr. Vanity Press' theory about affinity groups comes into play.

My employer tended to hire 30 or so people at the same time. We all stuck together, became friends, and enjoyed our mutual good fortune by partying in our off hours. The previous groups all stuck together, and the later groups were the same way. There was no group jumping, God forbid, probably because the competition for permanent jobs, once they became available, was very high.

After working there for a few years, I got the hang of the secrecy between groups and non-group jumping. At the time, I was pretty much a lemming anyway. I wanted to stay employed and continue to receive big fat paychecks for doing menial labor. I would have sway whichever way the wind blew. I don't know why. I'm thinking in hindsight it is because I wasn't fully formed as a person, even though I was in my mid 20s.

However, after a couple of years of forced overtime, my social life was suffering. At the time, I had been engaged (for four years) to that guy, but had no time to spend with him. We drifted apart, me to work unreasonable hours of the day and night, and he to dealing cocaine and snorting the profits up his nose. I only found out about the drug use when we went to book our "honeymoon" trip to Hawaii and the $10,000 we had in the bank was gone. Not long afterward, he was gone too.

I jumped back into the dating pool without a swimsuit. (To be frank, I had been hanging my feet in the water before I ditched fiance Number 2. I know, I know. I was a loose goose, or a fun-loving 20-something, depending on your perception.) It was rough at first. I had been out of the loop. My home was my employment, and my homeboys were my co-workers.

One day, a new group came in for orientation. I remember the day well. It was October 29, 1983. One of the guys in the group was very handsome. I thought he was a Very Cute Boy. (If you remember from my previous posts about Husband Number One, I was touched in a similar way.)

By this time, I was the social butterfly of the work room floor. It helped that my job included pushing stuff from one end of the building to the other. You meet a lot of people that way. I was already starting to transcend my affinity group.

On the other hand, my original group was closed minded. They wanted nothing to do with the new group. They were very unhelpful, especially with directing the newbies to the bathroom, the exits, and the lunch room.

One day I saw the Very Cute Boy standing in front of his work. I went over and talked to him. OK, I blatantly flirted with him. Come on! He was VERY Cute! Then, during our lunch break, I noticed him sitting alone. I sat down next to him and began a conversation. This amazed my best friend from my group. "What are you talking about?" She wanted to know. I told her I learned Very Cute Boy was a piano player. It was the aphrodisiac of the gods. That was a definite deal maker for me.

This continued for some time. I noticed that the Very Cute Boy was trying to find ways of catching my eye. He also finagled himself a job pushing stuff from one end of the floor to another, so we were two ships crossing in the night, over and over again. I wanted the Very Cute Boy to ask me out, and I thought he would, but he never did. It was becoming apparent that I was going to have to take matters into my own hands. I lobbied some of the guys in my group whether or not they would go out with a girl who asked them on a date. Half thought I was talking about THEM, the other half said no, it should not be a problem.

It took some nerve, but I finally asked the Very Cute Boy over for a home made spaghetti dinner on the rare day off.

He came over with three roses in a raging blizzard to eat spaghetti that had burned (because I was asleep from working the night shift) and said was amazing.

The Very Cute Boy is now Mr. Demonic.

The moral of the story: Group jumping is a good husband-snagging option.

There's an old song from my childhood days that says, "Make new friends, but keep the old.  One is silver and the other gold."  Old friends are precious to me, and I still keep in touch with a couple from back when I was in elementary, but new friends are just as precious in a different way.

Never expanding your friendships with others causes two immediate problems that I can see.  One, you get very comfortable with each other and sometimes you aren't challenged by that person's character or loose the accountability.  Another problem is the fact that you limit the potential of what you could learn, where you could go in life, and who else you could meet.

My second point is more of a network mindset, but networking is such a great tool for ministry and daily life.  The opportunities I've had because I met new people have been fantastic and some of them very unique.  I've also learned a lot from different friends along the way.  There's different people who have been involved in helping shape certain aspects of my life at different times.  Some of these people are my peers, and others are my elders.

My point is, no matter what type of a person you are, it's important to make new friends, and the summer is a great time to cultivate those friendships when you're not super busy like you would be during school.  Whether you're outgoing and you build large networks like I do, or you're more reserved and you only need 1-2 friends, make sure that to make the effort to meet someone new.

Don't waste your summer!

We have our 4th of July carnival on the 3rd

Always a great cover band

I always show up late

Sundown

Sparklers

Child's Play

This effect occurred completely by accident

Love it: It looks spooky!

I can't believe I got the shot

THE END

]]> http://hedonisticpleasureseeker.wordpress.com/?p=2115 Thu, 03 Jul 2008 01:45:29 +0000 The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker http://hedonisticpleasureseeker.wordpress.com/?p=2115 So many midpoints, so little patience. I'm half way through my summer classes: Midterm tests and papers are complete, and I'm gearing up final tests and papers. I will never take TWO summer classes at the same time again! By August I shall be free, but for now I don't have much time for anything except homework.

Bunny didn't get the summer job that she wanted, so she's making money doing extra work around the house. It's cut my own housework burden in half! Now if only I didn't STILL have to scream at her to get her to do it.

I am half way to my weight goal. I'm enjoying my cardio very much these days. I love breaking a sweat because - and I know this probably seems weird - it gives me flashbacks of my nights at the burlesque. The dance bug may be biting me again soon, and I can't wait until August to find out!

Half of me wants to start dating again and half of me doesn't. Andrew has been calling; he wants me to fly out to Hollyweird to see him again and has offered to cover all my expenses. I enjoy his company (in measured doses) and it seeing him would more than make up for my Summer Sex deficit, BUT. I'm really starting to wonder about the man: I think he may actually be a sex addict, and by that I mean more than the typical man: I mean NOT in a happy kind of way, but in an anxious and seeking relief via constant, rapid-release sex way. I'm anxious enough these days without adding THAT to my vibe. I want a man to DOUBLE my pleasure, not cut it in half!

some colleagues of mine, if they're in a good mood, call me "the Hub".

and it's more than just my IT assignment in the office.

it's because they always encounter people i know (mere acquaintances, relatives or good friends). i kinda have a connection to people who come their way -- either they've met them or they've met people who know people whom i know. the farthest they've counted was 2nd degrees... yeah they like minding my own business, really.

nah, it's not a gift, nor a reflection of my social butterfly status (because i am not). this is a result of having sociable exes, a job as a party events point person that are held in bars and clubs in my past life, and a set of friends who are real butterflies.

case in point: i just came from a rehearsals session for a shoot we're doing this week, i was at the corner, watching our talents, when i learned, by reading the directory of the karate studio that we rented for the night, that the owner is someone i played badminton with a few years back. i practically shook my head when i was able to confirm with the studio secretary that the owner is indeed the person i know.

One night in Milwaukee, we left the baby with my parents and went over to Shari's apartment to hang out with our old buddies and play Wii. It's not so different from what we used to do when we were all using the same area code. We talked a bit, laughed a lot and totally lost track of time (not the best situation when we got home to a very upset little man, but not the end of the world, either). But that night kind of brought a little nagging feeling back into the center of my head again. And since we got back, I've been having trouble not feeling incredibly lonely.

I love the friends I have. I do. And I miss them terribly, and sure, maybe I should call every once in awhile or make more of an effort to keep in touch, but the thing with the friends I've had forever is that it's easy to fall back into step with them when we find ourselves face to face again. I know that they are there anytime I need them, and I hope that they know that I'm never really very far away either. But I am physically so removed from everything. I'm out of the everyday loop. And that's hard. Because I have no new loops way out here.

I've been trying to put myself out there, to make new friends in my neighborhood. Because I like where we live. I really do. The only thing missing is people. Those great people you see on a regular basis and talk to even more frequently. The problem is that a lot of people already have good friend close by. There's not the kind of room in their lives, the kind of need that I seem to be getting more and more desperate to address. And of course, no one likes desperate.

I feel like I've made some good starts here, but I'm not sure there's anyone I would feel comfortable calling up for a favor, you know? Not that they wouldn't gladly do something for me or my family, just that I don't feel like we're quite at that place in a friendship yet, exactly. Also, the few people I've connected with are sort of scattered in a different way. I met one person at a fitness class, a couple others at a playgroup that's not quite in my back yard, which is tough on the wallet that fills the gas tank, another from my Mason days, and a few more here and there. In other words, I don't have a group. I've gone to meetings of several already established groups, but that has its own challenges. It's less social. Less a gathering of friends than a group with focus and purpose. And that's not a bad thing. Those kinds of things get me out of the house and educate me in new and exciting ways. And I do get to talk to people a little bit. It's just not always the most satisfying because my need goes a little deeper.

I guess the idea is to just keep trying. Keep putting myself out there. We're going swimming this afternoon. Just me and my boy. And maybe there will be someone at the pool to talk to. But maybe not. And if there's not, then I have to be okay with that today and try again tomorrow. Or the next day. And so it goes.

I'm excited because I found American flags at Target that were actually made in America. WHOOPIE! So I bought one.

I might have a Fourth of July party, if for no other reason than to inspire myself to 1) finally clean this damn house; 2) show off the fact that I CAN, in fact, grill, and 3) feature my new favorite dessert, which happens to be red, white and blue.

It's not "just" vanilla pudding with berries: This is an ALL organic venture with real sugar, cream and vanilla and OMG you can taste the difference. This is die-and-go-to-heaven good, and this is how you do it.

Vanilla Pudding

Mix sugar, cornstarch and salt; granually blend in milk. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, till mixture thickens. Cook 2 or 3 minutes more. Add vanilla and powdered vanilla bean. Pour in SMALL dessert glasses. Remember, this stuff is RICH.

Berry Sauce

I'm pretty well-up on mental illness, unsurprisingly, but in front of people I can't show this. It leads to awkward questions. Why do I know so much about that? I'm expected to be generally knowledgeable, but why am I able to list the diagnostic criteria for borderline personality disorder off the top of my head? What the hell is borderline whatever you said, anyway? Freak.

Danny is obsessed with Stephen Fry. She watched The Secret Life of the Manic Depressive when it was on and now considers herself the school's expert on bipolar disorder. All my friends go to her when they want to know something about being crazy, because she's the closest they've got to a real live nutter. Yeah. I guess I used to be like that, too. It's scary I could be so ignorant. It's scary they're so ignorant, and that it's normal to be that way.

I have a very smart, very competitive friend name of Rhiannon. She's got to be right, even when she's wrong.

So the other day, I was with a bunch of friends sitting around in some chairs and they were talking. I was slumping in the corner staring at a glass cabinet and wishing that the window would open and that I could climb out of it, because I am a social butterfly that way: some days it is my friends that win my favour, some days it is the roof. Then Danny, Bipolar Expert of 2008 because she watched a documentary a few years ago, said in excited tones that:

"Hey, we know this man, and sometimes he feels really high and sometimes he feels really low, and they think he's going to turn into... a manic depressive!"

Cue excited oohs and aahs from various kiddies around her. Then cue me:

"You don't just wake up one morning and transform, snap, that's it, OK?" I don't know what I said exactly, but I was making sure she got back in her place all right. "You can't turn into one, and 'one' sounds like an animal, you don't turn into an animal, bipolar isn't an animal -"

"No, Suzy," says Rhiannon, looking at me like I'm an idiot and I'm getting angry now, "but your mood swings can get worse and worse until one day you're technically one."

"Technically an animal?" So explain to me exactly what the hell did Rhiannon know? Apart from how to patronise people she couldn't beat in an argument? Ah, I was losing it...

They were looking at me funny and I went off on one, trying to prove I knew more than them at the same time as trying not to sound excessively well-informed at the same time as getting angry that they assumed they knew it all because of Stephen Fry. Sooo...

So then another girl goes, "Su, why are you getting so angry?" and what I desperately wanted to do was shout "Because it runs in my family, you feckin stupid eejit!" then jump to my feet, stamp up the stairs, and blank them all till the end of the day, after when we don't have any exams together till this coming Wednesday.

But, of course, I couldn't do this. One, because the family heirloom is something not to be mentioned even within the family (one of my dad's brothers killed himself, aged twenty-two, don't mention it, it's like he never existed, it's creepy) and nobody knows outside of it. Two, because my socially concerned, anti-sexism, anti-ageism, anti any kind of -ism friends would turn all sympathetic on my exit from the room, with Rhiannon kicking it off with "Does she seem a bit manic to you, Danny...?" and within minutes the entire school would know that yes, Su Robinson has bipolar disorder for deffo, it must be true because Danny said, and Danny knows about these things, and they'd all be really nice to me, unbearably nice, for ages before I found out.

But God... wouldn't it be fun? Lose my temper, argue incoherently, scream that a serious mental illness runs in my family, and storm out the room? Wouldn't it be so much fun? That's like my pathological lying taken to the max... no lying but a lot of manipulation. Oh God, I am so tempted. Don't do it, Suzy. I'm sure I will, one day. I'm under pressure from CAMHS to tell the school I've been seeing them, but I'm waiting for the day I really want something, so I can be all oh hey, I really want to be Head Girl. You wanna appoint Ellen instead? Fine, go ahead, break my heart. By the way, when I'm upset I get psychotic... here, have my psychiatrist's number, just in case. It's the kind of situation I'd create then realise ten minutes later that this is my life, not a story, and immediately wish I could reverse.

It doesn't help that I know I know more than Danny and Rhiannon about mental health and not-so-healthy. I mean, hello, I have firsthand experience. But I can't prove it, because then they'll know I do, when all I want is for them to know I know but that would prove I know. And if that isn't incoherent enough for them to start being really, really nice to me, I don't know what is (apart from maybe a rant by yours truly when both angered and psychotic. So... I do know what is).

After a month and a half of Monday-Wednesday-Friday morning fitness classes, I am back into one pair of casual pre-pregnancy pants. Still working on squishing myself into my old jeans, but I'm on my way. With about 3-4 pounds to go to get to my pre-pregnancy weight. If possible, I'd like to lose a little bit more, but in all honestly, as long as I don't have to buy any more new clothes, I'll be happy. In addition to feeling better and losing a little weight, I've also connected with a couple of other moms who seem promising as new friends. I'll be getting together with a mom of twin boys around M's age next week to play and chat for the first time outside of class, and I am super excited.

I get to work with a friend on Thursdays, too. And even though sometimes being around all those other babies at the store makes me miss my boy a lot, I really get a thrill out of helping expectant and new moms find the things and solutions and sometimes also the support that they need. And mostly, I'm just glad when I get to talk to the customers and my coworkers because I really enjoy that interaction, even if we're just gabbing about diaper pails or breast pumps.

Also, I have another date set up in a couple of weeks to see an old grad school buddy. I'm excited to see her, too, because we always seem to go too long between visits with each other. It's not easy keeping in touch, and it takes some effort and coordination to stay on top of people. And I sometimes get too busy. I sometimes just forget. Not that people aren't on my mind, just that I'm not always in a position to act on the impulse to make contact when it hits, and by the time that I am, I might be just distracted enough to forget.

But even though it's often easier to stay at home and work on baby naps and feeding schedules (perpetual dishes, laundry, and other chores) instead of doing the math required to fully prepare a diaper bag and get myself ready for running around, it's so worth it to put myself out there, to connect with other moms and old friends. There is value in each of these relationships, some older, some brand new, and I'm really glad that I'm doing all that I am right now. It feels good to be adding more outside activities to my daily life and including more people in my circle of -- dare I call them -- friends.

The girls went to my in-laws yesterday for a bit and they took them to their church for a children's musical program. My oldest was tired from a birthday party where she played really hard to several hours and Hannah is my dancing queen and social butterfly. This is the email my mother in law sent about their time together.

Sarah got really tired towards the end of the program, though she seemed to like the first part. It was hard to see in there, too. I could tell she wasn’t connecting anymore and Hannah was ready to go too. She didn’t enjoy being confined to the stroller for very long. I held her some, then let her down and she was “dancing in the aisle.” She was as much entertainment as the kids on the stage, and easier to see. She walked across the aisle to an older (man) choir member, then the husband of another older choir member. I could tell they enjoyed her visit. I took her back behind all the chairs and let her run some---though she’d stop and dance when there was another song---again entertaining the people in the bleachers near the back of the room.

It was Game Day at the Lair of the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker and I couldn' t find a single pair of jeans that I could pull up over my ass AND zip all the way up without causing myself pain. WTF? What's with the muffin top? Muffin tops are against my religion!!! Goddamned middle age.

Granted, the jeans were a size three, purchased from the teenybopper section of a local department store a few years ago. More like goddamned denial! Did I really think I'd remain The Hipless Wonder forever? Any woman over 40 who can still fit her buns into a pair of size 3 jeans without starving herself anorexic is just really, really naturally tiny, like Asian tiny. I'm of Northern Euro stock so forget it.

I kept the top button of my Levis 501's and wore my Phillies t-shirt untucked. Note to self: Buy grownup jeans.

Posse 1: These are GREAT seats

Me: I know, unbelievable.

Posse 2: Who is Burrell? Why does his name sound familiar to me? The one up to bat. Is he famous?

Me: It's his ass. He's the guy with the great ass, who cares? Here, I brought these (handed her my mini binoculars) just so I could check out the fielder with the nice ass.

Posse 2: You brought binoculars to look at guys' buns?

Posse 1: Give me those. OH. MY. GOD.

Me: He plays right field.

Posse 3: Let me see! (grabs binoculars) OH. MY. GOD.

Posse 1: But we're in left field. We can't see his ass from here.

Posse 2: I'd rather look at his package.

Me: Maybe one of them will turn out to be a southpaw and you'll get an eyeful.

Posse 2: Rats. I can't see anything from here!

Posse 1: Well these seats suck, then.

We had a ball (hah), even though we got our butts kicked by the Blue Jays. Two foul balls practically landed in our laps but the guys in front and behind us grabbed them so we lost out. I didn't care, as I was just happy to wallow in the All-American baseball experience. I even had three children-sized hot dogs (I hadn't eaten all day) and here's a shocker: I ate them WITH the buns (!) and half a lite beer and didn't get sick from the gluten, probably because they were mostly air in the first place. Whee! We enjoyed the near-obligatory Philly Cheese Steak experience afterwards and I swear to God I have no idea who this man is, so I'll just refer to him in stories as "my neighbor's friend the drunk guy."

]]> http://artyfuss.wordpress.com/?p=883 Wed, 07 May 2008 18:05:04 +0000 Sara http://artyfuss.wordpress.com/?p=883 I know you have. I went one whole entire week without checking email. Without writing a thing. Reading actual books that I held in my hand instead of staring vacantly at a computer screen for hours on end. And you know what? I didn't die.

Sure, my feed reader is showing an insanely large number of unread things now that I've gone a week instead of a few hours between log-ons, but I hardly even missed the computer while I was in Wisconsin. I enjoyed my family, who incidentally curbed some of their own addictions in order to interact with me and mine. Like turning the TV off when it became an obvious distraction.

So what have I been up to the last week? Let me tell you all about it.

On Thursday, we got up at four in the morning to get on a plane by 6:30. Security was a breeze, and we didn't have to wait long before boarding. M was an angel, even though he didn't exactly sleep much. He was quiet enough and fairly content. Adorable as usual, our fellow passengers were quite complimentary. My mom picked us up from the airport once we landed, and we went to breakfast with the in-laws. I ate an omelet without cheese, and the baby finally passed out for good in the car on the way back to the house.

I have to say that the spoiling of the grandchild has begun in earnest. When we got to James' parents' house, there in the middle of the living room was the Fisher-Price Rainforest Jumparoo. And about fifteen cute little summer outfits. Including a safari hat and sunglasses.

On Thursday, M ate his first banana. He loved it. And one valuable lesson was learned. Banana stains. Not a big deal, because what doesn't get stained when you have a baby around, really? But good to know for strategically planning his dining location when bananas are on the menu, anyway.

Thursday night, after naps and showers, we headed over to my folks' place for a hearty dinner of meat and potatoes. It was probably the last time I will have seen their dog, our family dog, Barney, as he is old and decrepit and has a consultation with the vet this Saturday about potentially "ending his suffering." Sad.

Anyway, Friday morning we had another breakfast out with both sets of parents followed by a brief visit before mine had to get on with their errands. In the afternoon I got my hair cut. I had done a somewhat passable job hacking most of the length a couple of weeks ago, but it needed a bit of help. So my father-in-law scheduled me with Robert, also known as "my Robert" by James' little girl cousins. First time I think I ever had a man cut my hair, not to mention a straight man. He was very meticulous and complimentary, mistaking me for 17 at first glance (ha!), and going on and on about what a great head of hair I had. He didn't even make fun of the hack job I had done. Much.

We had a date that night with Rob, his fiancee, the maid of honor and her husband. Fabulous French food and a delicious pomegranate martini. Meanwhile, James' parents had a nice time with their grandson, which was good to hear because he had been very attached to the mommy during the time we had spent with everyone so far. They gave him some oatmeal, bananas and a bath, and went for a little walk around the neighborhood, where M got to smile and flirt with all the curious neighbors who came out to peek at him. We got back from dinner fairly early, and James went out for a few beers with Nick and Jeff. I cuddled up with the boy and slept.

Saturday was Rob's wedding, which was very casual but really fun. It was great to see a bunch of friends and watch his mom's friends get DRUNK. I swear, they were worse than us "kids" with the open bar. It was hilarious. There was no dj, so that group of hooligans got to singing, and while they were at it, I looked at Shari and Michelle and we realized that we were experiencing the future. In thirty years, it'll be us bellowing some old tune at one of our kids' weddings. Something to look forward to.

I'm so glad that we got to share Rob's day, that James got to stand up as his best man. It was nice to hang out with Rob and Lindsey, who we really hadn't had much chance to get to know very well until their wedding weekend. They seem right together, and so happy and in love, and I really don't know what more to say about their wedding without getting all sappy.

Since it was an early wedding and reception, we got back to my parents' place, where they and my sister and future brother-in-law had been watching our boy, by dinner time. We had brats and burgers, and the evening ended with James, Nick and Mom doing tequila shots. They made it to two apiece before M fell asleep on Mom's shoulder and she was immediately down for the count.

Sunday morning, my boy got baptized. The ceremony itself seemed a little off the cuff. It took place during a regular Sunday mass, and the church lady and the priest each told us something different about where to sit and stand. It was nice, though, and somehow only lasted about an hour. M loved the part where we were standing up front and everyone was looking at him. He was so proud of himself, despite having no idea what was going on.

After church, we went back to my parents' house, where we all ate way too much food. The weather was gorgeous, family and friends gathered together, M had trouble napping with all that was going on, but he was able to remain fairly sociable for almost the entire time. We took a lot of pictures after most of the guests left, and he looked really adorable in his little white suit, sewn by my mother out of the skirt of my wedding gown.

Monday was a pretty mellow day. My sister had to head back up to Minnesota, and then we headed back to James' parents' house. I got to read and relax while M slept for quite some time, and we all had dinner together at the Olive Garden. We determined that the boy must be going through a growth spurt because all he seemed to do all day was eat and sleep. I've never really noticed growth-spurt-type behavior like that in him before, so this was pretty new to me. He's getting heavier, and his belly is getting all round. And I guess that's just what's supposed to happen.

Yesterday was spent packing up and saying goodbye. We don't really like those days as much. The flight back home was pretty good, though M only slept five minutes and was completely exhausted by the time we landed. At least he was easily distracted and the pressure didn't seem to have much effect on his ears or good spirits. He's become an old pro at this flying stuff, and he even seemed to remember our home once we got here. He slept great last night, and today went down for naps in the crib without too much fuss.

Of course, now that he's tasted the sweet nectar of bananas and sweet potatoes, when I only had rice cereal in the house this morning, he spat back every bite and looked at me with this smile like, "I'm sure you must be joking" every time I got the spoon anywhere near his messy little face.

Well, I'm off to finish unpacking, do some more laundry, go with my husband to take the car to be fixed, stop at the bank and the post office, cook some more sweet potato, mash some bananas, and oh yeah, maybe bathe myself sometime today.

My goal with this blogging thing is not really to go a week between posts, but maybe to say a little bit at more frequent intervals. Nap times are good for that. So until the next good nap, I bid you good day.

Reality has become somewhat blurry, with people disappearing off the face of communication. I need to remind myself… My boyfriend was NOT married to nelly furtado. (lol) that’s a story for another day. Best friend has disappeared back to sleepyville (why in the world) …

I’m in need of a huge recharge of positive energy!!
Seated in the midst of life, I think that I think too much.
Brain anesthetic has been a wonder. Recent encounter with one of my Heroes has reminded me that I don’t write anymore. I haven’t been ‘writing’ for 3 yrs… or since I started blogging, coz basically, that’s it. I don’t do poetry, no more graphics design, no more prose… maybe it’s a good time to start excavating the creative genius (assuming that there is one hiding somewhere)

My mind is functional in abstracts… but its keeping me sane… for the moment.
I’m armed… 2 litres of coke and a butterfly net, I’m off to chase down some dreams, and maybe I can whip up some interesting lines.

Laters,
Lady

The naps give me a break. They save my sanity in their own way. Especially the nice long morning one. But getting out of the house also saves my sanity in a different way. Because I get to talk to other people, I get to exist outside my own home and give my boy some experience of the world outside these walls, too.

I would much rather have these activities go on in the afternoon, right at that part of the day where we're both staring at each other without much left to say, waiting for Daddy to get home. Or even at some point when there may or may not be an afternoon nap. I'd rather skip an afternoon nap (which often happens anyway), than the morning one. Because once the morning nap is skipped or cut short, well, the remaining naps of the day become a crap shoot.

I guess the problem is that even though many babies around my son's age through before they give up the afternoon/evening nap tend to take this morning nap sometime between 9:30 and 11:00am, there are plenty of other moms whose children are older and no longer need that morning nap, so the timing becomes perfect for them.

But what about things that are geared toward babies between six weeks and nine months, such as the fitness class I'm about to start next month? Shouldn't they schedule those for maybe, I don't know, noon or 1:00pm, during the time when the babies will most likely be awake and interested in what's going on? Instead of at 9:30, when my boy, at least, just starts getting cranky for sleep.

So. Starting on the 7th, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays should be interesting as we navigate the nap situation. Perhaps if we start getting up at 6:00, we can squeeze in an hour of nap beforehand. Or if we sleep until 9:00 (yeah, right), maybe he won't start yelling at me until we're back home. We've already done a bit of this rearranging as we've gone to meetings and other playgroups at 10:00 or 10:30. Doesn't anyone do afternoons? Anyone? Or am I going to have to start an afternoon group myself? Don't say that. That would involve even more planning. And initiative. And making contact with strangers.

For now, we'll find a way to deal. But that doesn't mean I have to like it when the nap lack makes life a little less pleasant those few days.

But I'll live.

Anyway, today was the day that I officially became an Uncle to my sisters new baby boy Jack.  Mother and baby are doing well, which is always the most important part.

So it's understandable that I'm a little tired today.  I'd left my family under strict instructions to phone me regardless of what time to let me know when my sister had given birth, and they did, about 3.30am this morning.  Of course I was so excited I didn't get to sleep again until almost 7am this morning.  Oops.

So when we finally did wake up and hit the road it was quite late.

Today saw us heading off to the Tate Modern to check out all the International modern and contemporary art.  It was all kind of interesting, but I have to admit I'm not a huge fan of modern art.  I enjoy the more classical pieces, but it was interesting all the same.

It does strike me as being a little ridiculous that someone can paint a canvas square black, frame it, and then have it hung in a gallery.  But what do I know.  One of the cooler, comedic items was a large metal cable which had been threaded from floor to sealing with used pieces of soap.  I can't remember what it's real name was, but we, and another lady quickly dubbed it "Soap on a Rope". ;)

Keeping that in mind, it was kind of amusing to go into another room of the gallery, and see a wall with l-shaped brackets on it in a row, and some hanging cables.  Mark instantly commented on how bizarre this installation was.  I just laughed and pointed to the sign that said "Art has been temporarily removed".  He was looking at the mounting brackets.  Duh!  But, given what we'd seen already, it was entirely possible that those brackets were the art.
Especially as one other piece was a single green fluorescent bulb hung diagonally on the wall by itself...
Each to their own.  It wasn't all bad though, the actual building itself, was fantastic.

We left Tate to walk to our next destination in the rain, until today the weather has been pretty great.  A quick stop for lunch and then a train ride and we were at the Marble Arch near Hyde Park where we took a stack of photos, then across the road to Wellington Arch, where we climbed to the top for some scenic photos of the area, then back down to check out the Australian War Memorial.

From there it was off to the British Museum for a very quick circuit of the displays, snapping photographs off madly to allow us time to get back to the Hotel.

The only real issue for us right now is a concern in relation to the new Heathrow Terminal 5, which opened yesterday.  Over 70 flights have been canceled, lifts failed, luggage lost or not passed through to connections.  Why are we concerned?  Well, 6 days from now we'll be flying back from France into Heathrow Terminal 5 to get a connecting flight home to Australia.  We can't afford to lose our luggage or miss our flights.  Keep your fingers crossed for us.

Well that's it for now, it's late, I'm tired, and I think I'm going to get some shuteye.

I've still not had that Snickers yet either, but I live in hope.  LOL!

Nighters!

So, as much as I resist keeping charts and logs, today I've started doing just that. I have a hunch that despite the fact that the boy seems to have developed a mysterious rash which might be making him a touch out of sorts (unless he is actually teething), we are heading toward a routine after all. So. I'm writing it down. At least the sleeping part. The feeding tends to follow the sleeping, so even though I've already forgotten his exact mealtimes today, I do still have a general idea of when he ate last. Perhaps this will help me and the daddy get on the same page and figure out a better plan for bed time.

You know, I never really got that complete mind-muddle that they claim pregnancy hormones bring, but now that I'm in the thick of new motherhood, it's hard to remember things. I misplace stuff all the time (fortunately no one has to know that because by the end of my day spent around the house, whatever I was looking for usually turns up), and I often forget what day it is. Like it completely baffles me that it is St. Patrick's Day today. Not like I had any wild plans, but if I'd remembered, maybe we'd have some beer in the house, or whiskey or even Bailey's instead of just some tequila left from the last time Mom was here.

Seeing as how I often forget what I should be doing, what I am in the middle of doing, what day it is today or what tomorrow's plans are, it should be surprising that I don't remember things that are going on with my son's day. But it kind of does surprise me, though, because moms are supposed to know how many dirty diapers there were, how long the naps took, how often the kid ate and all that junk. Moms tend to obsess over those things. Moms who have never charted anything since tenth-grade math will be able to tell you how much their kid weighs and what their age is in weeks as well as what color, consistency and quantity of waste appeared in the last diaper. Not me, though. I don't worry. As long as my kid seems fine, I'm not going to analyze every little fluid that comes flying out either end of him.

But even though my approach to parenthood thus far has been of the "go with the flow" variety (pun totally intended), I do think some structure is a good thing. So not only have I written down the details of the day so far, but I have also been writing down upcoming events in my Outlook calendar. And actually checking it regularly to see what's coming up.

Using this calendar is a very good thing. It helps me know that today is Monday and that I have certain places I'd like to go, things I want to do. Even if I don't make it to every event I have written down, at least I know that this week there's a meeting of the local arts society. There's a mixer on Thursday.

And as I look at my calendar of events, I try to think about what else I can put on there. I'm thinking of joining an exercise class for new moms and their babies over at the rec center. James and I are planning to go into DC for the cherry blossom festival in a couple weeks. Me and M are going to take a swimming class this summer. So my calendar is helping me get out of the house, meet new people and maybe, eventually make some friends I can invite over sometime so that my days aren't so quiet all the time.

It will also make things more interesting now that I'm starting my part-time job tonight. Part of me is really excited because I get to go out of the house and do something on my own, but the other part of me is nervous about losing even the smallest amount of structure we've managed to get into our days. I guess it will be fine, though, because there will be a different sort of structure there. And we're all still learning. We'll be learning our way around new things for a good long time, I'm sure.

I had no idea there was a term for that, though I suppose I never thought much of it.  There's probably a term for everything. I don't know if I suffer from that so much as I seem unable to have a good time on my own, alone. Or starting a good time, I need someone else to start and help maintain it. And even when I'm not alone it takes a special kind of person to energize me again.
When I was younger I was carefree, indestructible, and arrogant - a social butterfly that made fun appear from thin air. I really don't know when I lost my mojo or how. I can't fake it anymore for long periods.

I think part of it, and I know this makes me sound like a pig - was dating, the dance of meeting someone new, and everything that entails.

Washte! Russell Means outlines the reasons why Lakota Nation is in the process of cutting itself from its treaties with the U.S., not as if the U.S. were living up to them anyway. Native reservations are already SOVEREIGN, the way our states were before the Civil War. Consequently there will be no "secession," because none is needed. The existence of casinos, the operation of which makes them subject to Federal law, might pose a tricky problem for their attorneys. Also, two Lakota reservations have publicly announced their lack of support for Russell's venture. Since each reservation enjoys varying levels of sovereignty things will probably get complicated. This does not bother the Lakota mind: Politics on the rez have always been complicated and they're used to it.

For the record, money is not the issue here and Russell has big plans: Free energy from a windmill farm, casino income, no taxes, and a libertarian approach to governance. Did you know that Russell Means is a colleague of Ron Paul? They even ran against each other in the Libertarian Party the first time Dr. Paul ran for U.S. President.

The District of Columbia - the United States of America and not the U.S. (there is a difference, which is why the District is hearing the case), is conducting hearings of WHY, for God's sake already, the District has not returned the Indian Trust Fund money it stole and spent? There is a huge settlement due to several indian nations, which makes me wonder: Is this settlement, like the Farm Settlements, one of the many attached to the Leo Wanta multi squibillion dollar settlement? Could be!

Americans all over the country are offering to help the Lakota in all sorts of ways: Constitutional attorneys, businessmen who want to invest, conservationists and alternative energy activists, and landowners who want to donate their farm land to the Nation. Russell Mean's phone is ringing off the hook from people who want to defect!

I majored in Native American (Dakota/Lakota/Nakota) studies for awhile at the University of Minnesota and spent a lot of time at Prairie Island during those years when Amos and Ion Owen, the "first family" among Lakota community and spiritual elders, were hosting weekend sweat lodges in their back yard. I spent weekends in my boyfriend's tipi and stoked the fire that heated the rocks, cooked at countless powwows (Mankato was a is a popular meeting place) and even witnessed two Sun Dances (Greengrass and Rosebud in South Dakota), something that palefaces were seldom allowed to do back then. They called me Zitkada, or "little bird," or "chickadee."

To the West, I pray to the Horse Nation
and to the North, I pray to the Elk People.
To the East, I pray to the Buffalo Nation,
And to the South, the Spirit People.
To the Heavens, I pray to the Great Spirit
and to the Spotted Eagle.
And Below, I pray to Mother Earth
to help us in this time of reconciliation.
Grandfather, I offer these preayers
in my humble way.
To all my relations.
- Amos Owen

I remember sitting at the kitchen table with Ione, and her telling me stories. It was my 20th birthday.

"I don't even know my birthday," she told me. "Spring. It was the spring. April maybe." When she was a little girl she was taken away from her family, made a ward of the state and placed in an orphanage/boarding school so that she would grow up "civilized."

"We all had the same name (Winona*) so they had to give us all new English names. The nuns were so clean," she said. The school taught her how to speak and write in English, how to cook, and how to wash her hands. While in her teenage years they taught her how to perform first aid.  "Always rinse the soap off before you use it," she advised me, and told me to also rinse it off before putting it back.  "Most people don't think about that. There are germs on the soap. You wash the soap before you wash your hands."

She stopped and was quiet for about 10 seconds. I knew to keep my mouth shut while an elder was telling a story. "I've never told anybody about any of this," she said quietly, "but I am telling you. Han. That's interesting. Han."

I even had a crush on Amos and Ione's youngest son Duffy. He was a fantasy warrior, the kind you might see on the cover of a romance novel: Long shiny black hair, sparkling black eyes and a body that . . . mmmm . . . nevermind. He was really smart, too. Once, in Ione's kitchen I remarked upon his gorgeousness she said, quite sternly actually, "Duffy is going to marry a nice indian girl." I hadn't planned to go down that road but wow: Apparently Duffy had no shortage of white girl admirers! Today Duffy is a filmmaker, producing what I believe are documentaries about Minnesota and Native American history.

I met Russell Means and his posse once or twice at Prairie Island a long time ago. I recall motorcycles and pickup trucks and a campfire and way too much yang energy about him. I sensed his prodigious temper and obstinate personality: Mark my words he was a controversial character back in the day. His handshake was warm and friendly and firm, though. It was rumored that he might take over the role of community leader for Amos someday; I suppose that was a big part of the controversy. Lakota (esp. the men) are attached to their subterranean political infighting, and they know it, too: It's just their "thing" and sometimes I wonder whether intra-tribe bickering are characteristic of all tribal peoples. Amos Owen was the spiritual and tribal leader for the Lakota, while Russel Means was an activist and a politician, so was Means even right for the job? Amos was such a gentle person; he spoke so quietly that whole rooms full of people fell silent when he spoke. He was a prophet, and the legends about the eagles and hawks that flew above him are true: I saw them. However, Russell was so different. He was an activist and a politico on fire.

(1992: Russell Means braids his son's hair. Photo by Ilka Hartmann)

It takes an awful long time for the Lakota to come to a group decision on anything, and the meetings of the elders last for hours and hours because it is taboo to interrupt or hold someone to a limit when it comes to telling a story or expressing an opinion. They're done talking when they are done talking. They don't make a decision until they reach a consensus. There is no "majority rules" bullshit; everyone needs to leave the meeting satisfied. It probably took awhile for a consensus was reached on Russel Means' future as spiritual and/or tribal leader.

Look at him: Either they gave him a sedative for this video or he's settled down! He's so mellow and steady and gentle, yet still stubborn and firm. It looks as though the Lakota Nation has a strong leader speaking for (almost all of) them. Washte.

* Winona is the name for "first born girl"

(Photo: Black Hills News Bureau)