I almost forgot.
"Hairspray" was okay. I liked it, the songs are catchy, the main actress was very lovable and there are definitely some John Travolta moments (especially those with Christopher Walken) that made my jaw drop in a sort of shock that could be taken for entertainment. D loved it, as did the rest of the audience, who clapped at the end. I must add, I can't get enough of Queen Latifah. I think she's extremely talented -- my favorite part of the movie was a montage of the civil rights march in town.
I'm reading The Golden Compass, by Philip Pullman. It's a fantasy book, geared towards intermediate readers, but it won many prizes and is going to be a movie starring Daniel Craig (yum) and Nicole Kidman. I love it -- its rich and evocative settings and powerful characters are combined with an intricate and quite suspenseful plot. The main story is of a wild little girl who finds herself caught up in international intrigue in the arctic north, battling to save others from shady government experiments and to support her fierce and distant uncle in his efforts to uncover the links between their home and parallel universes, the secret to which is tied up in the aurora borealis. She does so with the aid of gypsies, a shape-shifting animal familiar, a sentient polar bear and a mysterious symbol-reading compass that points her always toward the truth. The book lacks the humor of Harry Potter, but the little heroine, Lyra, is just as appealing in her own way. The story is very emotionally affecting -- I can hardly wait until S is old enough for books like these. It also makes a great break from The Girlfriends' Guide to Surviving the First Year of Motherhood, which I also love but which I have to put down sometimes when it starts to make me lightheaded with fear.
Next I want to see "Sunshine" and the next Bourne movie. Stay tuned!
31 July 2007
Daily Life
Oh, wow, I was so not ready for that. My day with the kids, I mean. I'm just way too tired, and fatigue much too quickly, to hang with them all day. They also never leave me alone. I mean, even when Dave's around, they hang on me, want me to play their games with them, want to show me what they've come up with . . . Lord, I sound awful -- it's not that I don't love them, or appreciate that they love me back; far from it. It's just that I'm exhausted and in some measure of pain constantly, and I can't get them to go play by themselves for an hour to give me a rest. Part of that is an authority thing; they don't listen to me nearly as well as they respond to their dad.
Don't get me wrong -- the day was not that bad. We made the Martha Stewart puppets (which, although billed as 'self-adhesive' and requiring no additional glue or tape, actually did not stay together at all and used up much of my art-supply stash to keep them together), which were a hit, and they were adequately fed and no one bled. I just hate not being able to give them the energy I want to give them, and I hate letting some disciplinary situations slide because (a) I'm too tired to get really peeved and (b) I know that if it comes down to needing to physically remove them to the time-out spot, I can't do it. I'm just not ready yet. Unfortunately, I need to do it again Monday.
I have been recovering all day today. I slept 10 hours and have still been sleepy all day. I've been having insomnia and bad pregnancy heartburn on top of the usual nighttime pain, so I haven't been sleeping well lately. I probably needed this day of sleep badly.
Our new next-door neighbors are moving in tomorrow. Francisco and Myra, with their three children: Pablo, Luis and Sofia. These are some of the politest kids I ever met -- hooray! Maybe they'll be a good influence. On me, I mean. :)
Tomorrow morning we're back to the neurologist, Dr. Maragakis (remember him?). We'll be dragging the kids to Hopkins. Then D is going to take them to Ravens training camp while I come back and relax. Tomorrow night the cat goes to the vet, for preparatory consultation before getting declawed. We managed to complete our baby registry, and I am starting to be enthused about the nursery. Most exciting of all, we have officially named Baby. She is Abigail Jane, and I can't wait to see her in person!
Don't get me wrong -- the day was not that bad. We made the Martha Stewart puppets (which, although billed as 'self-adhesive' and requiring no additional glue or tape, actually did not stay together at all and used up much of my art-supply stash to keep them together), which were a hit, and they were adequately fed and no one bled. I just hate not being able to give them the energy I want to give them, and I hate letting some disciplinary situations slide because (a) I'm too tired to get really peeved and (b) I know that if it comes down to needing to physically remove them to the time-out spot, I can't do it. I'm just not ready yet. Unfortunately, I need to do it again Monday.
I have been recovering all day today. I slept 10 hours and have still been sleepy all day. I've been having insomnia and bad pregnancy heartburn on top of the usual nighttime pain, so I haven't been sleeping well lately. I probably needed this day of sleep badly.
Our new next-door neighbors are moving in tomorrow. Francisco and Myra, with their three children: Pablo, Luis and Sofia. These are some of the politest kids I ever met -- hooray! Maybe they'll be a good influence. On me, I mean. :)
Tomorrow morning we're back to the neurologist, Dr. Maragakis (remember him?). We'll be dragging the kids to Hopkins. Then D is going to take them to Ravens training camp while I come back and relax. Tomorrow night the cat goes to the vet, for preparatory consultation before getting declawed. We managed to complete our baby registry, and I am starting to be enthused about the nursery. Most exciting of all, we have officially named Baby. She is Abigail Jane, and I can't wait to see her in person!
30 July 2007
Wish Me Luck
Wish me luck today, friends. This will probably sound like no big deal to some of you, but today is the first time that I'm covering for the kids' nanny all by myself since I got sick. I'm really nervous! I'm armed with Charlotte's Web and a kit we can use to make paper bag puppets (we figured that since the kids are with us all week, and will get plenty of outside running-around time with D, it would be okay if today were an indoor kind of day), but I'm still concerned. I actually woke up at 3:30, my brain full of plans and contingencies for this big adventure. Anyway, I've gotta go -- send good thoughts my way!
27 July 2007
Just Knit Some Baby Booties
Tonight we're going to go see "Hairspray," which is D's payback for going to see Harry Potter with me. My husband loves musicals, and I love science fiction/fantasy. Hurrah for gender reversals! I have to admit, Hairspray looks pretty good. And I loved Rent. I just feel uncomfortable with otherwise normal-looking people suddenly breaking into song in the middle of the day. D's theory is that, if societal norms allowed it, people would erupt into singing and dancing all the time. Isn't that sweet?
One of my friends calls Baby "the mermaid." I love that. Does anyone know any names in other languages that mean "mermaid?" This same friend, by the way, sent me a book of 5o THOUSAND baby names. This is a fabulous book, and it has sent D and me into a tailspin of uncertainty with respect to Baby's name. We thought we had it -- but now, eh, we're not totally sure . . . . In some ways, it's such a momentous decision that I am paralyzed; in other ways, I feel like whichever name we pick will simply be hers, and she will be so great that the name will be great no matter what it is.
There are a lot of Mexican construction workers employed around the neighborhood, finishing off the houses. Consequently, there is an enterprising woman in a food truck who drives around the area midday, offering what I assume amounts to Mexican home-cooking. Her truck is very recognizable, not least because she drives like a maniac, and the guys eat there every day; yet, she feels the need to blare a horn whose noise is so shrill, so protracted and so tuneless as to make me wish she were driving General Lee. Why, oh why? And how much longer will it be until the only cacophony in the neighborhood comes from the voices of playing children, family dogs and droning lawnmowers?
I hate the prospect of creating a baby registry. My beloveds are planning a shower, so I have to do it (or risk their wrath), and I know it makes things easier for everyone. I just hate "superstores," anything ending in "R Us" or "Depot" or whatever, and when we went to Buy Buy Baby to get Baby's crib ordered, I felt completely overwhelmed by the ceiling-high rows of crap designed to appear absolutely necessary to your baby's normal development, safety, or psychological well-being. It's much worse than the wedding registry. That stuff -- china, crystal, linens -- is stuff that you really want, and that you've lived with your whole adult life, formed opinions about. This stuff -- Diaper Champs, sleep sacks, unbelievably complicated arrays of strollers -- is stuff that makes me feel inadequate a priori; what do I know? I am taking my Baby Bargains book (thank you, Kristen!) and going to buy exactly what they tell me. Because I have no flipping clue. Even D, who has been there before, twice, is a little lost, because things in Babyland have changed so much since R was born just 4 years ago. What a racket!! It makes me want to do all organic cloth diapers, unpainted wooden toys and homemade baby food.
One of my friends calls Baby "the mermaid." I love that. Does anyone know any names in other languages that mean "mermaid?" This same friend, by the way, sent me a book of 5o THOUSAND baby names. This is a fabulous book, and it has sent D and me into a tailspin of uncertainty with respect to Baby's name. We thought we had it -- but now, eh, we're not totally sure . . . . In some ways, it's such a momentous decision that I am paralyzed; in other ways, I feel like whichever name we pick will simply be hers, and she will be so great that the name will be great no matter what it is.
There are a lot of Mexican construction workers employed around the neighborhood, finishing off the houses. Consequently, there is an enterprising woman in a food truck who drives around the area midday, offering what I assume amounts to Mexican home-cooking. Her truck is very recognizable, not least because she drives like a maniac, and the guys eat there every day; yet, she feels the need to blare a horn whose noise is so shrill, so protracted and so tuneless as to make me wish she were driving General Lee. Why, oh why? And how much longer will it be until the only cacophony in the neighborhood comes from the voices of playing children, family dogs and droning lawnmowers?
I hate the prospect of creating a baby registry. My beloveds are planning a shower, so I have to do it (or risk their wrath), and I know it makes things easier for everyone. I just hate "superstores," anything ending in "R Us" or "Depot" or whatever, and when we went to Buy Buy Baby to get Baby's crib ordered, I felt completely overwhelmed by the ceiling-high rows of crap designed to appear absolutely necessary to your baby's normal development, safety, or psychological well-being. It's much worse than the wedding registry. That stuff -- china, crystal, linens -- is stuff that you really want, and that you've lived with your whole adult life, formed opinions about. This stuff -- Diaper Champs, sleep sacks, unbelievably complicated arrays of strollers -- is stuff that makes me feel inadequate a priori; what do I know? I am taking my Baby Bargains book (thank you, Kristen!) and going to buy exactly what they tell me. Because I have no flipping clue. Even D, who has been there before, twice, is a little lost, because things in Babyland have changed so much since R was born just 4 years ago. What a racket!! It makes me want to do all organic cloth diapers, unpainted wooden toys and homemade baby food.
26 July 2007
Lock Up Your Fancy Cars
I was right; it's hot out there. I'm back from physical therapy. Thank God, driving is working out okay. I am able to fold up my walker to stick it in the back, and then I just lean on my (filthy) car to get back around to the driver's seat. The toughest parts are reaching up to pull down the hatchback and then hoisting my legs into the car; whichever muscles those are that help you lift your leg off the ground when you're sitting (hip flexors?) -- mine are very weak. Still, it works, and I am SO glad to be able to get around a bit. I don't feel comfortable driving any real distance, but tooling around the neighborhood is just fine with me. I thought about going to Panera for lunch today after therapy (big excitement!), but in the end I chickened out (as it were) and went through the Chick-Fil-A drive-thru. One less getting-in-and-out of the car.
Physical therapy is a pretty nifty occupation. I mean, I probably wouldn't want to have to touch so many strangers, but if one were medically inclined, PT would be pretty cool. They get to use a lot of creativity and intuition in trying to problem-solve patients' issues -- and they have really cool toys. Sometimes they even get to work in the pool! With my therapists, I've used those ubiquitious rubber resistance bands, all kinds of balls, a rocker board, big hunks of foam, heating pads, weird sticky tape, a hand-bike and a recumbent bike, and today even a pegboard. This pegbard has tiny holes, and piles of tiny pegs, washers, and nuts that you use to create little patterns on the pegboard. It's supposed to help with dexterity, which my left hand still lacks. I pointed out to the therapist that, although it was useful, the pegboard exercise still didn't address the biggest problems in my hand, which are my middle, third, and pinky fingers (I was using my thumb and forefinger to pick up the tiny pieces). She said, 'well, use your thumb and your pinky.' Hmpf. Well, that didn't work at all. Typing is a pain, too -- I can type as usual with my right hand, but my left hand has been reduced to hunting-and-pecking with my forefinger -- none of the other fingers can hit their correct keys.
Hmm. I wonder why the fire marshal is parked in the street?
When I went to Chick-Fil-A, I was good and ordered diet lemonade instead of sweet tea, but now I have a bottomless craving. I'm going to go make some sweet tea. At least mine will be decaf -- and have slightly less sugar.
p.s. Excellent TV series -- Entourage. D and I have been watching on DVD, and it's hilarious, although it definitely includes a bit too much "educational" information about how men are that sometimes, as a woman, you'd rather not know. Excellent book (so far): "Suite Francaise," by Irene Nemirovsky. About the intertwining lives of Parisians who flee Paris ahead of the Nazis, written by a French writer who died at Auschwitz. I started to read "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy (his Pulitzer-prize winner), but it's too horrifying and sad -- the book begins with a man and his small son who are walking across the wasteland of a burned-out America after a nuclear disaster! It's beautiful -- but no, thanks. Baby gives me bad dreams already. OK, off to make tea.
Physical therapy is a pretty nifty occupation. I mean, I probably wouldn't want to have to touch so many strangers, but if one were medically inclined, PT would be pretty cool. They get to use a lot of creativity and intuition in trying to problem-solve patients' issues -- and they have really cool toys. Sometimes they even get to work in the pool! With my therapists, I've used those ubiquitious rubber resistance bands, all kinds of balls, a rocker board, big hunks of foam, heating pads, weird sticky tape, a hand-bike and a recumbent bike, and today even a pegboard. This pegbard has tiny holes, and piles of tiny pegs, washers, and nuts that you use to create little patterns on the pegboard. It's supposed to help with dexterity, which my left hand still lacks. I pointed out to the therapist that, although it was useful, the pegboard exercise still didn't address the biggest problems in my hand, which are my middle, third, and pinky fingers (I was using my thumb and forefinger to pick up the tiny pieces). She said, 'well, use your thumb and your pinky.' Hmpf. Well, that didn't work at all. Typing is a pain, too -- I can type as usual with my right hand, but my left hand has been reduced to hunting-and-pecking with my forefinger -- none of the other fingers can hit their correct keys.
Hmm. I wonder why the fire marshal is parked in the street?
When I went to Chick-Fil-A, I was good and ordered diet lemonade instead of sweet tea, but now I have a bottomless craving. I'm going to go make some sweet tea. At least mine will be decaf -- and have slightly less sugar.
p.s. Excellent TV series -- Entourage. D and I have been watching on DVD, and it's hilarious, although it definitely includes a bit too much "educational" information about how men are that sometimes, as a woman, you'd rather not know. Excellent book (so far): "Suite Francaise," by Irene Nemirovsky. About the intertwining lives of Parisians who flee Paris ahead of the Nazis, written by a French writer who died at Auschwitz. I started to read "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy (his Pulitzer-prize winner), but it's too horrifying and sad -- the book begins with a man and his small son who are walking across the wasteland of a burned-out America after a nuclear disaster! It's beautiful -- but no, thanks. Baby gives me bad dreams already. OK, off to make tea.
16 Weeks and 7 Innings
I'm officially on Day 2 of Week 22. For those of you who (like me, 23 weeks ago) have only the vaguest understanding of human gestation, an average pregnancy is around 40 weeks. In other words, I'm more than halfway there by any average measure. In my specific case, I am even closer to the finish line, because we will be scheduling a C-section for 38 weeks. 16 weeks to go, in other words. That doesn't sound too long -- but on the other hand, it was 16 weeks ago today that i started having trouble walking. That seems like a very long time ago. I don't know why I bring this up, except I guess to describe my conflicted feelings. I love the intimate connection with my little canteloupe inside -- in some ways, I wish I could be pregnant forever. I also feel petulant sometimes, like I want to stomp my feet and demand the chance to have a "normal" pregnancy (whatever that means); at times like that, I feel a bit cheated, because my miraculous mommy experience is marred by all this other medical baloney. Then there are definitely moments when I don't want that 38th week to come at all, because I am afraid of what comes next -- how D and I will cope with a newborn on top of my disability, whether I'll succumb to post-partum depression (or worse) before I can get my medication regimen sorted out again, and a host of other fears plague me at those times. And sometimes, I just want it to be over!! I just want her out, so I can meet her properly, but also so I can start to get better, because I have an intuition that once the baby has left the building and my hormones start getting back to some sort of normal (again, whatever that means), my neurological problems are going to start to resolve themselves. By this time next year, I plan to have fully recovered and to be taking a ballroom dancing class with my hubby. Or maybe tennis lessons? Jumping out of airplanes? Maybe just walking around the house with Baby in my arms.
It looks hot outside. I haven't been out yet, but I type these messages from my home office, which has a nice, big window overlooking our neighbors' back yards (and our side yard). I see random construction types wandering around, and I note the uniform blue of the hazy sky and the crunchy-looking grass. Everything looks hot. They finally graded the landscape of our last adjacent neighbor [note: they did this with very loud machinery, from around 7:25 until 8:30, when I finally gave up and got out of bed, at which time they stopped and no one has so much as whispered 'Boo' outside my windows], which should mean that soon they'll put down sod and take down the ugly black tarp/fence between our yards.
The kids went with their Daddy and Papa to their first Orioles game last night. It was a big hit. S got a pink O's t-shirt (they do all the major league teams in pink now) and was put on the Jumbo-tron for dancing around like a goon (eliciting, I'm told, a scream of delight), and R got a proper t-shirt and a spin on the swing set when he got fidgety. R is probably still a tiny bit young to fully enjoy the game, and especially for 7 innings, but S was fascinated and kept track of all the balls and strikes, outs and innings. It helped immensely that D has been teaching them to play with a tee in our back yard; they understand the rudiments of the game, which helped them to understand what they were seeing. When they got home last night, D looked like Steve Martin in that scene from Parenthood, wearing his own jersey and ball cap, and carrying bags of souvenirs and with a big, tired smile. My heart was full of love. I am so happy it went well -- he was so excited to share one of his passions with the littl'uns. Although I don't know the O's that well yet, I am a baseball fan, too. It's one of the things I shared with my mom when I was little. Lying on our tummies on the living room floor in front of the television set, watching the Pirates play, eating cherries out of the bowl and listening to the crickets through the open window . . . one of those sensory memories that will never leave me. As for R, one of his favorite parts seemed to be just being outside late at night. With sparkling eyes and a delighted smile, he told me it was so dark, and there were stars all around, and a wind blowing things out of people's hands . . . God, sometimes the love is so strong you don't even know what to do.
It looks hot outside. I haven't been out yet, but I type these messages from my home office, which has a nice, big window overlooking our neighbors' back yards (and our side yard). I see random construction types wandering around, and I note the uniform blue of the hazy sky and the crunchy-looking grass. Everything looks hot. They finally graded the landscape of our last adjacent neighbor [note: they did this with very loud machinery, from around 7:25 until 8:30, when I finally gave up and got out of bed, at which time they stopped and no one has so much as whispered 'Boo' outside my windows], which should mean that soon they'll put down sod and take down the ugly black tarp/fence between our yards.
The kids went with their Daddy and Papa to their first Orioles game last night. It was a big hit. S got a pink O's t-shirt (they do all the major league teams in pink now) and was put on the Jumbo-tron for dancing around like a goon (eliciting, I'm told, a scream of delight), and R got a proper t-shirt and a spin on the swing set when he got fidgety. R is probably still a tiny bit young to fully enjoy the game, and especially for 7 innings, but S was fascinated and kept track of all the balls and strikes, outs and innings. It helped immensely that D has been teaching them to play with a tee in our back yard; they understand the rudiments of the game, which helped them to understand what they were seeing. When they got home last night, D looked like Steve Martin in that scene from Parenthood, wearing his own jersey and ball cap, and carrying bags of souvenirs and with a big, tired smile. My heart was full of love. I am so happy it went well -- he was so excited to share one of his passions with the littl'uns. Although I don't know the O's that well yet, I am a baseball fan, too. It's one of the things I shared with my mom when I was little. Lying on our tummies on the living room floor in front of the television set, watching the Pirates play, eating cherries out of the bowl and listening to the crickets through the open window . . . one of those sensory memories that will never leave me. As for R, one of his favorite parts seemed to be just being outside late at night. With sparkling eyes and a delighted smile, he told me it was so dark, and there were stars all around, and a wind blowing things out of people's hands . . . God, sometimes the love is so strong you don't even know what to do.
24 July 2007
Quick Pitch for Another Book
I forgot: I wanted to briefly plug the book I read before Deathly Hallows. "The Diamond Age," by Neal Stephenson is a must for any fan of Philip K Dick, Gaiman, or other similar SF/postapocalyptic-type writers. The story takes place a century or so into the future, when society is dominated by nanotechnology and the ability of humankind to matter-compile everything from stuffed animals to islands with the push of a button. Within this world, one of the captains of industry worries that his granddaughter and her generation are too pampered, ill-equipped for the challenges of being renegades, which he believes is necessary for the future quantum leaps of human civilization. To help instill a modicum of rebellion, of independent thinking and inner resourcefulness, this tycoon enlists an engineer of bespoke technology to develop a Young Ladies' Primer -- which ends up hijacked and bootlegged, until it's shared its lessons with the intended young ladies and thousands of others . . .
The story-within-a-story is complex, funny, educational, and FULL of living, breathing characters -- even those who only show up on a few pages are fascinating. It has a lot to say about what makes people bond into ethnic (or other) groups and the benefits of that practice. There's a lot of sex and violence, manipulation and intrigue. Imagine with him, if you dare, what a world would be like where an entire stratum of society didn't need to read, things were no longer manufactured, people wore projectile weapons inside their foreheads, and the very air in and around one's lungs was the site of epic battles of nanomachines.
I read this book at least as voraciously as Deathly Hallows -- but it took a week. It's juicy.
The story-within-a-story is complex, funny, educational, and FULL of living, breathing characters -- even those who only show up on a few pages are fascinating. It has a lot to say about what makes people bond into ethnic (or other) groups and the benefits of that practice. There's a lot of sex and violence, manipulation and intrigue. Imagine with him, if you dare, what a world would be like where an entire stratum of society didn't need to read, things were no longer manufactured, people wore projectile weapons inside their foreheads, and the very air in and around one's lungs was the site of epic battles of nanomachines.
I read this book at least as voraciously as Deathly Hallows -- but it took a week. It's juicy.
OK, So It Was Fun
We had a really fun party on Saturday night. I wasn't so sure I'd make it through the morning before the party, much less the rest of the weekend, truth be told, but thanks to my awesome husband and all the grandmothers, we pulled it off. I needed to use random party guests as handholds between walkers, and I simply couldn't stay awake any later than 11:30, but I consider that a great success. In the end, we had about 53 guests, over a period beginning 4 pm Saturday and ending around 3 or 4 am. We slept 15 in our house in relative comfort (troops of 3-to-6 year-olds chasing each other through the house is still somewhat shocking for some), the food was pretty good, the kids' entertainment worked out (I don't feel like I've seen so many kids all in one place, doing one thing) . . . as far as I can tell, most everybody had a good time. Thanks so much to everyone who came -- we had a ball, and it was really wonderful having everyone in our new house. Although it's far from decorated, and it's often in one state or another of mess, it feels even more like home, and now that we've hung out with our neighbors a bit, the neighborhood feels even more welcoming (and populated!). Most important to me, D seemed so excited and happy and in his element, and the kids had the time of their lives. I was so glad we were able to do it. There aren't any pictures yet -- we're counting on Mimi to have taken some good ones. The only video we got was of Papa's leg, somehow. Oh, well.
An Inconvenient Truth Indeed
Sorry, readers, for the delay in posts. As you can imagine, I spent a day reading Deathly Hallows (for me, the day was yesterday; I had kid stuff and a slightly hungover husband to attend to on Sunday). I won't provide any spoilers here -- like John Oliver, I say that anyone who posts Potter spoilers online must have designed a car that runs on the tears of children. I will say, however, with a bit of smugness, that I correctly guessed Snape's true character. And I will also say that the fact that I feel smug about that shows how much I admire Rowling's ability to plot. Me -- I can write characters, but unless they already know what to do and start acting on their own, they'll have trouble finding a plot coming from my pen.
Speaking of cars running on tears, I suppose I should respond to one reader's matter-of-fact comment, pointing out that I grimaced about greenhouse gas emissions and then, later in the very same post, blithely discussed the relative merits of my next SUV or minivan. I can see how this might facially appear hypocritical. Let me try to dig myself out of this one, and preface the first spadeful by establishing some green creds, albeit a bit dog-eared and aged. I went through a period of rather extreme greenishness in college, during which as an RA I tried to convince my hallmates to flush the toilet only every third or fourth use; I actually marched on Earth Day, 1991; for senior day at Penn, I bought a cloth fisherman's hat rather than wear the free styrofoam hats they gave to everyone [this was an annual ritual at Penn -- the seniors parade through campus wearing these hats, getting drunk, and taking bites out of each other's styrofoam], and covered it with eco-feminist sayings in permanent marker; I own a copy of "Earth in the Balance;" and I once actually attended a lecture by an author whose book made the argument that eating meat and treating women like pieces of meat were of a kind [I don't really remember much about the book or the lecture, except for one transparency slide showing, on the left, a line drawing of a cow divided up into its various cuts of meat and, on the right, a similar line drawing of a buxom woman -- I think it was probably from Playboy or something], and I was a vegetarian for a good few months after that.
So, my status as intellectual kindred to Al Gore thus established (hopefully without the irritating pedantry or bald spot), and my willingness to personally sacrifice for the benefit of the earth demonstrated, I'll try to explain my minivan/Congress commentary. I'm a Democrat. As such, I don't mind taxes & government, in theory. In fact, I like the idea that government should be the clearinghouse of the social contract, and the middleman for some kinds of charitable activity that don't really lend themselves to one-on-one kindness. One perfect sort of thing it seems government can do is boss around corporations for the benefit of everyone else, and considering that pretty much everyone agrees that greenhouse gasses are bad, I would love it if government would enact some caps, or at least a tax on emissions, if you prefer some more free-market stuff. I don't think that opinion is necessarily rendered completely suspect by the fact that I still have to find a way to live in society as it currently exists. I now flush my toilet every time, barring some confusion or calamity, but I use those supposedly energy-saving light bulbs in our house. We recycle, I try to keep my tires inflated and I went to work on the subway instead of driving in (though I hated every minute of it). But now, I've got a husband who also gets a say, and I've got 2.5 kids I have to worry about. The kids need to be in car seats, and I can't really lift, reach, or stretch very well, even when I manage to hobble my way to the car, so squeezing kids and their seats into normal cars is impossible. And you know what? -- I get headaches and need the kids to be able to watch Free to Be You & Me once in a while when we're in transit. Thus, my need for a gas-guzzler. If anyone made a hybrid minivan, I'd be all over it. When a hydrogen-powered minivan comes out, I'll be a big fan. And someday, when I can use my flux capacitor with some old banana peels to power my ride, I will be happiest of all.
Speaking of cars running on tears, I suppose I should respond to one reader's matter-of-fact comment, pointing out that I grimaced about greenhouse gas emissions and then, later in the very same post, blithely discussed the relative merits of my next SUV or minivan. I can see how this might facially appear hypocritical. Let me try to dig myself out of this one, and preface the first spadeful by establishing some green creds, albeit a bit dog-eared and aged. I went through a period of rather extreme greenishness in college, during which as an RA I tried to convince my hallmates to flush the toilet only every third or fourth use; I actually marched on Earth Day, 1991; for senior day at Penn, I bought a cloth fisherman's hat rather than wear the free styrofoam hats they gave to everyone [this was an annual ritual at Penn -- the seniors parade through campus wearing these hats, getting drunk, and taking bites out of each other's styrofoam], and covered it with eco-feminist sayings in permanent marker; I own a copy of "Earth in the Balance;" and I once actually attended a lecture by an author whose book made the argument that eating meat and treating women like pieces of meat were of a kind [I don't really remember much about the book or the lecture, except for one transparency slide showing, on the left, a line drawing of a cow divided up into its various cuts of meat and, on the right, a similar line drawing of a buxom woman -- I think it was probably from Playboy or something], and I was a vegetarian for a good few months after that.
So, my status as intellectual kindred to Al Gore thus established (hopefully without the irritating pedantry or bald spot), and my willingness to personally sacrifice for the benefit of the earth demonstrated, I'll try to explain my minivan/Congress commentary. I'm a Democrat. As such, I don't mind taxes & government, in theory. In fact, I like the idea that government should be the clearinghouse of the social contract, and the middleman for some kinds of charitable activity that don't really lend themselves to one-on-one kindness. One perfect sort of thing it seems government can do is boss around corporations for the benefit of everyone else, and considering that pretty much everyone agrees that greenhouse gasses are bad, I would love it if government would enact some caps, or at least a tax on emissions, if you prefer some more free-market stuff. I don't think that opinion is necessarily rendered completely suspect by the fact that I still have to find a way to live in society as it currently exists. I now flush my toilet every time, barring some confusion or calamity, but I use those supposedly energy-saving light bulbs in our house. We recycle, I try to keep my tires inflated and I went to work on the subway instead of driving in (though I hated every minute of it). But now, I've got a husband who also gets a say, and I've got 2.5 kids I have to worry about. The kids need to be in car seats, and I can't really lift, reach, or stretch very well, even when I manage to hobble my way to the car, so squeezing kids and their seats into normal cars is impossible. And you know what? -- I get headaches and need the kids to be able to watch Free to Be You & Me once in a while when we're in transit. Thus, my need for a gas-guzzler. If anyone made a hybrid minivan, I'd be all over it. When a hydrogen-powered minivan comes out, I'll be a big fan. And someday, when I can use my flux capacitor with some old banana peels to power my ride, I will be happiest of all.
20 July 2007
A Bunch of Jack*sses
Are we allowed to use profanity on Blogspot? What makes me wonder is Congress. Most recently, the Senate, but both houses are a bunch of jack*sses. The Dems are going to blow it for the party if they keep up this nonsense of accomplishing nothing and orchestrating endless stunts. I understand that the right answer to Iraq is hardly obvious, but they way they're handling it just makes me think that both Harry Reid and Nancy Pelosi are bitter partisans who care only about electioneering and not about doing the right thing (and, possibly, they're nuts). I had hoped for better. Furthermore, they are also screwing the pooch on education, health care, immigration and capping greenhouse gas emissions. The whole spectacle makes me so angry that D said yesterday he was glad he'd not brought it up until after my obstetrician took my blood pressure. Where are the leaders? They must exist, just by virtue of human nature, which means they must all be in business, not government. So the question is, where is the sense of public service?
ARGH.
Let's see . . . in other news, our most recent visit to the obstetrician revealed that mine is a BIG baby. Apparently, this runs in Dave's family, which was news to me and which at least made me a teeny bit thankful for the planned C-section. See, things have a way of working out. Anyway, the doc said that the baby is so big that I look about a month more pregnant than I in fact am. Oh good lord. Having recently seen some photos of friends at their most pregnant, I've begun wondering if it is humanly possible to become even bigger than that. And, in all seriousness (although it is kind of funny, too), I'm kind of wondering whether I'm going to find a way to walk when my belly gets that big.
I am madly in need of a nap. Physical therapy was at 7:30 this morning, which is usually a time when I'm still sleeping. As a treat for hauling myself out of bed, I went to Starbuck's afterwards, for latte & a croissant. That's right, I've started to drive short distances, and I feel like a bit more human every time. What a real luxury, even though SB's never bakes their croissants enough and the ambience at our particular SB's is not great -- still, I was able to go, order, buy, sip, eat and even peruse the NY Times. I might have to do that more often. Maybe getting out of the house a bit more will whet my appetite for "real life" and assuage some of the fears I have about resuming it.
Speaking of latte, being pregnant has done weird things to my appetite. Oddly enough, considering it was at least a daily indulgence before, I don't crave espresso at all now that I'm pregnant -- Baby must know it isn't that good for her. I also find the idea of salmon revolting and only once in a while can I stomach the smell of shrimp. I can't seem to get enough fruit, cheese, pickles and milk, but even chocolate doesn't really do it for me right now. I'm also basically hungry nearly all day. I can't seem to eat as much at any given time -- I think the baby is taking up all the space -- but my appetite is unabated, so I just get hungry every 90 minutes or so. It's a good thing it takes me longer to get around the kitchen and to cook, or I might literally eat all day. Well, when I wasn't napping.
We're paying off my Subaru Outback. Now I am facing the timeless dilemma of parents; there is no room for 3 car seats in a normal car. When the baby is born, if we want both cars to be capable of carrying around all THREE CHILDREN (I am going to have THREE CHILDREN), I will need a different car. Dave's Honda Pilot has a third row of seating (which S has already claimed as her own); I could conceivably also get an SUV with three rows. When you start thinking about how much easier it would be to have remote control doors, and siderails low enough for little ones to climb in themselves, though, it's hard not to lean towards a minivan. A minivan, Oh, help me. On the other hand, I could just put a car seat or two in the back of a convertible BMW and refuse to carry all three kids at once.
I think it's time for a nap. My poor, tired brain is too full.
ARGH.
Let's see . . . in other news, our most recent visit to the obstetrician revealed that mine is a BIG baby. Apparently, this runs in Dave's family, which was news to me and which at least made me a teeny bit thankful for the planned C-section. See, things have a way of working out. Anyway, the doc said that the baby is so big that I look about a month more pregnant than I in fact am. Oh good lord. Having recently seen some photos of friends at their most pregnant, I've begun wondering if it is humanly possible to become even bigger than that. And, in all seriousness (although it is kind of funny, too), I'm kind of wondering whether I'm going to find a way to walk when my belly gets that big.
I am madly in need of a nap. Physical therapy was at 7:30 this morning, which is usually a time when I'm still sleeping. As a treat for hauling myself out of bed, I went to Starbuck's afterwards, for latte & a croissant. That's right, I've started to drive short distances, and I feel like a bit more human every time. What a real luxury, even though SB's never bakes their croissants enough and the ambience at our particular SB's is not great -- still, I was able to go, order, buy, sip, eat and even peruse the NY Times. I might have to do that more often. Maybe getting out of the house a bit more will whet my appetite for "real life" and assuage some of the fears I have about resuming it.
Speaking of latte, being pregnant has done weird things to my appetite. Oddly enough, considering it was at least a daily indulgence before, I don't crave espresso at all now that I'm pregnant -- Baby must know it isn't that good for her. I also find the idea of salmon revolting and only once in a while can I stomach the smell of shrimp. I can't seem to get enough fruit, cheese, pickles and milk, but even chocolate doesn't really do it for me right now. I'm also basically hungry nearly all day. I can't seem to eat as much at any given time -- I think the baby is taking up all the space -- but my appetite is unabated, so I just get hungry every 90 minutes or so. It's a good thing it takes me longer to get around the kitchen and to cook, or I might literally eat all day. Well, when I wasn't napping.
We're paying off my Subaru Outback. Now I am facing the timeless dilemma of parents; there is no room for 3 car seats in a normal car. When the baby is born, if we want both cars to be capable of carrying around all THREE CHILDREN (I am going to have THREE CHILDREN), I will need a different car. Dave's Honda Pilot has a third row of seating (which S has already claimed as her own); I could conceivably also get an SUV with three rows. When you start thinking about how much easier it would be to have remote control doors, and siderails low enough for little ones to climb in themselves, though, it's hard not to lean towards a minivan. A minivan, Oh, help me. On the other hand, I could just put a car seat or two in the back of a convertible BMW and refuse to carry all three kids at once.
I think it's time for a nap. My poor, tired brain is too full.
18 July 2007
The Answer
The answer: I wouldn't have traded this for anything. I love this little girl jiggling around in my belly more than I would have thought possible -- given that she's still just a giggly little goldfish hanging out with me where I can't even see her. I wouldn't give her up, even if I knew it meant I'd never walk across a room again.
HP Review
By the way -- my Harry Potter review. I would give it 3 stars of 4. Rupert Grint has turned into a good actor, but he has nothing to do in this movie. Emma Watson is pretty horrible, and Dan Radcliffe is uneven. His constant undercurrent of anger, which he demonstrates by ceaseless tremors and heavy breathing, is silly. He still underacts better than Helena Bonham Carter, though, who is playing a whack job but who nevertheless makes Bellatrix Lestrange more of a cartoon character than any villian in the series so far. Her literary counterpart is so much more scary -- Helena's seems as though she's malevolent and sadistic by accident of being a nutjob.
The book was really long and I'm rather impressed that so much made it into the movie, and although I wondered whether the almost impressionistic dashing from mini-scene to mini-scene would confuse someone like D who never read any of the books nor saw any of the movies, he tells me he followed it fine and that in itself is a directorial achievement.
The gal playing Luna Lovegood was wonderful -- I saw a review that likened her to 'Dakota Fanning after a conk on the head,' which is spot on. Kreacher the house-elf was present, and icky and evil, just enough; Imelda Staunton's Dolores Umbridge was perfect, although I found her more frightening toward the end as she starts to crumble a bit. I still think Alan Rickman is a much better villain as Snape than Ray Fiennes is as Voldemort, maybe because it's hard to emote without a nose, and I wasn't too impressed with V's battle with Dumbledore in the ministry. Scenes inside the Hall of Prophecy were really excellent -- the kids acted well and the setting was spooky and full of portent, as a prophetic place should be. Thank God the script left out the flying brain (?!).
The film was unrelenting in its darkness and sense of foreboding. It was like the Burgermeister Meisterburger was in charge of Hogwarts -- no fun, no toys allowed!! And yet the battle still hasn't really begun.
The book was really long and I'm rather impressed that so much made it into the movie, and although I wondered whether the almost impressionistic dashing from mini-scene to mini-scene would confuse someone like D who never read any of the books nor saw any of the movies, he tells me he followed it fine and that in itself is a directorial achievement.
The gal playing Luna Lovegood was wonderful -- I saw a review that likened her to 'Dakota Fanning after a conk on the head,' which is spot on. Kreacher the house-elf was present, and icky and evil, just enough; Imelda Staunton's Dolores Umbridge was perfect, although I found her more frightening toward the end as she starts to crumble a bit. I still think Alan Rickman is a much better villain as Snape than Ray Fiennes is as Voldemort, maybe because it's hard to emote without a nose, and I wasn't too impressed with V's battle with Dumbledore in the ministry. Scenes inside the Hall of Prophecy were really excellent -- the kids acted well and the setting was spooky and full of portent, as a prophetic place should be. Thank God the script left out the flying brain (?!).
The film was unrelenting in its darkness and sense of foreboding. It was like the Burgermeister Meisterburger was in charge of Hogwarts -- no fun, no toys allowed!! And yet the battle still hasn't really begun.
16 July 2007
Heavy
I woke up from a nap a few hours ago. Almost every day I nap at some point in the afternoon, and I do it really well -- my naps are nearly indistinguishable from coma. Although I enjoy napping, I also hate that so much of my day is often taken up by sleep. I'm feeling a general sense of dissatisfaction; I wish I felt like I was learning something useful about life, or about myself, during this period of disability/recuperation. If I were, I feel that maybe I'd at least be able to help other people somehow. I have been trying to cull my thoughts and emotions from the last three months to look for lessons or truths that I've realized especially because of this experience, but it's tough. A lot of the time I feel like kind of a waste of space, like a girl who's been turned into an extra umbrella stand. Baby helps with this, now, though; her bubbling movements make me realize that she, at least, needs me -- a lot!
I guess I can offer the wise observation that staying "in the moment," as they say, is helpful. I only know this because I'm so bad at it that I have very clearly seen the benefit during the brief moments that I've succeeded in focusing on the here and now, rather than worrying about the future or lamenting the past. It's a rule I honor in the breach, though, I admit.
Today we were back at Hopkins, at the neuro-opthalmology department. Dr. Miller, et al, again -- although his fellows changed; Dr. Chong and his sidekick were gone, so we missed out on the Chinese Mutt & Jeff. We spent an hour or so and he told us that in fact, my perceptions are correct, and my vision is getting better -- just very, very slowly (he invoked the tortoise). I always get a headache when they mess about with my eyes, and if you've ever been to Hopkins' Wilmer Eye Institute, you know that the walk from the parking deck is cripplingly long. Add to that the afternoon physical therapy appointment and the evening visit with the kids we had and you can understand that I am now rather tired. Like, passing-out tired.
The new physical therapists are giving me a lot more to do, especially leg exercises. Although I tire very quickly, I love doing them because it feels good to move, to be reminded of what it's like to maneuver around like a normal person. I also like the exercises because they make me see that I'm getting stronger, and I love the feeling of progress, slow as it is. "Sure beats just sitting around, waiting to get better," the therapist said today. Where has she been all this time?! I couldn't agree more.
Maybe that's another useful lesson I have learned during all this: don't take your physical health for granted. I mean that so sincerely. It's not as though I was some great athlete before this all happened, or even that I had a particularly cordial relationship with my body, but I was able to walk, and dance, as evidenced by that laughing bride on the wedding video. Now I can't wait, can't WAIT, to be able to do those things again. To be able to walk around with a baby in my arms, to carry a platter of food to the table, to swim across the pool. I know I'll be able to again, and I am very much looking forward to the day. If you are due for a physical checkup, please go get it. Don't take the amazing gifts of movement and strength for granted.
But what do I know, anyway. This makes me think of something I thought about a lot when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder: would I have traded being me for being mentally healthy? Stay with me: a lot of things I like about myself, like my IQ, my artistic ability, even my tendency to overanalyze everything and my impulsiveness, are traits commonly associated with bipolar disorder. When you find out that you have a serious, chronic mental illness like bipolar, and when you realize with the aid of hindsight how much of your life pre-diagnosis was ruled by forces you didn't understand and had no control over, I think it's natural to wonder whether if you'd had the choice you'd still rather be crazy you than sane someone else.
So, the obvious parallel to today occurs to me: would I have traded being a mom for being healthy?
I guess I can offer the wise observation that staying "in the moment," as they say, is helpful. I only know this because I'm so bad at it that I have very clearly seen the benefit during the brief moments that I've succeeded in focusing on the here and now, rather than worrying about the future or lamenting the past. It's a rule I honor in the breach, though, I admit.
Today we were back at Hopkins, at the neuro-opthalmology department. Dr. Miller, et al, again -- although his fellows changed; Dr. Chong and his sidekick were gone, so we missed out on the Chinese Mutt & Jeff. We spent an hour or so and he told us that in fact, my perceptions are correct, and my vision is getting better -- just very, very slowly (he invoked the tortoise). I always get a headache when they mess about with my eyes, and if you've ever been to Hopkins' Wilmer Eye Institute, you know that the walk from the parking deck is cripplingly long. Add to that the afternoon physical therapy appointment and the evening visit with the kids we had and you can understand that I am now rather tired. Like, passing-out tired.
The new physical therapists are giving me a lot more to do, especially leg exercises. Although I tire very quickly, I love doing them because it feels good to move, to be reminded of what it's like to maneuver around like a normal person. I also like the exercises because they make me see that I'm getting stronger, and I love the feeling of progress, slow as it is. "Sure beats just sitting around, waiting to get better," the therapist said today. Where has she been all this time?! I couldn't agree more.
Maybe that's another useful lesson I have learned during all this: don't take your physical health for granted. I mean that so sincerely. It's not as though I was some great athlete before this all happened, or even that I had a particularly cordial relationship with my body, but I was able to walk, and dance, as evidenced by that laughing bride on the wedding video. Now I can't wait, can't WAIT, to be able to do those things again. To be able to walk around with a baby in my arms, to carry a platter of food to the table, to swim across the pool. I know I'll be able to again, and I am very much looking forward to the day. If you are due for a physical checkup, please go get it. Don't take the amazing gifts of movement and strength for granted.
But what do I know, anyway. This makes me think of something I thought about a lot when I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder: would I have traded being me for being mentally healthy? Stay with me: a lot of things I like about myself, like my IQ, my artistic ability, even my tendency to overanalyze everything and my impulsiveness, are traits commonly associated with bipolar disorder. When you find out that you have a serious, chronic mental illness like bipolar, and when you realize with the aid of hindsight how much of your life pre-diagnosis was ruled by forces you didn't understand and had no control over, I think it's natural to wonder whether if you'd had the choice you'd still rather be crazy you than sane someone else.
So, the obvious parallel to today occurs to me: would I have traded being a mom for being healthy?
Happy Anniversary to us! Saturday was our first wedding anniversary, and despite everything we've been through lately and the resulting need to rethink our original plan to travel for a weekend to celebrate, we had a really wonderful, brilliant, lovey-dovey time. It was perfect, like so much of being married to my darling is!
Among other delights, we had a fabulous dinner at Tio Pepe's, a Spanish bastion in Baltimore (although Baby almost made me faint in the middle of dinner, which would have been memorable but not in the way I was looking for), and Dave went to see the Harry Potter movie with me while I watched his new Cal Ripken highlight DVD with him! We hung out by the pool together, watched our wedding video, and talked about our relationship, past and future.
I am so lucky to be married to such a wonderful man, and one whose company I endlessly enjoy (even when he is teasing me, which is often). At last!!!
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