I am proud to announce that I am the happy owner of a brand new laptop! Finally! A Toshiba Satellite, weighing approximately 4 pounds arrived on Tuesday and is resting comfortably on a high shelf AWAY FROM PRYING STICKY FINGERS.
And just to be clear, those fingers belong to the fiancé.
He has his toys, this one is mine and I'm NOT sharing.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Ways to Captivate Me
Ask me often in your very charming, slightly whining voice, when you can go on the "tool bus" with your big brother.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Confession Part Deux
Do you ever feel like you're floating through your life and only the barest sense of reality seeps through the fogginess of your brain to remind you that are tethered to the ground?
Everything is connected, isn't it? One moment to the next, that invisible thread linked together as intricately as the lace doilies my Grammy used to make. I remember as a child curiously wondering if I pulled as hard as could, would those threads break apart? My fingers would twitch with the desire to yank on them, and once or twice I did just to see what would happen. Doing so stretched the thin yarn, but it did not break apart proving to me that something delicate could also be very strong.
My "career" has gone in the completely opposite direction of where I always dreamed it would go, and now, at almost 38 years old I'm constantly wondering if it's too late to make a change.
Here again, I make a confession, and part of my brain reminds me it's a silly one at that: What I wanted as a young girl, as an idealistic teenager, as a trying-to-figure-life-out young woman and still now, is to be an author. The kind of writer who concocts the sort of book you might pick up at the airport as you wait for your flight to take you on your winter vacation. The sort of novel you grab and read the back cover of on your way to the check-out at Walmart and toss in your cart because you know it's not War and Peace and you just want to escape for a little while. It would be my books that suck you in, and when you're done, you can't believe it only took you 3 days to read, you search out others I've written, and you tell your friends, "You've GOT to read this book," and they do.
I daydream of this and then snap back to reality where I'm stuck in a soul destroying office job, where the days blend into each other and I silently count down the minutes until I can go home. When doing laundry excites you more than your day job, it might be time for a change.
My hubby is urging me to just write, write whatever I feel like and I think he's onto to something there.
Maybe using my imagination more will lessen this Eeyore-like cloud I seem to like hanging over my head.
Maybe I need to learn how to make doilies.
Everything is connected, isn't it? One moment to the next, that invisible thread linked together as intricately as the lace doilies my Grammy used to make. I remember as a child curiously wondering if I pulled as hard as could, would those threads break apart? My fingers would twitch with the desire to yank on them, and once or twice I did just to see what would happen. Doing so stretched the thin yarn, but it did not break apart proving to me that something delicate could also be very strong.
My "career" has gone in the completely opposite direction of where I always dreamed it would go, and now, at almost 38 years old I'm constantly wondering if it's too late to make a change.
Here again, I make a confession, and part of my brain reminds me it's a silly one at that: What I wanted as a young girl, as an idealistic teenager, as a trying-to-figure-life-out young woman and still now, is to be an author. The kind of writer who concocts the sort of book you might pick up at the airport as you wait for your flight to take you on your winter vacation. The sort of novel you grab and read the back cover of on your way to the check-out at Walmart and toss in your cart because you know it's not War and Peace and you just want to escape for a little while. It would be my books that suck you in, and when you're done, you can't believe it only took you 3 days to read, you search out others I've written, and you tell your friends, "You've GOT to read this book," and they do.
I daydream of this and then snap back to reality where I'm stuck in a soul destroying office job, where the days blend into each other and I silently count down the minutes until I can go home. When doing laundry excites you more than your day job, it might be time for a change.
My hubby is urging me to just write, write whatever I feel like and I think he's onto to something there.
Maybe using my imagination more will lessen this Eeyore-like cloud I seem to like hanging over my head.
Maybe I need to learn how to make doilies.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Can't Fight This Feeling
Sorry to disappoint, but this post isn't an ode to all you closet REO Speedwagon fans...
Some of you may be aware I started a new job a month ago and while I won't discuss exactly who I'm working for, suffice to say she's a Canadian celebrity who's locked in a minimum 8 year contract, but likely a lifetime one. Having said that, she is terrific - down to earth, direct, good sense of humour and so on. I admit I'm having an issue with the amount of very strong perfume she wears and sprays several times a day, leaving me feeling nauseous and ready to puke into the garbage can next to the desk, but confronting her....well, that's out of the question because I'm a chicken shit.
Having said this (against the concern of the man I live with who thinks writing the above is not oblique enough and will come back to bite me in the ass), I have been wondering whether to unload here with the secret I've been keeping for this past month, minus the first day.
We can all relate to the excitement of firsts: first day at a new job, at a new apartment, in a new town, in a new relationship - it brings a charge of power, the tremor of possibility, a rush of adrenaline that something has changed. This thought brings me to my confession: I HATE THIS NEW JOB. I can't stand it for the very same reason I couldn't stand my last job - IT IS THE SAME JOB. Just in a different place. If only it were as cute as Jim & Pam and awkwardly funny as Michael on "The Office", but it isn't. It never is. I've been desperately trying to convince myself that THIS! IS! A! GREAT! OPPORTUNITY! and perhaps for someone else it is....I feel like I'm riding Bill Murray's coattails in 'Groundhog Day' and this is the gateway to hell.
Someone told me that if my job is not nourishing my soul it is the wrong one for me. The last few days have been agonizing, trying to will myself out of bed, trying to force my legs to MOVE, reminding myself that while I'm not thrilled about this job, it IS a job and I'm doing my part to support my family. Nourishing my soul, I guess, will have to wait.
The less-mature side of me keeps wishing that we'll win a huge amount of money in the 6/49 so that I can quit this job and just do whatever I feel like doing, which really means being home for my kids and NOT worry about finances.
But to quote Burgess Meredith in 'Grumpy Old Men' - "You can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which one fills up first."
Wishes....I wish for wishes....
Some of you may be aware I started a new job a month ago and while I won't discuss exactly who I'm working for, suffice to say she's a Canadian celebrity who's locked in a minimum 8 year contract, but likely a lifetime one. Having said that, she is terrific - down to earth, direct, good sense of humour and so on. I admit I'm having an issue with the amount of very strong perfume she wears and sprays several times a day, leaving me feeling nauseous and ready to puke into the garbage can next to the desk, but confronting her....well, that's out of the question because I'm a chicken shit.
Having said this (against the concern of the man I live with who thinks writing the above is not oblique enough and will come back to bite me in the ass), I have been wondering whether to unload here with the secret I've been keeping for this past month, minus the first day.
We can all relate to the excitement of firsts: first day at a new job, at a new apartment, in a new town, in a new relationship - it brings a charge of power, the tremor of possibility, a rush of adrenaline that something has changed. This thought brings me to my confession: I HATE THIS NEW JOB. I can't stand it for the very same reason I couldn't stand my last job - IT IS THE SAME JOB. Just in a different place. If only it were as cute as Jim & Pam and awkwardly funny as Michael on "The Office", but it isn't. It never is. I've been desperately trying to convince myself that THIS! IS! A! GREAT! OPPORTUNITY! and perhaps for someone else it is....I feel like I'm riding Bill Murray's coattails in 'Groundhog Day' and this is the gateway to hell.
Someone told me that if my job is not nourishing my soul it is the wrong one for me. The last few days have been agonizing, trying to will myself out of bed, trying to force my legs to MOVE, reminding myself that while I'm not thrilled about this job, it IS a job and I'm doing my part to support my family. Nourishing my soul, I guess, will have to wait.
The less-mature side of me keeps wishing that we'll win a huge amount of money in the 6/49 so that I can quit this job and just do whatever I feel like doing, which really means being home for my kids and NOT worry about finances.
But to quote Burgess Meredith in 'Grumpy Old Men' - "You can wish in one hand and crap in the other and see which one fills up first."
Wishes....I wish for wishes....
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Clearly, She Has The Upper Hand
So that the handful of people who actually read this blog on a regular basis don't assume I'm beating my daughter every day, I thought I should be a little more forthcoming on the post I wrote the other day about biting her back.
We are having SERIOUS bedtime routine issues with her lately. She changed daycare at the beginning of December because our regular provider dared (!) to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby girl before Christmas. Martine is the kind of mother that I always hope I'll be - patient, firm, consistent, crafty-creative, and one look from her and my daughter knows she's not allowed to poke someone's eyes out just for fun - and yet, I'm pretty sure I fall short in most of those areas because I am tired from the commute to and from work and the little energy I have left at the end of the day is needed for that night's temper tantrum and laundry.
Since being at the new place, our petite bébé has become aggressive. She bites. She kicks. She pinches. She slaps. She screams. She scratches. She sticks her tongue out often enough that I have several Ally McBeal moments where I imagine yanking it out just so that it will stop the "Boo-boo, na na na" sarcasm. She has temper tantrums that go on for hours. Trust me, you don't want to meet up with her in a dark alley 'cause she'll kick your ass.
After being bitch-slapped by a 3 year old over and over again, you do lose your cool. We have tried time-outs. We have tried distracting her with something else. We have tried ignoring the behaviour. We have tried ignoring her. Nothing seems to work except when it's gone on for more than 30 minutes and I YELL at her that that's ENOUGH. Mummy is MAD. You are a NAUGHTY GIRL. When you can say sorry for hitting Mummy, you can come out. Plunk her down on her bed and leave her in her room, close the door behind me, and then I hold her door shut, using both hands on the handle because now she's so PISSED that she's on the other side of it kicking and punching at the door. This goes on for over an hour and then she finally falls asleep, exhausted.
Any suggestions, short of shipping her off to a boarding school in Switzerland, you'd like to suggest?
We are having SERIOUS bedtime routine issues with her lately. She changed daycare at the beginning of December because our regular provider dared (!) to get pregnant and have a beautiful baby girl before Christmas. Martine is the kind of mother that I always hope I'll be - patient, firm, consistent, crafty-creative, and one look from her and my daughter knows she's not allowed to poke someone's eyes out just for fun - and yet, I'm pretty sure I fall short in most of those areas because I am tired from the commute to and from work and the little energy I have left at the end of the day is needed for that night's temper tantrum and laundry.
Since being at the new place, our petite bébé has become aggressive. She bites. She kicks. She pinches. She slaps. She screams. She scratches. She sticks her tongue out often enough that I have several Ally McBeal moments where I imagine yanking it out just so that it will stop the "Boo-boo, na na na" sarcasm. She has temper tantrums that go on for hours. Trust me, you don't want to meet up with her in a dark alley 'cause she'll kick your ass.
After being bitch-slapped by a 3 year old over and over again, you do lose your cool. We have tried time-outs. We have tried distracting her with something else. We have tried ignoring the behaviour. We have tried ignoring her. Nothing seems to work except when it's gone on for more than 30 minutes and I YELL at her that that's ENOUGH. Mummy is MAD. You are a NAUGHTY GIRL. When you can say sorry for hitting Mummy, you can come out. Plunk her down on her bed and leave her in her room, close the door behind me, and then I hold her door shut, using both hands on the handle because now she's so PISSED that she's on the other side of it kicking and punching at the door. This goes on for over an hour and then she finally falls asleep, exhausted.
Any suggestions, short of shipping her off to a boarding school in Switzerland, you'd like to suggest?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Monday, February 9, 2009
Paging SuperNanny
Our little princess has turned into a hissing, growling, wild animal.
She slaps.
She scratches.
She bites.
She kicks.
She screams.
All in a sarcastic tone I abhor, "boo-boo, na-na..."
My reaction should be to remain calm and quiet, and calmly and quietly put her in a time out.
My reaction, ashamed I am to admit, is to do right back to her what's she's done. And you can guess how successful this game plan is. It ends with both of us in tears, both of us saying sorry, and me winning the shittiest mother of the year award.
She slaps.
She scratches.
She bites.
She kicks.
She screams.
All in a sarcastic tone I abhor, "boo-boo, na-na..."
My reaction should be to remain calm and quiet, and calmly and quietly put her in a time out.
My reaction, ashamed I am to admit, is to do right back to her what's she's done. And you can guess how successful this game plan is. It ends with both of us in tears, both of us saying sorry, and me winning the shittiest mother of the year award.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Where's Dolly?
Today is a day I wish I had a clone.
Because then I wouldn't feel guilty for having to stay a few minutes late at work.
Because then I wouldn't feel that tight spot of anxiety knowing that my children need Mummy RIGHT NOW.
Because then my fiancé could have a few minutes of peace and quiet away from the screaming, slapping, kicking, pissed-off 3 year old.
Because then I wouldn't feel guilty for having to stay a few minutes late at work.
Because then I wouldn't feel that tight spot of anxiety knowing that my children need Mummy RIGHT NOW.
Because then my fiancé could have a few minutes of peace and quiet away from the screaming, slapping, kicking, pissed-off 3 year old.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Let the List Making Commence
We've started an initial guest list already, and I'm happy to say that he's very excited about planning this shindig, which is great because it means we're going to help each other through these next few crazy months.
We're looking at a late September wedding, and while I'm inviting only my immediate family (which includes 9 nieces & nephews), he's inviting almost his entire family. Have I mentioned that his family is French? Not that that precludes large numbers of cousins, but French families do tend to be large, as in there will be a minimum of 40 cousins attending. He's the baby in the family, and they are all anh, ouai!! Toute excité!!
Let me just say that between our family and our friends, this is going to be one kick-ass party and we should probably start stocking up on Advil liqui-gels and Tylenol extra-strength now.
We're looking at a late September wedding, and while I'm inviting only my immediate family (which includes 9 nieces & nephews), he's inviting almost his entire family. Have I mentioned that his family is French? Not that that precludes large numbers of cousins, but French families do tend to be large, as in there will be a minimum of 40 cousins attending. He's the baby in the family, and they are all anh, ouai!! Toute excité!!
Let me just say that between our family and our friends, this is going to be one kick-ass party and we should probably start stocking up on Advil liqui-gels and Tylenol extra-strength now.
Monday, February 2, 2009
I'm A Little Streaker!
It is minus-15 degrees outside and for reasons beyond comprehension, my daughter is wandering around the house stark naked. As in nary a stitch of clothing on. As in the lone sock and underwear she had on an hour ago have been left abandoned in the hall upstairs. Who knows where her pants and shirt are.
With all that is sacred, I hope like hell this is not a sign of how she'll spend her teenage years...
With all that is sacred, I hope like hell this is not a sign of how she'll spend her teenage years...
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Cue the Wedding Planner
We went out for dinner Saturday night, and hubby, scratch that, now I can call him fiancé (!) proposed, and it was perfect and lovely and wonderful and simple and heartfelt. We have gone through a lot as a couple, and still we are together because of the very deep love we have for each other.
By the way, I said, yes.
By the way, I said, yes.
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