Disclaimer: the following is more ranting from a spoiled American brat. Please go elsewhere if you've heard enough from me already. I realize there are some people who would love to have my problems, I know that, and I am slightly embarrassed by whining anyway. My issues are not life-threatening or earth-shattering. That being said...
I might lose my mind with the weather. I'd planned on doing yardwork today during Sascha's nap, but it's raining. And cold. Again. The forecast for this week? Rainy, in the 30s. So I squandered her entire nap time trying to find travel deals on the internet. I couldn't find anything affordable so I settled for looking at pictures of beaches. Shamefully, like porn under the mattress. All I can think about is being somewhere warm. Not sticky, hot-breath warm, like southeast Texas, but clear warm. Beachy warm.
I think I'm going to have to sneak out of school during my duty period tomorrow and hit up a tanning bed. I have zero motivation. I only just brushed my teeth, and it's 3 pm. I'm still in my pajamas. I was going to do one more week of balls-out diet and exercise this week, but I don't even have enough drive to put a frozen pizza in the oven, let alone chop up a farm's worth of vegetables. I feel paralyzed.
This weekend I had a chance to talk to my cousin, who has a daughter a few months younger than Sascha. She feels the same way I do about having a second baby. They're going to start trying next month. We're both like (big sigh), "uuuugghhhh..." at the thought of going through that again. How people can do this four, five, six or more times is beyond my comprehension. We both agreed that we feel a general pressure to have more than one. Not from anyone specific, just a general pressure. Like one child isn't quite "complete." Like we aimed for a family, and fell just short of the mark. I don't like that I feel that, but it's as ingrained in me as my XX chromosomes. I can't talk myself out of feeling that way. It's not a reason to have another kid, but I don't feel like I will be able to silence that nagging until I do. If I could just have a little bit of what the Quiverfull women are drinking... just something to make me enjoy pregnancy and surgery and losing sleep and breastfeeding hell, to make me appreciate never being able to leave the house to do anything.
I have to go look at beach pictures again.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Baby Happy, Baby Sad
(With apologies to Leslie Patricelli, who drew that fantastic series of books.)
First, Sad:
I'm sad that I pissed off one of my co-workers. She and I are friends. And because I hurt that stupid kid's feelings (see end of this post), now that kid has to be transferred into my co-worker's class. When the co-worker found out about it, she was pissed. I looked right at her and sincerely apologized. She huffed, left my room, marched down the hall and SLAMMED her door. We haven't spoken since, and I've been avoiding her. I know she's talking about me to the other girls in the department, so I feel I have to lay low with everyone now. It. SUCKS. I never wanted to teach this stupid biology class, I suck balls at it, and now this just adds a whole new layer of Disaster Stink to the situation.
I'm sad that I feel like a crappy, ineffective teacher lately. I've really been phoning it in.
I'm sad that I came up with this great idea to surprise Nick with something (that I can't write about because I still want to do it, and he reads this), and now there's a wrench in the works. I can't give more details but damn, it is a bummer.
I'm sad that my sister is having such a hard time with money and can't get a freakin' break. Girl needs a break.
I'm sad that lots of expensive things are starting to break in our house. My MP3 player (Nick and I are sharing his; it's 256 MB.) Our camera died. Our 3-year old $700 TV is almost dead. My glasses broke. The camera bothers me the most. I don't like that we have no record of the last six months of Sascha's life. And I wasn't able to take before & after pictures from my diet.
I've just felt sad overall lately. I want nothing more than to bundle up under a blanket with Nick and some popcorn and watch a zombie movie.
Now, Happy:
I'm working on this.
It's Friday. Extended family is coming to visit this weekend, which is always a great time.
I'm happy about my three mothers: the one who gave birth to me, because she lives four miles away and shares my brain; my mother-in-law, who can casually drop the word "clusterfuck" into a conversation with her Midwestern semi-drawl; and Rosie, who makes it her life's work to care about other people.
I started seeds for the garden (dammit, I am determined come hell or high water or credit card debt). I got my seeds from this catalog, which is pure gardening porn. The first time I saw it I was talking to the screen out loud. "Ohhhh...." "Oh my god, shut up!!" Those pictures.
The Swiss chard pasta (with tomatoes & smoked Gouda) I made last night made me very happy. Could have also been the wine or the silly kid sitting next to me. And she has been tentatively cool lately. I still walk on eggshells around her, but she's had a good couple of days.
Nick's sister is coming to visit in a week!
I am happy that I have students I like, who constantly make "that's what she said" jokes. "That's what she said" is almost never not funny. Makes me giggle like I'm 12.
Ahh, that helped. I'm feeling better. (That's what she said!)
First, Sad:
I'm sad that I pissed off one of my co-workers. She and I are friends. And because I hurt that stupid kid's feelings (see end of this post), now that kid has to be transferred into my co-worker's class. When the co-worker found out about it, she was pissed. I looked right at her and sincerely apologized. She huffed, left my room, marched down the hall and SLAMMED her door. We haven't spoken since, and I've been avoiding her. I know she's talking about me to the other girls in the department, so I feel I have to lay low with everyone now. It. SUCKS. I never wanted to teach this stupid biology class, I suck balls at it, and now this just adds a whole new layer of Disaster Stink to the situation.
I'm sad that I feel like a crappy, ineffective teacher lately. I've really been phoning it in.
I'm sad that I came up with this great idea to surprise Nick with something (that I can't write about because I still want to do it, and he reads this), and now there's a wrench in the works. I can't give more details but damn, it is a bummer.
I'm sad that my sister is having such a hard time with money and can't get a freakin' break. Girl needs a break.
I'm sad that lots of expensive things are starting to break in our house. My MP3 player (Nick and I are sharing his; it's 256 MB.) Our camera died. Our 3-year old $700 TV is almost dead. My glasses broke. The camera bothers me the most. I don't like that we have no record of the last six months of Sascha's life. And I wasn't able to take before & after pictures from my diet.
I've just felt sad overall lately. I want nothing more than to bundle up under a blanket with Nick and some popcorn and watch a zombie movie.
Now, Happy:
I'm working on this.
It's Friday. Extended family is coming to visit this weekend, which is always a great time.
I'm happy about my three mothers: the one who gave birth to me, because she lives four miles away and shares my brain; my mother-in-law, who can casually drop the word "clusterfuck" into a conversation with her Midwestern semi-drawl; and Rosie, who makes it her life's work to care about other people.
I started seeds for the garden (dammit, I am determined come hell or high water or credit card debt). I got my seeds from this catalog, which is pure gardening porn. The first time I saw it I was talking to the screen out loud. "Ohhhh...." "Oh my god, shut up!!" Those pictures.
The Swiss chard pasta (with tomatoes & smoked Gouda) I made last night made me very happy. Could have also been the wine or the silly kid sitting next to me. And she has been tentatively cool lately. I still walk on eggshells around her, but she's had a good couple of days.
Nick's sister is coming to visit in a week!
I am happy that I have students I like, who constantly make "that's what she said" jokes. "That's what she said" is almost never not funny. Makes me giggle like I'm 12.
Ahh, that helped. I'm feeling better. (That's what she said!)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Define "normal."
My kid is weird.
I am aware that I sound like One Of Those Annoying Parents, who thinks her kid is Unusual. I do wonder if something is wrong with her sometimes. She never answers questions. Never. "Sascha, you want some tomatoes?" Her answer is "tomatoes!" mixed in with some gibberish. Never yes or no. I don't worry about her being autistic; my cousin is an autistic specialist. She asked me some key questions, to which I apparently gave the right answers. But is there a gray area between autistic and just weird?
She only misbehaves when Nick and I are around, which is normal. However, I am wondering about the amount of normal misbehavior. How many tantrums are too many? She spent almost two hours having a tantrum this morning. She will throw herself on the floor and start screaming with no provocation whatsoever. My sister has noticed that Sascha doesn't acknowledge you when you speak to her; not even a glance. (There are no hearing issues.) She and my mom want me to call a doctor for a psych eval. Nick disagrees, but I know they're right. This just makes me sad, more than anything. I don't have a normal kid.
In ways, it's cool. We have this book, and the other night Sascha picked it up and recited every word of it from cover to cover. I looked at Nick: have you been reading this to her a lot? Him: No, only a few times. Me: Me too. Her babysitter doesn't have that book. My mom doesn't have that book. She has memorized the whole thing from maybe 5-6 readings. She'll do that with Sesame Street skits, too. She'll go around the house reciting entire blocks of dialogue-- and she doesn't even watch that much TV anymore. It's freakish. Someday she'll find the cure for cancer, then promptly begin shooting people from a clock tower in a tinfoil hat.
Enough about Rain Man. In a related story, we've decided to wait another month before we start trying again for #2 (it was going to be April). I can give all the weak excuses about timing and the school year and maternity leave and whatever, but the truth is, Sascha is quickly eroding our desire and energy for a second. One of the reasons I am wanting a second is so that I can throw the dice on maybe getting a normal baby. One that won't hate me. At least not until it's a teenager, when it's supposed to.
I've also decided to take a break on the weight loss. I've lost 10 lbs and I'm officially down to my pre-pregnancy weight. It feels fantastic. I'm not gonna lie. I feel so, so great. I would still like to lose a few more before summer. I was just starting to feel punished all the time with the I-can't-eat-that and I-have-to-go-running. I knew it was time to give it a rest last week when I was supposed to work out one day after school, and I was so down about it. I was really bummed out, and burned out. I decided to rebel and said screw it! And my mood skyrocketed. I popped open some wine, broke out "Songs in the Key of Life" and danced around my kitchen. So I'm going to give it two weeks or so off, and then one last big push of 2-3 more weeks on.
More things to file under White People's Problems: money. Things were looking so awesome recently. We were just a couple months away from being completely out of credit card debt and ready to start saving, something we've never done. And we've never done it because something always comes up. So naturally, today, our furnace died. We woke up this morning going "hmm, it feels kinda cold..." and sure enough. The worst part of it, to me, is that we don't know what the problem is (although we do know our furnace is old and we've had problems with it before). We could either get a new one, and have it turn out to be a $50 problem, or we could pay out the nose for a plumber to come to the house, only to tell us we have to replace it, thus paying out the nose twice. We want to try to get by on space heaters since we're so close to spring (New England hasn't gotten the memo from the calendar that it IS in fact spring, and said memo won't arrive for another month or so), but tomorrow's high is supposed to be thirty-one fucking degrees. 31. I'm not sure a space heater can compete with that, but I also know that a new furnace isn't going to materialize in 24 hours, so we don't have much of a choice. Good times.
The selfish child (or, I'll admit, selfish yuppie) in me is disappointed that I may have to put off my garden for another year. The startup costs are too high. I can't do it without a fence-- I know what it feels like to lose everything to groundhogs. Even though I will be putting in a cheap fence myself, it's still a good chunk of money. And my neighbor just told me that we have about six inches of soil in our neighborhood, then it's all rocks and boulders under that. I wasn't planning on doing raised beds (although I'd love them), but it looks like that may be my only choice. And they aren't cheap. So... that is hugely disappointing. I don't know. We'll see. I might have to do it on credit simply because of the time constraints; I can't start a garden in October when I do have the money. But damn. We were so close to being in the black.
Nick just called me into the other room to show me that the picture on our 3-year-old TV is almost gone. That too. Lovely. Good thing we don't need a TV to keep us warm.
I am aware that I sound like One Of Those Annoying Parents, who thinks her kid is Unusual. I do wonder if something is wrong with her sometimes. She never answers questions. Never. "Sascha, you want some tomatoes?" Her answer is "tomatoes!" mixed in with some gibberish. Never yes or no. I don't worry about her being autistic; my cousin is an autistic specialist. She asked me some key questions, to which I apparently gave the right answers. But is there a gray area between autistic and just weird?
She only misbehaves when Nick and I are around, which is normal. However, I am wondering about the amount of normal misbehavior. How many tantrums are too many? She spent almost two hours having a tantrum this morning. She will throw herself on the floor and start screaming with no provocation whatsoever. My sister has noticed that Sascha doesn't acknowledge you when you speak to her; not even a glance. (There are no hearing issues.) She and my mom want me to call a doctor for a psych eval. Nick disagrees, but I know they're right. This just makes me sad, more than anything. I don't have a normal kid.
In ways, it's cool. We have this book, and the other night Sascha picked it up and recited every word of it from cover to cover. I looked at Nick: have you been reading this to her a lot? Him: No, only a few times. Me: Me too. Her babysitter doesn't have that book. My mom doesn't have that book. She has memorized the whole thing from maybe 5-6 readings. She'll do that with Sesame Street skits, too. She'll go around the house reciting entire blocks of dialogue-- and she doesn't even watch that much TV anymore. It's freakish. Someday she'll find the cure for cancer, then promptly begin shooting people from a clock tower in a tinfoil hat.
Enough about Rain Man. In a related story, we've decided to wait another month before we start trying again for #2 (it was going to be April). I can give all the weak excuses about timing and the school year and maternity leave and whatever, but the truth is, Sascha is quickly eroding our desire and energy for a second. One of the reasons I am wanting a second is so that I can throw the dice on maybe getting a normal baby. One that won't hate me. At least not until it's a teenager, when it's supposed to.
I've also decided to take a break on the weight loss. I've lost 10 lbs and I'm officially down to my pre-pregnancy weight. It feels fantastic. I'm not gonna lie. I feel so, so great. I would still like to lose a few more before summer. I was just starting to feel punished all the time with the I-can't-eat-that and I-have-to-go-running. I knew it was time to give it a rest last week when I was supposed to work out one day after school, and I was so down about it. I was really bummed out, and burned out. I decided to rebel and said screw it! And my mood skyrocketed. I popped open some wine, broke out "Songs in the Key of Life" and danced around my kitchen. So I'm going to give it two weeks or so off, and then one last big push of 2-3 more weeks on.
More things to file under White People's Problems: money. Things were looking so awesome recently. We were just a couple months away from being completely out of credit card debt and ready to start saving, something we've never done. And we've never done it because something always comes up. So naturally, today, our furnace died. We woke up this morning going "hmm, it feels kinda cold..." and sure enough. The worst part of it, to me, is that we don't know what the problem is (although we do know our furnace is old and we've had problems with it before). We could either get a new one, and have it turn out to be a $50 problem, or we could pay out the nose for a plumber to come to the house, only to tell us we have to replace it, thus paying out the nose twice. We want to try to get by on space heaters since we're so close to spring (New England hasn't gotten the memo from the calendar that it IS in fact spring, and said memo won't arrive for another month or so), but tomorrow's high is supposed to be thirty-one fucking degrees. 31. I'm not sure a space heater can compete with that, but I also know that a new furnace isn't going to materialize in 24 hours, so we don't have much of a choice. Good times.
The selfish child (or, I'll admit, selfish yuppie) in me is disappointed that I may have to put off my garden for another year. The startup costs are too high. I can't do it without a fence-- I know what it feels like to lose everything to groundhogs. Even though I will be putting in a cheap fence myself, it's still a good chunk of money. And my neighbor just told me that we have about six inches of soil in our neighborhood, then it's all rocks and boulders under that. I wasn't planning on doing raised beds (although I'd love them), but it looks like that may be my only choice. And they aren't cheap. So... that is hugely disappointing. I don't know. We'll see. I might have to do it on credit simply because of the time constraints; I can't start a garden in October when I do have the money. But damn. We were so close to being in the black.
Nick just called me into the other room to show me that the picture on our 3-year-old TV is almost gone. That too. Lovely. Good thing we don't need a TV to keep us warm.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Drowning, Take Two
I am toeing my limit lately. I know that there are a few newer readers to this blog who are, um, of a previous generation, so allow me to apologize for the swearing that is to follow.
Explain to me how this is any kind of life.
A sample day: Up at 5:20. Leave the house at 6:15. At school on time around 7:15.
School: playing a rowdy review game with 80 teenagers, during which they get off on trying to confuse me (like "hey, you forgot to give us our points!" when I already had). All free time is spent planning for my biology class. Starving all goddamn day because of this pointless diet that's no longer working. Stalked via e-mail all fucking day by this woman who is putting on some festival at our school next weekend, and I am her liaison. Staff meeting right after school.
Home: pick up Sascha from my mother's, where she has been a perfect angel all day but starts being bratty as soon as we arrive. I take her to my sister's, where she expects to play on the swingset but we can't because it's nine fucking degrees outside. She melts down for ten minutes when I take her in the house.
*insert 45 good minutes of hanging out with my sister while kids play*
5 pm. Go home, plop Sascha in front of the TV, start dinner. Finish cooking just as the show ends. Eat.
6 pm. Before dinner is over, I leave them to make a run to the grocery store. I'm so tired there that I'm spacing out on things that are written right in front of me, on my list. I'm looking at the list blankly, like it's calculus. I buy four bottles of wine.
7 pm. The bedtime routine. Sascha's being sweet, then stubs her toe which sends her into an end-of-the-world tantrum. We try to wrestle her into the tub while she convulses and screams. This lasts well after we take her out, about 15 minutes. I'm reminded of some long-ago TV movie from the '70s about a retarded kid. I think there was a similar scene.
8 pm. Sascha's in bed, but the kitchen is full of dirty dishes, the dishwasher is full of clean ones, lunches need to be unpacked from today and repacked for tomorrow. Nick and I work in exhausted silence. I am also in the middle of running two loads of laundry. I get in bed to watch a show that starts at 9, but I'm asleep before it's over.
You always read how people say there's too much crap in their lives, how they're too busy, and the advice is always to let something go. But what? What? I'm not doing anything extra. Sascha isn't old enough to go to lessons or whatever. This is just existing. This is the bare minimum. Feeding, washing, clothing: simple maintenance. This is without a social life. And I didn't even work out today. A few times a week, I do that after school. AND I only have one kid. Of course, lately she's been having tantrums for two out of the three hours we're home. No joke. That'll wear you out on an easy day.
All I could think tonight while washing the dishes was, "in colleges around the country, there are women dreaming of this life." I know this, because I was. I wanted to be a wife and mother so badly I could taste it. How the hell did we get sold this bill of goods?
Today is the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Except!! Today I *get* to work out!! (because I have sooo much energy.) The only reason I'm able to blog right now is that my colleague gave me a video to show my biology class today. I've been so busy planning for that one stupid class that my paper-grading pile has been getting bigger and bigger. And that pile? Will be my weekend. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to teach on Monday.
I just don't know how anyone does it. I know people with my same job who have more than one kid. I don't think I'd last a week. And most people do this with a job that they leave at 5:00 instead 2:00. Granted, they have more downtime at their jobs, but they can't run laundry or chop vegetables in that downtime. And I would wager that most people's kids aren't the drama queen that mine is, requiring an exhausting and endless cycle of time-outs.
I can't think of what would make my life easier. Quitting the diet would be a start; takeout is much easier than the endless chopping of vegetables. I have already delegated most of my science team coaching duties. I still feel like I can't catch my breath. It's a good thing that my hair is finally long enough to put in a ponytail, even though it's still so skimpy that it resembles a thalidomide hand-- I don't care, it saves me 20 minutes in the morning.
Speaking of the diet: It's kind of a good news/bad news thing. I have lost weight, somewhere between 8-10 lbs depending on the day. I am definitely comfortable, which was my #1 goal. I'm still not at my pre-pregnancy weight, but I've at least lost what I call "ambient" weight-- that layer that covered my back, my thighs, my neck and chest, making me feel like the Michelin Man. My clothes fit! My skinny jeans are loose! That part is fabulous. I love that when I am putting on my bra, it no longer makes those moaning and straining noises like the Titanic did when it was sinking (in the movie). (You think that's a joke. It isn't.) But... I am still not where I want to be. I'm still a triple-D cup, just not as full. My stomach is still pretty big. I hate that the number on the scale matters, and it shouldn't, but it does. Dammit, it does. And I'm so close, but that number hasn't budged in a couple weeks. I'm seriously losing steam. It is not helping one bit that my life is not conducive to keeping up all this constant vegetable prep.
In short, I need: a housekeeper, a cook, and a weekly massage and mani/pedi. And toddler tranquilizers. (What?) And maybe a call girl for my poor husband since I never have the energy for those shenanigans either. (Sorry, Ma.) Then, I could definitely do this. Wow, I just realized I didn't list a nanny! I call that progress in my journey of motherhood.
And because this post isn't long or whiny enough, I'll finish with a Teacher of the Year story: this morning an administrator came to me to talk about one of my students. She's a very bright, likeable girl, but she misses my class every single day to sit in another room (she's in a program for kids with emotional issues; she goes there). Her friend comes to class every day to tell me she's not coming. Well one day I made an insensitive comment, like "Man, she needs to get over it already." I'm sorry, but it's fruststrating dealing with all of that make-up work, and I can't imagine being so distraught every single day that you can't sit in class, unless your family was murdered or something (hers wasn't). Lo and behold, the girl gets wind of this, and now I'm told to expect a phone call from her mother. Lovely. Aaaaand, now the girl doesn't want to come back to my class, ever, and wants to switch teachers. Oh, I rule the world. To be honest, I kind of want to yell at her mother for ruining her kid in the first place, but you know, there's that little thing about glass houses...
Explain to me how this is any kind of life.
A sample day: Up at 5:20. Leave the house at 6:15. At school on time around 7:15.
School: playing a rowdy review game with 80 teenagers, during which they get off on trying to confuse me (like "hey, you forgot to give us our points!" when I already had). All free time is spent planning for my biology class. Starving all goddamn day because of this pointless diet that's no longer working. Stalked via e-mail all fucking day by this woman who is putting on some festival at our school next weekend, and I am her liaison. Staff meeting right after school.
Home: pick up Sascha from my mother's, where she has been a perfect angel all day but starts being bratty as soon as we arrive. I take her to my sister's, where she expects to play on the swingset but we can't because it's nine fucking degrees outside. She melts down for ten minutes when I take her in the house.
*insert 45 good minutes of hanging out with my sister while kids play*
5 pm. Go home, plop Sascha in front of the TV, start dinner. Finish cooking just as the show ends. Eat.
6 pm. Before dinner is over, I leave them to make a run to the grocery store. I'm so tired there that I'm spacing out on things that are written right in front of me, on my list. I'm looking at the list blankly, like it's calculus. I buy four bottles of wine.
7 pm. The bedtime routine. Sascha's being sweet, then stubs her toe which sends her into an end-of-the-world tantrum. We try to wrestle her into the tub while she convulses and screams. This lasts well after we take her out, about 15 minutes. I'm reminded of some long-ago TV movie from the '70s about a retarded kid. I think there was a similar scene.
8 pm. Sascha's in bed, but the kitchen is full of dirty dishes, the dishwasher is full of clean ones, lunches need to be unpacked from today and repacked for tomorrow. Nick and I work in exhausted silence. I am also in the middle of running two loads of laundry. I get in bed to watch a show that starts at 9, but I'm asleep before it's over.
You always read how people say there's too much crap in their lives, how they're too busy, and the advice is always to let something go. But what? What? I'm not doing anything extra. Sascha isn't old enough to go to lessons or whatever. This is just existing. This is the bare minimum. Feeding, washing, clothing: simple maintenance. This is without a social life. And I didn't even work out today. A few times a week, I do that after school. AND I only have one kid. Of course, lately she's been having tantrums for two out of the three hours we're home. No joke. That'll wear you out on an easy day.
All I could think tonight while washing the dishes was, "in colleges around the country, there are women dreaming of this life." I know this, because I was. I wanted to be a wife and mother so badly I could taste it. How the hell did we get sold this bill of goods?
Today is the same: lather, rinse, repeat. Except!! Today I *get* to work out!! (because I have sooo much energy.) The only reason I'm able to blog right now is that my colleague gave me a video to show my biology class today. I've been so busy planning for that one stupid class that my paper-grading pile has been getting bigger and bigger. And that pile? Will be my weekend. I haven't even thought about what I'm going to teach on Monday.
I just don't know how anyone does it. I know people with my same job who have more than one kid. I don't think I'd last a week. And most people do this with a job that they leave at 5:00 instead 2:00. Granted, they have more downtime at their jobs, but they can't run laundry or chop vegetables in that downtime. And I would wager that most people's kids aren't the drama queen that mine is, requiring an exhausting and endless cycle of time-outs.
I can't think of what would make my life easier. Quitting the diet would be a start; takeout is much easier than the endless chopping of vegetables. I have already delegated most of my science team coaching duties. I still feel like I can't catch my breath. It's a good thing that my hair is finally long enough to put in a ponytail, even though it's still so skimpy that it resembles a thalidomide hand-- I don't care, it saves me 20 minutes in the morning.
Speaking of the diet: It's kind of a good news/bad news thing. I have lost weight, somewhere between 8-10 lbs depending on the day. I am definitely comfortable, which was my #1 goal. I'm still not at my pre-pregnancy weight, but I've at least lost what I call "ambient" weight-- that layer that covered my back, my thighs, my neck and chest, making me feel like the Michelin Man. My clothes fit! My skinny jeans are loose! That part is fabulous. I love that when I am putting on my bra, it no longer makes those moaning and straining noises like the Titanic did when it was sinking (in the movie). (You think that's a joke. It isn't.) But... I am still not where I want to be. I'm still a triple-D cup, just not as full. My stomach is still pretty big. I hate that the number on the scale matters, and it shouldn't, but it does. Dammit, it does. And I'm so close, but that number hasn't budged in a couple weeks. I'm seriously losing steam. It is not helping one bit that my life is not conducive to keeping up all this constant vegetable prep.
In short, I need: a housekeeper, a cook, and a weekly massage and mani/pedi. And toddler tranquilizers. (What?) And maybe a call girl for my poor husband since I never have the energy for those shenanigans either. (Sorry, Ma.) Then, I could definitely do this. Wow, I just realized I didn't list a nanny! I call that progress in my journey of motherhood.
And because this post isn't long or whiny enough, I'll finish with a Teacher of the Year story: this morning an administrator came to me to talk about one of my students. She's a very bright, likeable girl, but she misses my class every single day to sit in another room (she's in a program for kids with emotional issues; she goes there). Her friend comes to class every day to tell me she's not coming. Well one day I made an insensitive comment, like "Man, she needs to get over it already." I'm sorry, but it's fruststrating dealing with all of that make-up work, and I can't imagine being so distraught every single day that you can't sit in class, unless your family was murdered or something (hers wasn't). Lo and behold, the girl gets wind of this, and now I'm told to expect a phone call from her mother. Lovely. Aaaaand, now the girl doesn't want to come back to my class, ever, and wants to switch teachers. Oh, I rule the world. To be honest, I kind of want to yell at her mother for ruining her kid in the first place, but you know, there's that little thing about glass houses...
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Winter of My Discontent
I am trying really hard to pick my head up off the desk and see the green grass growing on my own side of the fence. This is figuratively speaking, of course, as our grass is once again covered in snow. Literally and figuratively.
It's not a big deal. I just reconnected with a friend from college. I was looking through his pictures on Facebook, and oh my, does he have a lot of traveling pictures. He also has a son that's one month younger than Sascha. So I'm looking at happy pictures of his happy, sweet-looking wife and happy toddler snuggling on the train in Switzerland... smiling in Barcelona... posing at Lake Como. Ouch. Obviously he wouldn't take pictures of his kid having a tantrum, but just the fact that they could travel with him in the first place is kind of painful to see (um, and the fact that they are traveling at all, that they have more than three figures in the bank, is hard to see too... Nick and I are hoping to be able to travel for our tenth anniversary... in 2015). It takes us three days to recover from a single flight to Omaha with Sascha. I saw these pictures last night, after she had spent about 75% of her evening screaming and/or in time out. She did it through Sesame Street, her favorite episode. She did it through dinner. She did it through her bedtime routine, and when I went to kiss her goodnight, she pushed me away.
My gut is leaning more and more towards one kid.
It's not a big deal. I just reconnected with a friend from college. I was looking through his pictures on Facebook, and oh my, does he have a lot of traveling pictures. He also has a son that's one month younger than Sascha. So I'm looking at happy pictures of his happy, sweet-looking wife and happy toddler snuggling on the train in Switzerland... smiling in Barcelona... posing at Lake Como. Ouch. Obviously he wouldn't take pictures of his kid having a tantrum, but just the fact that they could travel with him in the first place is kind of painful to see (um, and the fact that they are traveling at all, that they have more than three figures in the bank, is hard to see too... Nick and I are hoping to be able to travel for our tenth anniversary... in 2015). It takes us three days to recover from a single flight to Omaha with Sascha. I saw these pictures last night, after she had spent about 75% of her evening screaming and/or in time out. She did it through Sesame Street, her favorite episode. She did it through dinner. She did it through her bedtime routine, and when I went to kiss her goodnight, she pushed me away.
My gut is leaning more and more towards one kid.
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