Behave Yourself

I have about five readers (and I love each and every one of you) but today, I'm soliciting opinions from those of you with older kids.

At what age did your children sit through a church service? Or, perhaps more accurately, at what age were you forcing them to sit through a church service?

Some background: I was raised Catholic, but am now Episcopalian. (That describes half my congregation, actually. I only know a few "cradle Episcopalians"-- most of us are ex-Catholics. Although, as my dad says, being raised Catholic is kind of like being a recovering alcoholic-- you're always Catholic, even if you're not practicing. Heh. Anyway, I digress.)

Our church is small but warm and supportive, and it has an active kids' program. We go to the children's service; it's short, and no one minds noise or activity. Elle is about as far from a shrinking violet as it is possible to get, so we spend most of the service walking around the church. She's quiet and well-behaved, and comes back for communion and part of the pre-communion stuff (she likes the Great Amen, and is a fan of bells), but mostly, we're active. She'll also stand in front of the little low altar (the space is customized for the kids' service) and watch, or dance if there's music.

My parents think "children need to learn to sit still in church." And I agree with that. I also think, however, that an under-two toddler is not likely to sit still yet, and I don't care-- as long as she is quiet, and not disturbing anyone, it doesn't bother me if she wants to walk around.

My mother actually said that she's quite sure that Elle is "bothering the crap" out of everyone at the children's service by her behavior.

Now, I wouldn't allow her to do this at the full-fledged adult service. That's why we don't GO to the full-fledged adult service. There's a nursery, but right now she's in her clingy mama phase so she won't stay there. Our church also has a little side area for kids, with books and soft toys, but she's not really at the age where she has the attention span to stay there for more than a little while, so an hour-long service is just not a great idea right now. I absolutely agree she'd be a problem at that.

But for the 30 minute children's service? Where kids are handing out communion and babies are on the floor?

Opinions, moms, please. (If there's a dad out there, he's welcome to chime in as well.) Do I need to start forcing Elle to sit in my lap? Because I can do it; I'm a stone bitch if I need to be. I just feel like if she's quiet, and not getting in anyone's way, that it's all right. She goes to church every Sunday. She's starting to learn the songs. She knows many of the other kids and parents. We are part of the community there, and she looks at this as part of our life, and she will grow up with this community and this faith woven into her childhood.

Isn't that my priority?

If I'm off-base, please tell me.

Giving thanks ( a little early)

While Elle's napping on this grey, chilly afternoon, I thought I'd pop in and update. Apologies for the lack of regular updates-- it's been an incredibly busy few weeks, with colds, coughs, and developmental changes. Blogging isn't just taking a back seat; it's dragging behind the car hanging onto a rope for dear life.

We have walking (unsteadily), we have even more talking, we have desperately wanting to see what Mama is doing in the kitchen AT ALL TIMES. We have the increased clinginess/neediness/whining that comes with major developmental changes. We also have the amazing leaps in growth and comprehension that make the clinginess/neediness/whining easier to bear-- her receptive language comprehension grows exponentially every day, and her spoken vocabulary continues to develop. Maybe I should say it continues to become more comprehensible? I feel like she's been saying many of these things/phrases forever, but just hasn't been articulating them to the level where I can understand them. Mama is slow sometimes.

Elle is a joy, every day, even when I'm tired and sneezy and wish I could crawl into bed without obligations, like I did before I became a parent.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful for my amazing daughter. I am thankful my tiny family is healthy, barring colds and sneezy. I am thankful for our friends, who continue to be in my life despite how my life has changed. I'm thankful for my good job and my excellent health insurance. I am thankful for the roof over our heads, the food on our table (even when it gets flung to the floor), and the clothes on our backs. We have been given so many blessings; I don't want to take a single one for granted.

If you celebrate it this week, happy Thanksgiving. If you don't, have a great week.

Visitors

My parents visited this past weekend. They adore Elle. She adores them. She will have precious little (blood) family as she grows up, so I want her to spend as much time as possible with her grandparents for as long as she can. My parents are not young, so all these moments are precious.

They don’t live in the area, unfortunately. I never thought I would want my parents nearby, but now I do-- for Elle, not for me. While they are still healthy, I’d love for them to be able to spend time with her. They talk about moving but just haven’t done what they need to do; some of that is because of the economy, and some of that is that I think they are in a bit of denial about the fact that, if they want to really know Elle, they will need to live in a major metro area that they (well, my dad, at least) doesn’t much care for. I'm not leaving anytime soon. This is where my support network is, and barring some kind of relocation relative to work, this is where I’ll be for a while.

(Someday, I’ll be in Colorado. But that’s a long way away, and my parents will be gone by then.)

What is funny is that when I talk to one of them about it, they each blame the other. And they believe it. Heh.

So they come, and they adore Elle (in their own ways, anyway; my confusion with how my mother interacts with her is a topic for another post). And I end up doing all the heavy lifting to enable them to spend time with her.

I guess that’s my role, maybe? I guess I don’t feel like they’re guests, exactly; they’re family, and I’m used to pitching in when I’m a guest in their home. That same thing doesn’t happen here, although my mother will usually cook at least one meal, which is nice.

I do wish I'd had a child when I was younger. I wasn't ready, though. And if I'd done this five years ago, I wouldn't have Elle; there's a reason for everything. Another advantage of younger parenthood is that my own parents would have been younger, around for more of Elle's life, and probably able to do more with her.

Regrets are natural, but a waste of time in the long run. You can't go back. I don't want to, anyway.

Kisses and dancing, oh my

We have so much going on at Chez Plus One these days. While crawling is still apparently of absolutely no interest whatsoever, it's never boring around here.

- Baby kisses! This week saw the arrival of the first baby kisses from Elle. Big, open-mouthed, wet, slobbery kisses.

The first time it happened I thought she was trying to eat my nose, but then she did the same thing again, aimed at my cheek-- very deliberately, and with a very serious face, her eyes enormous. I realized, then, that it was her version of a kiss.

I can't help laughing when she does it, because my face ends up covered in slobber, but it is so sweet and gentle.

- Baby dancing! She has figured out how to get several of her toys to make noise, including one that plays the ABC song. When the ABC song starts, she starts wiggling her tush and moving her arms around, and sometimes her little head starts bobbing as well. It's ridiculously adorable. I do need to catch it on video.

She can't crawl, has little interest in rolling over (she can, but why bother?), and could care less about putting weight on her legs-- but she's got rhythm.

That's my girl.

I am blessed with a baby that, in general, is a happy, inquisitive, funny little bundle of babyness. She wants your undivided attention ALL the time, and if she doesn't get what she wants she's pretty loud about it (common for babies, I think), but overall she's a happy, good baby. I clearly got a great pick in the baby lottery, and I give thanks for that every day.

My parents were in last weekend, and it continues to be an interesting experience. They adore Elle, but she tires them out quickly (I'm an older mother, thus they are older grandparents). I sometimes think they like the idea of her as much, or more, than they actually like her-- they like having a granddaughter, showing off pictures of her, and talking about the cute things she does. The actual work involved in her, they don't like so much.

I think that's probably fairly typical of grandparents.

But it highlights, again, the fact that when you're a single parent, there's no real respite-- not even with family. I'm OK with that. I just have to remember that and not have other expectations. I am the only person driving this bus, and that's how it is.

They also stay with me when they visit, in my very small house. A friend came over for dinner with them one evening, and commented later that it seems like I spend all my time waiting on them when they visit. Now, my parents would laugh at that, but to some degree my friend is right. We've even had conversations that they don't understand why I'm not cooking dinner for them.

"You just don't think about dinners when we're here, do you?" my mother said.

I looked at her. "I don't think about dinners," I responded. "In general."

When she starts eating a regular dinner, I'll start thinking about cooking. At this age, though, it doesn't make any sense. I'll pop in a frozen dinner or reheat leftovers, and often eat them while she has her evening meal of veggies and cereal, but anything more complicated than that doesn't make sense right now. And if you come visit me and there's a dinner involved, we'll be going out, ordering in, or making something extremely simple (something frozen, or something involving pasta).

They can't afford to stay at a hotel (and that's another post entirely: your lifestyle should reflect your income. If it doesn't, there's a problem), so they stay with me. I want Elle to know them for as long as possible, and to be close to them. But they stay with me and then complain about my house.

If my house is not comfortable, stay elsewhere. If you're staying here, shut up.

I need to find a nicer way to say that.

Advice and consent

People who know me have, more than once, told me that I am ridiculously independent. I have trouble asking for help, for one thing. This is something I have gotten better at out of sheer necessity since I became pregnant, and even more so now that I'm a parent (and a single parent, at that-— help is essential), but I'm still not great at it. I probably never will be.

I'm better at listening to, and taking, advice. While I will stand in the middle of a melting chunk of ice and insist that I AM FINE AND DO NOT NEED HELP, I am the first to admit that I don't know everything, and I like hearing other people's opinions and ideas on things. (So offer me advice how I should get off the ice. Don't offer, God forbid, to help!)

Except, apparently, from my mother.

Some of it is in the delivery, and other people who've heard my mother give advice to me have agreed with me that her delivery is... not necessarily helpful, or easy to accept. (Validation! I love me some validation.) Her incessantly negative opinions of, and advice relative to, bre.astfeeding in the first few weeks following Elle's birth was exhausting and frustrating. I'm still angry about it, to be honest, and rightly or wrongly I attribute some of my difficulties with bfeeding to the stress it caused.

However, that said, I'm sure she has plenty of good information to offer. She did a pretty good job raising me, after all. But for whatever reason, the hair on the back of my neck just goes right up and I can feel myself digging in whenever she starts offering her thoughts on anything to do with Elle.

(Sample: She called smack in the middle of one time when Elle screamed for 2.5 hours for no apparent reason. Mom: “What's wrong?” Me, exhausted: “I don't know. She's just screaming her head off.” Mom: “Is she wet?” Why, thank GOD you asked, mother! My baby daughter has been inconsolable for over an hour and I never even thought to check her diaper! Thank goodness you called with your wise counsel! Seriously, I just looked at the phone and didn't know how to respond.)

It's a shame, because if I was more open to her counsel, I'm sure I'd benefit from it. I'm just not.

My babysitter L, on the other hand, can say pretty much the same thing—- but I listen to her. She's got a son in college and has been watching kids for 15+ years, so she has a good base of experience to draw from. Her advice has been very practical and down-to-earth. I'm also reassured that she notices things about Elle and mentions them to me, so she's clearly paying attention and engaged, which I like a lot.

So I don’t have trouble with accepting advice from motherly figures. Just my mother.

Good to know.

I'm going to bed as soon as I hit "publish post" on this, so please forgive me if it's a brief update!

Visiting the family out-of-state went well. Elle was ridiculously well-behaved, which served the dual purpose of helping my parents worry about me a little less... but they worry about me a little less because they think she's a perfect angel.

She's pretty awesome, but she's no angel. ;)

Got home Tuesday. Wednesday, she had her two month pediatrician visit. This included her first round of vacc.inations. It's now Friday, and my good little snuggly baby has been a raging, screaming hellhound of DOOM ever since.

That is perhaps an overstatement. But not a big one.

She ran a temp Thursday; that's gone today (Friday) but the overall fussiness level remains at Code Red. She was up extra early this morning, too (hey, at least I got a shower in, just in time). She barely napped yesterday, which didn't help how poorly she felt, so today we took three fairly long walks, and on two of them she got at least a half hour nap each. (She will reliably sleep on walks.) That's not much for many babies, but for Elle the non-napper, it helps.

Add in the two other short naps she had at home, and today was at least a day where I wasn't considering breaking out the baby Benad.ryl just to give her poor little body some rest.

I'm hoping she's back to her usual sunny self tomorrow. I'll call the doc if she isn't.

She fell asleep in my arms tonight-- no doubt completely exhausted from screaming her lungs out (I'm sure my neighbors are ready to call child protective services)-- and I looked down at her tiny little face and thought I grew you. You didn't even exist a year ago, and here you are. You're a whole little person, right here. She's amazing.

Now, if she could just get back to herself again. How in the world do mothers (single moms, especially) of colicky babies do it? Seriously, how?

To bed. Hopefully, for the night.

Sunshiny

The last two posts were grumpy and/or sad and/or blue, and as I head out of town for a couple of days I hate to leave that at the top of the blog.

I'm sitting on the sofa net surfing while a guy resurfaces my upstairs bathtub, after which I'll throw my suitcase in the car and go back to visit my hometown for my first baby shower. (This is strategy at its finest-- get away from the fumes, and by the time I'm back on Sunday afternoon, no fumes! I'll still need to shower at the Y for a few days next week, but that's OK. A little yucky, but OK.)

So, on this sunshiny Friday morning, a few good things:

- I threw some box hair coloring on last night, and it looks good. Nice red highlights without the Bozo brassiness of the color I used last time (which they've discontinued, possibly because of the Bozo factor...). I did miss my temples, as I was wearing my glasses, but with my hair down you can't tell. And it's the temp kind, so I can fix shortly.

- It is a beautiful day. Absolutely beautiful. Perfect crisp blue sky, temps under 70... couldn't be nicer.

- I have wingmen for the shower in my hometown-- G is coming with, and my friend K is coming as well. K's husband is from the same area, so she's combining visiting her mother-in-law with the shower. It will be good to have them around as backup. They both know some of my recent struggles and, I think, will be a nice bumper.

As I said to another friend yesterday, though, I have to work to be the better person on this stuff: know my boundaries, set them with a smile, and let the other stuff roll off me. Easier said than done with family, I know. But that's what my goal needs to be. Making myself crazy over this does no one any good, and I cannot change how they act. I can only change how I react.

- The sproglet continues to be just fine: measuring absolutely normally, normal heartbeat, etc. She's also already head-down and has been for a couple of weeks. I'm hoping she stays that way-- she's an active but not overly-active fetus, so hopefully there's no flipping around at the last minute.

Also, my blood pressure, sugar, and weight continue to track right in the center of the "normal" range. Excellent. I'm always happy to be boringly normal on this kind of stuff.

I know that this couldn't possibly be a less exciting post, but at least it's not gloomy doomy. Have a great weekend, all.

Not your typical Mother's Day post

I hate clicking on a link to a blog-- that's linked at an aggregation site, so theoretically they want to be found-- and it's 100% password protected. Hey, I have no problem with wanting privacy. But then perhaps you should have that link taken down.

**

Childbirth class is over. Now I just need to practice the relaxation techniques. The instructor says to practice every day. I'm going to be very, very happy if I practice five times a week!

**

At lunch with a friend last weekend, we were talking about my impending parenthood, and our parents. This friend has a somewhat troubled relationship with her mom, so one of our topics when we get together one-on-one is often our dynamics with our mothers.

My mom and I have had a fairly stable and generally good relationship for years, but my pregnancy has definitely upset that particular apple cart. She's thrilled about the baby, which is wonderful. But her excitement has led to what I can only describe as something that looks a lot like mania: she wants to talk, all the time, about everything. Everything, anything. Constantly. In monologue format; there's very little actual conversation. No detail is too small to obsess over.

They live out of town, so in the past we've talked on the phone once a week; maybe twice if something specific comes up. She's now calling me far more than that-- not every day, but close. And after me being in the workforce for more years than I'd rather count, she still doesn't understand that when I'm at work, I don't have 20 minutes to talk about where everyone will be sitting at the shower. (And even if I did have 20 minutes, I don't care, though I'll be polite.) Despite conversations repeatedly over many years about how I'm at work, she still gets insulted that I keep the conversations short.

She also calls in the evenings, when the last thing I want to do is talk on the phone after a full day of... talking on the phone for my job. And if she calls and leaves a message and doesn't hear back quickly, I get multiple messages in That Tone Of Voice. (All you daughters know the Tone I mean.)

So it's a whole thing. I've been trying hard to approach this with empathy: she's thrilled. She's just got me, and had more or less given up any hope of a grandchild, and here one comes. I'm so happy she's happy. I'm lucky she's happy and supportive. But I am what I am.

Long story short, I was talking with my friend about this. I didn't realize, I told her, how this was going to change my life. And not in the way I expected-- obviously, being a parent is a massive, massive change I probably can't even imagine.

What I didn't realize was how my parenthood was going to open my life up to my family. And not always in ways I like, or am comfortable with.

I'm already changing my life for my daughter, and I am ready and willing and excited about it. But I don't think I can change for my parents-- at least not in the way I think they want me to.

This baby is not going to turn me into the daughter of my mother's dreams.

I'm still going to be the vaguely crabby, flamingly liberal, not Catholic any more single daughter who just isn't like all the other daughters of her friends. I'm not likely to suddenly start living in a four-bedroom house with a two car garage, 2.5 kids and a membership to the local country club.

And I'm not going to ever be the daughter who calls her mother every day.

For the record, I hope my daughter isn't either when she's my age. I hope her life is full and rich. I also hope that she thinks of me-- and calls me every so often. For a conversation.

Because she wants to.

One boring life, in bullets

Blogging has been light around here-- even lighter than usual. Sorry about that. Until the childbirth class is over next week, I'm hardly home during the week, which means weekends are spent running around even more than usual. And blogging about the dullness of my life isn't exactly number one with a bullet when I'm either busy or exhausted, or busy and exhausted.

A few things in short format:

- Had a long lovely lunch with P last weekend. The chicken salad was good, but the company was much better. I love how you can not see a friend for a while, but you just pick right up where you left off. I feel very lucky.

- I do not have a dress for the shower(s) yet. Grr. I'm going shopping weekend after next with a friend who has excellent fashion karma, and I'm hoping it will rub off. I did order this dress, because it looks flattering and is a terrific color. (I'll need to shorten it, I'm guessing.) With a cardigan and cute shoes, it may end up being my shower dress. We'll see.

On a side note, maternity clothes, tops in particular, are ugly. Trying to find decent tops I can wear to work-- that aren't ridiculously priced-- is hard. I'll probably spend the last month in Target dresses.

- I also do not have a crib yet. It's a long story, and it's not pretty. I just want it ordered and on the way-- I don't need it here. I need to know it's coming.

(That, by the way, seems to be my particular pregnancy hormonal kink-- if I get something on my mental list of What Must Be Done, it becomes a pretty serious mental issue if it isn't getting done. As in, near-hysteria. Things like dishes or laundry aren't on the list-- which may be for the best-- but the bigger house stuff? That's all on the list, and I get very, very worked up if I'm not making progress on the list. I guess there are worse hormonal kinks I could be stuck with, but this one isn't exactly restful-- especially when I have to depend on others for much of what needs to be done. Argh.)

- I went to the theatre last weekend and saw an... interesting production of Cabaret. (Well-done, yes. But some disconcerting changes, including a subversive female MC.) I'm taking advantage of getting out when I can, pre-baby (seeing another show this weekend)-- but I have to say, the sproglet apparently enjoyed it. She was pretty feisty throughout, which cracked me up (she's not normally an evening fetus).

- People at work STILL have not figured out I'm pregnant. I'm 29 weeks, people, and have a visible belly! I've told people! It's just not getting around. Most people are probably going to realize it next week, when I am teaching a class. Heh.

I hope the people who know don't think I'm ashamed. Would I rather be married (or heck, even partnered) and expecting? Absolutely, for a thousand reasons. But I'm not. Congratulations welcomed regardless. :)

Oy. To sleep I go. Happy Wednesday.

Holiday weekend

It was a long weekend. Well, no. Technically, it wasn't a long weekend; I worked Friday until 4 and was back at work bright and early this morning. It was long in terms of content, not length.

I'm really not up for dissecting it just yet, but suffice it to say that I did not get the crib ordered (because I walked away from a conversation that was going nowhere before I whacked someone), I did get the glider ordered (but it cost several hundred dollars more than I expected), and I did not get any help picking out rugs (I'm sorry, but I just don't have time to endlessly bargain shop or debate the precise shade of blue necessary; I need a damn rug, and waiting until a week before the baby arrives is unacceptable).

And I'm really freaking glad to have the family out of my house this evening.

One positive: they brought with them several boxes of hand-me-downs from a friend's two daughters. I swear, I can probably outfit the sprog with just what was sent on. And it's lovely stuff, in great condition, from newborn up through 2T. I have to do some organizing and laundry, but I have a serious lot of clothing now.

A simple thank you note seems somehow inadequate. I'll have to think of something.

Coaching, shopping, and cheating

So much going on, as always!

This week I asked one of my two best friends, G, to be my birth coach. She enthusiastically accepted, which is a big load off my mind. Because of my due date, this means she can’t take one of her usual summer vacations, so it’s even nicer of her.

“There’s no one I’d rather have there,” I told her, and I meant it.

Additional bonus: my parents practically consider her their second daughter, and she’s really good with them. Given that they’re inevitably going to need to be “handled” during the whole L&D process, and I’m probably not going to have any ability to be subtle or polite, she’ll be invaluable.

(My other best friend lives an hour away, at least, and has two young kids. Just getting to the birthing classes would be a major chore for her.)

Placeholder for future post: “handling” my parents. And not during L&D: now.

We’ve got some issues. Or I do, anyway.

(Also, I have a lot of placeholders for future posts. Sorry ‘bout that.)

***

Updated note on shopping: THERE’S JUST SO MUCH TO BUY.

At lunch this week, when I brought up that I was just going to get a used bassinet from Cra*gslist if I couldn’t find a used one from among my friends, G sternly reminded me that I need to register, because people need stuff to buy.

“But I’m registering for everything!” I protested. And seriously, I am. There’s a crapload of gear, and even though I’m trying to be smart about things (hello, I don’t need two pa*ck and plays—my house is hardly big enough for one), there’s still a crapload of gear.

“People need stuff to buy for you,” she said again.

I get that, but part of me would rather register for what I really need. I mean, I’m going to get plenty of clothes regardless, and I’m going to make sure I register for stuff like onesies and sleeper gowns and receiving blankets and crib sheets and a baby monitor and all the basic essentials. But if there’s a piece of gear that seems superfluous—like a bassinet, which I can find used for $40 online (or hopefully can find for free)—wouldn’t it be better for people to put the money they might have spent on a bassinet on something else? I mean, the bassinet is used for a couple of months, tops. Why in the world do I need a new one?

Take that money and go in with someone (or several someones) and get me my overpriced but highly rated Brit*ax carseat for when the sproglet is over 25 pounds, thanks. That’ll be a bigger help.

Relative to Stuff, I’m having to resist crocheting baby gear, as I’ve been informed by numerous people that they’re covering those bases. Oh, well. Nothing wrong with crocheting for charity. (I cannot STAND to sit idle; if I’m watching a movie or TV, I have to do something else. Better crochet than munch.)

***

Prenatal yoga continues to be a fantastic oasis in my week. I am the laziest lazy person to ever exemplify lazy, and yet I can’t wait to get there.

Last week, the wife of someone I work with started class. She actually used to work with me as well. We were not close, for reasons I won’t go into here, and she has about four brain cells in her entire head. Sadly, I’m pretty sure that none of those brain cells are aware of the fact that her husband’s been messing around with someone else since well before she got pregnant. (Nice.)

Of course, I can’t bring myself to feel too sorry for her. She was messing around with her now-husband while he was still married to his first wife, and his first wife had a newborn at home.

I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a better poster child for “you reap what you sow.”

It’d all be hilarious if there weren’t children involved.

Domesticity

I'm basically posting this because I'm avoiding going to the gym.

I believe in full disclosure.

** **

I have a friend's birthday party tonight, and she's requested a potluck Thanksgiving dinner. No presents, just dinner. I offered to make the stuffing. (Well, it will be dressing, since I'm not cooking it in the turkey.)

Stuffing, in my family, is a Very Big Deal. My mother's stuffing is legendary. I've seen people practically stop breathing when they taste it. When I had a roommate, if I didn't bring her back leftovers after the Thanksgiving holiday, it was the ultimate insult.

In fact, my mother's stuffing is so good that she won't let anyone else make it. That includes me. So, while I've watched her make stuffing for my entire life, I've never actually been allowed to make it. (I'm allowed to do all the chopping, though. Nice.)

You don't really learn to cook anything, I think, until you have to make it myself. So today, for the first time, I made dressing. It's sitting in a nice blue casserole dish, waiting to bake for 45 minutes or so before I go to the party (and it can finish off when I get there). Having tasted the mix, I can say two things:

1. It is not my mother's dressing.
2. It does not suck, regardless of #1.

I already know a couple of things I'll do differently next time, so the experiment was a success.

And I made stuffing. I feel like a real grown-up now, somehow.

Also, random thought for the day: I was back from my errands before 11 a.m. Note to self: the grocery store really is that much less crowded if you get your butt out of bed earlier. Worth it!

It's still the holidays, darn it

Hey! How were your holidays! Here at chez Plus One they were nice; as usual, Santa was ridiculously good to me. Also, there were no blowouts with visiting family, which is nice. There was stomach flu, but (knock wood) not from me.

It is snowing. It has been snowing. It feels as if it will always be snowing. I know this is not rational, but there it is.

I promise a longer, more thoughtful, and more interesting update later this week. I have genetic testing on Tuesday, for instance, and want to talk about the process as well as my thoughts on the whys and wherefores. But today, I'm just enjoying having the house back to myself, and I need to get to the gym. So far, weight gain has just been in the belly area, and I'd like to keep it that way.

So off I go. See you soon, when I have something more to offer. :)

Be happy

"You don't sound happy. You should be happy!"

This is a direct quote from my mother.

Apparently, I'm supposed to always sound happy, and if I don't, that means I'm not happy. I'm not quite sure how this computes, but in her mind, it does. So I get a lecture about being happy. And then she passes the phone to my father, who asks why I'm unhappy and what's wrong, and tells me that I should be happy.

There are so many problems with all this logic that I'm not even sure where to start. Sounding happy does not, repeat not, equal being happy. Trust me on this: I've put on the perky voice during times when I was so far from happy as to be practically comatose. I've sounded happy talking to people I'd like to set on fire.

What my parents are telling me, basically, is that I should fake it. That I should sound happy, because it makes them feel better-- regardless of how I'm feeling during the conversation. And, you know, if that's what they want? Come out and say it.

For the record, I'm in a fine mood today. I've gotten some stuff done, have puttered around the house, and am about to go to the gym. It's a nice day, if a bit gloomy. We were having a good conversation, but apparently, I wasn't up to the happy standard of their day.

(Tangentially, somewhere out there, there's a really good essay by someone (Kate Harding? Amanda Marcotte? Can't find it now) about how annoying it is, as a woman, to be told by complete strangers (generally men) to smile. That's about the level of annoyance I feel when one of my own parents tells me to sound happy.)

I'm continually amazed that I've reached this ripe old age of 40-something, and my parents still don't have the faintest idea who I am. I told a good friend once that my parents think my being politically liberal is a "phase." Her response was "Do they know you?"

(Frequent Citations is wise. And absolutely accurate.)

Anyway. I'm actually in a fine mood, despite how I may sound. Hope you all are, too.

Heading out tomorrow for Turkey Day with the family. I hope everyone has a wonderful, safe, tryptophan-laden holiday.

It's a grab-bag roundup

Had a nice weekend with family in town. They ended up leaving early, actually, which was OK-- it wasn't for bad reasons. They were being considerate, mostly, given they know my horrific schedule this week, and they saw me working at home both Friday and Saturday nights. (They're also not entirely comfortable in my house, but that's more because of their personalities than it is anything else, so I try not to worry about it. Much.)

So I had an unexpected, free Sunday afternoon, and it was much appreciated. Of course, "free" included going in to work, so.

** **

Early last week I attended volunteer orientation for the local animal shelter, and today-- in between work, Tar.get, and a quick trip to the gym-- I squeezed in my first trip over. It was excellent, excellent therapy, even though I couldn't stay long.

I walked a stocky, older little Shih Tzu mix who was absolutely delighted to get out, but who tired early on; we ended up taking our sweet time on the second half of the walk. At one point, she found something yummy in the grass, and her ecstatic back-rubbing roll was so reminiscent of my Vertigo Dog that I got tears in my eyes. It was worth it, though.

** **

I have a week coming up at work that is going to be incredibly, incredibly difficult on a personal level. My job involves doing some things that are extremely difficult; sometimes, they're painful. This is that kind of a week. And, while I can feel sorry for myself all I want, my angst is not the point this week. Not at all.

I'm also going to have to travel with all my fertility drugs, two of which have to be kept cold. I can't wait to deal with airport screening on that one. Plus, you know, injecting myself while in the airport bathroom stall. Oh, yeah.

** **

Speaking of drugs, I promised to post a picture of the big stack o'drugs.

From ...plus one

Impressive, hm?

I started shots today. It's surprisingly easy and painless. But I suspect it will be a little less easy in an airport bathroom stall.

Whine, whine.

Tell me something happy?