Or maybe paint chips?

Every year one of our vendors sends all our environmental personnel a pizza from Gino's East in Chicago. Every year I seriously debate intercepting the shipment and claiming all the pizzas as my own. This year's offering came in this morning, and now all I can think about is pizza. Omnomnomnomnom.

Yesterday we had some bigwigs from the company we're merging with visiting our office. There were some pretty specific rules of conduct, as listed at the staff meeting the day before:

No burping
No farting
No cussing
No pets
No butt crack
No crack
No cussing
No nose-picking
No cell phones
No cussing
No yelling
No booze (unless you bring enough for everyone)

It goes without saying that the mere fact these were listed at the staff meeting - and not entirely tongue-in-cheek, either - explains why I love my workplace so damn much.

I'm proud to say that I think we all conducted ourselves in a mostly professional manner (I did let out one loud squawk while imitating "Stumpy the Christmas Vulture" but it went largely unnoticed). I hope our visitors left thinking what a fantastic asset we'll be, and not, "holy shit, do they do engineering work or do they sit around all day and eat glue?"

Micah Cam: First Words Edition

Ball:



Moon:



Martian-Speak:

'Tis the season

This weekend was EXHAUSTING.

Saturday morning, we had a clean-up day at work to spruce up our office for some bigwigs coming into town on Wednesday. Saturday afternoon, I went to Jessica's Christmas party where we almost burned down her apartment with an exploding candle and ate a lot of cookies. Sunday afternoon Todd and I hosted our own Christmas party (complete with two 4-year-olds, one 8-year-old, one 15-month-old, one 9-month-old, one 6-month old, and a partridge in a pear tree) and therefore spent most of the morning prepping and the rest of the evening in recovery. Take all that and add in one feral, vicious toddler who refused to nap the entire weekend and HOO BOY, I'm glad it's Monday.

Not so long ago I mentioned that our house was officially on the market. After only 19 days, we got an offer. A really GOOD offer. Now our house is under contract, with closing scheduled for *deep breath* December 30th. It goes without saying that we'd expected it to take months to sell our house, not weeks.

We made a deal to rent the house back from the new owner until January 11th, partly to give us the holidays, and partly to give us time to find somewhere to live for the next four to six months while our new house is being built. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a rental house with a fence that allows pets and doesn't require a minimum 12-month lease? Right now, we have a deal to rent a house in the neighborhood we're building in, and since it's owned by the developer, we don't have to worry about breaking a lease to move when the new one is completed. The only downside is, he won't spring to finish the fence, so we can't keep Niki with us. The current plan is for her to stay with friends at night, and come to work with me during the day.

In the meantime, we're going to enjoy our last few weeks in the house. Last year we kind of missed Christmas, so this year we're making an effort to celebrate. We actually had friends over for the first time in a couple years, and we'll be hosting Christmas dinner at our house with my sister's family and my parents in attendance. I'm hoping to finish my Christmas shopping BEFORE Christmas Eve. I'm also still planning on mailing out Christmas cards, once the pictures come in later this week. I should have done photocards, but I figured why not make it harder?

On top of all that, I'm putting together my application to (finally) take the PE exam in April. Once that's submitted in January, it's time to start studying. I haven't used most of my general engineering knowledge in over six years, so I've got my work cut out for me.

But I'll just go ahead and say now that no matter what else piles on, I have three days at the end of December when our office is closed but the daycare is open, and I intend to spend at least one of those days doing absolutely NOTHING. And it will be awesome.

December 9 Sunset

Taken out of the car window during my evening commute down Highway 53.

Saving Dinner: Week 1

I work full-time, Todd works full-time, and we have a 15 month old child. When we get home in the evening, we're all tired and hungry, and the baby is very very angry. Too often, we haven't planned anything for dinner, and so we spend five to ten minutes staring into the pantry, glassy-eyed and mouthbreathing, before we either a) make tacos or b) go out. Other weeks, we end up running to grocery store nearly every night on the way home to pick up an ingredient, because we didn't plan a menu out prior to shopping on the weekend. It's not that we don't like to cook, or that we don't know how - we just suck at planning and, honestly, we're kind of lazy.

Of course, that laziness is costing us time and money, and when we eat out we're not eating healthy foods. When we're at a restaurant, I have a hard time finding food I want Micah to eat, because most of it is terrible for him, especially the vegetables. Then that starts me thinking, well, if I won't give it to him, why am I eating it? We knew we should cook at home, and we really were trying, but we obviously needed a better system.

A while back (a VERY long while back), my mother gave us a copy of Saving Dinner. It's a book that plans out menus for a week at a time, compiles the shopping lists, offer tips on how to speed up the process by doing certain steps ahead of time....and basically removes all excuses for not cooking at home. The book has been collecting dust on the shelf with all the other cookbooks lo these many years, until I happened to drag it out Saturday. After quickly determining that Micah wasn't interested in waiting for us to compile our own menus and shopping list, we decided to just go ahead and give it a shot.

Last night we started off the week's menu, and dinner was fantastic. We already know what we're eating tonight and all the ingredients are on hand. That's a huge change right there. The first spouse home can start on dinner, without our usual phone calls of "what are we having? did you take anything out to thaw? can you stop by and pick up _____?" Just having a plan is a relief. And if tonight's meal taste as good as last night's, we'll be in good shape!

Hopefully, this is a plan we will actually stick to. We'll see how it goes.

And we're off!

Tuesday night after dinner I was puttering around in the kitchen when Todd called me from the other room. I turned the corner to the hallway, and there was Micah, walking. He walked to me, back to his dad, back to me, back to his dad. And he's been on the go, off and on, since then.

My favorite part is how he walks exactly like a zombie: shuffling, stiff-legged gait, arms held out in front of him. He's smiling the entire time, though. And just as he comes within reach, with a shriek of glee he gives up the last few steps and throws himself at you, trusting you to catch him. There's nothing like the feeling of watching your grinning baby toddling towards you at top speed.

So there we are. Milestone. Micah walked at 14 months and 19 days. And here the days of peace officially ended.

(Or maybe that was back in September 2008?)

I honestly think all the running around of the past weekend had a lot to do with it. For Thanksgiving we visited Todd's family in Knoxville, and Micah had a blast for every non-nap-time moment of the trip. He spent most of the days outside with his Papa, pushing his walking toy up and down the driveway and road. They must have walked at least a couple of miles. The rest of the time, he was crawling up and down their stairs inside. They're wooden stairs with open risers, and I spent every second of his adventures right behind him, resisting the urge to pounce every time he slipped a little. I try to be a pretty easy-going, non-hyper parent, but even so, letting the baby climb the stairs of death without interfering unduly was a big event in my just-relax-already parenting method.

To go along with the improved mobility, we also have the advanced temper tantrum. Micah has now entered a charming new phase in which, when displeased, he throws himself to the ground and howls. If you're holding him, he wiggles, thrashes, kicks, arches his back, throws back his head, claws, and slaps until you let him go. Then he throws himself on the floor. And ya'll, let me just say, I have a Very Hard Time dealing with it with patience. The other day he caught me across the face, and I swear, I was right back to looking for a woodchipper. I'm trying to figure out a new strategy for dealing with Rabid Badger Baby - preferably one that doesn't involve duct tape - because when that shit goes down, I need to have a PLAN, people. Otherwise, someone's gonna end up in the dryer, and I outweigh the little jerkface by at least a hundred pounds.

But it's not all tantrums and screaming. Actually, most of the time, Micah's in a pretty incredible stage. He's talking more, and always pointing at things with his question sound. He brings us books, then turns around and scoots into our laps so we can read to him. He laughs like crazy if you toss him into the pillows on the bed. He gets behind his push toy and zooms at things at top speed with a maniacal grin on his face. He shrieks with delight when the dog licks him, and he's intent on one day catching a cat. He is obsessed with bouncy balls and kick balls and basket balls and exercise balls and anything even remotely resembling a ball (the moon is a big hit). He loves to climb, he snuggles, he sleeps all night. He is just awesome, in nearly every way, and our lives right now are so, so good.

Whee!

What better way to get me interested in posting here again than to futz around with the layout and screw everything up? I'm sure I borked something, so if you'd be so kind as to let me know if anything's wonky, I'd appreciate it.

Betrayed by the calendar

Sunday was our open house marking the official switch to on-the-market status. We spent the last week slaving over the few remaining home improvement projects, but all the hard work paid off - our realtor was blown away when she walked in on Sunday. Sadly, thanks to the rain, only one person actually stopped by to check it out, but she loved it so much, she came back later with her husband. He was concerned the bedrooms might be too small for their 14 and 17 year old sons (which, okay, that's kind of why we're moving), but she wanted to come back and look at it again later this week. If it makes that good an impression on even half the people who come by, we'll be in good shape!

But yeah, our house is officially ON SALE. I'm excited that we're moving forward, but also kind of depressed because man, I love that house. If it was only just a little bigger, it would be perfect.

Other than that, it's like...November or something? And I guess Thanksgiving is this week? Hey, looks like it's time for my annual "Christmas is in five weeks OMGWTFBBQ" freak-out. Because Christmas shopping? Done? HAHAHAHAHAOHNOES.

Close to Home

When I went into labor at a little over 33 weeks, I received two doses of a steroid for fetal lung development and several different medications that stopped my labor. I spent three weeks on bed rest, on a variety of drugs. My son was born healthy at almost 37 weeks.

Micah never spent a single day in the NICU, and that is entirely due to the research and the science behind all those medications. Without them, our story would likely be very very different.

The rate of premature births is rising. One in eight babies born in America is premature. As in my case, it's usually not known what causes preterm labor. Research into life-saving treatments is good. Research into causes and prevention is even better. And both of those things take money.

Please, please take a moment to go here and donate to the March of Dimes. Your donation will help fund research into the causes of preterm labor and the treatment of complications from prematurity. Too many stories don't end as well as ours.

In between

Our house goes on the market on November 20th. We have a pre-con meeting for the new house tomorrow. Suddenly, this whole building/selling/moving thing is seeming just a bit more real. And scary.

(Hold me.)

The house is almost ready. We're down to nothing but painting, so Todd's mother is coming into town tomorrow to wrangle the boy while we work. This past weekend, Todd finished the new floor in our bathroom and yesterday, he installed all the trim and even put the hardware on the vanity we've had for over a year. I almost don't want to move now. I finally LIKE nearly everything in the house - I want to enjoy it, dammit!

The hope is that the house sells quickly, but not so quickly we find ourselves on the street before the new house is finished. Or it sells right away, and the buyer can lease it back to us for a while. Whatever. I hate moving, and I only want to suffer once. We'll see how that works out.

Other than getting ready to sell our house, there's the whole lawsuit thing that's going on. It's slowly ramping up, and...y'all, I don't know what to say. It's pretty uncool to know you did a good job, to have the evidence SHOW you've done a good job, but to have someone say you didn't because they want a new BMW or a trip to Disneyworld. [REST OF INCREASINGLY-BITTER PARAGRAPH REDACTED UPON FURTHER CONSIDERATION]

In other happier news, Micah took his first three steps at daycare yesterday, one day shy of 14 months. Here we go!

One year ago today

That was long, dark day, but I'm glad we didn't have any takers.

People say we monkey around

On days like this, I'm torn between sympathy for daycare teachers everywhere, and a bubbling, maniacal glee that I'm not the one who has to deal with my child melting down over the time change. Can you imagine a more stressful job than managing a bunch of cranky toddlers whose nap and eating schedules have just been blown to hell, all because some dude 90 years ago decided it would be fun to screw with the entire country twice a year? No, I'll gladly sub that experience out, kthxbai.

Halloween was a lot of fun. My sister and her family came over, so we all went out trick-or-treating in our neighborhood together. Micah's still too young to really get it, but he's old enough to wear an adorable costume and ride on his dad's shoulders. The curly monkey tail hanging down Todd's back was the best part. I took a bunch of pictures, but I don't have any of Micah perched six feet up, hanging on to his dad's hair for dear life. He had fun sitting up there, but I'm pretty sure Todd is now several degrees balder.

Saturday afternoon, we took Micah to his second hockey game to watch UAH play Bemidji State. His first one was last year, when he was still a tiny baby. He was completely freaked out by all the noise, so we skipped the rest of the season. Now that he's older, he was fascinated by it all - the pep band, the players on the ice, the cheers - at least at first. Towards the end, he veered into "hungry tired angry velociraptor" territory, and I spent the last few minutes of the game trying to keep him from furiously crawling through 20 years of accumulated spilled cola residue. Still, it was a success! His cousin Daniel had a good time too, dancing along with the pep band, repeating cheers he probably shouldn't have heard at the tender age of 4 years, and running up and down the stands. Too bad so few games are scheduled in the afternoon. A few more like that, and we'll have both kids trained up as properly bloodthirsty hockey fans. What makes the ice melt? Blood blood blood! STAB HIM WITH YOUR SKATE!

I guess I'm learning

After last Monday's parenting fiasco, I was more than a little worried at the prospect of being a single parent for four full days, three of them working days. I mean, I had just proven I couldn't be trusted to deal with small children like a rational grown-up should, and the universe's response was, "suck it up and, oh by the way, here's four whole days to not screw up again."

But, you guys, I KICKED ASS.

Every morning I was up in time to get everything ready for work and daycare before Micah even woke up. I got both of us out the door - fed, dressed, and clean, and with all the proper accessories - in time to be at work by 8:30. Then, I worked eight (very stressful) hours, got us both home, cooked dinner, got the baby bathed and in bed, and cleaned up the house, all before 9:00. All by myself!

I know that sounds awfully easy, and why the hell is she making such a big deal out of this? But unless you've been there, you have no idea. Things have been INSANE at work, and keeping up with a 13-month-old isn't exactly stress-free. I honestly didn't think I could keep all those balls in the air without help...but I did.

And now, I need a nap.

Moving on...

Hey, look, baby hands!

You can't take it back

This morning was awful.

Despite the fact that he has the whole day off, Todd had a PT appointment at 7 this morning. In the rush to get everything put back together from the weekend's home-improvement binge, last night we skipped our routine of assembling everything for the next morning. The end result was an early-morning scramble to get cups, blankets, clothing, and lunches together. The whole time, Micah was whining constantly and throwing a tantrum at every turn. And at some point after Todd left, between hunting for a clean crib sheet and trying to bundle everything into the car while Micah wailed and tantrumed in the background, I hit the end of my rope.

The scene that followed with Micah was not pretty. I think I'll keep the shameful details to myself, but it ended with both of us huddled together on the floor of the bedroom, sobbing our hearts out on each other's shoulders.

The whole drive in to the daycare and the office, I just felt smaller and smaller and smaller. I remember the look in his eyes, the tiny hiccupping sobs shaking his little body while he pushed away from me in fear, and oh, I want to crawl into a hole. The guilt is crushing - I think my heart might just shatter under it.

For the life of me, I can't figure out WHY it was so important to be out of the door on time. I mean, compared to my CHILD, my job runs a distant 158th on the priority scale. So how did I forget that? It would have taken me an extra 15 minutes to, oh I don't know, BE A PARENT. Surely he's worth that? I can't decide if I'm more upset that I lost my temper, or that (in the moment) I felt like getting to work by 8 AM justified it.

He was fine when we got to the daycare. And when I snuck back in to see him at 10, he was thrilled. I stayed as long as I could, playing with him, holding him, tickling him and listening to his laugh. He, at least, has forgiven me. It may be a while before I can do the same, though.

Welcome to 28

Whatever daycare-brewed sickness Micah got into on Monday returned with a vengeance on Friday. He threw up Friday night in his crib and again on Saturday morning. By Saturday afternoon, I was sick too. I spent most of Sunday asleep in bed, while Todd wrangled the recovering-yet-still-angry baby. I took yesterday off of work for the specific purpose of reacquainting myself with solid food (mission status: Uncertain). As birthdays go, I think it's fair to say that I've had better.

No time like the present

Monday evening, I was driving home with Micah in his brand new carseat. There was complete silence - usually he falls asleep on the way. But about halfway through the commute, right when I was committed to reaching the house, having passed all gas stations or other convenient pull-offs, that golden silence was broken with a resounding SPLATTER.

That's one of those parenting moments where you freeze in your seat, because you don't want to know what just happened.

Sure enough, my darling child had expelled what looked like every bite of food consumed within the previous 72 hours, all over himself and the carseat. I think both our faces bore the same look of "WTF WAS THAT?" I scrambled for a few wipes to clean up what I could, but there wasn't much I could do. He had to marinate until we got to the house. The brand new carseat? Decidedly broken in.

The next morning, when we went in to get him up, he'd had a repeat performance in the crib. So I spent Tuesday with a sick, clingy baby in tow. It looks like it was just a 12-hour stomach bug, the sneaky kind with no fever. Really, by Tuesday afternoon, he was mostly back to normal, so we met up with my sister and her children for a walk.

Back at the beginning of June, I talked to my bosses about going part-time and they were very supportive. Then, just as we were about to sit down and work out specifics, I found out I was pregnant. Facing the prospect of three months without any pay at all, plus all the extra costs without that second insurance policy, I changed my mind and told them I'd continue to work full-time.

Of course, at the end of June we found out that wasn't the case at all. But I felt bad about jerking my company around, the workload increased exponentially, and we learned that one of my coworkers is moving to North Carolina at the end of October. Since then, I haven't given the issue much serious thought, and when I have, I've wondered how I can possibly keep up only working three days a week.

But Tuesday afternoon was actually a lot of fun. And yesterday, I left work early, picked up Micah from daycare, and took him home so we could sit out in the yard and play. Micah's becoming a little person, one with whom you can actually Do Things, and I enjoy spending time with him. It's finally hit me (again) how much I want that time, how much I want to be the one taking him places and showing him things. I could never stay at home full-time, but I think part-time would give me the best of both worlds.

So, I suppose it's time for me to once again sit down, go through our budget, sort through my work, and start trying to make it happen.

How do you like to go up in a swing, up in the air so blue?

Saturday, we met up with my sister's family at a local playground and Micah got to try the swing for the very first time. He wasn't a huge fan at first, but he caught on after Daniel got in the swing next to him. Next time, maybe he'll be a little more adventurous.

Unrelated

It's been almost three months since the miscarriage. Three months. I wouldn't have believed it at the time, but now there are whole days that go by and I don't think about it even once. Like it happened to someone else, or not at all.

But then there are days like Saturday and Sunday and today, when the "would have beens" come out to play. By now, we would have known she was a girl. We'd be picking out names and registering for a second crib. I'd be wearing my maternity clothes again, and watching my belly jump as she kicked and rolled. We'd be telling Micah about his baby sister and making plans for how we'd help him adjust.

Even though days may go by without consciously thinking about her, I can't stop myself from tracking this not-pregnancy in the back of my mind. I'm still counting down to January, but for what, I'm not sure.

Request for Admissions

I'm working on editing the responses our lawyer has prepared for the lawsuit, and I think the stress must be getting to me, because I have the uncontrollable urge to include things like:

1) Denied. However, we fully and freely admit the Plaintiff's mother was a hamster. Furthermore, based on information and belief, we admit the Plaintiff's father smelt of elderberries.

2) Denied. We also deny having ever waved our genitalia at the Plaintiff's mother.

3) Admitted. We further admit the Plaintiff is a money-grubbing, mouth-breathing moron.

4) Denied. However, we admit the Plaintiff's grandfather's work was DOO-DOO.

5) Denied. We further deny that these are the droids the Plaintiff is looking for.

Hmm

I can't put my finger on it, but there's something I love about these pictures.

What a difference a year makes

Compare this:

To this:

It doesn't really seem possible.

One Year

Dear Micah,

One year ago today, we were just coming home with you for the first time. You were a tiny, grey-eyed, red-haired little thing, born four weeks early, and three weeks later than we thought you'd be. It poured down rain during the drive home, and I suddenly realized I'd be spending the rest of my life worried that something would happen to you. I just as quickly realized I'd just have to get over it, or else I'd drive us all insane.

That first month was a blur, the second and third a trial, but sometime in January, you suddenly blossomed into a happy, smiling, cuddly baby. You've been charming everyone around you ever since. We've been through some rough times, especially this summer, but your laugh melts my heart and brings a smile to my face every single time. I don't know that I'll ever be immune to it, but hopefully you'll use that power only for good.

July had a profound effect on me. I never took you for granted, but the miscarriage made me appreciate what a miracle you really, truly are. We are so blessed to have you, and I am totally, completely aware of that every single day. I regret with all my heart that you won't have a sister this winter, but at the same time, it's made me stop and enjoy every moment with you instead of letting time just drift by. I think that's her gift to both of us.

You are endlessly fascinating. Every tiny milestone is a marvel, every small skill mastered is proof, PROOF I SAY, that you are the most amazing person ever, anywhere. I'll qualify that out in public, for politeness, but we all know it's true.

You jabber, shriek, and burble. You howl with laughter when we tickle you, and you growl at your toy lion. You say geegah (kitty cat), mama, dada, bawa (Nala), see. You can bap your little paws together in the sign for more, although for you it really means "food please." You point at things that interest you and rattle off sentences and questions in Martian. You're fascinated by the new mobile that now hangs from the ceiling above your crib. "See? See?" you ask, and you point and laugh when we spin it around for you.

When one of us walks into the room, you scramble towards us as fast as you can, head down, until you run into our legs, then you hold out your arms to be picked up. You're a great snuggler and you give the best hugs. You wave bye-bye and blow kisses. You love to hand things to people, then take them back again.

And good god, child, you eat. You're done with baby food; no, you want the real thing now. Peas, corn, beans, cantaloupe, watermelon, pears, apple, peaches, waffles, muffins, pizza, chicken, pork, barbeque, rolls, steak, fish. You like spicy things – garlic, red pepper, cinnamon, nutmeg. If it wasn't for a reaction to milk, egg, and pineapple, I think you'd eat pretty much anything. Most of the time, you have the same things for dinner we do, and you are insanely neat about it – it's only after you've finished that you'll play with your food. Until then, you're all business.

You love books. You'll sit by yourself or in our laps, turning the pages and talking to them. When there's music on, you dance or clap. You're learning to color with crayons and play with fingerpaints.

Lately, you're a little unsure of strangers. Not at the doctor's office the other day when you were holding court from your carseat, and not at lunch yesterday, when you were talking to and waving at the woman seated next to us. But occasionally, when there's a crowd, you have to snuggle up to me, put your head on my shoulder, and take a break. It's a little embarrassing at time, but also kind of gratifying.

I treasure our time alone together, at night before bed and when you wake up in the morning. I sit in our chair and hold you against me, and I want time to slow down, to stop, just so I can have this a little longer. Soon you'll be too big to hold, too busy, too interested in other things, so for now, I sit back and kiss the chubby little hand locked on the front of my shirt, and enjoy the moment there in the dark.

This has been the most amazing, difficult, frustrating, heart-expanding, humbling, incredible, beautiful year of my life. Every day, I don't know how I could love you more, and every single day, I do.

If nothing else, I want you to know that you are loved. I don't ever want us to grow out of telling you, I don't ever want you to forget or question. I have no idea what lies ahead for any of us, but no matter what, don't ever doubt that one fact. We love you, with an intensity that takes our breath away, that makes us turn to each other in awe, marveling at how much a heart can grow and stretch. It's almost terrifying sometimes, the way you've wound around our souls, and we wouldn't change a thing.

Happy birthday, baby boy.

Love,
Mommy

Nanook

Six weeks ago, our dogs went to the vet for their regular checkups. At the time, all their X-rays and blood tests looked normal. Aside from being fat, Nanook was healthy. But over the last few weeks, he's eaten less and less. At the same time though, he didn't look like he was losing any weight. Saturday morning, it was cool enough to take the dogs on a walk, and Nanook just couldn't keep up. He was panting only a few hundred feet in, and we could tell it was taking all his energy to trail along behind us. And so we took him to the vet, where he was diagnosed with a massive tumor that's squishing all his internal organs.

He's scheduled for surgery tomorrow morning. The catch is, until they open him up we don't know what we're looking at. How many organs, if any? Is it cancer? Will we put him through this pain and suffering, only to have to put him down in another month or two? Will it cost $500 or $5,000? What is right, what is humane, what can we afford? We're in the position of drawing a line, with no preparation, with no time to think.

Nanook's been with us for over seven years now. Todd got him on June 14,2002, only a few months after we started dating. We nursed him back to health as a puppy. He rode with us to Wisconsin, he went with Todd to North Carolina. He's lived all over this town. I've chased him through neighborhoods and woods, when he and Niki would escape on their adventures. When he wandered away at the lake for hours, and we thought we'd never see him again, we were both devastated. He goes hiking with us, he's Niki's best friend - what will she do, without her pack? He shouldn't have survived the heartworms, or the neglect he and his sister went through, but he did. He battled demodectic mange for years. And he's still a happy, cuddly dog. Even now, with a giant tumor squeezing his lungs and his intestines, he still wags his tail and barges through the back door. He's a good dog, and I don't want him to die, not like this, out of the blue.

I'm kidding about the mittens...for now

Micah was sick most of last week. He started coughing last Saturday and ran a fever, but he seemed better by Monday. Then on Tuesday, he tanked. He spent most of Wednesday and Thursday whimpering on my shoulder, running a fever that stubbornly refused to budge below 101 degrees. Friday he felt a little better - still not well, but with enough energy to scream about it for the entire afternoon. Saturday, though, his fever finally broke, and by Sunday he was more or less back to his old self. Well, his old self with one glaring exception: daycare.

Since about six months old, Micah has enjoyed daycare, and when he transitioned up to the toddler level, he really loved it. When I dropped him off in the mornings, he'd lunge into his teacher's arms. By the time I'd go to walk out of the room, he'd be so involved in playing, he hardly ever acknowledged my goodbyes. I've never had the experience of dropping off a reluctant, sobbing child. He's never refused to let me go, he's never burrowed his head into my shoulder, howling when I try to say goodbye. But so far this week, he's flipped out upon arrival. I don't know if it's because his regular teacher was out both yesterday and today, or if it's just because he got used to staying home with us. Whatever the reason, it sucks.

Yesterday when I arrived to pick him up, he was playing and didn't notice me come in, so I went and sat down nearby. He finally looked up and saw me, but instead of his usual smile and headlong charge into my arms, he just sat back. He stared at me, totally expressionless, almost like he was saying "So. You decided to come back, did you?" It wasn't until two other babies started climbing on me that he decided to crawl over to be picked up, but even then he refused to smile. He was STILL MAD, and he wanted me to know it.

In other baby-related news, this morning the cat freaked out in my lap and clawed both me AND Micah. He only has one little scratch – I definitely got the worst of it – but I was pretty pissed off that she'd come so close to really hurting him. And that, friends, is why I have a lovely brand-new pair of orange tabby mittens ready for when the winter comes.

A piece of family history

This christening gown is over 105 years old.

It was worn by my great grandfather, my grandfather, me, my sister, my son, my sister's two children, and I think a couple aunts and uncles and maybe a few cousins.

(Speaking of, does anyone have a list of the people who've worn it?)

It's been well-preserved, but it's getting fragile. I figure it has one, maybe two, baptisms left in it before it starts to disintegrate.

I took the opportunity to snap these pictures before my nephew's christening this past weekend. I meant to take some before Micah wore it, but I forgot until the gown was already wrinkled and drooled on.

There's just something about heirlooms like these that fascinates me - things that, even a century later, are still being used for their original purpose. It's not often you get to see such a tangible piece of so many family members' past.

All kinds of things

I spent the last week at a facility overseeing the RCRA closure of some old wastewater tanks. It being August in Northern Alabama, it was FLESH-MELTING HOT, so we were starting at 6 AM. The job we thought would only take two days ended up taking four and a half, but it's finally done. And I'm pooped.

Last Wednesday, Micah officially transitioned up the toddler level at his daycare. This means taking a nap on a cot instead of in his crib, a set schedule that includes time on the playground and in the gym, and (Micah's favorite part) TWO snack times per day. They play with playdough, finger paint, sing songs, and learn sign language. He's required to have shoes for wearing outside and sippy cups instead of bottles. He's exhausted every day when he gets home, is eating everything in sight, and is having a BLAST.

I was pretty apprehensive about him moving up, but I think it's been awesome for him. It's a little difficult for me - no more going over to nurse at lunch, because that's right smack in the middle of nap time - but being so busy all week helped distract me. The few times I've stopped by, he's been so involved in playing, he didn't even notice I was there until I sat down in front of him. He's rapidly leaving the baby phase behind, but I'm happy to see him having so much fun.

Last Thursday, after several weeks of weighing alternatives, looking at houses, and generally freaking out a bit (at least on my part), we signed a contract to have a house built. You can see the proposed floorplan here. Assuming everything goes as planned, we'll be moving in March. And that means we'll need to put this house on the market sooner rather than later. Now if you need me, I'll be hyperventilating into this paper bag.

Update: Whoops, wrong floorplan link. It's fixed now.

To keep the family happy

My nephew Alex turned one month old last Friday. Time has flown! To celebrate, I took an ungodly number of pictures.

Being a newborn, most of the pictures of Alex look pretty much the same, but I've put a few of my favorites from the weekend up on Flickr. You can see them full-screen here.

Hopefully this will appease the family until they can see him in person later this month.

AWESOME

Photo Friday

Let's end this month on a happy note:

Answered

The baby had full trisomy 6. It would have been a girl.

Full trisomy 6 always results in miscarriage. Babies with partial trisomy 6 all die in infancy. It's rare and random, was not caused by anything I did or didn't do, and probably won't happen again. We can move on with the expectation that we will have other children and they will most likely be healthy. Our questions have been answered, and the answers are less painful than I'd feared.

She existed, she was real, but she was irreparably flawed. Nothing could have changed the outcome, there never was a future, it really and truly wasn't meant to be. For some reason, I can accept that. I'm even thankful we were spared a worse experience. It seems like I should finally be able to put this behind me. Things should be getting better.

So why do I feel worse?

And then, nothing

On June 11, after several weeks of exhaustion, nausea, and the return of the troubles with my SI joints, it finally occurred to me to take a pregnancy test. Much to my surprise (and, at the time, dismay), it was positive.

Although I still had a few regrets at the derailment of all our plans, by the time Todd got home from his trip a few days later, I was happy. We were happy. Any worries I had about Todd vanished the moment I told him and his eyes lit up.

I had the bloodwork done to confirm it on June 15 and 17th. The hormone levels were high and looked good with an hCG of over 30,000. The nurse said we could be as far along as 12 weeks. Based on my symptoms, I was thinking 8 to 10, but since I've been nursing, there was no way to know. We scheduled an ultrasound for June 30 at 8:45 AM.

Tuesday, I was so excited to get a final due date for this baby. The question of how far along we were would be answered, and we'd know if she would be born in January or even late December. I was hoping we were far enough along to see an actual baby. With Micah we could see legs and arms, and we could see him moving. We could see his heart beating, his arms waving. I wished we'd thought to bring a CD to record this baby’s first ultrasound.

And then there was no heartbeat. No sign of life. Just the dim shape of what used to be a growing baby, and silence.

I didn't get to see the doctor until nearly 4. Todd and I spent over an hour in the waiting room, surrounded by happy, healthy pregnant women, the whole time knowing our baby was most likely dead. All we lacked was the official pronouncement from my doctor to make the nightmare real, and so we sat there, waiting. I don't blame the nurses – they didn't know. Once they realized what was going on, they swept us back to a room they don't use for examinations, where we could wait in relative peace.

During the second ultrasound, I kept my eyes glued to the screen. It wasn't that I thought the first one might have been wrong - it was because it was my last chance to see this baby. There wasn't much to see, but it was my child, my second child, and I wanted to know she was real. The doctor was very gentle, very sympathetic, and kind, and I'm grateful for the time he took with us. He was busy that day, it was late, and he still had a dozen patients waiting, but he stayed with us and answered all our questions.

I have mixed emotions on having a D&C, but since we're waiting on bloodwork to confirm dropping hormone levels, I have time to think about it. There's still no sign that anything is wrong. I'm still nauseous and exhausted, and my hips still hurt. Without the ultrasound, we'd never know anything was out of the ordinary. Now, it's a waiting game. How long before my body figures it out? We don't know. But every wave of nausea, every twinge in my hips, every sudden food craving only reminds me I'm carrying a baby that is no longer alive.

I'm glad we have Micah. Without him, this would be infinitely worse.

Three weeks ago, I thought our family was complete. I wasn't ready for another child, hadn't even thought about it really. But then, everything changed. And while I might have been uncertain at first, we had 18 days to accept it and find joy in it. By the time we walked into that room to see our baby for the first time, we were excited, thrilled, everything expectant parents should be. It never crossed my mind there would be anything other than a happy outcome – I took it for granted. And then it was gone.

Now we're back to a family of three, but what seemed so right only three weeks ago suddenly feels incomplete. There's a piece missing, a hole where I never saw one before, and it hurts so much more than I ever could have expected.

Poll

Hypothetically, let's say you have an environmental job and there are lawyers involved. Then let's say that you have a tech and a subcontractor and some equipment at the site. Then let's suppose that a local with whom you have had no interaction previously comes up and, with his girlfriend, starts videotaping everything you're doing. Then he starts rudely questioning your subcontractor, but stops when you walk up. Then he tells his girlfriend to "get their tag numbers." Then he follows you over to another piece of property, and tells you, "I'm going to get some good pictures of your truck," and walks all around your vehicle to do so.

Question 1. What would you do?

Question 2. Is it a really bad idea to call up the lawyer and tell him/her in as non-confrontational a way as possible that if he/she's in contact with the residents (and perhaps asking them to videotape your activities), he/she should tell them that while they're more than welcome to document everything, you will not tolerate harassment of your personnel, and if necessary you will have the sheriff come out and escort your people to do their job?

Keep in mind that, in this hypothetical situation, you are 1) authorized to be on all the properties, 2) working under the authority of the state and the EPA, and 3) in the process of cleaning up THEIR shithole neighborhood OH MY GOD MY HEAD IS GOING TO EXPLODE AT THE STUPIDITY OF IT ALL. Hypothetically.

Some sanity after all

Well halle-effing-lujah. The Supreme Court ruled for Redding.

I personally have Very Strong Feelings about the issue of searches, whether they be at airports, stadiums, subways, or schools. When it comes to schools, I understand what the Supreme Court intended with New Jersey v. TLO and I understand the schools' arguments in that case. But in TLO the Supreme Court ruled that a school search requires "reasonable grounds for suspecting that the search will turn up evidence that the student has violated or is violating either the law or the rules of the school."

Random student drug testing doesn't pass that test (I've spent quite a bit of time frothing at the mouth over that topic, thankyouverymuch), and a strip search of someone based on hearsay doesn't either. And even if it did, if a strip search were attempted on my child while I wasn't there, I would personally make every official involved wish they'd never been born.

(I say attempted, because I'm going to teach my children that if anyone ever tries to strip search them while I'm not present, it's okay to punch, bite, and/or maim said authority figure if they even so much as touch an arm after my child has made his or her feelings on the subject clear.)

I'm all for safety, but I refuse to believe the only way to have it is to take a dump on the reasonable expectation of privacy every citizen supposedly enjoys. Not only that, but in this case we're talking about children, and often children who are only a few years away from being voting, taxpaying citizens. What kind of a message does it send when their rights are so casually violated?

(On a related note, Todd once told me he refused to fly with me if I insisted on carrying this in the airport. He seemed to think it sends the wrong message, like CAVITY SEARCH CANDIDATE HERE, RIGHT HERE.)

So, the point is, I'm THRILLED the Supreme Court ruled that the school violated the Fourth Amendment when they strip-searched a 13-year-old girl, an honors student who'd never been in trouble, over a couple of ibuprofen another student said she had. On the downside, I'm not so pleased that Clarence Thomas has once again proven himself to be an unmitigated douchebag.

Putting his lessons to use

"It is, in fact, nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry." - Albert Einstein

Back in high school, in a school system that was often more focused on mediocrity and "leveling the playing field" than encouraging its students to excel, I was fortunate enough to have a small handful of really extraordinary teachers. Last Wednesday, June 10, one of them was informed by email that he was being "involuntarily reassigned" from Hendersonville High school. It turns out he and the new principal have some sort of personality conflict. Unfortunately for her, there's a very good reason he got Teacher of the Year a while back.

By the end of the day, some of his former students had created the Facebook group "Save Fuqua!" And now, only one week later, the group has 1,723 members and 200 to 300 of his former and current students have sent emails to the school board, media, and to Mr. Fuqua himself.

And here's where it gets interesting. The media actually picked up the story.

Popular Hendersonville High teacher shocked by reassignment
Hendersonville Star News, June 11

Dear Metro Nashville Public Schools: Hire David Fuqua
Nashville Scene, June 12

Students Rally After Teacher Transferred To Different School
News Channel 5, June 12

Hendersonville teacher move prompts e-mail blitz
The Tennessean, June 14

Teacher unhappy about transfer to Portland
Hendersonville Star News, June 16

I sent my email in last week, on June 11th.

Dear Mr. Bills:

I am an alumna of Hendersonville High School. I graduated in 1999 and was a student of Mr. Fuqua. I am currently an environmental engineer in Huntsville, Alabama.

I do not know the exact circumstances regarding the removal of Mr. Fuqua from Hendersonville High, so all I can speak to is my experience as one of his students. His class was one of the most memorable I attended during my four years at HHS - one that, to this day, has shaped my approach both to my career and my duties as a US citizen. His style of teaching is exactly what is needed to help develop independent, critical thinking and a passion for civic involvement. I think now, more than ever, we need people who are capable of analyzing issues, researching information, and educating themselves. The real world is not a carefully organized and presented textbook, and Mr. Fuqua gives his students the skills to navigate conflicting information and opinions in a capable, rational, and informed manner. His style is unstructured and informal, but then, so is life outside the classroom.

By removing Mr. Fuqua from Hendersonville High, the educational experience available to the students - never one of the best when it came to actively encouraging excellence - has been even further diminished. The students there will be poorer for never having the opportunity to challenge each other and themselves in such a unique and constructive manner.

I think the response you've received over this issue speaks for itself. It is a firsthand look at how much Mr. Fuqua inspired his students and how well we learned his lessons. More than anything, he taught us to speak out and to do something when it comes to the things in which we believe. I am thankful for all I learned from Mr. Fuqua, and I am asking you to extend the same privilege to the current students of Hendersonville High School.

I don't know if any of it will make a damn bit of difference, but something about seeing all of us come to the defense of a truly outstanding teacher...well, that gives me the warm fuzzies.

Do I have something in my teeth?

Learning to Crawl

This week has been full of so many twists and turns and batshit crazy goings-on, I don't even know where to begin. Let's just say that being sued is not the weirdest thing that's happened.

(Also, just to add insult to injury, our air conditioning died yesterday at the house. Like I seriously needed thatlittle jab.)

So, I'm going to take a step back and try to process all the consequences of the last five days, while you enjoy some pictures of my adorable spawn learning to crawl. These were taken on Sunday. He is now quite proficient at traversing distances, and the cats are PISSED.

I...I'm not so sure about this, boss.

Okay...maybe I've got this. I think so. Maybe.

I moved! This is AWESO....hey, is that a CAT?

This is why God gave us booze

Holy shit, y'all.

Micah started crawling this past weekend. Yeah, milestone, yay, blahdeblahdeblah. It would be great if the little asshole hadn't also figured out how to sit up all by himself, and thus keep himself awake INDEFINITELY.

He has not slept a wink at daycare in TWO DAYS. And for the last two nights, instead of falling sound asleep with no fuss at around 7:00 or 7:30, he has spent his time screaming. I mean, SCREAMING, like he cries so hard he gags himself. And it's not that he's scared or sad, no, he's ANGRY. It doesn't matter if one of us is holding him or if he's in his crib by himself. It's the same either way. And he can do it for HOURS. LITERALLY. I AM NOT EXAGGERATING.

It's going to result in the death of one of us. And I'm the one legally old enough to rent a woodchipper.

Right now, I have the monitor off, I'm sitting in the office on the exact opposite end of the house, and I can hear him clear as day. I'm generally opposed the whole cry-it-out thing, but he's been screaming nonstop since about 7:15. One hour later, I am slap out of ideas that don't involve duct tape.

And hey! Todd just left for the weekend. Oh, but my mother-in-law is coming tomorrow to look at houses, so she'll be staying with me and Micah in our cat-hair coated, baby-toy-littered, debris-scattered house. I found that out Monday!

Also, today I received some letters from two weasels hired by someone near one of my jobsites. Apparently, it'd be ever so much better if everyone got a trip to Disneyland and the site and surrounding homes were left contaminated until Jeebus comes and beams us all up. Or I guess that's what they think, assuming they do any of that at all (and I'm not convinced they do).

Oh, and I haven't gotten anything done to get ready for tomorrow. And it's almost 8:30. Late night, comin' right up.

So yeah. There's MY week.

(Hey, and the baby's STILL SCREAMING.)

Belleh!

More pictures here.

Breather

This has been one of those weeks where I feel like I haven't slowed down once. I know there had to be bits of downtime here and there, but overall, it's been GO GO GO. And I'm pooped.

On the upside, it's also been one of those rare weeks where I feel like I've actually accomplished something. I made progress on several projects that were hanging over my head. So there's that silver lining.

I went back to work six months ago. Micah was three months old, still a shrieking, frustratingly inconsolable lump of baby. I was HAPPY to be back at work, in a world I understood, where someone else had the responsibility of caring for the thankless little screamer.

But then Micah became awesome, almost overnight. And Todd started traveling again. And work got harder, the days seemed to get shorter, and I began to feel like a hamster on a wheel, always running, running and never making any progress at all. I've lost interest in doing my job, I ache to see more of my rapidly-changing baby, and I'm more exhausted every single day. Weekends are meaningless - just time to catch up on all the stuff I didn't have time to do during the week. If I take time to relax, it's always at the expense of sleep, because nothing else has any leeway. Something has to give.

A few weeks ago, my parents took Micah so Todd and I could go out and celebrate our anniversary, and over dinner we decided I would approach my boss about going part-time. And so, last week, I did.

It's not official yet. I still have to sit down with my department manager and work out specifics like what days I'll be in, who will cover what, and there's the little matter of money. But it's a step, and just knowing there's a light at the end of the tunnel has helped immensely.

There's a little something that feels almost like guilt for admitting I just can't do it all, a voice that keeps whispering, "Plenty of women manage everything, so why can't I just put on my big girl pants and figure out their system, huh? Am I just a complete wuss? Oh god, I totally suck at this parent thing." But mostly it's drowned out by the sheer relief of realizing I don't have to keep sliding down the slope. I have the option of stepping back for a while and you know what? I'm going to take it.

Random picture and update on E

Elizabeth is doing better. She came home from the hospital Wednesday, Thursday night she was back in again, and now it looks like she'll come home tomorrow. Her kidneys seem to have finished torturing her for the moment. Cross your fingers.

Talk about your Mondays

This lady is causing trouble.

At 3:00 AM on Monday morning, she called to tell me she was in quite a bit of pain and they were heading to the hospital. Todd and I bundled Micah up and drove over to stay with Daniel. A few hours later, she and her husband came back to report that she probably had a kidney stone, so the doctor sent her home to drink fluids and TAKE TYLENOL.

(Tylenol. For an effing KIDNEY STONE. That's like saying, "Oh, your arm's off? Here, use this duct tape.")

Monday evening, after many many hours of intense pain, they were back at the hospital where she finally received some lovely, wonderful Demerol. Micah and I spent the night with Daniel again. Today they (finally) got confirmation that she has two kidney stones, and tomorrow the doctors will (finally) be Doing Something about it.

Since Todd's out of town again, my mother came down to wrangle the 3-year-old, which means there's a good chance I'll actually get to sleep tonight. IN MY OWN BED. In the meantime, Elizabeth is doing a little better, and after her surgery tomorrow she should be feeling mostly back to normal. Or as normal as a 34-weeks pregnant woman can, I guess. But I'm sure this one ranks pretty high on her list of worst weeks ever.

Clearly I'm not getting any work done today

After reading this article, I had to go and take the National Drivers Test myself.

They said I scored an 90%, but I have to cry foul because one of the questions I missed was about how far ahead of a turn you should put on your signal. I said 50 feet, they said 100 feet, but lo, page 30 of the Tennessee manual says "At least 50 feet before the turn, you must turn on your turn signal light." Seeing as that's where I learned to drive, I'm going to say I nailed that one, ya jerks.

(Although to be fair, in Alabama, where I now live, it actually is 100 feet. I guess I learned something new today.)

So, 95% on remembering the driving laws I was taught, 90% on pertinent state law. That means Todd can't give me any more crap when I bitch about another driver doing something illegal. I KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, DAMMIT.

(Also, I kind of want to print out page 23 of the Alabama Manual - the one with all the diagrams of what lane you're effing SUPPOSED to turn into - and put a copy on every windshield in this entire city.)

Suddenly, SQUAWK! THUMP!

Hey, thanks for your opinions! (Except you, Jeff. Except you.) In the end, b, e, and c won (in that order), so I went ahead and sent in the photos. You can see the album here. The 20 semi-finalists in Micah's age bracket will be selected sometime around July 14th, but since there are currently 55,595 entries, with 33 days left to enter, let's just say I'm not getting my hopes up. ;-)

In other news, I've kind of been on a nostalgic kick lately, and as a result have been looking up books I loved when I was little (The Ordinary Princess, The Castle in the Attic, The Indian in the Cupboard, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, and several baby books). There's one picture book my grandmother used to read to us about a witch and a house with red-checkered curtains and blueberry pancakes. The storyline had been more or less lost to time, although I remembered those few details, and I'd actually forgotten the title until blessed Yahoo dredged it up for me. Old Black Witch! by Wende and Harry Devlin was my favorite, the most requested book on her shelf (besides the one about ballet), and I wanted to get a copy for Micah. And wow, did you know that a new, shiny copy of that book will run you $175? I think perhaps I'll stick with a nice, used copy, THANKS. And that'll still put you out $20 or so. Apparently I'm not the only one who loves that book.

Suddenly, SQUAWK! THUMP! And down from the chimney fell a big, black mess. It was covered with cobwebs and made terrible sounds. It stumbled out of the fireplace into the room. From its long, pointed hat to its long, pointed shoes, it was covered with ashes. It was a fright. It was furious. And it was an old black witch.

I know Micah's just a bit young now, but I'm trying to grab up all the good books before they vanish. I'm hoping and betting he'll have the same love of reading as I do, and while I'm sure he'll find his own favorites, I want to have a few things sitting around for him to stumble across. Also, it gives me the chance to go back and read-read them myself. WIN!

(Ooooh! Ooooh! I just found another one - Miss Suzy. I remember that book!)

Halp!

I'm toying around wtih the idea of submitting Micah for the Parents magazine cover photo contest. To do so, I need up to six current photos taken by me within one month of entry.

The judging goes like this:

34% based on overall appearance of the child as shown in the photo(s)
33% based on personality of child as expressed through the photo(s)
33% based on quality of photo(s)

So, if I were to do such a thing, I'm trying to decide which photos I'd use. The problem is, I haven't taken many photos in the last month that I think are particuarly good by the sorts of standards we're talking about here (bad color, bad lighting, poor focus, etc). This is where I'd like your opinion.

Here are the ones I'm pretty sure I'd like to include:



And here are the ones I'm debating:

a) b) c) d)

e) f) g)

So, if you had to pick three additional photos (or replacements), which ones would you submit, keeping in mind the judging criteria?