Wrap your head with this material...

2012-02-08T19:20:00.005-07:00

Lora blogged about the bugs that come out of the woodworks post-exterminator. You can imagine how horrifying it is. Spindly, scary numbers of feelers and legs and hairiness that lived in your floorboards and under your tile that you never knew was there. Suddenly dead out where you can see them. Most of them were not meant to be seen by the light of day. I remember a girl telling me in 5th grade all about the bugs (see also, microorganisms,) that live under your nails and in your eyepits and all over your body. That there are literally thousands on every surface you can think of, you just need a strong enough microscope. I remember spending lots of time when I was supposed to be listening digging under my fingernails and thinking about it.

We have this desire to think we are alone. That we, as a species, are exclusive. The only ones allowed to live in our house. The only organism. Lots of people don't even believe themselves to be animals. We forget that since we have all these bald skin patches instead of fur, we're subject to living in the same critter-infested food web as the microbiota on our skin or in our guts. Some of them help us out, some of them just exist. But we'd rather not think about them.

We don't want to think about the drug addicts or the whores we live in the midst of. We move out to the burbs where there are no rats or drugs. Yeah right? They live in the woodwork too. Sneaking around dropping their kids off just like everyone else. Sometimes they slip. My dad's friend did. So did mine. My dad has been visiting one of his closest friends in the hospital lately where he's spent some time strapped down detoxing from heroin. My dad's the hoity toity type. Operas and nice restaurants. He's a loyal friend too. I'm less so. I dismissed my friend. She stole from us. And has tried for 15 years to contact me about it. Heroin's involved in her life story too. But I keep her under the floor boards. Especially until I exterminated the Social Services out of my life recently. Now old things are floating to the top of my mind.

I've been thinking about all kinds of things we don't usually think about. Like what happens to our piss and shit after we flush the toilet. I know when you throw a diaper away, it sits in a landfill mostly NOT decomposing for a few hundred years. I know it slowly leeches chlorine and that its basically a packaged biohazard sitting there waiting for flies to carry its disease around.

I've been looking into starting a cloth diapering business, see? So I've learning all the ins and outs of peeing and pooping and composting and whatnot. They make compostable diapers now. Did you know? Probably not, and you probably didn't want to. Because who the fuck composts their own diapers? How do you safely do that?

I don't want to. But I want to stop seeing so many people put gift-wrapped biohazards into landfills for future apocalypsing. So I'm trying to figure it all out.

Composts don't want to touch human waste. Except our landfill has a fantastic composting program. They want to. But its an expensive venture. Thing is, they're kind of already doing it. They accept all the piss and shit already from the sewer district. The guck they pull out after you're through with your flush, it can be composted. In my community it is composted. But they treat the shit out of it first.

Its weird though when you think about it. How afraid we all are. How squeamish. I'm cool with digging a trench and pooping into it. Or using an outhouse. I don't want to see ground water contaminated or anything. And I don't want to see the bugs that crawl out from places. But there's a reality in that grime, piss, and shit. That our stuff exists. We poop. We eat from soil that's had poop in it at some time or another. We share our environment with bacteria and fungal flora and hair and knee caps have it too. That's just how it is.

2012-02-05T09:14:00.000-07:00

I’ve spent a lot of time lately taking care of myself and its really paying off. I didn’t do that very well for a long, long time. I stopped recognizing myself when I looked in the mirror. I was all flat and grey and blank. Its like my soul has been having a spa day/week/month. I skied yesterday with my sister-in-law then had dinner with my mom. I took my son and my nieces for the morning today. My husband and I managed to get the house clean. I mean, sheets washed, dried, and put back on, laundry done and put away and there’s scored grapefruit in the fridge for the morning. I have ideas again for writing projects. I’m making jokes again and thinking of clever cheeky things to do and say. I played piano for an hour today while my son and husband played with Legos on the floor. I remember again that life is good. Not just know it intellectually. I feel it in the moment, in my bones. Deep down feel it. Life is good.
Good.
GOOD
good

2012-01-23T18:38:00.002-07:00

It finally snowed. Its been a pretty snow-free ski season thus far. Which honestly didn't bother me too much since I was working a lot and it would just mean more shoveling then. But now that I'm unemployed... snow's good. Its reminding me who I am. How good I feel rushing down a mountain. How confident. Strong. Smooth.
I skied 3 days in a row and 2 of them were with one of my favorite old riding friends.
I got up yesterday and shoveled, made coffee and was off. Right before I left, Magnus said "snow."
I took a few runs where ski patrol dropped ropes and I got fresh glorious deep turns. Skiing powder is the single best thing in the world.
Right before I dropped into my run, as the patroller dropped the rope, he said "Let 'er rip!"
"Thanks, I think I will."

The Return of Friday Quotes!

2012-01-20T16:56:00.002-07:00

"Remember kids, every time you use "LOL," God sodomizes a chipmunk. Please, think about the chipmunks."

A little boy was wandering around the non-fiction section. I asked, “Can I help you?”

Little boy: “I need to write report on New Hampster and I can’t find anything!”

"Just thinking...If you were my paper work, I'd be doing you on my desk right now..."

"I only heard this in passing, but I'm pretty sure I heard Van der Sloot's friend say he hopes he only gets 10 years because he, "Don't think Joran killed her that bad." That may be the most amazing sentence I have ever heard on TV. He didn't kill her that bad, just enough so that she stopped living. He only killed her about 10 years worth, I don't get why her family is so pissed, I mean he could have killed her bad enough to serve 30 years, and he didn't, so..."

A 45 year old widow just approached me after my show and asked me to go to her hotel to play "poker."

"That was a window, Mikey. You were very drunk."

"I said, "hurry up midgets," talking to my kids. And then there was a whole family of midgets getting out of their car."

"Ben wanted to 'help' so he scrubbed the toilet with my mascara..And then painted his face with it."

2012-01-11T19:37:00.003-07:00

I realized that I've kind of half assed my explanation of quitting my job with pretty much no idea what I'm doing. Sorry about that. Its just, I feel... umm.... hmmm

This is the kind of thing you can talk about and write about forever. The problems with doing child welfare, my job's hard, blah blah blah. And there's part of me that doesn't want to talk about it or share the details of what I assume you already know. Except maybe you don't. I mean, sure there's that glazed-over look and the obligatory comment of "I could never do your job," that is the response from EVERY person you ever meet at a party that says something child protection workers turn a blind eye to. That there are times when working with families is an impossibly difficult job.

My last week, I took a teenaged girl to the jail to facilitate a visit between she and her dad. Her feelings about the whole thing were impossibly complex. On the one hand, she understood why he was there and believed what he'd done was wrong and that he was where he should be. On the other, she missed her dad. Loves her dad. And is NOT the preferred child as far as her mother's concerned. So its a tremendous loss for her. Her dad was her ally. And her ally's in jail. Rightfully so, but still.

I tried to nurture her through it and support her. I told her what a good job she did. I held her and then let her go to the bathroom for her space.

Its an impossibly hard job though. There are times when the jailers look at you like you're the devil for wanting to bring someone to visit a molester. While at the same time, you just want to help someone see their dad. No matter how you slice it, that's a sad situation.

There's something valuable about spending your time this way. And something you just can't speak about.

There's no happy hour talk that involves bitching about that guy who you just know took your mug this morning.

To make a long story even longer, there's part of it that's inescapable. Its a hard job that's beyond hard. See also, holding a baby who has bruises on its forehead and ribs.

Add into the mix having had your own child.

Most parents ask y0u if you have children. Its a validity/litmus test. They feel like you can't understand what it is to be them if you're not a parent yourself. But the truth no one tells them is that you 'understood' better before you ever held a tiny person of your own. Before you ever gently got up over and over again to a hungry sweet face, all the while not minding. Not minding, because you waited and planned and were ready for this. Before all that, you thought you understood and it seemed so reasonable that someone would lose it in impossibly tough moments. But you thought that before you had all these HORMONES. Before you had a baby.

Once you do that, its a new kind of hard. You can't hold the babies the same way. Or think of 'understand' the same way. The truths you know are still true. That children are better with parents who are abusive than not if they are safe enough. If the parents are 'minimally adequate." But it doesn't stop all the nurturing instinct in you from leaking out onto these people's children.

You can't hug them better.

Add to that some really difficult clients.

Add to that lots of leadership changes.

Add to that the craziest asshole neighbors you ever met, and you've got a recipe for a burntout gal.

The neighbors have been a pretty significant factor. Taking pictures of me in the county car. Sending letters complaining to my employer. Clobbering each other at nights. He got arrested again. It was my husband who called this time. They're convinced it was me. Went after me for it. It all came down the first day or two my new boss started. That's just a little too far behind start from for my tastes. I turned in my notice instead.

So that's a lot of what happened. Like I said, I can talk this subject to death. And once the lid's off, the vomit-mouth is hard to shore up. So this is my best. I quit. It was the right thing. But its complicated too. You just have to trust that things will work out when you do the right thing. I have faith in that. We're smart. Rob and I will make it. And Magnus deserved his mom. So there it is.

Eggs and Whine

2012-01-10T19:49:00.004-07:00

I've technically only been unemployed for two days so far. I've been a busy girl. And eating really good breakfasts. Mmm. I love breakfast!

If you put a bunch of pots in the fire at the same time, then something's bound to be edible come dinnertime, right?

See also, starting my own diapering service.
See also, that damn book I wrote that I did nothing with and might maybe sorta try to get published.
See also, 2-3 jobs I'm applying for.

Sure I might burn some stuff, but I just can't handle the idea of putting all my eggs in one basket either.

Speaking of eggs, I went out for cocktails with a few close friends after my last day of work and ended up back at my house eating eggs and drinking wine. (Which was a little sad b/c I just worked too many hours and too hard and didn't have any down time so ended up in that weird place with a few drinks where I started to let down and thought I might cry. No one wants to hang out with a crying drunk girl. There aren't enough black, eye gunk-streaked tissues in the world to make that good.)

Eggs and whine. Mmmm. Turns out they go together quite nicely. Technically, I'm not freaking out yet, so there's no need for a whining post. That might happen later.

P.S. Magnus tried playing the Hokey Pokey with the dog's water bowl. Left foot in, left foot out, you put your left foot in and shake it all about. Its just as fun as it sounds.

2012-01-08T10:43:00.003-07:00

I knew a couple in high school who claimed to still be virgins because they were only having anal sex. Every time I see a picture of her posted on FB, that's what I think of.

I think my child is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I stare and stare at him and I could kiss my own lips right off on that forehead of his. I also think he looks just like me. BUT, I do not look at myself in a mirror with an achy lovey heart and think how beautiful I am.

My neighbors shoveled a line in the snow dividing our two lawns yesterday. They're so fucking bizarre.

I quit my job. I'm getting my house in order. Literally and figuratively. And I even use literally correct in sentences. It should result in more writing. And skiing. And feeling more like myself again. Which is good because I kind of lost me in a deep pit of self-doubt. I'm climbing out now though. Which involves being very poor, and hopefully, very happy.

2011-07-28T07:55:00.003-06:00

A half a lifetime ago, I stayed up until midnight. If you were 16 with a permit, you could drive with any licensed driver. So at midnight, I got in my mom's shiny red firebird, T-tops off, and we drove all over the place until the sun came up. I snuck a nap in, then headed to the driver's license office where I got my license on an hour of sleep.

Double that, and for my birthday this year, my son slept through the night. It was just as good.

2011-06-21T06:39:00.005-06:00

A few years ago, I was at the post office after hours picking up my mail. There was another woman there doing the same thing. Except she had a bit of a panicked look on her face and was looking around at the ceiling. Turns out there was a hummingbird that had made a wrong turn and ended up frantically flying around the post office banging his head into various ceiling panes. We ended up teaming up, finding a pillowcase in the random crap in her car, turning a trash can upside down to stand on, and saving that hummingbird. We sent him out into the dusk.

There was a really nasty accident here with some out of towners. They had a heap of kids in the back. None of them in car seats or belts. None of them in the car by the time it was done rolling. Lots of people travel like this. I wish they wouldn't. Tiny humans die in cars. Or out of cars, depending. They don't always die, sometimes they're in full body casts. Have traumatic brain injuries. And then people who were too poor to afford a car that fit all their kids have kids with injuries to get to the hospital and back for PT, and OT, and meds, and and and.

My coworker ended up involved in the aftermath of the accident. On account of traveling with children without car seats and seat belts is child abuse. The parents went to jail. My coworker went out of state with a baby in a full body cast. Meanwhile back in the mountains, we fretted about her far away in a neighborhood where at 10:30 people linger in the streets without shirts and blare music from their cars. We all recognize when someone's not from around these parts.

My coworker loves her own tiny humans. This tiny human in his tiny cast has people who love him too. People far away in roach-infested apartments with spic and span kitchen floors and juice boxes in their fridge waiting for a little boy with plaster over his nipples. People who listened in wide-eyed attention as a blonde lady explained how to change his diaper and care for him.

She made it home safely. Hugged her own kids extra snug, tightened down their belts extra tight. Wouldn't you?

I'm not sure who in the story is the hummingbird and who had the pillowcase. I can say that my coworker's eyes filled with tears from the love you make all day every day for your own tiny people and how sometimes when someone else's tiny person crosses your path you can't help but give it away to him. I can say that this family's lucky if she has the pillow case, because they'll make it out of the mountains where they just didn't belong in the first place. Gently.

2011-06-14T17:30:00.003-06:00

This morning was a gray morning. It turned into a gray day. Not outside. Inside.

You know how you want to wear a nice gray pair of sweat pants on a rainy day? And gray socks, and gray sweatshirts and t-shirts look just extra comfy. Its not a good color for me. I don't care. I love formal clothes in gray. I can wear them to court and look professionallike but feel the comfy of my sweatpants in the color seeping through.

You know how the landscape fades to gray in the background? And hair fades to gray as we age? And details fade to gray as time goes by?

Its all perspective.

This woman I'm working with on an Adult Protection case, (this is after I've been spending the morning thinking about my gray day which by this time has turned bluebird on the outside... still gray on the inside,) she recommended a book to me that's all about how you decide who to allocate resources to: young vs. old. Possibility vs. who's earned it with all they've put in.

The book's called Shock of Gray. I'll have to let you know about that one. Maybe I'll wait till my hair catches up to my wrinkles and my insides.

But the outside is calling. It might pull me out yet will all that sunshine and activity. We'll see...

Wrapture your head with this material

2011-05-21T09:22:00.003-06:00

The true winners today are the velociraptors.
Maybe that's what happened to the dinosaurs: there was a velocirapture.
It'd be sweet if there was a gangstarapture.
That'd be a good party tonight.
Way better than the saranrapture.
Quick, somebody make a joke about Christmaswrapture.
Clerk: Would you like that gift wraptured?
I don't give a crapture.
Its got to be at least 50% off gift wrapture paper today.
Wish I were a director so I could say "That's a wrapture!"
... and scene.

Lately

2011-05-20T16:31:00.003-06:00

You ever just feel like you don't have anything interesting to say? Like the whimsy and clever are gone and you're just going through cobwebs? Like your life has taken a turn for the irritating if not mundane? Gray minutia.

The good stuff is so good I don't know how to describe it. The curve of Magnus's mouth as he whispers his new consonent secrets. The kicking when he's excited. The giggles. Soooo good. But who wants to read about my vast love for my child and his every new move. (with the exception of this new screaming, shrieking noise he's making. That I could really live without.)

Then there's the hard stuff. Adjusting to my mom living across the street and how busy life has gotten with her moving. She's had pneumonia lately, so that's been unpleasant. She's on the mend now but its a long road. There's the neighbors. Its horrible sharing walls with people who are violent. Who want to hurt each other. Who want to hurt you. Want bad things. It makes me want bad things to happen to them. I'm usually good at dismissing the toxic folks from my life. Strangely never being around where they are at a party, always in another room, smile, shake hands, nice to see you, and I'm back to being engrossed in a conversation elsewhere. But you can't get away when they share your walls. How do you keep their ick out of your soul?

We moved Magnus's room farther from the shared wall. I was really sad about it at first. I spent all this time sitting in the rocking chair in his room when I was pregnant. It was my time with him before I even knew it was him. I rocked and thought about each detail- where things would hang, where shoes and diapers and thermometers should go, what our futures would be. Ready him children's books and felt him MOVE. It felt like a small, sad, little loss to move him at first. But the distance of one room feels different when I put him to bed at night. Like there's a bigger buffer between us and them. Like his space won't become theirs. Their ick won't leak onto his solace, his learning, his loving, his secure little corner.

2011-04-29T08:36:00.003-06:00

I was going to quit blogging but I suck at quitting stuff. I decided to quit, thinking I'd make some decisions about my professional life or possibly put some energy toward attempting to get paid for writing, but I didn't do either of those things. Also, I missed blogging. So hopefully someone will still read this because otherwise I'm just talking to myself in written form. Which is not all that far from crazy. So, you ready for a ramblingly, random post of shit-I-haven't-spouted-since-I-haven't-blogged-in-weeks?

Good. Here we go.

At a training recently, the girl sitting next to me also had a 7 month old. What're the odds? Anyway, at one point she said, "Can I ask you something personal?" I held my breath preparing for a very personal question.
"Are you nursing?"
Really? That's personal? Since when? Last I checked I'm the girl you tell that you keep a dildo in your glovebox and like to be called "bitch" during sex. I'm the girl you ask about whether since you can get milk out of your breasts, you can also put milk into them. I'm the girl who's likely to tell you I just put my underwear on inside out this morning and by the way my name is Karin. And yeah, I'm nursing.

My head it has four corners
four corners has my head
and if it didn't have four corners
it wouldn't be my head!
This is what I've been singing to Magnus lately. Because I'm an asshole like that. Oh and because his head has 4 corners. I kiss them all the time. I'm a mom like that. How many cornbread muffins do you think I can eat? Sadly, I think the answer will be 4. Because I have 4 cornbread muffins. And I love them.
my mouth it has four muffins
four muffins has my mouth
and if it didn't have four muffins
it wouldn't be my mouth!

4 cornbread muffins is nothing compared to the number of brownies I can eat. I bet I could eat a whole pan if I was really trying. My boss makes these awesome brownies and I end up eating them all day in embarassing numbers. I'm not sure if its more embarassing that I eat so many or that I've done it so much that it doesn't give me a stomach ache like it would a normal person.

Magnus spends a lot of time on his belly lately. He also makes some awesome noises like that rasberry noise, constantly. While thrashing around on the floor. Sometimes he sees you and stops, mouth open and just stares at you for a second. Then he puts his mouth right into the carpet. I have NOT called him a carpet muncher when he does this. Not even once. See what a good mom I am?

I've been thinking about stuff lately. I don't mean ideas or theories, I mean belongings/things/STUFF. I hate how it piles up and you just accumulate more and more of it. I hate how I have the amount of stuff that fits in the space I have. You know how good it feels to have an empty closet? Fuck you if you do because you're better at not accumulating and shoving stuff into closets then. I hate how it weighs me down and makes it hard to move around.

It feels so good to purge all that stuff. Whenever I leave an adult protection referral where the person is a hoarder, it makes me want to grab a back pack, burn my house down and get on a plane. I think of the times when I've lived in other countries and just had a couple of suitcases and how happy and simplified my life has been. Wake, shower, dress, study, wander, exercise, nap, run, eat, rinse, repeat. Someday I think I'll retire and get rid of everything and just wander the world. You think?

2011-03-15T09:21:00.003-06:00

I was in an addictions training last week. As an aside, a client left me several drunk messages during the training, which is just fucking ridiculous. Anyway, while I gleaned much information related to addiction, I thought I'd share some of the other details I thought about.

Apparently lots of people already know this but I found it CRAZY. So I figure I'll share in case you're interested too and also somehow missed it.

Did you know they used to inject your piss into a rabbit to see if you were pregnant? If the rabbit died, you were pregnant. Turns out the pregnancy hormone kills bunnies. To make it even more fucked up, they used to use baby bunnies for this test because they were even more likely to die. So a euphemism I somehow never heard for pregnancy is "the rabbit died." Which makes "kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit, kill the wabbit..." run through my head. Its been going on for days now.

Did you know that "hysterical" literally translated from the Latin means, "wandering uterus?" Another funny mental image to add to Elmer Fudd singing.

And also, wouldn't you have to be a wandering uterus or at least a wacko to be the first person to go "Hey, know what we should do? Inject one of the rabbits from out back with your piss!"

2011-02-16T13:53:00.000-07:00

Things I'm snotty about:

- using a picture of your kid or your dog or your cat as an avatar. I want to see a picture of you. Sometimes it helps me know who the hell is talking online. I like pictures of other things and I look at them. In albums.

- posting annoying status updates. Writing a status update in all caps never SOLVED ANY CAUSE. ever. There's no one who no longer has cancer and no animal with a new home with updated vaccines because you changed your picture to a cartoon and wrote about it on FB. If you want to help, find an organization/child/pet and donate time and money. And I mean both.

- trends. I tend to like them for 10 minutes but as soon as I see them happening over and over, I hate whatever it is. See snuggies, when fiction writer's main character is a writer, smartphones, blog awards, robot vocals, etc.

- Twilight. I'm sure its very addictive or whatever. I just think you should be ashamed of your addictions. (see also Grey's Anatomy. I am ashamed. Its trash.)

Things I'm NOT snotty about

- What you wear. I probably won't notice. If I do, its because its awesome. Or what you're saying is boring. Just kidding, I won't notice your clothes if you're boring. I'll notice something behind you. I almost never notice clothes. I once had a kid in my class wear the same jeans for weeks, until another teacher brought it up, I didn't notice. The same often goes for facial hair. Unless you've always had a beard, like the whole time I've known you, and you suddenly shave it off. Otherwise, your change from a goatee to a full beard or whatever, I won't know.

- jokes. I really like dumb jokes. If you're trying to be funny and I like you even a little, I'll laugh. I encourage silliness of all sorts.

-skiing. Believe it or not, I'm not snotty about this. If you're out sliding on snow and you're having fun. Great! I don't care if you suck or not, if you love the sport, I want to hug you. Unless you suck about other stuff like throwing cigarette butts on my mountains. That makes me mean. Seriously, when I was like 19, I told a guy off in front of his kids on the mountain. Who the hell throws cigarette butts out here?

-what kind of car you drive. We have an '89 4runner that you can start with a screwdriver and that has its license plates tied on with a strand of carpet that unwound from our old place. I love/hate that car. I don't really like el caminos though. Although now that I think about the meaning of el camino, I think its pretty funny. Ok, not snotty about those anymore either. Unless you drive a gas guzzler, and then I'm all judgy.

Friday Quotes!

2011-02-11T14:50:00.003-07:00

"yeah, let's hope i can haul my sorry hernia crotch to the house"

"Anyone have an old punching bag, or a sibling with no nerve endings, that I could borrow?"

"You know its a good tights day when one person says, "Nice stockings?" and another says "Your legs are weird. They make my eyes feel funny."

"Dear school bus full of black kids, I play basketball for the exercise. Stop laughing."

"If I ever saw an amputee get hanged, I'd just start yelling out letters."

Friday Quotes

2011-02-04T09:10:00.007-07:00

"I'm growing up. You'd be so impressed. Today, I gave a presentation in which I said the word "invaginated" like 5 times without cracking up once."

"That's funny. For some reason I've been seeing the word "vaginismus" a lot lately and every time I do, I wish it was spelled "vaginisthmus." It could be next to the cape of good hope."

"Reach for the stars, M!"
"Yeah, the porn stars."

"Dear tattoo artists,
Its perfectly ok to respond with, "No, cause that will look fucking stupid!"
Love,...Eyeballs"

"turns out John Wayne is a real live person, and not a character played by Clint Eastwood. stay tuned for other things I learn today by watching television but couldn't care less about."

"If, while flipping through channels I see three or more movies starring the same actor, I immediately assume said actor is dead."

"Just waited on a woman who smelled like smoky pickles. I almost offered her some body wash."

"Sign your hair is too long: it gets caught on a door handle on the way out of a restaurant."

"Oooh.. you've got a new coat and it has MAGNETS! I love it!!!"
"Yeah, except sometimes walking out of a restaurant the other day, they caught on the door."

"You know, if I were a professional fighter, I would not want an advertisement for condoms printed across the back of my shorts. That is not the impression I would wish to give."
"What's wrong with fighting for safe sex? You gotta have a cause, a reason to get out in that ring."
"Apparently its to beat up STDs."
"...And in this corn-Ah! Wearing the red and white Tampax trunks: B "The Flow" Gibson!!!Or if you want to keep the Planned Parenthood message you could go with Twinkies....Wait no, their cream filled."
"maybe he's straight with "complications""

2011-01-21T12:26:00.002-07:00

I find myself praying lately. Which is weird because I don't really believe in god. I don't believe with any sort of certainty that there is NO god, but I tend to think there isn't one. I can get behind the idea of goodness. And I can get behind there being a possibility of a force of goodness. Maybe that's god. Or something.

Either way, I've found myself praying. Here and there. It started at an AA meeting. My dad's been in AA for 18 years now. In AA birthday years, he can vote. That's quite an accomplishment. And the way he keeps a hold on that sobriety thing that's so important for everything else in his life, is by continuing to be active in the program. And sometimes I go to meetings with him. I went most recently to a meeting with him on New Year's.

At the beginning of an AA meeting there's a moment of silence for those still suffering in the throes of alcohol. I held a client out to the forces of goodness in that moment. Which is like praying, I guess. Then there's the prayers at the end.

That client went into the hospital shortly thereafter. This morning he died.

I remember being at an AA meeting with my dad when I was in high school and them talking about alcohol killing you. I thought you died in alcohol related car accidents or maybe from moving on to other drugs and overdoses or drug related crimes or something. At the time, I didn't think of how alcohol can literally just kill you. Your organs. Liver, brain, dead. and there you go.

But it does happen. It wasn't surprising that this man died. The level of alcoholism... well, it just wasn't surprising.

But over the past few weeks, I've spent some time with this man's mother. And I'm heartbroken for this 77 year old woman who is stuck in a small mountain town, making arrangments to bury her barely 50 year old son. I'm heartbroken for his sister who lost a big brother. Someone she probably once looked up to. I'm sad for his dog who didn't care that he was a drunk and smelled funny, just loved him anyway.

I'll hold my own son tonight and hope that he didn't get that gene. I'll pray the swedish prayer I say to him at night to no one in particular. I'll pray for goodness to help save him and me from such a sad ending.

Gud som haver barnen kär
se till mig som liten är.
Vart jag mig i världen vänder
står min lycka i Guds händer.
Lyckan kommer, lyckan går,
den Gud älskar, lyckan får.

Amen

2011-01-13T11:40:00.000-07:00

Do you have some days that are mentally stimulating? Where you just have all these interesting and seemingly novel ideas pop in your head? Like a muse has been playing songs in there all day.

I always think "oh, I should toss that in a blog" on days like that. "ooh and that too." And it'll go on all day and I'll have enough for one of those vomit-mouth mishmesh blog entries I'm so fond of. But then, half the time by the time I open the lap top to write it, I can't remember a damned thing. Its like the muse is really a children's book character that I only I can see. "I swear I had a fascinating epiphany to share! No, really, I did."

Anyway, since the really interesting ideas are probably being hoarded by that tooth fairy, muse bitch, I'll share what's left.

I was watching a documentary last night about this guy who was at a party when he was 16 and someone was murdered. He was falsely accused and lumped into a group with the actual shooters who were gun-toting gang members and they were all tried together so he went to jail. And just kept sitting in jail with all these people trying really hard to get through the legal process to get him out. It took 12 years I believe and last they knew when the movie was released, the state was going to retry him. The evidence against him was pretty weak and really he was only convicted because his attorney sucked and he was lumped in with the other two guys. He had nothing to do with the crime. He was at a party with friends and a crime took place.

I had a client some time ago who had a similar situation occur. Except she's white. And a she. And has a family with resources (see also MONEY.) She was a methhead at the time, I believe, and was present for a murder. Except she was a little more involved than this guy and intentionally didn't report the murder. She was initially charged with attempted murder and some other stuff. I don't know all the details of her criminal case but I can tell you she served less than a year. Now, I'm not saying I think she should have served more. I don't think she set out to hurt anyone or that violence was really a part of her character. She's essentially just a drug addict that's an otherwise nice person. So I don't think jail time was the answer. My point is more that our system is unjust.

I think our justice system is a great system on paper. The theory, the details... I really like it. But in practice its run by people. And the people who deliver the justice seem to have all these weird attitudes. These attitudes of us vs. them, good vs. bad, we're good guys getting bad guys attitudes. And the attitudes have bled into their behavior in a way that makes justice impossible.

Let me make this more concrete. You take a person in jail awaiting trial. Now we're supposed to have a presumption of innocence. And sometimes its a little silly, I'm not going to lie. That guy who killed the congresswoman in AR, ok he was seen shooting her, presumed innocence in that case is just a formality. But in most cases, it should be taken seriously. I've interviewed people in jail. You know, for work. And the deputies working in jail, the people, executing the system, they're not presumin' shit. Another example is the way police often have this attitude when they stop you. My general experience with police is positive. They hold our hands and make sure we're safe little caseworkers when we knock on doors to see if kids are safe and talk to parents about child abuse. But when we're doing that, we're on the side of the "good guys." And we're going to get the "bad guys." I don't think of it that way, but I can tell you police do.

My experience is that the "bad guys" are often made that way by lots of influences. Its a social system, its a socio economic system. Meaning, they aren't actually bad people. They love their kids and want nice cars and houses and to be loved and validated just like everyone else. They're less likely to be educated, more likely to have been exposed to violence, less wealthy, more likely to work more than one job to make ends meet.

There's this group in Chiapas, Mexico, the Zapatistas. They basically had a revolution and declared themselves independent of Mexico and have been developing their own social and educational systems ever since. Peacefully, too. I love them. Anyway, did I mention the part about them developing their own schools and curriculum based on the needs of their own community?

When I watched Mario Rocha, I thought, if in these communities they did the same thing, they'd have to offer curriculum about the law. I bet you could get a lot of buy-in from some ghetto kids talking about how to handle yourself when you get pulled over or interviewed by cops, or how to handle disputes with a landlord. That's some practical education right there.

In other news, I'm reading this book called, This is Your Brain on Music and its really got some fascinating tidbits. Like, the bottom key on a piano vibrates at the same rate as pictures streamed together trick your eye into seeing a moving picture. Crazy, right?

2010-12-31T08:32:00.000-07:00

I don't do resolutions. I think they're stupid. And clearly they don't work. I think everything's stupid sometimes. Its one of my less attractive personality traits- a tendency to get all look-down-my-nosey. Its lame. But I'm just so cool. Or snotty. Or something.

Anyway, I figure if you need to change something about your life, you need to change it now. I mean now. Or tomorrow when you've got a plan for how to do it. But a magic analog change of the year, flippy number, brand newness... not going to do it. Change come because you work for it, becuase you're ready for it, because it needs to.

My brother makes minutia resolutions. Like that he'll randomly turn on his turn signal more often, or use words that start with q more often, or something equal inane. I love them. One year, he reset his trip-tick in the car every time someone did something utterly stupid. I don't think he ever got above 3 miles.

But I'm on the cusp of some change that needs to happen. It has to do with my picking. Not noses. I know I just posted about 7 year olds wiping boogs on the wall and that I've confessed to picking my own baby's nose but I have no intention of stopping either of those things. Well, until my baby's 7. By then, I promise to have stopped picking his nose, and if he's wiping them on the walls of his bedroom, we'll see how I feel about New Year's Resolutions, then, shall we?

No, I'm a husband picker. A critical, snotty, know-it-all who wants things done my way. A girlfriend just confessed that she started to ask her husband if he really needed that much shampoo when they were showering together and I thought, "YES! That's what I mean!"

I realized it when I was watching him play a video game and he went a different way than I would have and internally I screamed out "YOU'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY!"

Who is this lady and what has she done with me? I don't want to be a picker. I don't want to be a nasty wifey type that just groans and complains about everything my husband does.

It started small though. I was afraid of being on the other end of the spectrum. Those annoying types who say "hubby" and talk about how perfect their man is all the time. "OMG! He's, like, so incredibly sweet!" I think barbie-colored vomit will come out my nose if I look at them when they act that way. I mean the ones with husbands who are all bloated on the couch and she does everything and he does nothing and doesn't ever listen when she talks. BLECH! Women with adult bodies but children's roles. Or maids. I want no part of it.

I like strong women. Women with backbones and big mouths. Who occasionally stick their foot in their big mouth and laugh with their mouth full anyway. Laugh big full bellied laughs that fill the room with confidence and good feeling. You know?

But somehow I crept over into picking instead of staying with my toes on the right part of this balancing act of marriage. My toes over the line and I'm going to have to scratch that one and swallow hard instead of asking what setting the laundry was run on. WHO FUCKING CARES? Wait, I do. I care that I have a husband who gets up in time to have the driveway shoveled for me. I care that I have a husband who buys beer I'll like at the store now that I'm not pregnant, and bought kinds he knew I wouldn't when I was. I care that he asks what time I'll be home and sometimes has a plate ready for me (he's on his leave now.)

He's a pretty nice guy. No, he's a really nice guy. And a darned fine dad. And I should treat him like I want someone to treat my son and leave the criticism behind. You know when it needs to be left. Leave it in 2010. Its the tweens, starting tomorrow. And I'm resolved to shift myself away from the bitchiness, the scritchy, scratchy, picky criticalness. And just enjoy the best year of my life.

Friday Quotes!

2010-12-31T08:21:00.002-07:00

"At Walgreens, asked whatever the best cold medicine was to make meth with. Not sure why they had to involve the police."

"Today, in order to fight child abuse, I'm eating pringles and drinking diet cherry dr. pepper in my jammies-I figure its at least as effective as changing my profile picture to a cartoon- if not more so..."

"Dear Mom, You are one of my biggest inspirations in life. You picked yourself up so many times when life threw you down. Even though you gave Harley, the dog, away and spend way too much time at church, I love you much and will see you soon. Happy Birthday! Love, your daughter, mike."

"Tonight, I learned how to remove pine tree sap from hair. After more than an hour I THINK I might be sap-free, and I smell like a peanut butter/olive oil/soap dish. New perfume? Not quite. Needless to say, no cookie baking happened and the Christmas tree and I are not speaking right now."

"There's no 'i' in 'shut the f@ck up and do your job'."

"my throat is so sore it makes me want to stop talking to myself."

"You know the Christmas spirit has consumed you when you blow your nose and glitter comes out. "

D-"I drew a picture of Calvin peeing on your facebook status."
K-"Its cool, I can talk with my mouth full."
K-"Wow, that was gross! Even for me."
K-"Did I mention I can spit really far? I wonder if there's a guiness book world record about how far you can spit liquid? I wonder when I'll get to stop thinking about piss in my mouth. THANKS, D!"
D-"K, my friend. My hands are clean of this one."
K-"I have no idea what got into me yesterday."
D-"Apparently animated pee."
K- *likes*
K-"Wait, for the record, I've never had pee in my mouth in order to *like* it, but am pretty fuckin sure, I don't *like* pee in my mouth. Seriously, when will the animated pee leave?"

Junkyard Personality

2010-12-30T10:37:00.000-07:00

he constructed his personality in a junk yard

just took things other people discarded

and wore them around his neck

noose tight

fight with all your might

to carve out what's yours

a hubcap doesn't have to be what it appears

I'd use yours to make a mean grilled cheese

2010-12-29T17:31:00.003-07:00

Jeesh, haven't seen you guys in a while. What's it been, like a month? You'd think I'd been doing something important. Like being a mom. Really, I've been sewing a stalking. Holy distracted-and-horrible! I meant, STOCKING! From scratch. Every stitch, every sequin. Look who's crafty now, bitcheS!

Sorry for calling you bitches.

Around holidays and other some such marked events, I always think back. Sometimes I can't remember what I was doing the previous year. Or I think back and think, "meh" But last year, I found out I was pregnant on New Year's Eve. On account of the whole drink/not drink decision thing.

So I was all happy, and nervous, and scared, and nervous and happy and scared. And nervous. And happy.

Because I was just happy the first time I was pregnant, but that didn't turn out so good. And what's lame is that after you have a miscarriage, all you want in the world, I mean ALL you want in the world, is to be pregnant again.

And this year, I'm spending lots and I mean LOTS of time being really happy. Like freakin' greeting card, bullshit-no-one's-that-happy kinda happy.

I could count the tiny things that make me happy and they'd be like boogers on a 7 year old's wall. Grossly numerous.

You didn't think yours was the only kid who wiped boogs on the wall, did you?

And what's wild this year compared to last year, is how many times the thing I think of that makes me happy has to do with NOT being pregnant anymore. Every morning, as I'm walking in to work, I think "I'm so glad I'm not pregnant anymore." Because there's an OB's office and public health with their prenatal programs and the public clinic all in my building. So I see a pregnant lady, or my OB, or someone or just the office and think "I'm so glad to not be pregnant right now." Which is weird when I was so happy to BE pregnant last year. That little baby makes a HUGE difference though. Getting a baby out's worth it but I can't wait to ski in the new year this year.

2010-12-08T12:32:00.001-07:00

Ever notice how midgets on TV are only in entertainment. They're actors or porn stars or wrestlers. No midgets are just boring accountants or childcare providers or bank tellers. So I started thinking, "What job lends itself well to being a midget?" And the answer I came up with is, tailor for hemming and midwife for baby catching. In both cases the height thing would be a real advantage.

In other news, did you know you could spell tepees "tipis." I want to pronounce that tea piss. Which I think makes a good urban dictionary word for the dribble of pee men don't bother to wipe off the end of their wangs when they pee. Or a midget dingle.

Happy Hump Day, ya'll!

2010-12-06T17:09:00.002-07:00

Got 2 messages from a client on my voicemail today. One said he thought I was back from "maturity leave." The other said he was glad I was back from "maternity labor."

I love my job. Sometimes anyway. (but not as much as I love my kid. Its hard to be back at work. The silver lining is funny messages.)

Friday Quotes!

2010-12-03T11:08:00.005-07:00

"Our new nephew is pretty cool. Just for clarification, would you like to be the creepy uncle or the drunk uncle?"
"Let's alternate for a while and see how we feel. You go creepy, I'll stay drunk, and we can have a little sit down and compare notes annually and then decide. I just don't feel comfortable comitting to one or the other just yet."

Mom: "Oh hey! That's Tony Hawk on Yo Gabba Gabba"
Kid: "You mean that old man trying to skateboard?"

"I feel so dirty. Are all my teeth still there? Am I carrying a puppy mill puppy? Do my jeans have pockets? Are my roots showing? Going to WalMart is so scary! I need a shower!"

"ah, December 1st. The day I spend all day debating which feels tighter- my budget or my waistband. No one likes a chubby poor chick. No one."

"Thanksgiving. Not a good day to be my pants."

"Eat that turkey bitch" - Ike Turner, Thanksgiving 1965

Papasan Chair

2010-11-25T11:52:00.004-07:00

This morning I woke up fine. I showered and did all my boring morning crap. Including starting laundry. And for some reason, as the my to do list got lighter, the rest of me felt heavier. Heavier and sadder and sadder. Inexplicably sad.

Some mornings are just like that though. They come with a heaviness of immobility. A desire to just sit there. Inside the sadness. Let it engulf you and let the tears come.

But then I got up and saw a picture of a friend's baby in our papasan chair. And I thought of all the places that papasan has lived. I got it free from a boss I had when I moved into my first apartment. Something like 10 years ago. When we first got it, we had no cushion for it. So as we unpacked, it collected newspaper and tissues and other crap and that's what we sat on. Until a friend gave us a real cushion. Which years later got pretty much destroyed by a cat I had. And then it had no cushion again. Until we got one with a gift certificate when Rob and I got married.

As a minor, I used to pass out drunk and sleeping with my nearly 18 year old kitty in that chair. He's since died and 2 successive kitties have claimed it, no matter what we were using for a cushion at the time. I've taken pictures of at least 3 kiddos sleeping curled up with our grown up kitty in that chair. And I've watched the kids take the chair apart and put the basket on the floor and spin each other in it. Or make a line-up game of summer saulting onto the floor from the chair.

Its a papasan chair so it occasionally has been known to drop a person or two on the floor. Usually when they least expected it. Its like the ejection seat roundy rolly poley thing that drops you off when you were just being lulled into comfort. I've watched several grown folks fall get their yolks dropped on the floor. Funny every time. I mean peals-of-laughter-from-everyone kinda funny. Wholesome, full-belly laugh funny. Cheeks hurting, tears in the corners of your eyes funny. Funny that helps have your friends and family and friends' babies and families' babies all write themselves into the crumpled-up newspaper of a crappy chair funny.

I'm thankful for the things in my house that make me think of all the folks I've loved that have trouped through my house for meals and drinks and games and work and plans and tears and hopes and dreams and successes and failures. I'm thankful for my 12 year old, very used papasan chair. Happy Thanksgiving.

2010-11-20T07:55:00.002-07:00

Do you have captain-obvious realizations? You know, like when I realized I couldn't get out of being pregnant. Only this one was worse. I was reading a book and in it the main character talks about real parents. She says real parents are never as good of parents as they try to be.

And it hit me that I will not be as good at being a mom as I want to be. I'll try, but I'll end up screwing it up. I mean, I'll raise a competent man who can function in society. I'm not saying I'll screw up to the tune of a 45 year old living in my basement with a giant gut and no prospects who plays video games all day and means I never have company over again. I'm just saying, I have an image in my head of never yelling, always listening, reading constantly, teaching him to play the piano, and ski, and participating in his school, sending him to Swedish camp, and and and... I'll screw it up. A little.

Its like every other project I've started and failed at in my life.

Writing a book. Ok, I wrote one. I have sent exactly 3 letters to literary agents and been turned down for all 3. I stopped doing anything about it. Stopped editing, stopped writing. Fail.

Skiing. I did one competition and realized I'm not competitive with other people by nature. Except in playing cards. But I stopped pushing myself to get better after that and never did another comp.

Teaching. I never stayed anywhere long enough to refine lessons well enough to become really great. I'd get frustrated with the bullshit and leave. Except the one place I truly loved where I would have stayed, but we moved.

I never failed big at these things. I just didn't do them perfectly. And parenting's going to be like that.

I'm proud of the book I wrote. Its about a kid who lives in a treatment center for abused children and I think I did a pretty good job of capturing that experience. I think that's an interesting topic that we don't often read about. I would let just about anyone read my book and they'd probably give it a B-. But I know in my heart of hearts I have the capability of A work. I'm just too lazy.

Same with skiing and teaching. I passed but I failed, you know?

So I'm hoping for my best A work with Magnus. I'm hoping I spend quality time with him and check myself and my temper before responding to him. I'm hoping I take advice from the people around me about him, most importantly his father. But I'm sure I'll yell at him or handle a girlfriend I don't like poorly or get drunk one night and not feel like putting my all into parenting the next day. But still, I'm hoping for an A.

When life is touching...

2010-11-08T16:37:00.003-07:00

I was having this beautiful moment with Magnus last night. I was rocking him to sleep, humming in his ear, and periodically kissing the fuzzy hairs that rub my chin when he relaxes against my chest. It was one of those moments that made me go "this is why people do this. its all worth it." The stitches, the new stitches, the stretch marks, the crying, the never sleeping all night again...all worth it.

Then I realized what I was humming was this:

Even when life is beautifully touching, its funny too.

P.S. I love being a mommy and humming and talking gibberish and making faces and singing off key and dancing it out in the living room. Its rad. Hope you're rad today too.

Let it Ride

2010-11-06T14:54:00.002-06:00

My husband sings this song to the baby all the time with the modified lyric of "and would you cry, if I stole your pacifier?" You don't have to listen to the whole song, this is just to get you the right tune.

In other news, here's Magnus at Halloween. Ridiculous, how fun it is to dress up a baby for that holiday.

This is what he wore underneath the pea pod

It glowed in the dark, a fact I noticed in the middle of the night when I got up to feed him and saw that he'd gotten a glowing arm out of his swaddle.

Shit No One Tells You

2010-10-30T10:25:00.002-06:00

When I was a kid, my parents had this policy that you could ask anything and get an honest answer. It went hand in hand with another policy of theirs, which was you could use any word as long as you knew what it meant. They'd quiz you occasionally too, just to make sure you were paying attention.
"What's 'pissed off' mean, Karin?"
"It means perturbed."
I was a bit precocious.

My parents rarely used the parental copout/freakout/I-don't-want-to-talk-about-this card of "I'll tell you when you're older." So I probably would have learned about sex pretty early no matter what.

But as it turned out, I learned about sex from the movie Porky's.

I was 4 or 5. In 1984, movies were a big treat. You couldn't just watch pop one in the DVD player at any time. You had to see it at the theater, or you had to wait for it to come out on network television. Most mommies reading this were probably born after 1984 so I'm giving a reference to the times. Not like before TV times, (we weren't crowded around the radio listening to fireside chats, I'm not that much older than you all,) but before VCRs and DVDs.

The one exception was hotels. Hotels had pay-per-view and you could order movies. Which was exciting and fun and how my parents got my brother and I to get along for a couple of hours so they could go to dinner without us. They left us in the room with instructions that we could order a movie. We could watch whatever we wanted, EXCEPT NOT Porky's.

So, of course, we watched Porky's.

My brother and I did not often get along as kids. So when we conspired to keep this a secret from my parents, I was all in. I was NOT telling that we'd conspired to watch an R movie. I kept it a secret for quite a while. I'm not sure how long it really was. But in 5-year-old-land, it was a long time.

But then one day where-babies-come-from came up. And I said I knew where babies came from. My mom decided it was time for a quiz. This time I was not so successful in my precociousness.

"Ok, Karin. Tell me, where do babies come from. Tell me what you know."
I cried for fear of being in trouble. I wasn't. I told. Babies come from when two people take their clothes off and rub up against each other.

My mom had "the talk" with me then and there. She used proper terminology like "penis" and "vagina" and told me the whole deal.

Except...

She forgot to tell me you don't get pregnant every time. It was years before I found that part out. Which meant I was really confused as to why all these "accidents" happened.

The process of pregnancy and miscarriage and childbirth and parenting can be like that. You think you know, but then you find out something no one ever told you about. I'm thinking of taking a break from this blog to write about all the shit no one tells you. I'll be dropping it off here. I'll collect stories from anyone who'd like to share (anonymously or guest postings welcome.) I'm thinking this could grow into a book so I'll be testing some ideas out on the new blog and will appreciate any feedback. Feel free to comment or email me at swedishskier@gmail.com

Angry Whiteman's Grave

2010-10-12T14:03:00.003-06:00

I couldn't come out for National Coming Out Day. You know, because I'm not gay. I like ladies. Just not their lady parts. Well, boobs are nice. Everyone likes boobs. Anyway, I did get a pink triangle rattle, which we've dubbed the gay pride toy for Magnus. Oh and name him after his gay grandad. So I guess that was good.

Anyone notice that National Coming Out Day was the same day as Columbus Day. That makes me happy. Because I think it would make him turn over in his angry whiteman grave to know that homosexuality is accepted and welcomed on his day. Because Columbus was a douche. Which reminds me of that time in Chile when my homework was about Christopher Columbus but I didn't know his name was Colon in Spanish so I wrote a sentence about the colon. Ha ha, what a douche.

When you're on maternity leave, is it like vacation where if you want a beer at an odd time of day, say like 2 pm, you just have it? How about just because its Tuesday?

I didn't think so.

No kisses for ChompSki

2010-10-08T16:36:00.003-06:00

Today ChompSki, our boxer dog, was especially annoying. He just kept wanting to go outside. Our yard's not fenced. But ChompSki usually sticks close by. He stays to the back yard, does his business maybe visits the creek behind our house for some mountain spring water, then heads back to the sliding glass door. Today though, he kept going in front. He's not allowed to do that. He knows he's not allowed to do that. He normally behaves pretty well. Not today.

So when I got the baby all packed up to go to a lunch date, I notice a skeleton on the driveway. I should mention that I've been watching way too much Bones. What? Its what I've been doing while breast feeding. You can't read while breast feeding.

So when I see the carcass in the driveway, I think its a body. And then I realize what a spaz I am. And what a gross dog I have.

No kisses for ChompSki today.

2010-10-07T16:44:00.003-06:00

I still can't decide if I should write about this, what I should write about this, how I feel about this, how I should feel about this. But here it is. Magnus was a twin. Was. big WAS.

Not for long. Maybe 5weeks. But still.

Because I'd had the miscarriage, I called and made an appointment right away when I found out I was pregnant. They saw me at 5 weeks. Did and ultrasound and saw two little blobbies. I asked if it could be twins and they said yes. Could be. But not necessarily.

So I came back at 7 weeks. Because they were hoping to see a heartbeat then. They did. It was Magnus's. By then there were dark spots on my ultrasound too though. They didn't like that. Doctors weren't sure what it meant. Could be another miscarriage in waiting. Could've been lots of things. So I waited another 2 weeks to go in for another ultrasound. At 9 weeks they were hoping they'd be able to tell but said it was possible they wouldn't. I counted dayshoursminutesseconds. It was loooooonnnggg.

When I went in at 9 weeks, they said the spots were the same so not to worry and Magnus would be fine. But then he was just a little bloppie. The ultrasound picture of him was bigger than him.

Fast forward 31 weeks and a live birth later. And there were those dark spots live and in placenta. And they seemed to indicate multiples. At least one other baby was there.

Which means there's another little lost one. And I feel mixed emotions. Like I should shut up about it because I got this awesome healthy baby, who, every time I put my head to his chest, has this amazing heart beat that rushes along full speed ahead.

But also, like I lost another one. Seriously? Rewind 35 weeks- I was sure there were twins. Scared about it too. Because twins come out earlier. Because almost all mountain babies are put on oxygen and trying to pull two babies around on oxygen sounded scary. Plus, TWINS! Two of everything. Two car seats, double stroller, twice the diapers, twice the breast feeding, twice the bedtimes. But rewind 35 weeks and a large part of me wanted to have those twins. I could do it, right?

But I was spared that. Or something. Part of me thought it was lucky that I wouldn't have to care for twins. And felt bad about it. But part of me feels the loss of another baby. As Lora might say, another ghost baby. Maybe my first baby needed the company. But my heart didn't. Didn't need the company or the confusion.

2010-10-06T17:36:00.004-06:00

Destructive thoughts. Everyone has them. Or, at least, I choose to believe everyone has them. Who hasn't thought about driving their car into the concrete wall? Its not suicidal either. Its instinctual and destructive.

Thinking about smashing computers into tiny bits. Or whatever your pleasure. Or anger. Or whatever.

For me its not even an emotional thing. It seems to just exist. Like, mentally, I'm running through the grocery list, the to-do list, processing my day at work, and oh by the way I'm thinking of driving over the dam and what noise my car would make as it splashed into the lake.

Now I've added horrible thoughts of things happening to my child to that same destructive list. As in, I no longer think of driving into or over things, but what would happen if we took Magnus on a boat and he somehow fell overboard. Like, if picturing myself diving into the cold water and how fast I could swim to catch him would protect him in some way, I would be prepared. Like if I prepare all these scenarios for how to save his life, I'll be prepared to save his life in any situation.

Today it was that the stroller somehow got blown over by the wind and fell into the creek and how I would run down the embankment and get him. Its horrible.

When I was a kid, my mom used to say she was "having visions." Sometimes it was because your glass was too close to the edge of the table but it could also be something that we were talking about doing and how she was picturing some awful injury to our little bodies. I get it now. I hate that I get it now, but I get it.

Because I have visions of a moment where someone throws my child and I catch him. Or where I throw him to Rob in a bizarre moment of impulse. And Rob looks at me with a moment of hate in eyes and I know our relationship is over.

Does this happen to other people? How do you make it stop?

2010-09-30T12:07:00.000-06:00

Someone once looked at your little naked body and thought how perfect it was. Stared in utter awe at you as a miracle. I think that looking at Magnus and imagine that my parents probably did the same with me.

And it reminds me to be kind as I try to lose the weight. Someone made this body and was proud of their work. I made Magnus (I guess Rob helped too) and I stare and think "One day he will have a scar. One day he will damage this body. This perfect body I've given him. One day he'll say 'I can't' but I'll know better because I know what I made."

2010-09-30T09:31:00.000-06:00

my heart races awaiting to hear yours
wanting to know its the right speed and rhythm
wanting to hear in its future the cries that will one day come
gritty and grainy like honey
like truth
that you swallow whole for sweet fortitude
wanting to hear your mommy say she's waiting for the same
hope above
raw fear that peaks out from scar
tissues we will rise above
heal and grow and
meet you at the apex

2010-09-30T05:05:00.000-06:00

I think my kid has already learned to objectify women's boobs. Seriously. I bent over to put the pacifier back in his mouth for the thousandth time and I saw that look in his eyes. Ladies, you knwo the one. I'm pretty sure he looked straight at the boobs and his eyes glazed over and it was like seeing the future.

In grosser baby news, I picked his nose this morning and holy shit! It was the biggest booger. Like, grown person sized. He must've been constructing that thing since birth. He seemed none too pleased that I removed his masterpiece either. And this is confirmation that I have become a mom. I pick noses. Other people's. And blog about it. Wow. What is this blog coming to?

2010-09-29T14:01:00.005-06:00

You expect your life to go on. To change. To age in some capacity. You know, like the things they ask you to come up with your senior year of high school that you'll be doing in 10 years. So you have a concept of yourself and future times.

But you don't necessarily accept that is what will happen to those around you. We all hear ourselves as the narrators of our own stories, and in our story don't we all expect to be the exception to the rules? We face our mortality, but don't we really just expect to make it through some loophole at the end?

There's a part of me that expects that and more. That my husband will fit through the same loop hole and so will my parents and my children. That we'll all escape the inevitable death at the end of the story.

I wonder if when you get to a certain age if you start to see the loop get smaller and smaller and suddenly disappear. If that is when you face and accept your mortality.

I wonder this because in conversation with my father, he brought up his expectation that he will die of Alzheimer's.

I immediately pushed his assessment through my loophole and said he was crazy to think that. There'd be signs already, wouldn't there?

He said he's seen signs. Things he can't remember that he used to be able to. Little things, names and such. He had support for his future diagnosis. His biological parents had both died of the disease as had several other biological relatives. He took it to be a biological certainty.

Sure, he does cross words to push it farther into the future. But he takes it for an inevitability.

It came as a complete and utter shock to me. My father is the organized, competent, independent type. He never needs much of anything from anyone. He'll accept help; he just doesn't need it almost ever. He's sort of on top of his game all the time. As in, if he died in an accident, I would expect to be able to walk into his house and find a file in a very logical spot that had every detail of everything I could ever need to know. There's also probably a second spot like a will that has the information too. Just in case I don't get the file.

But the only reason I ever think of this is because of a freak accident that will never happen. I fully expect my father to live well into his 90s and to be operating and full tilt the whole time. As in running AA functions and organizing other people's lives and gardening and going to the opera and hitting on men in the 30s and 40s via the internet.

Alzheimer's?

When I was a baby, according to my mom, I would crawl to the door when I heard the sound of my father's car. I can't imagine that there may come a time when he not only won't enthusiastically be cheering on my every move, but where he will not even recognize a move as mine. Not know my face.

I'm a freakishly strong person emotionally. But I draw that from somewhere. At least in part it is from the rock solid foundation of my father. I've always assumed I would be the one to care for my father when he one day needed it. But could I handle that? With the carpet of bedrock pulled out from under me?

I think I'll go back to staring at that loop hole for now, and avoid dealing with problems I don't yet have. After all, there could be a cure or drugs by that time. Right?

2010-09-25T07:17:00.003-06:00

Something that everyone talks about is how hormonal you are during pregnancy. Its such a trite joke to make fun of how neurotic pregnant women supposedly are. I wasn't too bad. I won't say I didn't have some moments. But for the most part, it wasn't any worse than PMS and I was still rational the whole time.

Something no one talks about is how hormonal you are after the kid's born. Its not baby blues either. Its just normal, cry-real-hard-over-nothing. As in, I'm not sad but am crying. Or I'm set off slightly by something and am crying real hard. And feel like I could cry all day. A cleansing cry, you know? Not a sad cry. I'm the happiest I've ever been in my life.

One day I just got too tired and started bawling. One day I have no idea what set me off. One day Rob and I were talking and it was very slightly heated. I mean, very slightly. Not even elevated to the level of actual conflict. Bawling.

But then one day, I found a diet book. A you-just-had-a-kid-and-now-you're-not-pregnant-you're-just-fat diet book.

I know I'm fat now. I'm sure it'll work out. I've never been fat in my life. I weighed about 145 before baby. That sounds like a lot, but I'm 5'8" and a lotta muscle. My body mass index before baby was 21. That's the ideal healthy BMI. I'm not a fat girl.

Except, right now. I'm a fat girl.

And I have flub. That's what I refer to the belly as. Its shrunken significantly, but its flub.

So I found the fat girl diet book. And I knew the only person who could have brought it into the house was Rob. And I just started bawling. But this time, it lasted. I cried when I saw him and asked about it. He disregarded it, saying it was no big deal. It had come into the thrift store and someone gave it to him to give to me. Fuck that person, but whatever. No big deal. He clearly thought I was overreacting. I'm sure I was. I know he loves me and isn't worried about weight gain. But it just got me. Bawling.

It felt horrible. There's only so fast you can lose 76 lbs. I'd lost 35 at 2 weeks and found the book. I'm gonna need more than 2 weeks to drop this kinda weight. And I know I will. The things I can't wait to do: ski, run, ride my bike, do yoga. I'm sure the weight will come off just fine.

Rob's not the kind of guy to care either.

Later that night I cried in bed and told him about how upset I'd been about the book. He held me close (both arms snug) and told me he loved me, that I wasn't fat (even though I am,) and that I'm beautiful and he loves me. And that's all anyone could ask for from a husband.

And now I'm crying again.

Friday Quotes

2010-09-24T16:39:00.000-06:00

"Carving the people around you into canyons doesn’t make you into a mountain by comparison. It just makes you dirty and low."

"Do not give me sports with my SMUT. I want that separate, like Church and State."

"Luke Lindberg is saddened that "Muslim" has become synonymous with "terrorist" in so many peoples minds. I never before understood how the Nazis succeeded in getting so many people to blindly hate Jews; it seemed so unbelievable. I am amazed now as I watch how easy to water the seeds of hatred are when they are planted in the fert...ile soil of fear and ignorance."

"Um... I just tuned in, but were they just playing the Black Eyed Peas, "Let's get Retarded" at the Jerry Lewis Telethon?"

"Let’s have the mediation in your office. I’ve never seen the inside of the Death Star."

"Skullcap? It tastes like if a mushroom could get moldy and fart in your mouth."

"I walk like a 90 year old cowboy who was on her horse the WHOLE time."

Magnus- a pictoral edition

2010-09-17T18:56:00.003-06:00

See how puffy my face was? I thought the swelling had gone DOWN. I forgot what my own face looked like. But who the hell cares when this is what you're holding.

Rob and Swedish Magnificence.

This is how the midwives weighed him.

I had asked folks to send candles with positive thoughts/prayers/meditations/intentions/energy for the birth. I got candles from all over. So Saturday we had birthday cake with some friends and lit all the candles in celebration of Magnus's healthy and safe arrival. I can't thank everyone enough for all the support.

It just doesn't get any sweeter than this.

Homebirth: Still graphic but a little on the lighter side

2010-09-16T12:34:00.002-06:00

On TV, the water breaks, the husband gets yelled at and blamed. In real life, that's fucking stupid. My water broke and I thought something exploded, had no idea what it was. Midwife got sprayed. That's just so gross. I can't imagine doing her job. Sooo, so gross. The same midwife got fucked at my birth multiple times.

Like the time toward the end when I was pushing and she tried to check my cervix to be sure that there wasn't a little lip of cervix left and while she was doing it I yelled at the top of my lungs "Get your fucking finger out of my TWAT!"

I heard the other midwife choke back a laugh.

I also never yelled at Rob. This was at least partially due to the fact that he used the strategy of listening to what the midwives said, watching for my reaction, and repeating the things I responded favorably toward. It worked. And I would never have known that's all he did either. Smart.

But I also never yelled at him because, I think that's stupid. Of course he got me into this. I told him to. I told him which days I thought he'd be most likely at being successful in knocking me up. I wanted a baby. Its not like I didn't know I'd be the one to labor and deliver. I just have never understood being mad at the man for it. He can't do shit about it. Except hold your hand and develop a strategy to try to help you out. I nearly broke Rob's hand I'm pretty sure. He didn't complain though. Smart.

The only time I yelled at Rob (ish) was at one point toward the end. The dog started licking my shoulder and I told him to get away. Rob thought I was talking to him and started to get up. "Not YOU! The dog. He's licking me." ChompSki was sent away. Rob had just changed the music and it turns out he knew he'd gotten the wrong thing and was trying to get up to remedy the situation. Next thing I knew, some shitty 80s classic rock was on. It was an awful song. And mid-collapse between contractions I said "What the fuck is this?"

That was me yelling. So it got changed to Toots and the Maytals and all was well again.

So after the birth, I had a tear and some other shit going on. Like, a HOLE in my labia. Both midwives said they'd never seen someone get a piercing out of birth, but here I am! Bullshit, I tell you.

So they start working on sewing my nanny-area, and I proceed to tell a skiing story to distract myself from what's happening to the girl downstairs.

A few years ago, we had a beautiful powder day. I got up and out on the hill for first chair. For anyone who does not ski, let me clarify that powder skiing is the best thing in the whole world. You float, you can try new tricks and jump off things you wouldn't otherwise. Because its soft. Its incredibly silly and fun and the whole vibe of the mountain is one of Christmas morning. Its people rushing to play and frolick and giggle and goof around.

So I was with some friends who I especially enjoy play time with, and we headed for some rocks they knew to jump off of.

I was game to hit the big rock, not sure how big but probably between 15-20' drop. I pointed my skis and hit it with confidence. Which usually means I land it.

Not so.

I don't know if my skis weren't tightened down hard enough or if I whacked something small in the landing or what, but one ski immediately ejected. The other stayed on.

One foot went through the snow. The other stayed on. Which meant that one ski's binding made a little go for my twat. It literally tried to fuck me. Probably about two inches to the left though. It didn't feel any too hot.

I took a minute to collect myself and then got up and got my gear back on and enjoyed the rest of the day. But my little girl swelled herself a goose egg that lasted for weeks.

So I tell this story thinking that it'll make me think of things I made it through just fine and distract me with thoughts of powder skiing and by the time I'm done, I should be done with the stitches.

When I finish, I realize the midwife's been listening and has not stitched me. Damnit. So then I proceed to heckle her while she DOES stitch me.

"You're not making all frankencrotch down there are you? I mean, you're not, like, sewing googly eyeballs into my snatch or anything, right? Cuz, this is taking a minute here."

I wonder if they normally have clients like me. I'm guessing not.

Home birth- The real fuckin deal

2010-09-13T10:50:00.000-06:00

So the end of pregnancy is for the fuckin birds. I'm sure plenty of you out there know this. There's nothing to say but that you're sick of being pregnant. You're a little sick of the sweet smiles and knowing looks from strangers. You're just all over sick of it. You're spectacularly sick of the: when's your due date how far are you are you having a boy or a girl I bet you're sick of this what hospital are you going to, conversations. You miss when people used to ask about the soccer game you played or the book you're reading. You're sick of swollen handsfeetfaceneckanklesEVERYTHING. Oh and from the beginning of pregnancy until FRIDAY, I had NO stretch marks. Friday my entire lower abdomen erupted into one. giant. stretch mark.

So all weekend, I thought, please let this be over soon. Every cramp I felt I welcomed and thought, "whatever work my body does now, it doesn't have to do during labor." Little did I know how much work my body was really doing.

Monday was Labor Day. I convinced Rob to have sex to try to induce labor. I went for a walk with the dog to try to induce labor. I swam to try to induce labor. I drank a beer to try to induce labor. You see the pattern, right?

Well, the shit worked. Because I woke up Tuesday morning around 2 am and was in active labor. I'd heard and read enough about labor that I was sure it was going to be a slow puttering process and so was prepared to read/rest/prepare. Instead, I woke up with pains doubling me over that were about 30 seconds long and every 5 minutes. Within an hour they were 60 seconds long and every 3 minutes. It was going to be fast and furious. Which seemed good, but scary.

I was glad we didn't have to go anywhere. I was anxious for the midwife and her assistant to arrive. I knew their expertise would comfort me and that they would take over some of the logistics so that Rob could settle into helping me.

There was so much I was confident about. I knew my body would push the baby out. I was certain the baby would be healthy. I was sure that Rob would be the perfect support.

There was more I was wrong about. I thought labor would come in stages and I would adjust and get acclimated to each phase. I thought I would handle pain well. I thought I would kick labor's ass in all honesty.

Truth be told: I cried out in pain a lot and needed every step of encouragement and positioning coaching and advice that I got. My body did know what it was doing. When it was time to push I couldn't have stopped myself from pushing if I'd tried. But it was far more painful than I could have expected.

So let me back up a smidge. I woke up at 2ish and waited until I'd had 3 contractions to wake Rob. We'd been sleeping apart the last week because of my snoring and erratic schedule. So I hollered at him that I was in labor and we both got up to get ourselves organized. We timed the contractions and realized we already needed to contact the midwife, there would be no waiting until morning to call her.

She said to try to rest in between and to call back if the contractions got closer together or more intense. Both happened within the hour and I have to say that I was already growing concerned about my ability to cope with the pain. I was breathing and resting and relaxing wherever I could. If I was already relaxed and lying down when a contraction started, I did ok breathing through it. But the reality of what I'd committed to was staring me down as I realized how strong the contractions could get and feared that I might not make it.

But as that fear stared at me, the logistical issue arose that the contractions were so close together, there was likely no transferring anywhere or doing anything but just getting through it. I was scared and overwhelmed.

Its hard to describe but your state of consciousness alters at this point. You go somewhere. Its not like you don't feel the pain. You do. Intensely. But you can't process everything going on. So you feel the contraction, you rest in between, you survive, you tune out. I heard the music playing that my husband picked (quite well I might add.) We started with Erykah Badu, then went on to some Toots and the Maytals, and finished things off with Chopin nocturnes that I love. I heard the sound of the midwife telling me to breathe, counting, telling me I could do it, telling me I was ok. I heard Rob telling me I can do anything, telling me I was doing great, he sounded so calm and even. (Faker) But still, he can hold his shit together in the moment like none other. And I really can't appreciate that enough about him. He did confess that his strategy was to listen to what the midwife said and if I didn't yell at her, he repeated it. It worked wonders and he was right next to me the whole time. I'm sure I bruised his hands squeezing through contractions. He was perfect.

I saw the clock tick by but didn't really feel time. 7:30, 8:30, 9:00. Nearing 10 I had to push. As the contraction struck, there was nothing but instinct. I was terrified I just had to poop. But it was the baby. Well... in all fairness there was probably some pooping too.

I was pushing in the birth tub, but that didn't seem to be working to everyone's satisfaction, so they had me get out. Which was hard. I gained a lot of weight and I really believe some of the difficulty for me was holding up my own weight. Its a lot to have an extra 70 or so lbs. That's a LOT, no matter what kind of shape you start out in.

So I pushed and made it through contraction after contraction. Listening to Rob's voice, listening to Chopin, going somewhere far but keeping my feet in now cuz you just don't have any other choice. You feel it all.

After I got out of the tub, they had me sit on the toilet, but then there was concern about my baby dropping in and I didn't like that idea either. So I came out and squatted at the end of the bed. I started getting tired doing that. So we changed again and I lay on the bed on my side with my foot pushing against one of the midwives. The small one. The one who weighs about as much as I've gained. I didn't say anything but I was so worried I was going to push my strong ass legs against her tiny frame and kick her straight into the birthing tub. Never happened though.

I stopped having a concept of time. But I did have a sense that the midwives wanted to see the baby come out. That it was maybe taking longer than they really liked. The problem was the contraction part where I could push and really use the contraction to push, wasn't lasting long enough to push the baby out. So then I was pushing past the end of the contraction.

I got up and they had me hang from a sheet in the doorway and push and then they had Rob attempt to hold my fatass up to push (which keep in mind he weighs my prepregnancy weight of about 140.) Neither of those was sustainable but they did see the top of the baby's head. "you can reach down and feel your baby's head." gross. I passed. "You're going to meet your baby soon." I have to say that did nothing for me either. I just thought, "Whatever. I just want this to be over."

We got back in the bed. Rob and the tiny midwife were back on pushing against my legs while I pushed right back. I became determined to push the dang thing out, contraction help or no. I pushed and felt myself ripping and burning. It stung and felt wrong. They assured me I just had to push through it. So I pushed more.

I pushed from the good point in the contraction, past it, after it, until finally, I felt so much tearing and this giant slimy thing come out.

They put the baby on my chest, slimy and wet. Rob caught a glimpse. A boy. And that boy immediately peed on his mommy.

I looked down at his face and could not believe how perfect, how beautiful, how golden, and how amazing he was. I don't think most babies are cute when they're born. And I was certain that if my own child was not cute, I would know. I would know and when people told me he was cute I would think "Liar." But he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. All 8 lbs, 2 oz of him. All 20 and 3/4" of him. His hair and his long nails. His pooling dark eyes, and his short even breaths as he drifts to sleep.

2010-09-06T10:55:00.002-06:00

When you were a kid, did you know a number of stupid boys in your neighborhood that would always try to get you to eat odd things? Like mud and glue and god-knows-what that they came from inside their houses with?

I did. I never had any desire to taste grass or to drink mountain dew milk with chocolate sauce and ketchup. I couldn't be persuaded to swallow a worm whole no matter whose allowance was on the line.

So I find it funny that as an adult, all it takes is these 2 tiny, sweet little midwives to tell me to drink a tincture of skullcap and I do it. What if they're not really midwives? Maybe they're secretly just the sisters of all those boys, all grown up and seeking revenge on those of us who said "no." Cuz if you've ever smelled skullcap, you'll understand that the mountain dew milk would've been cake comparatively.

Man, if I find out they're just fucking with me, I'm going to hope this kid is a boy, cuz girls are better at getting you to do gross stuff as it turns out.

2010-08-25T03:03:00.002-06:00

The nesting has gotten a little out of control. I vacuumed the floor and made a wedding album tonight. I got married 3 years ago. We have framed pictures up in hallways and my husband has mulched the back yard. We are messy, fuck-it kinda people. Which isn't to say we're lazy. We're not. We're just half assed about some things. And more likely to let something slide in favor of having a conversation about anthropology or make sandwiches and go for a hike than finish that big project. But the nesting has hit Rob particularly hard. And my will's a little hidden in the fat folds so I bend to him. And our house is shaping up quite nicely for it. Still, I hope I won't look back and wish we would have just held hands and taken more walks.

Friday Quotes!

2010-08-20T11:07:00.002-06:00

"The base area for one of North America's best ski spots, Silverton Mtn. One chairlift, the "lodge" is an army-style tent, the "rental shop" is an old school bus wedged in the snow, and avalanche beacons are required. Suck on that fur coats and martinis."

"If I have to pull up my big girl panties and deal with it one more time the elastic is going to break and I really will have to show my ass!"

"Its groggy with a 70% chance of sleepies this afternoon... I think I just ate the sticker on my fruit"

"So realized all my maternity clothes are black. Clearly being pregnant has made me a ninja."
"now that's something i'd like to see, Look Out!! it's the Pregnant Panther!! she'll strangle you with the umbilical cord!!!"

"A long time ago in a galaxy Favre, Favre away."

"The last combat unit left Iraq today. I am officially no longer fighting a war. I'm not sure what I'm fighting, but I'm definitely fighting something."
"Its a re-branding dispute. Our culture's dumb sometimes. Or maybe its a cold. You could definitely be fighting a cold."
"It's Operation New Dawn. I think we're fighting vampires"

"My cat does unholy things to captured crickets."

Driver's Ed

2010-08-16T03:24:00.000-06:00

I went to a training the other day about driver safety. I'd be lying if I said part of the reason I'm into a homebirth is how afraid I am of driving and death by vehicle. I detest the idea of putting a few moments old child into a car and driving anywhere. And you know what? I'm right. Statistically, you're more likely to die in a car than a fire. And people buy insurance and have fears of dying in fires and no one bothers them, so I'm perfectly within rational here. Right? Right? RIGHT?

Anyway, there was this lunatic woman in the class who kept talking the whole time. I hate myself when I'm that person. It usually means the pace of the class is WAY too slow for me and I'm tangentially entertaining myself at everyone elses' expense. So if you've ever sat in a training with me where I talked too much, I'm sorry. Although no one's ever actually complained to me because I'm pretty sure I toss in enough smartass/clever/random that people don't get all that annoyed. I read faces ok and I don't see that tense jaw, shut-the-fuck-up-lady look. I usually see intrigue, fascination, concern, confusion, amusement... that sort of thing.

I digress.

This woman was obsessed with commenting about every single step of the training. And it wasn't that kind of training. It was a here's-the-information training. As in, statistically this is what you should do to drive safer and avoid accidents. But we had to hear her every opinion and stories of her also bitchy daughter throwing someone's cell phone during a fender bender. And she had that nasty attitude of know-it-all meets uber-negative middle aged self-righteous. Awful.

She got us all side tracked talking about how pets need to be restrained in cars and they should have laws requiring pets have seat belts.

I have to say, I get nervous when I see people riding down the highway with a dog in the back of a pickup. I'm not a fan. I've owned a pickup (it was one of the tiny ones you see all over Mexico that barely counts, but technically has a bed.) And I never, EVER put my dogs in it. Unless we were just parked and hanging out. Because they're stupid. And they'll jump out. Even if you have them tied in. Then they'll jump out and hang themselves on their own leashes. Scary.

But having them in seat belts in the car?

She pointed to people whose dogs hang their heads out the window and I just thought, I look into those dogs' eyes and see lightning true happiness. Bliss. Pure pleasure.

But she doesn't. She sees bad parenting. Poor supervision. Danger.

I used to think it was really funny when I was learning to drive to tear around corners because of how my dogs went all ragdoll in the car and fell over themselves if I caught them off guard. I was kind of a jerk then. But whatever, they loved the car. And back then I did too.

BTW, the one useful bit of info that I gleaned from this training was that they no longer recommend judging the distance between you and the next car in car lengths. (that's what I was taught when I was learning to drive and Rob was taught the same so I figure you mighta been too.) Now they say count seconds. Its more reliable than most of us are with sight estimation. So count when the car in front of you passes a post or overpass or whatever and it should be 2-3 seconds before you pass the same thing. That should give you enough stopping distance. If you're into that sort of thing.

2010-08-15T03:09:00.001-06:00

I have fat cabbage patch kid feet and look like I swallowed a water buffalo. Its charming really.

Also charming is the fact that I now tear up listening to NPR on the way to work. NPR, people!

Oh and most of the time I'm having a combination of shooting pains and tingling in my hands from my newly found carpal tunnel syndrome. So if my posts are even sparser than usual its because my hands hurt now.

2010-08-03T08:48:00.002-06:00

Top 3 Labor songs:

3. "Mama's got a squeeze box" The Who
2. "Push It" Salt N Peppa
1. "Pussy Control" Prince

2010-08-02T15:04:00.002-06:00

I really like most people. I'm not all "I'm not a people person." I'm an introvert but I like people. I'm friendly and smiley at them. There are 2 exceptions:
1. while driving, I'm a bee-atch. Grouchy as can be.
2. Once I don't like someone, I have a tough kind coming back. I just can't stand anything about them. There's a woman I work with from time to time that I have this problem with. Every time I hear her saying anything I think to myself "know-it-all bitch." It doesn't even matter what she's talking about or if I know the topic. She's finger nails on my whiteboard. Or whatever.

Being an introvert doesn't mean you don't like people. The best description I've heard for it is that if you're an extrovert you get energy from being around people and if you're in an introvert it takes energy. I like it, but it takes energy. Running in the woods by myself gives me energy. I'm having a tough time these days not imagining the lovely things I'll do with my body when I'm "done." I know I'm not likely to do a lot of them because I'll be all covered in baby goo but still, its good to think about taking the baby in the sling and going for a hike. There are plenty of rocks to stop off on and breastfeed. Or take a nap in the sun if we're both tired. I picture an October day where Rob gets home from work and I hand him the baby and take the dog and go for one of those runs in the woods by myself.

I like escape. I like reading and movies and some of that's for the escape. When I get stressed, I plan my get away. I look into plane tickets to Burkina Foso or Madagascar and make sure I know where my passport is and consider what it would take to convince Rob to come. So with pregnancy its picturing the afterwards. It feels like a healthier escape. More just forward looking optimism instead of the I-quit-my-lifes.

But with it raining and having newly gotten carpal tunnel from pregnancy and just being all around ready to be done, the nap calling me feels like a pillowy escape I could just about chuck a cubicle at.

31 flavors of wonderful

2010-07-28T09:51:00.008-06:00

Know what's awesome about birthdays? Um, everything.

I went for a morning swim today. For my birthday, I allowed myself to be late to work and staff meeting so that I could be weightless and wonderful for a half an hour. It was worth it.

I thought about all the birthdays I've swam on. Which is most of them. (My birthday's at the end of freakin July. Its hot. And I love swimming.) The year I swam hard and fast laps in St. Louis before I ended up getting drunk enough to ask my husband out. Before he was my husband I mean. Before he was anything but my friend. And being my friend was huge. But friend crushes are scary. I remember I heard a song in the gym pool that morning that made me think of him. I had planned to out myself and my crush and the morning swim helped me fortify myself in my plan. Or the years when I was a kid and would go to the town pool. I remembered the year I went with girlfriends to a water park.

Its been a lot of good birthdays. I have spectacular birthdays really. There are some that really stick out in my memory. I remember my 5th birthday when my parents gave me the tags for my cat Morris. He was the best cat ever. Used to walk me to school and leap into my arms if I called him and let me hoola hoop with him in the garage. He slept with me every night for almost 17 years. That year we saw the Muppets at the movie theater and I got to invite more friends than my parents meant to allow and it was just perfect.

I remember turning 16 and the diamond earrings my dad got me that are still hanging out in my ears today 15 years later. Next year I'll have been wearing them 1/2 my life. 16 and taking a float trip and camping with a girlfriend. There might have been some doing drugs on a high school cops lawn back in those days, but I wouldn't swear on it.

21 and my brother flying to StLouis to be there for it. And going to the same bars he'd been sneaking me into for years but getting in all proper. That was 10 years ago. Is that really possible?

Then there was last year: dirty 30. When I got to score the winning goal in a soccer championship PK shootout. And went camping and got wiinebriated and went to Six Flags and went out for sushi.

This is 31. 31 flavors of wonderful. 31 years of memories. 31 years of preparing me for what my body is doing right now. Sometimes I feel like I look at my life through a prism. Like each time I see a new refraction, a new angle, a slightly different colored view. Like this year I think of my previous birthdays much more than the current one. And I think ahead to the birth of my own child. I think of my mom being pregnant this late in July and how badly she must have wanted to be done and how I have this history of all awesome birthdays and parents to thank for that. I think how happy I'll be to celebrate my own child's birthdays. I think how my baby feels in my belly this far along and how beautifully big and round my belly looks.

Lately, I've been enjoying being naked more than ever in my life. How's that for odd. I like looking at the changes and how magical that belly is in a mirror. How it can be held up by abs or let loose like a water baloon.

It doesn't really feel like me this year. Because its not entirely just me. I guess I'm sharing my birthday quietly this year. Introspectively.

2010-07-27T09:00:00.000-06:00

Ever think about what rules you follow and why? I do. Sometimes I really want to break rules just because I'm in that sort of fuck-the-system mood. Which is weird since I work for the system. Sometimes anyway.

I generally follow driving rules because I think they're based on safety and I'm scared of dying in the car. It seems like a really likely place for death. It certainly factored in to my decision to have a homebirth. I didn't want to put my 10-minute old child whose bones haven't calcified into a deathtrap and drive home. Just seems like dangerous to me. But then other people feel like its dangerous to have a baby at home. As in NOT in a hospital. Its such an assumption. Everyone just assumes they'll have a baby there. And that you'll have your baby at a hospital and that I'll have my baby at a hospital. But I'm not really planning on going to the hospital. I'm planning on pacing my house and listening to music and cutting up vegetables and playing my piano and stretching and relaxing and bathing and having my husband rub my back through labor.

That's an assumption more than a rule, I guess.

Another assumption is that of "supporting the troops." What does that mean exactly? I'm willing to bet no one with yellow ribbon magnets on their cars has really been spending their time designing equipment to keep troops safer. Or in all likelihood, has even sent a deployed military member a letter. I feel really funny about this assumption because when I hear "support troops," it feels like I might mean backing sending teens and twenty year olds to die. And I know that there are plenty of peace keeping missions and things that our military does that I can get behind, but my association immediately is of supporting a violent institution. And I just don't feel good about that. Again, I know there are times when our military is distributing bottled water after a disaster, but the main purpose of a military is fighting. And I'm a pacifist. So, don't say it too loud, but I guess I maybe don't support our troops. I feel more like supporting our schools or our elderly or our planet, you know?

I don't like the rules of wearing seat belts on airplanes. Seems like there can't be research to support that I'm somehow safer attached to the plane than not. They can't have done collision or impact studies all the effectively on that. If the plane plummets from the sky, I'm going to die, seatbelt or no.

I work for the government which you mostly knew. Child Protection, adult protection. That sort of thing. We have lots of rules. Mostly I think the rules are right on. I think they protect people. But the black and white of procedure and the fact that you can call 3 different people and get three distinct, different, self-assured answers makes it hard to put stock in the rules.

Lately the local government's been suffering financially. We're mostly funded by sales tax and property tax. The problem with that being that not as many people have bought as much so sales tax is down. And properties values have gone down a smidge so that revenue's down too. But roads still have to be plowed and children still get abused and buses still have to run and all that other governmenty, rule-abiding stuff. Throw all the tea parties you want, it doesn't fix drug problems or repair bridges. Both of which are going to cost your community money one way or another.

So since the money's not aflowin, the thought was to bring in a consultant to tell us who to fire. That's not how they say it but its definitely in the equation. Where is the inefficiency? What can be cut out? Let's clean out the old clothes and cobwebs and find some spare change in the sofa somewhere.

I'm sure its there somewhere too.

I'm sure its in the afternoons when the computers go down and we can't get anything done. Or the dead of winter when we lose power for 3 hours and the schools have close early. Or when their testing the fire alarms for a 1/2 an hour. Or when the phones don't work for three days. Or when your emails bounce back that had vital case information in them. Those would be some inefficiencies I could see saving us all some money.

But please don't tell the government that. Or we'll end up with another rule, another form, another law suit, and another bit of minutia for meetings we already don't pay attention during.

Rules that I like are those that say that adults can make bad decisions. It doesn't make it an adult protective issue. If you want to live in a pile of your own crap or eat only once a week and only things you managed to grow yourself- none of my business. If that's what you want. And you're not senile to the point where you think the food you're eating is daily and well balanced and just don't know your making a bad decision. If you want to drink until you die, off you go. Adult protection workers don't want to tell you how to live your life. Lots of people who work WITH adult protection workers are another story. I just want to make sure that IF you're at risk and IF someone's taking advantage of you, we stop it. So if you're loser son is still living at home and beating you to convince you not to throw him out, I'll likely try to help out there. Or if you're 3/4 of the way in the grave and want to have more help in your home, that someone safe comes to help you out. That's rules I can get behind.

2010-07-18T12:57:00.006-06:00

I like peeling things. Sunburn, paint. One time pepto spilled behind a shelf in my bathroom and I didn't find it until god-knows-how-long-afterwards and it was a solid piece of pink stuff that you could pick up. I took pictures and posted it. I think it was on myspace though. Seems like a lifetime ago. I like peeling the lint from the dryer. The other day when Rob was doing crap in his mancave/the garage, he came inside and handed me an old paint tray. There were about 4 layers of blue latex paint that had dried and you could peel the whole thing in one sheet. He said he pictured my face ahead of time, knowing how excited I'd get to peel it.

When I was a kid I would get really excited to get things in the mail. Even if it was junk mail. Just seeing my name in print on an envelop was exciting. I'd read whatever it was. Now I'm more selective. I don't get exciting mail a lot. Usually just bills and statements and netflix. The netflix is a little exciting. It doesn't hurt that it comes in a RED envelop. I love red.

The really exciting personal mail, like a letter, almost never happens. So when it happened twice in one week I felt like a princess.

I got a couple of things in the mail from my good friends who moved away in December. I was really close with their kids. Their daughter just finished Kindergarten. I got a handwritten note from her that said: "Hi. Karin. are you doing good? Is your baby doing good? I just wantid to know becus I havint seen you for a while"

I got a couple of candles from Gina along with baby stuff we needed but didn't expect. And the best part was the note. There are certain people who write notes in their normal handwriting. They don't dress it up or make it pretty. They write the way they write. And I love it. Gina has messy handwriting. So does my dad, and my friend Aarti. I like when I see it because its the real them. Handwritten is best then.

I try to write nice but it doesn't really work. Its legible which is the idea, but it doesn't look like a font. I have another friend whose handwriting looks like a print font, its that neat and pretty.

I like people who eat messy too. That are just so excited to eat that they eat however they eat no matter who is sitting at the table. Not that they're slobs or gross with manners, just excited and wipe their mouth with the back of their hand. Maybe a little hunched over their food to cut down on hand to mouth time. Or my cousin who eats her bowl of ice cream and then licks the bowl no matter whose looking.

Its been special like that lately. With people saying and doing nice stuff. Rob's been especially helpful and trying to do everything in his power to set up our lives before the baby comes. And then over the weekend, my brother ditched plans with his family to come along to run errands with us. Errands. It turned out to be really helpful because he drove which took a huge stress off of both me and Rob who are the worst errand-avoiders ever and both hate to drive. Plus, I knew he really wanted to hang out with me if he was willing to ditch out on a free lunch with his in-laws to drive around in the 95 degree heat to go to freakin babiesrus.

I love when he focuses in on what Rob has to say. Rob doesn't do a lot of talking, he's more of a listener/observer type. So when Rob speaks up, (my brother also LOVES Rob,) he gets my brother's full, undivided attention. Generally if Rob pipes up, he's worth listening to. So I appreciate that my brother notices this.

That's what's in my brain bucket today. I'll pour out more another day. Maybe after a good swim. Is there anything so wonderful in all the world (especially while pregnant) as a good long swim?

Friday Quotes

2010-07-16T12:26:00.002-06:00

"For once, somebody may call me "Sir" without adding, "... you're making a scene.""

"Felt like there was more flopping than usual in this mornings ESPN World Cup coverage... then I realized I was watching Bassmasters."

"A day off with a migraine is like the first day at fat camp."

"Do you have me on speaker phone or are you in the bathroom... you're calling me while you're taking a shit right now aren't you?"

Bad Librarian Pickup Line

"Do you have any overdue books, because you have fine written all over you."

Putting your eyeballs on sideways

2010-07-13T14:34:00.006-06:00

Ever lay on the couch and watch crap for so long that when you stand up, your perception is all off and it makes your eyeballs feel funny? Like they're on sideways.

I was at the police station today watching an interrogation and it was kinda like that. Only with more nausea involved. On account of the angle of the cameras and the weird way the digital images didn't flow but jerked. And the echo. En espanol. It was a little surreal. And nauseating. But I mentioned that.

The deal is the guy was accused of touching a four year old. Which is why I was watching the interrogation. He denied it of course. Its no fair being four. Or three or two. You can't tell a story with a beginning, middle, and end. Its like your stories have their eyes on sideways and can't get out the whole in your throat. And none of us can be sure of your story when its all Alice-in-wonderlandy. The story's true, its just hard to see how the parts fit together.

Cops want me to have the answer. They want there to be a black and a white and a good guy and a bad guy. They go after the bad guy. But its not so simple. Their view is all slidy and confusing too. Because sometimes people are on the right side or the wrong side and they switch hit for the other team, or just trade sides or hang out in the middle like Sweden all selling arms to one country but refusing to get involved in the war. That's more like most people.

Cops want me to be able to tell if he did it or not. They use their tricks and intimidation and training in lying to try to make a picture of whether he did or didn't do it. And we sit and talk and talk about it, trying to get it into some crisp photo focus that shows the answer equals 9 or 10 or 13 or yes or no or black or white. But I don't know.

My eyes are still on sideways from being all tired and unmotivated and spending too much time reading and watching movies. I've been all skewed viewed and mopey. Sometimes I get too focused and can't remember to have fun. Its been the worst summer ever for that. I'm so busy trying to make sure the kitchen's repainted and the baby room is set up and the energy audit and the new insulation and getting the carpets cleaned and my caseload cleaned up and prepared that I've been forgetting to be me. The fun, goofy me. The one who can drop things easily in order to make a snide comment or whimsical remark. Ok, they're a lot snarky sometimes, but normally they slide effortlessly off my braintongue.

Its summer. Lay around. Swim. Spend a long evening talking as the sunsets on a deck with friends. Go for a long walk without knowing when you'll be home or where you're headed. These are instructions for me. I'm allowing myself 2 more days to be hyper focused. Then, its summer. And I'm going to make myself remember who I am, reintroduce whimsy, let the focus out and shift and meander toward an easy ride to the end of wherever.

Having Babies at Home

2010-07-06T15:01:00.004-06:00

My whole life, I've heard the story of my cousin Anna's birth. And her sister's too. But I hear more about Anna's.

My aunt didn't exactly have a lot of love for the medical profession. And her first baby had been a horrible experience. She'd had him wrenched from her at least as much as she "gave him up" for adoption by nursing staff who leered at her and called her unpleasant names. And she loved him when he was born. And she found him when he turned 18 and loved him till the day she died.

When she had kids for keeps, she did it differently. She read books and assigned duties and had them at home. She was brave and surely faced many people who disagreed with her decision. But she stuck by her convictions and her desire for a natural birth and won 2 beautiful girls.

My mom was there when Anna was born. So was her sister, Kristina. They both still get this sparkle in their eyes whenever they talk about it. My mom says it was one of the most beautiful things she's ever seen. Kristina says it was probably the best day of her life. She was 7; that says a lot. Rarely does a family gathering go by without mention of their births. It was that memorable and beautiful and peaceful.

So when I found out I was pregnant, I wanted to have a homebirth too. I know there are family members and friends who love this idea and who are scared about it too. But we did our homework. It is not scary, or dangerous. At least not statistically. Especially not compared to our nearly 1/3 of births in hospitals being C-sections. I'm not high risk in any way. The neurologist officially cleared me of the one risk factor we were worried about saying that I no longer have seizures and that he would grant me the same risk of a seizure during birth as a person who has never had one.

My husband took more time coming to the decision than I did. Some girls picture their wedding day long before the groom arrives into their lives. I dreamt of having babies long before that was a possibility. And I want to have my baby at home. With the smells of my baby's home and the sights and the calm and the lighting and the obnoxious dog and the kitchen and bathroom and all the things that are ours. I don't want hospital shoes and whites and germs down the hall or epidurals or antibiotic infused products. I just want my husband, my midwife, me and the baby. Not necessarily in that order.

I don't believe in god. I don't not believe in god either. Its just not my thing. I like the adage "God?: I don't know and you don't either." But I think thoughts and prayers and meditations (I almost wrote "medications", funny,) have power. They certainly never hurt anyone. I think when a group of people puts positive energy toward something, it has impact.

So in that spirit, I'm asking people to send white candles with a prayer, or intention, or meditation, or thought with it for a healthy, safe, home birth. I like it for the energy it'll surround us with and the reminder of the support. Plus, it'll be pretty to give birth in a candle lit room, I think. I'll let you know how it goes.

A follow up to the Grinch

2010-06-21T20:36:00.002-06:00

Ok, I just realized that made my mom sound like someone she's really not. She didn't say the you're-so-huge comment because she's a mean and nasty lady or because she's overly concerned about weight or looks or anything. She made plenty of comments about me looking healthy and happy and other nice-junk. She was clearly thrilled to see me and had hyped herself up about it for a month. She also constantly rubbed my belly and told the baby how many people love shim.

And she's right. I'm freakin huge.

The Grinch who stole my figure

2010-06-20T20:35:00.004-06:00

Know that scene where the Grinch's heart grows 3 times its size? That's what my belly did this month. Its obscene. My mom took one look at me and said she wasn't this big when she had my brother. Which is frightening since I'm not due until 9/9. Come to think of it, the grinch has a decidedly round belly. Wonder if that's what made his heart grow? Having to pump a shit-ton of blood to something taking over his abdomen. Oh well, at least I'm enjoying mine.

Mine moves. My dad felt it today. Happy Father's Day!

Tikal

2010-06-18T12:02:00.008-06:00

So during our trip we made a stop over to Guatemala to visit Tikal. We stayed in the national park at my request because I wanted to wake up in the jungle and hear the howler monkeys and see spider monkeys and do a sunrise tour of the ancient city of Tikal.

We arrived to Tikal in the afternoon on a Wednesday and ate at the hotel. The dining area was open and airy and you could see out to the well manicured gardens in the surrounding area. As we were eating, I freaked out when I saw this wandering around.

I freaked and went and got my camera and stalked him until my food was cold, trying desperately to get a picture with his face in it. Apparently, coatimundis usually go about in family groups but this old guy was a strange loner and he was really only interested in termites. So most of the time he was either trying to get away from the giant pregnant lady (who was trying to squat and take a picture) or burying his nozzle in a mound of insects.

We made our arrangements for a tour the next morning and went to swim in the pool. Did I mention it was fucking hot?

When we first arrived in Belize, there was a restaurant advertising "Gibnut Stew." Now, I'd never heard of gibnut before. And when you talk about 'jibbing" in skier slang, you're talking about jumping on rails or other things in the terrain park. So I immediately thought "gibnut" was really funny because to me, it sounded like when someone falls with their legs on either side of a rail and gets "gibnutted."

It turns out to be this

Its like a 40 lbs mouse with no tail. Weird.

Then as the sun starts setting the Howler monkeys get going. There was a tree you could watch from the pool where they were frolicking and yelling at each other. Which was cool.

Later that night, Rob and I were eating dinner at the same restaurant and there was a bit of a ruckus with some locals. They were plowed. I mean, wasted.

This one guy starts stumbling out of his seat and as he staggers through the restaurant I say to Rob, "You know, I think there's an age where if you're that drunk on a Wednesday and no one died, you probably have a problem."

4am Thursday, who should be our guide for a sunrise tour, but Drunky McStumbleton.

There was an Italian couple we think was maybe going to come on the tour too, but we're pretty sure they thought our guide was a hoax. He wasn't though. Still drunk, he could have come from sleeping on a sidewalk. He carried no materials but a jenky flash light.

Then he starts explaining to us, (as he's leading us on a path through the jungle that is clearly not the regular entrance,) that the park has recently discontinued official sunrise tours. Now the only sunrise tours are ones where you take paths through the jungle and sneak in. Because at 6 months pregnant, I'm so sneaky.

In between phlegmy spitting and coughing, he occasionally stumbles and tells us to watch out for roots and to watch our step. He stops and explains that the money we've paid for our entrance and "tour" is really to bribe potential guards.

Because I want to bribe people in Guatemala. Especially people with semi automatic weapons slung across their shoulders.

But we continued on with the tour. And ended up seeing all this

In case you're a starwars person (and I'm not,) yes this is that where they shot that one ewok scene.

And yes, I did climb up to the top of this 212 foot temple at dawn led by a drunk Guatemalan. I could almost go faster than him.

We sat at the top watching the sun come up and listening to the Howler monkeys and birds. It was delightful.

Then we hiked around and saw other temple sites, watched spider monkeys and at one point I spotted an anteater. Which is quite rare to see I hear. I kept seeing signs about turkeys and thought, who the fuck cares about seeing a turkey. Until we saw this guy:

We saw toucans and parrots and didn't get hassled by any guards. We got back to the hotel around 9, hot and tired and happy.

Friday Quotes!

2010-06-18T09:03:00.001-06:00

"Dear fat lady on train, Fat doesnt equal handicapped. So I refuse to give my seat up no matter how much sweat it took you to shoot me that dirty look."
"maybe she was sweating because of the sexual tension between you & she"

"If you’re wearing clean socks and you don’t have hooks for hands then I’ve succeeded as a mother."

"How much did you pay for your sticky boobs?"

"If Mr. Peanut can pull off a monacle, so can I."

"Homeless guy on train asked me for a dime. I was feeling generous and gave him a dollar. He then grabbed my crotch. So...who wins?"

Special Flag Day Quotes

"It's the actor who played Tootsie."
"Dustin Hoffman."
"You mean the retard from Rain Man?"
"You mean Tom Cruise."

"If Rowdy Roddy Piper doesn't body slam somebody in this movie I'm gonna be really upset."

"I thought you were dead."
"I thought you were a man."

"It's like Leatherface and Scarface at the same time."
"And Butterface."

"What the hell!?! Don't you know it's fuckin' Flag Day!!! We're waiting for Rowdy Roddy Piper to pull out his sword, and I don't mean penis!"

"Boob grenades!"
"I'd say them tits da bomb!"

"Seriously, every cat I do this to..."
"You do a lot of cats?"

"Is that Robert Englund?"
"No, it's Jenna Jameson."

"You know when I was in London it was just like this."
"All the strippers were zombies?"

"Someone give her a pity dollar."

"Ewwww. You can't light pornstars from below."

"Wait a minute, I didn't sign on for a donkey show."

"Sluts on parade."
"That's my favorite Rage Against the Machine song."

"We drink to flags on Flag Day. Especially if they're on panties."

"Funky McFatterbarts?"
"Hey, they're not all gems."

"I can't believe he drank a whole bottle of peach vodka."
"Well, he drank half and his vagina drank the other half."

"to be continued... in space."

Gypsy Whores are everywhere

2010-06-11T18:15:00.003-06:00

Last night my husband decided it would be funny to call me a snuggle whore.
I was all, "Did you just call me a whore?"
And he was like "A snuggle whore."
"So, you're seriously calling your 6 month pregnant wife a whore?"
Then he looked even more pleased with himself and has now decided to call me a "pregnant, snuggle whore."

Speaking of whores, when I was a kid they were everywhere. Gypsy whores specifically. I don't know where my mother and grandmother's obsession with gypsy whores came from, but it was the reason to tone down your fashion a lot.

As in, you can't wear dangly earrings (my favorite to this day) because those are for Gypsy whores. As in, little girls shouldn't have red nailish polish because they'll look like Gypsy whores. As in, red and pink or red and purple don't match and if you wear that outfit you'll look like a gypsy whore. As in, Gypsy whore bath, which is where you take a bird bath in the sink. This was later called a PTA bath by my grandmother whose shocking statements became great fun in her later years. PTA stood for pitts, tits, and ass. Cuz those are the important parts you wash when you use a washcloth to clean up instead of taking a proper shower.

Thought you should know.

In other news, I have not forgotten about posting about Belize. I'm just crappy at getting pictures from the camera to the computer. I might have just brought it in to load from work, but I put some pregnant, gypsy, cuddle whore pictures on the camera that are for Rob and not so work appropriate, so it'll have to wait.

Happy Flag Day! If you've missed the joy of Flag Day for all or most of your life, the deal is this: You watch bad movies, drink beer, and eat burritos. The bad movies are key. This year, I'll be foregoing the beer and the group festivities. Which is a bummer, but I will be watching Thankskilling streaming on Netflix. Feel free to join me, gypsy whores.

As it turns out, I don't say everything I think

2010-06-08T12:18:00.008-06:00

Ever make soup and then get a cold and think, "dang, what a good thing I made soup!" That happened to me this week.

Did you know hemorrhoids are actual vericose veins in your ass? That's your gross and generally unimportant information for the day. Thank you pregnancy websites for teaching me all I simply must know to have a baby.

Ever poop green? Of course you do. I always want to tell someone when it happens. Why is that? I never do though. Which is weird because I tend to say everything I think. Or as it turns out, almost everything.

I don't want to talk about the baby thing lately. Someone very close to me had a miscarriage. Almost exact same story as mine. Same no symptoms/concerns. Almost the same date. 12 weeks instead of 11. I can't stop thinking about her. I'm terrified for her to go through everything I did. I hate thinking that she might be sobbing uncontrollably and unexpectedly at a time when she should get to be happy. I hate thinking how I spent every ounce of energy focusing on the good things in spring last year and worrying how hard she must be trying. She sounds better than I did. But I probably sounded better than I was. So where does that leave it? I want to call her all the time and talk to her about it or just jabber on so she can be distracted. Sometimes someone else talking and just giving me minutia to think about really helped. But I'm pregnant. I feel stained and like I should keep it to myself now. I don't want it to hurt. I know how pregnancy can hurt when you're looking at what you would have had.

My next door neighbor had a baby something like four days before my due date. The one we share a duplex with. I've never been so aloof toward a neighbor as them. And that was all pretty much why. It may have turned out to be a good thing though. They have raucous fights and their daughter screams every night around 7:30 for about an hour in a way that makes me think there are some lacking parenting skills there. Their fights involve banging against the walls that make the pictures shake. Did I mention they called animal control on us while we were out of town? While they knew we were out of town. Apparently ChompSki sneaks over and poops on their lawn from time to time. But they never said anything. How would we know? Why would they think we wouldn't try to remedy a thing like that? So yeah, maybe we dodged a bullet avoiding that friendship. And now, I have to say, I won't feel bad in the least calling the police during an uproarious fight. Nice move, prick.

But I do want to talk about the baby thing. Because it kind of dominates my every minute so I'm not sure what else to say. Except, I pooped green. Oh and I threw a plastic bag away yesterday, drove home, and then realized that I had a sports bra and tanktop in there. I also ran over the recycling on my way out of the driveway. I do lots of smart stuff lately.

I'm seeing further into my innie than I ever wanted to. It could become an outie. So strange. Also strange is how preggos get the oppositve of plumbers crack- buddha belly. Its where your pants creep down (without a waist to creep toward) and your shirt starts sneaking up and next thing you know= Buddha Belly. Makes me feel like gross smelly trash.

But I dressed up and that made me feel all romantical. I never realized how if you have a really dope wedding, then later when you go to other people's weddings, it makes you feel all smooshy mooshy and nostalgic and romantical with your husband. I refuse to say hubby. I'm married to a man, not a muppet.

Maybe I'll go ahead and hit publish now and puke the rest of my thoughts into another post in the future. Happy Thursday. Sorry I missed hump day.

Nailish Polish and Unfulfilled Sex Dreams

2010-06-05T08:59:00.003-06:00

I think its really funny when people fart in their sleep. I woke myself up the other night snoring. I didn't used to snore. Its like my body held onto that flaw until I got married. I'd lived with someone before too. But it never started until I was married. Like somewhere in my psyche I thought I wouldn't be marriage material with snoring. But now, fuck it, I guess. There's no point caring if you snore. But when I was 18, I bet I would've been embarrassed about snoring. You get embarrassed about weird shit when you're 18. Or 21. One of my friends had her first baby when she was 21. She was really concerned about getting waxed before the birth because she didn't want anyone to see her yoni all gnarly and hairy. I thought that was funny. It just wouldn't have occurred to me that anyone would pay any attention to that during birth. I mean, I don't want things getting all george-of-the-jungle down there, but if they do, again, fuck it.

When I was a little girl, I loved my nails getting painted. My aunt Carole used to paint them from time to time when I was teeny tiny. I called it nailish polish and I loved it. I thought it meant I didn't have to cut my nails or clean under then because if you chose a dark enough color, you couldn't see the dirt. I was right too, for the record. I generally keep them neat and short and clean these days but that's mainly because I can't paint my nails. If I'm painting, the whole finger's coming with it. The best I can generally hope for is painting my fingers and toes, getting the nails completely covered, and then waiting a few days for the polish to wash off my skin, sticking to the nails. And that's assuming I don't pick all the polish off before that happens.

I painted my nails this weekend though. Pretty passably too. Its because I can't figure out what to wear to this wedding Rob's making me go to. He's really excited about it. And excited is not usually a word that hangs out close to Rob's name. So I couldn't bail on coming. It turns out to be a good thing though because my closest friend from home will be there and some other folks I like. Plus Rob promised me I can swim in the lake today. I love swimming. I mean LOVE.

Rob and I watched an episode of The Dog Whisperer the other night. In it was this really traumatized lab and Cesar kept taking him in the water in pools and stuff as part of his treatment to get him calm. Rob started calling me the dog's name on our vacation because you put me in water and I immediately relax and just lay back and can swim and swim all day long.

He's still sleeping though. We both got sick coming back from Belize this week and he gets to take Nyquil (the jerk.) So he's out. In the mean time, I'm still recovering from my dreams. I keep having really obnoxious dreams about people in my life lately. I've dreamed that pretty much every member of my family has been awful to me. Last night I dreamed that my mom was walking into the houses of my neighbors and stealing the middle sections of their bread. My mom makes bread. She wouldn't stop either. No matter how I told her that I had to live with these people, they were my neighbors, she just wouldn't listen. I woke up and went back to sleep and dreamed that I was in a bathtub with a friend of mine (male.) We were clearly going to get intimate (thank god, I was NOT pregnant in this dream,) But then I looked up and saw that he had my hot pink bikini top on under a t-shirt. You could see the little ties sticking out of the top. I pecked him on the lips and headed to take the recycling in. What the hell kind of sex dream only involves kissing? Not that I want to dream about sex with friends, but ???

So I'm thinking I might post some about Belize. Pictures and stories and whatnot. But I don't want to become a boring 1960s wife with my slideshow of photos no one wants to see. So I'll try and edit and be brief. But the trip pretty much kicked ass so I feel I should share.

Friday Quotes

2010-05-14T09:24:00.001-06:00

"Stop trying so hard. He doesn't like you. Jesus, don't kiss an ass if it's in the process of shitting on you."

"M has very few life skills. One of them includes being able to tell when a person just got a haircut."

"I was making dinner. I asked M to get the cookie sheet. He runs out of the kitchen and comes back and says... 'Mom, I checked the closet. We don't have any sheets with cookies on them!" '

"I dreamt I was a large African American woman married to someone Big Black's size. We slept on 2 beds: a full size and queen size pushed up against each other."

"OMG, what if you got this from a dirty unicorn whore. Have you been soliciting unicorn eye fucking in back alleys? I think its time to evaluate the safety of your decisions, Gina. I mean, just because it has one horn and wants to poke you in the eye, doesn't mean you should let it. It could be a transequineism. You know where horses dress up in trashy unicorn costumes and perform bad 70s music."

"enjoying a nice meal outdoors, and realizing that no matter how much I love Israel, Israeli mosquitoes will always love me more. Let's just say that this love is not mutual."

"Wow, I think I must've taken an asshole pill today."
"Isn't that your daily vitamin?"

"I love my wedding dress. I want to buy it flowers and take it on a date."

"Becoming a mother does not need to rob you of your selfhood. Stay away from martyrdom. Martyrs never make good mothers; what is gained in giving is taken away in guilt." --Gayle Peterson

Friday's Mother's Day Card

"Moose wishes he had a mom like you... (inside) His is a bitch."

Pull Ups by Mr. Universe

2010-05-13T10:00:00.004-06:00

I was in a meeting this morning and got sidetracked and told the director of Social Services that I'm creeped out by body builders. (sorry if you're a body builder, but you're orange and greasy and I just don't get it.) Then I side tracked myself further by saying that I'm creeped out, BUT I would really like to do a pull up on one of their arms. You know while they've got it all flexed in the air? My coworker pointed out that it would be slippery because of all the baby oil and I told her "That's part of the challenge, Wendy." I'm totally getting promoted.

Except now when I searched for pictures of bodybuilders to add some sparkle to this lurvely post, I picked this picture.

Which totally made me remember that there are black bodybuilders too who could not possibly be made orange and now I'm racist. Shit. I'm sorry to black bodybuilders everywhere. You are not as creepy as white bodybuilders which is still probably racist but in your favor so maybe we could work something out. I just want to do a pull up on your arm. But not now. I'm pregnant and probably can't do a pull up now. But if I could and did it on your knotty, slimey arm, it would be the most bitchin thing ever.

This is more racist, but are there Asian bodybuilders? I just can't picture it. So I googled it and there are.

And they're so much scarier than orange or black bodybuilders. Scarier than clowns even. Only without any of the added perks of clowns like baloon animals and funny dogs or tiny cars that baloon animals, clowns, and dogs come out of. Get it together, Asian bodybuilders!

Junk Drawer

2010-05-12T11:36:00.001-06:00

Its wild how you can share these incredibly intimate moments with people you don't really know. Whether its the song you sing to me and the way you can carry me around on stage and I can feel my soul bouncing off walls and through amps and fingertips when we've never even shared a name. Or the person who caught me when I was about to pull into oncoming traffic when the horn beeped to snap me to and I owe this person whose eyes I've never connected to their breath so much for my in tact ribs. Or the person who inserts an IV on the scene to never be met conscious by a patient who dreams their way through these moments of intimacy. And I wonder, does the person know how they've touched someone? Does the singer know I felt her voice? Does the slap feel the sting like my face? Because we all see the same gathering drops on a window and feel the rain is alone with us. We all construct our personalities from a mix of junk that we see sitting around. Something an older brother discards is still good for me, and someone else might have my carebear underwear on their head. Sometimes making the junk look pretty is easier than others. Pick some sparkly things to put in yours is all I'm saying. Toddlers and drag queens are right about some things. Lady Gaga isn't one of them. Weird how she can end up streaming down the window pain when I was really thinking of someone with substance. You know substance? like a pool that has thickness you can stand a spoon in, not just liquid that slips past never to be noticed or felt. I'll light a candle for my thoughts to stay thick and good or when they're dreary that they smoke away.

Mother's Day

2010-05-09T09:44:00.003-06:00

Last year for Mother's Day we went out to breakfast and had a great time. A couple of days later is when I found out the baby was dead. I have really mixed emotions about being wished a Happy Mother's Day this year. The baby moves every day and Rob even felt it for the first time on Friday night. I'm happy about it and not all that worried. But still, it makes me kind of want my mommie.

What's important

2010-05-02T14:48:00.004-06:00

You ever notice how much we downplay fun? If someone's talking about a really good time they had, their eyes crease with joy and they get all lit up about it but if there's something serious going on, they'll excuse themselves for talking about something trivial. I wonder if the trivial thing isn't the serious one. If focusing on the whimsy and joy of the little things is really what makes for the spread of benevolence and joy. And isn't that meaningful? Is there anything more meaningful?

Next time you throw a water balloon or see a funny movie or go sledding or play a joke on a friend or make a child giggle, tell me what's really important.

Turning a page

2010-04-22T12:32:00.005-06:00

I had my first seizure when I was 21. I didn't know it was a seizure at the time. It just seemed all foggy and confusing and then I could hardly move. For hours.

I went to the ER hours later because of how I could hardly move. I couldn't walk on my own, really. I was too weak. We waited in the ER for a long time when I unexpectedly felt fine. We went home.

Over the next several months I went through MRIs, EEGs, EKGs, glucose tolerance testing and much more. I was diagnosed with epilepsy and put on meds. I lost 1/3 of my hair. I had seizures 3 and 4 times a day. Even on meds. Which made me feel drunk and on an emotional rollercoaster. Oh, and did I mention I was 21 and losing my hair? Cuz being a bald woman is something that is bigger and scarier than it sounds.

Is it as bad as being quadrapeligic? Of course not. But its no small thing.

I tried different meds. My hair stopped falling out. But I was still an emotional mess and I still had seizures.

After months of this, I gave up. I stopped taking any meds. I figured what was the point of risking the side effects of medication when the medication wasn't stopping any seizure side effects anyway? So I quit.

I quit drinking. I quit staying out and up all hours. I quit eating shit for meals. And I started running.

I decided to run a marathon. It gave me a goal and a focus. At one point early in my training, I seized mid stride and fell flat on my face. I got up and finished my run. And after a year of training, I crossed a finish line.

And cried. And celebrated. (With a beer.)

Years later, there was a new medication on the market. I tried it. There is a fatal rash associated with this medication. But no birth defects (unlike the other meds I'd taken.) I cried hysterically for hours every time the dosage was upped. And my sex drive snuck away when I wasn't looking. I had no drive. I mean, none. It just didn't ocurr to me.

By this time, the changes I'd made to my health and lifestyle meant that I was down to 3-4 seizures a year. I decided I could deal with that.

I went back off meds.

I got married a couple of months later. I had a seizure the day after the wedding. I was ok with that too. I was exhausted and it had been a very stressful time.

I only had 2 more seizures after that. And one of them I'm not sure if counts. It was so mild.

And now its been over 2 years. 2 years of no seizures.

But I'm pregnant. And things at work have been beyond stressful. So I got a little worried. Plus, I'd really like to have the birth take place out of a hospital setting. In a perfect world, I'd have the baby at home. I know a nurse midwife to do the catching. But first I had to see a neurologist.

So I went to the neurologist. I had to make 4 appointments before one stuck but eventually I got in to see him. And I was nervous. Really nervous. I was absolutely certain the doctor would have some alarmist attitude that would say I was not a good candidate for home birth and would try to pressure me to go back on meds and put my life through upheaval again.

That wasn't at all what happened. The doctor said he felt it was very likely that I could turn the page on this chapter of my life. Those were the words he used.

He ordered a 72 hour EEG, which means I'll get to spend a weekend walking around with electrodes on my head and not showering but I can deal with that. He wants to use it to confirm that there is no seizure activity going on. Meaning, I could be in the clear.

He said he saw no reason I couldn't have my baby at home.

Its put me in an outstanding mood. But also had me thinking about all the lonely times when I couldn't drive and was scared of how the seizures that were happening one after another might ruin my mind. My beautiful, smart, snappy, snarky, spunky, silly mind.

I was at an AA meeting with my dad (he's a recovering alcholic) and they talked about how you are not your disease. But it is a part of who you are. And its strange to let it go. Its like an ugly scar that you grow used to. And it might be fading before my eyes.

Its something to celebrate, but its also something to say goodbye to. When the time comes. When the baby's over the 6 or 8 week mark and I still haven't had a seizure. I'll forget where I set that scar down, the light white one that used to be in the back of my mind.

Beautiful Spring

2010-04-21T16:05:00.003-06:00

My hommie Dean called me and left a message once with another friend of ours singing "Let's go surfin' now." I still have it saved. This weekend he turned 30. He left me a message saying "Karin. Its Dean. I'm turning old this weekend. Yeah, 30. I'm gonna need to see you this weekend and throw water baloons at you. I've got goals, Karin. Goals."

I met up with him on Sunday. We saw Pato Banton (see also kickass Reggae,) for free in the beautiful sunshine. Pato dedicated a song to the preggos. And I stood next to some deaf folks and got to thinking how they must experience the vibrations of a concert. Made me really feel connected to the parasite. I started thinking about that song dedicated to shim and how it was all bouncing around in fluid to the vibrations of reggae and it just felt so good. Next thing you know the show's over and Dean's running around in the snow trying to fly a kite.

Afterwards a bunch of friends played hacky sack in the sun. Baby's first hack went off okay. Shim can stall that shit.

Then yesterday I stopped by Dean's and teepeed his room. Just for fun. He knew it was me though. I was the first person he guessed. He called all giggly. It made me really happy.

Life's pretty sweet.

Baby Moves

2010-04-15T07:21:00.000-06:00

Here's some advice I plan to follow with regard to giving my children things to drink.
Give water. Nurse. Feed fruit. Rinse. Repeat.
No juice. Never. I mean it. Not until the kid's old enough to decide to spend pocket change on a chocolate bar vs. soda vs. juice vs. all the other things they shouldn't be having but we all do. Meaning, when my child is old enough to have pocket change. To go to the store and spend it and make change and make bad decisions they have to begin living with all on their own.

In other news, I felt the parasite move. MOVE! It was the most excitingest thing ever. Seriously, I couldn't focus on a thing afterwards and just kept coming up to Rob (who was trying to play his banjo) and saying "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" Wander the house, attempt to read, rinse, repeat "The baby moved, Rob. It MOVED!" It was so awesome. Little thumps, not rhythmic and I don't know where they come up with flutters, thumps.

It made the chin hair I pulled out and the fact that the top of my boob touched my stomach when I bent over and my thighs touching and replacing "happy hour" with "gassy hour" and giving up soccer this summer all worth it. And none of those things are awesome. But 8 seconds of it moving and I was all set on my mission.

I have to say, though, I miss skiing. Badly. I'm going to be a mess by next season. Now I'm not even dreaming about skiing as much. Sad. I'm not supposed to ski. And at first I was allowed and it was fine. And then the doctor's office was all, "you shouldn't ski after your 1st trimester." And my friend who is 10 days behind me pregnantways was all, "Yeah, but I'm sure its fine. You'd pretty much have to break your pelvis for it to cause a problem." And I thought "ok." But then my coworker BROKE HER PELVIS! So yeah, no skiing.

The other good/weird thing is the dreams. Mine and other peoples. I dreamt about the baby being born and that was cool. It felt kinda like pooping in the dream. Like when you get the thing moving, it started to feel better and then it was just out and I was dying to know what it was.(We're waiting to find out if its got twignberries or a girlie playground until the bursting day.) I also had a dream about the bugger having teeth and coming at me to breastfeed, but that's another story.

And this! This is an email I got from a friend:

So I had the most fucked up dream EVER last night!!!! You were in it. I was pregnant...so were you...you were soooo excited that I was pregnant and I kept trying to explain to you that it wasn't a good thing that I was pregnant and had no idea who the father was...not because I had slept with so many people....but because I hadn't had sex??? But you were in the room at my doctor's office for an exam rubbin my belly...and then the doctor stuck her finger in my butt???? And you were hysterical!!!! Woke up soooooo confused....and with nothing in my butt!

This is funny because its totally what I would do. But seriously folks, the obgyno is not supposed to put her finger there. Right? That's not some other nasty surprise coming around a corner from here, right? Cuz the baby moving just got me over the hump of all the things I'm missing and I'm not sure what else is to come in pregnancy to get me over a finger in my asshole.

Wednesday Weirdos: Santa doesn't belong in April

2010-04-14T06:58:00.000-06:00

I saw Santa walking with a walker yesterday. Only instead of a walker, it was giant antlers. And they were black. What animal has black antlers that if you held up would be just the right size for Santa to use? I wanted to yell, "Santa, it is NOT ok to do that to Rudolf. I don't care what he did to your favorite pair of red velvet pants!"

The line between asshole and normal is yellow

2010-04-08T19:35:00.003-06:00

Know how I know?

I don't know why, but whenever I see shoes like this

I think, "I want to kick her/his ankle." Its sort of like sticking your finger in someone's mouth while they're in the middle of a yawn, or pushing your index finger into the middle of a person's bruise, or when someone's squatting on their haunches pushing them over. And I do all those things. I guess, I'm just an asshole. Although, for the record, I've never kicked anyone's ankle.

We all have certain destructive thoughts. Most of us want to knock down a tower of blocks, and have thought of smashing someone's face into a cake or smashing our computer monitor. The ankle kicking thing is like a cross between the yawn-thing and the desire to drive into the median. We just have destructive, mean thoughts sometimes, I guess. Or at least, I do.

I get a cheshirecat grin thinking about it too. That's prolly where it crosses the line into me being an asshole.

Friday Quotes!

2010-04-02T16:18:00.000-06:00

"Pink makes me want to chop off my hair and hit people. The color and the person. Oh, and pepto. That shit's gross."

"Q-tip + ear = No-no, but it feels so yes-yes!"

"Jogging with a dog makes so much sense. But walking in high heels while carrying a dog? I don't get it."

"There's something about waiting in a principal's office in a kiddie chair that makes me want to write the F word on the wall in smelly marker."

"It's very clear to me that everyone celebrates my birthday with humping."

"With my son, after he dropped he kept getting the hiccups. It felt like my vagina was burping all day."

"Whenever I have to go to the court, "we're off to see the wizzard" starts going through my head."

More Fun than a Barrel of Monkeys

2010-03-28T09:55:00.005-06:00

I'm reading all these books on pregnancy and babies and I have to say the writing is just awful. Half of them spend so much time telling you what they're going to tell you and why they're going to tell you that I'm ready to shake them by the throat and say "Spit that shit out, already!!!" So my skimming skills are in use to say the least.

This morning I read a couple hundred pages (see skimming) of a book on the Bradley method, a natural childbirth method. I might add, that I have not found the Bradley method yet. So far its just info on getting pregnant and the structure of the body. Which is where I get into the terms they use. They call it the "vaginal barrel." They have a diagram of 2 different "vaginal barrels." One is engorged (excited about welcoming a certain type of guest.) The other is regular styles. I think the engorged one should be referred to as a "vaginal barrel of monkeys."

It also mentions that if there is no climax that the "vaginal barrel of monkeys" can remain in a state of "general crabbiness," as a result. Nobody wants a crabby vaginal barrel of monkeys.

The book also talks about a "birth climax." Basically saying many women have an orgasm at the end of child birth. Do any of you know about this? Is this a real thing? Anyone had one? I simply must know.

Motorcycle Lessons Over 60

2010-03-20T19:47:00.004-06:00

My mom got in a motorcycle accident. She was driving. Taking lessons.

My mom married this really awesome man. She talked him into doing all kinds of things for himself that he never would have before knowing her.

When they met, for example, he drove an old sedan and started it with a wrench and because he's that mechanical type, he could've kept it running forever. And he would have. Even if he had the money. I'm not sure he believed he deserved nice things. But she talked him into buying himself a really nice truck.

She also talked him into buying himself a really nice Harley. He'd always wanted one. And they went for rides quite a bit. They loved it.

But then this awesome man died. And every time my mom thought about selling the Harley, she cried. Finally she sold the truck instead. And with the money, she bought a sidecar for the Harley in order to be able to drive it herself.

So she was taking lessons. But she's over 60. Learning the balance, and habits necessary isn't the easiest then. So yesterday she crashed. Left in an ambulance. She was joking and nice with her black and blue face and broken arm. Left arm.

Until... they said they'd have to cut off her wedding ring. She lost it. And flat out refused. She iced and worked it off her hand, because she was far too afraid to cut through the inscription on the wedding ring of her dead husband.

It makes me all teary eyed. I can imagine my mom beginning to heave in an ambulance about her wedding ring and all it represents. You can't cut through that. She's already been cut in half just by losing him. You just can't. They had a beautiful love and I'm glad at least that symbol of it got to stay whole. Even if her arm didn't. Even if it put a little crack in her resolve.

So I hope she heals her broken places inside and out and gets right back on that motorcycle.

(I should also mention that her plan is to put her 3 legged golden retriever in the sidecar when she's driving around. She's got someone working on developing a harness to seatbelt him in.)

Friday Quotes!

2010-03-12T09:49:00.002-07:00

""I told Hannah that she could watch a movie after I stopped being deranged and she started crying because that was going to take too long and the movie is only a one week rental"

"Daddy, why is there a hippie van at Starbucks?"
"I guess some hippies want coffee."
She laughs, "Hippies don't drink coffee!"

""Mutha Earth is sick of my sass" reads "motherfucker sucks my ass" if you squint your eyes and know you're on Karin's Facebook page."

"Sorry, I won't interrupt you while you're talking to yourself again."
"Thank you."

"I don't think you should be traveling cross country when you are 9 months pregnant (and your vagina is large enough for a minivan to drive through without even touching the sides)"

Calling the police

2010-03-05T21:17:00.004-07:00

I'm mildly freaking out. I'm not really the call-the-police-on-people type. But my neighbors just keep having these awful fights. I hear them yelling, well mostly her yelling. Then there are these awful banging noises. And I don't know if they're throwing shit against the walls or each other around or what.

I just get so anxious every time they do it. My hear trate skyrockets every time. It makes me shake a little. I can't sleep for worrying.

The last time was very early in the morning. Maybe around 5 am. From my bedroom (which shares no walls with their home, I might add,) I heard what I would swear was a person falling down a flight of stairs. I went next door and knocked on their door. No answer. But I could hear voices.

So I left. They were clearly both ok. The problem is I work for social services. And exposure to DV is child abuse in this state. And they have 2 little kids. And I just think, if I'm shaking because you're banging something against the walls so hard my pictures are shaking, what must their kids feel like?

But still. We share walls. Its a duplex. Its not like they won't know who called. And we have to continue to share walls. They seem like otherwise nice folks. And I hate to think of the police hassling them. But I also hate to think that they're fighting like this and what if someone gets really hurt. Or what if one of them is already victimized and needs some help righting things/getting out/getting help.

Oh and the baby's going to be sharing walls with them too. My baby, I mean. I'd appreciate if they could cut this shit out in time for me to have a baby sleeping that could be woken by the banging of its crib against the walls.

DJ Pregnant-C

2010-03-05T18:18:00.004-07:00

My husband has taken to calling me DJ Pregnant-C.

I think it is perfectly reasonable for me to respond by calling him V.I. Penis.

P.S. I'm pregnant (for anyone who didn't already know.) 13 weeks that is. Which should explain why the blog's been a little quieter and more seriouser lately. I was kind scared about the whole thing and well, just not ready to tell. But now we're all clear.

So there's good things and bad things:

My boobs are HUGE! Like 2 sizes bigger. They bounce now. And touch. Its wild. I don't appreciate it when I'm skiing. But the rest of the time I like it.
I spent about 8 weeks sick to my stomach almost constantly. That is fucking clown shoes.
I saw the baby's heartbeat. Its amazing. It didn't even look like a baby the first time I saw its little heart blurp on the monitor. Now it looks like a baby. A fuzzy, gray, TV baby, but a baby. I thought I lost an ultrasound picture for a while there, (which in all honesty could just as easily have been a picture of a patella, but you're just supposed to keep them and put them in baby books and sleep with them under your pillow for the tooth fairy or something so I felt pretty shitty,) but I found it.
The farting is out of control. V.I. Penis is now referring to me as the "largest gas producer in the house." We have a boxer dog. Horrible.
Every time I turn around, I read some other fucked up thing that can happen to you when you're pregnant. For example: your vag stretching and getting huge, random hairs growing on your face and body, losing the ability to hold your pee after giving birth (forever,) discoloration on your face that may or may not go away, hair loss. Need I go on? I need to stop reading so much. You won't hear me say that often.

I kept reading that you shouldn't start trying to have another baby if you weren't over your miscarriage, but I have to say, being pregnant does help. For me anyway, I wanted to be a mom, to raise a child. I wanted to teach my kids how to ski and read fun children's books with shim and go to the zoo and whatnot. It really wasn't about that specific pregnancy for me, but more a desire to be a parent. So, that desire being renewed really does help. I'm able to be happy and excited about people's kids and talking about clients' pregnancies in a way that I couldn't enjoy before. And it makes me sad that I missed out on those feelings for so many months. But mostly I'm glad to be working toward what I want and connecting better with people again.

Cheers!

Rape

2010-02-24T16:24:00.000-07:00

I was listening to a story on NPR this morning. They were talking about rape on college campuses and talking about how it came about that it became the college's responsibility to deal with the issue.

Essentially what happened was that this 19 year old girl was raped and killed her in dorm room around 20-25 years ago. Her parents lobbyed for and got a law passed that requires college campuses to disclose to parents and prospective students all reports of crime that occurs on campus. The thought is that no one will go to school at the violent schools and it puts it on the schools to make their college safe.

When I first turned it on, they were talking about this young woman who had been drunk at a party and had 2 guys walk her home who then raped her. She passed in and out of consciousness throughout the act. Prior to this incident, she had been a virgin in a 4 year relationship.

The girl talked about how she hadn't intially thought of it as rape. Until, she was in a lecture one day where the professor was talking about rape as a method of terror used in war times. The professor sharply turned the discussion to campus rapes and talked to the students about how they could and should report the rape to the dean.

This young woman went straight from class to the dean. The boys said it was consensual, and the case went no where.

My freshman year of college, a good, good friend of mine was involved in a similar situation. Probably one of you was too. The odds are good/bad. They say 1/5 college girls is raped.

So my friend didn't tell anyone at first. It was a guy she was friends with. She slept with quite a few boys that year, regardless of the very attractive and attentive boyfriend she'd left back on the farm. But later she told me, and another friend of ours. Outwardly I was supportive. But inside, I wasn't sure if I believed her.

She was stupid enough to get that drunk. She probably just had sex with him and then regretted it. One part of me seemed to say. But the other side knew she was a friend and that it was likely that she was right. She'd been honest about the other atrocious sexual mistakes she'd made. Why would she lie about this one?

So while I struggled with whether I fully believed her or not, he kept at it. Rumors began floating my way that this guy had done it to other girls. Many other girls.

And my doubts faded out as the rumors grew and took up residence. The last night before we all packed it up and left for the summer, I went out with my girlfriends. We got piss ass drunk and played drink or dare poker. It involved finding a strange guy off the street to wear a tail we made for him, someone wearing longerie to smoke a cigarette and I may have peed on a fire hydrant. (which as a side bar is a bad idea. Not like peeing on a snowy carhood is a bad idea, that's a sliding problem. This is more of a spraying problem. Yuck. I have terrible ideas sometimes.)

We went out to some parties and on our way home we found the little rapist himself. We yelled at him. We taunted him. We started slowly and cornered him. Knocked him down. Punched and kicked him. Tormented him. He denied everything, made disparaging comments and I lost it. I don't remember all this real clearly, but I do remember that we beat him up. Maybe pretty badly. I remember kicking him while he was on the ground and screaming something like "Do you like being taken advantage of when you're too drunk to defend yourself?" He was drunk.

I should feel bad about this but I don't. I feel like we supported her. She cried afterwards and smiled and thanked us. She got to confront him. Which was more important than the beating. But the beating felt good. Righteous.

But our violence likely did not stop Barry from doing this to other girls. Younger girls. He'd certainly spent his freshman year learning how to take advantage of freshman girls and I wouldn't guess this made him stop. But who knows. I transferred.

Anyway, as I was listening to the NPR story, I thought of what college campuses could do to lower than number of rapes on college campuses. I don't think it has a thing to do with the girls. Yeah, we shouldn't get hammered around boys we don't know, or put ourselves in bad situations, blahblahblamethevictim, nothelpfulblahblah.

Ever notice when there's a moral to these college rape stories that its always about what the woman should have done differently?

Unless I'm mistaken, its rarely the woman who did the raping, why are we always talking to women then?

When my brother and I were teenagers, my mom had conversations with us about rape. My brother had a friend in high school who was raped. I never knew the details but I think her rape sparked some discussion about the boundaries of where consent stops and rape begins.

My mom didn't just talk to me. Didn't just warn me to be aware of my surroundings and careful of who I trusted and how much I drank. She talked to my brother too. She talked about how its a man's responsibility to be sure that the woman he has sex with is able to consent. If she's really, really drunk, he should say no. Because it could come back to bite him later. Even if it seems like she's consenting. She's in no position to consent.

Why aren't the colleges having these discussions with men?

I can imagine if this were any other kind of crime, we wouldn't be focused on the victims. We'd be focused on how to stop it by stopping the people committing the crime.

What if this had been a very different news story? A story where Barry got up and told how he'd had sex with my friend and thought it was ok because she was drunk but who cares, right? Because his big brother at his fraternity had said it was no big deal and he's older and done it a hundred times so why make such a deal about it?

And maybe that would spark another boy talking about how he'd been acused because this girl one time didn't want to but he convinced her. And then some other guy might pipe in about how that happened to his sister and she got pregnant and it ruined her soccer scholarship or whatever. Or there might be a professor there to guide the discussion and say what men really should do in these situations. Try and explain what is and isn't ok. Call them out, let them know where the moral compass needle points.

But that's too radical for a college campus, right? Maybe we should stick to our 1/5 success rate of blaming the victims and telling girls what to do to keep themselves safe and then verbally lashing them when what they do doesn't work. But 1/5 doesn't seem like a very high success rate. I slipped through, barely. But some others didn't. And I'm not really in the habit of leaving my girls behind.

Teach me to fly

2010-02-24T09:23:00.003-07:00

What if we threw dreams like parties?
We'd invite all our friends
stand there holding plastic red cups of homemade margaritas
chat up a stranger
"Great dream, huh?"
"yeah, I've never skied on telephone wires or talked to pandas."
"True, but did you see her neighbor's kid snuck in to throw a temper tantrum?"
If mine was good enough, you'd invite me to yours, right?
Maybe then I'd finally stop losing my teeth and you'd teach me to fly.

Reunification

2010-02-17T15:05:00.003-07:00

Today in court I recommended reunification for the first time. There are a lot of bad/sad/terrible/distressing stories I come across working child protection. This case was no different. Drugs, DV (to the point where someone was charged with attempted murder.) Lots of problems.

It wasn't the kind of case that should see success at the end necessarily. But I pushed. And the mom tried. She really did. And I pushed. And today, it all worked out. At least for today.

For today, I got to do something good for a family. And it felt really right. Every attorney in the room hugged the mom after the judge made his rulings. And she cried and cried. I held out. When I left, I thought I would but I didn't. She was still crying when I left. It was really, really moving.

It was possibly the best moment in my professional career yet. And I just thought it deserved a moment to be written about before moving on to all the other tasks/investigations/meetings/phone calls etc. of my day.

Wednesday Weirdos: This is too fucked up not to post

2010-02-17T07:23:00.002-07:00

So remember this Wednesday Weirdo post? If you haven't read it, you should read it first so this will make sense. Mainly just the parts about the guy with the long hair whose car I peed on, though.

So the guy whose car I peed on? Killed a girl.

UPDATE: Hazelwood police investigate shooting death of woman | St. Louis Globe-Democrat

He's not so good looking these days. He killed his 18 year old girlfriend who he lived with. He was THIRTY FIVE YEARS OLD! He shot her in the head.

I got drunk and peed on a guy's car who is a murderer! Oh AND cut his long hair off!

Soooo fucked up.

retardates

2010-02-13T17:12:00.002-07:00

Remember this post where I talked about the word retarded? Well, I've been reading "The man Who Mistook his wife for a hat" which was first published in 1970, so keep that in mind. The book is about different brain malfunctions and hyper functions and all kinds of interesting stuff. A better, more updated version if you're into this kind of thing (and I really, really am,) is Phantoms in the Brain. Anyway, toward the end of the book he's talking about his work with "retardates." Yup you read that right. Re-tard-ates.

So the word is off-putting for sure. But aside from that, there's also a general tone of superiority in the section that almost gives you the impression the author thinks of people with mental retardation as being subhuman. Like a different species or something. And then he gets into how cuddly they are.

So he starts the section off with stellar words like "retardate" and "idiot" and then gets into how childlike the "mind of the simpleton" can be. But over the course of the section titled "The Mind of the Simpleton," the author seems more and more focused on identifying and drawing out the abilities of these people who are in a sense trapped by their own uniqueness. By the end of the section he's "communed" with a pair of twins who delight in coming up with lengthy prime numbers and has helped them progress to 22 digit prime numbers. He's helped a man who cannot communicate verbally, develop his talent for drawing. And you start to think maybe he's not so superior after all.

And I wonder if we all feel this way to some degree. If you've worked with people with limited abilities in some areas of their life, I think its likely you'll have felt exhilarated to discover hidden talents and successes and yet haven't felt on the same level as the person you've worked with. Its akin to when someone tells you bad news. No matter what the news, some part of our minds says, "that isn't me/that won't happen to me. I'm different." Better, different, separate, stronger, smarter, whatever.

Maybe that's why almost any description of mental retardation comes across as condescending. We all think, "that isn't me. That would never happen to me," and so it comes across as an us/them description. Every time.

On paper, logically, rationally, I think "we're all people. We're all equal. I'm no better than you or anyone else." But internally, emotionally, part of me always thinks "That isn't me. I'm better. It won't happen." Not consciously exactly, just somewhere hanging out is a separateness. But maybe I'm secretly an elitist. What about you?

In other news my retardate dog has been having diahrea and eating his own shit lately. Yeah, it sucks. Its a dog's instinct to "clean it up" but that doesn't really work out well. Fuckin gross.

Friday Quotes!

2010-02-12T09:10:00.002-07:00

"shouldn't you pharmacist (whos supposed to be all smart and not kill you) be able to look at your patient profile and realize that you don't need to warn a male to stop taking a drug if they become pregnant?"
"Aw, Pablo, I didn't even know you were trying."
"shouldn't your pharmacist (who's supposed to be all smart and not kill you) be able to look at your patient profile and realize that you don't need to warn a male to stop taking a drug if they become pregnant?"
"sorry Karin, wasn't intentionally removing your comment, just realized I hadn't actually used proper grammar in the first post..."
"I understand. You're not out of the first trimester so you're not ready to tell everyone yet."

"No time to make fun of South County rednecks tonight. Busy taking down my Christmas tree."

"thought she saw a poodle earlier outside Target, but it was just a pair of Ugh boots with pom poms."

"We should make a movie about the band... a cockumentary if you will."

"D is chasing an angry midget who stole an apple."

What to say, what to say

2010-02-10T14:50:00.003-07:00

This dad called me recently with concerns about his daughters. They're twins. His wife found them standing on a wet bathroom floor giggling. Sounds like normal twin girl stuff, right? The wet bathroom floor and the giggling was apparently because they were peeing on each other and thought it was hysterical. He did not think it was funny.

Friday Quotes!

2010-01-29T08:01:00.000-07:00

"Its nothing important like peanuts, weed, or milk."

"Shrimp is what happens if a cockroach and your thumb have a baby. "

"Last night we watched our cat, Bleeker, hump this stuffed animal, it was a little disturbing."

"I must admit, at Christmas, I too humped the toy."

"I will karate chop a pregnant lady."
"People are going to think I said that."

"Dear God, please never let me become a milk dud. My hopes and dreams depend on it."

"Sometimes I too, need a manual tickler system."

What do you do?

2010-01-22T11:24:00.000-07:00

One night, a long, long time ago, I was at a bar with my friend PPP. We were chatting at the bar and a guy was lurking on a stool next to me. I paid no attention. I wasn't there for boys. I was there for beers. So she and I were all leaned in and he was hovering on the outskirts of our conversation, looking for a way in. But like I said, I wasn't paying any attention.

I started bitching about work and talking about certain administration personnel and ending my tale of woe with the exclamation, "I work with a bunch of RETARDS!"

The guy leaned over and asked, "What do you do?"

Dismissively, I said "Oh, I teach special ed."

Dawdler

2010-01-20T07:43:00.003-07:00

I was a terrible dawdler when I was a kid. If there was a way to make it take longer, I did it. Not on purpose or anything. Its just that if I saw a toy, it would suddenly become more interesting when I was already supposed to have my boots on to leave. Or if I was waiting in the living room, the piano looked friendlier to play if I was supposed to be brushing my teeth.

My worst time for dawdling was in the mornings. I was never a morning person. Even as a baby. My dad had me in before care and after care at a woman's house so he got me up really early every morning. And from the moment he woke me the first time to the moment we left the house it was constant nagging. I thought Karin-stop-dawdling was my AM name.

So one winter morning when I was about 6 or 7, my dad woke me up and we began the routine. Only this morning, he told me that he wasn't going to wake me over and over, I'd better get up and get ready. He wasn't going to nag at me.

So I got up. And ran a wet comb through my hair. Took my pajamas off and put my pants on. And then...

Went back to sleep.

I woke up to him yelling "TIME TO GO!" And fearing that he would be pissed, I hadn't gotten ready, I just walked out of the house. I threw my coat on first.

Anyone notice what's missing?

A shirt.

I had no shirt on. Just my coat and pants and socks and shoes that I threw on in my sleepy stupor.

I figured it out on the way to the before care lady's house. But I sure didn't say anything. I knew I'd be in trouble.

Now, you'd think this would end in some awful embarrassment when some adult figured out what I'd done. Not so. We had a sub. And somehow, through before care, all day at school, and after care, I managed to convince all the adults that I was just cold and wouldn't take my coat off.

So yes, as a little elementary girl, I once went to school with no shirt on.

Past tense

2010-01-19T14:27:00.004-07:00

I work with this really kickass lawyer. She's been all crazy over this guy lately. He worked for probation. Past tense. Did you see it?

Over the weekend he killed himself. Enter past tense, the unwelcome jerk. And I feel soooo terrible. And guilty. Because I tried it to. I talked about it a little in this post. Try #17 and on. That's where I talk about it. A little.

And now when someone kills themselves, I feel guilty. Like what I did when I was 17 somehow makes me responsible for everyone who ever does it. Like because I tried it, I should know how to fix it.

But there are tons of recovering drug addicts that can't tell you how to get sober. There are great thinkers that can't explain their ideas. And the fact is, no one can explain suicide.

Wednesday Weirdos:

2010-01-13T09:11:00.005-07:00

So my brain needs some emptying. So prolly don't try to follow this as any train of thought.

Ever feel like someone's words can just strike you like lightning? Like they vaporize a part of you and the ashes are just a scar and every time you see them, that's what you feel?

I think women's shoulders are really sexy. At all ages too. And not floozy, trashy sexy. Sophisticated, timeless, classy sexy. Beautiful. Wrists sometimes too. Its not like tits or butts where its the obvious spot, you have to look for it. Being aware of their beauty.

I'm bad with question marks. I think them. I just forget to put them in the actual sentence.

I hate fake smiling. But I do it all the time. Before I started fake smiling women were always mean to me. If you have a pretty face and aren't overly ingratiating, you come off as a bitch/snob/snot/mean/whatever. It sucks. I'm pretty sure its often why I don't want to go anywhere after work. I don't feel like faking friendly anymore. But then, other times you fake it till you make it. And I know it has definetely worked to put me in a better mood. So I guess it all works out. Still...

I've been having really bizarre dreams lately. Ever notice how no matter how you spell bizarre, it looks wrong? Bizzare, bizar, bizzar. Why two rs? Anyway, I dreamt one night about a boy (currently a man) I grew up with. We were travelling all over a city tasting different tea flavored whiskeys. They were terrible until I got one that was iced tea flavored, but NOT sweetened. It was awesome. I haven't seen this guy in over 10 years. What the hell am I dreaming this for?

So then, I tell him about it on FB and he and I exchange some emails catching up on old neighborhood friends. Then, last night, I dream about one of those people. There was this girl who was married (think 19ish) and her husband and a bunch of us were friends. He was kind of a creep really. But very good looking. And very confident.

I'm pretty sure he slept with a couple of my friends. While married. To her. But I wasn't into that sort of thing. So she didn't hate me. But she did terrify me. I remember this story of them having rough sex that resulted in her scratching his back so badly that the sheets were stuck to his back and had to be showered off. I hadn't even had sex yet. Plus, she had a gun. Granted it was pink. But I opened their kitchen drawer and there it was. So yeah, terrifying.

You'd think I'd have steered clear, but I was stupid teenager and was fascinated by their strange life. So I hung out at their house and got drunk. At one point, I got this guy drunk and convinced him to let me give him a hair cut. He had long, gorgeous dark hair, but lots of split ends and I wanted to clean it up a bit. I'd never cut anyone's hair before. I tried using kitchen scissors. It didn't work out real well.

Another time, I think it was the time I found the Barbie gun, I was drinking at their house during a snow storm. I tried to climb on top of his Firebird which had one of those big obnoxious bird decals on the hood. I was determined to pee my name in the snow on the hood. I slid down the entire car with my pants around my ankles.

Anyway, upon catching up with my old friend. He tells me about what's going on with her these days. And I procede to dream that while Rob and I are decorating the lawn (which is weird in an of itself,) with christmas paper wrapped Elephants and horses and camels, she come tearing down the street, police in tow, and crashes in front of us. She gets out of the car, says "Hi, Karin," And tosses me her keys.
"I'm gonna get arrested now." She says aloud, then mouths that I should get the prescription drugs out of the car. There's half a bottle in it for me.

I'm excited about this. I get in the car. Rob gets in the car. Then I look in the rear view mirror and see that there's a cop laying in the backseat. Ummm. Now I know I can't go hunting for the rx meds. So I drive around the block under the guise of properly parking the car. When we get back, all the other cops are gone and the cop in the back is all "They left me." Which I think is hysterically funny and I make fun of the cop.

Then the fucking dog wakes me up so I don't get to find out what happens.

I also had a dream last night that involved going to an amusement park where a friend got all dolled up and insisted we go watch one of the shows. You know, the ones only grandparents want to go to. The ones that involve no splashing animals and no rides. Only dancing and clogs. My friend proceded to get up and take over the emcee's job. She did a great job.

Dreams are weird.

Friday Quotes! Best of 2009 Part I

2010-01-08T11:35:00.005-07:00

"I gave Toddler a plastic drink sword and a paper drink umbrella the other day and he gave them back saying, "no thanks, I'm not a Chinese girl"me: "what?"Toddler: this is how Chinese ladies fight dragons (holding the umbrella above his head and making jabby motions with the sword) "

"You look like a parapalegic trying to do pushups."

"The fairyest of drag queens and 3 year olds have the same taste in music."

"If you ever want to fuck again, I'm gonna buy you an iPhone cuz there's an app for that."

"Innapropriate comments? That's what little girls are made of."
"Little girls are made of Adderall."

"Next time I want a lawyer, not an attorney. I may be dyslexic but I'm not stupid."

"G supposes you think it's funny that she had hot sauce on her finger and then picked her nose."

"Happy Anniversary Sesame Street! Cheers to 40 years of having a hand up your ass."

"A painter paints pictures on canvas. But musicians paint their pictures on silence."

"I'll be Kanye West for Halloween & just before kids say Trick or Treat, I'll jump out of the bushes and yell "Christmas is better!""

"Thank God they found balloon boy, I was afraid that Michael Jackson was ordering take-out from heaven."

"When a mother has just given birth, is she crying because she is happy or because she knows all the pain and suffering her child will experience throughout its life?"
"Shut up, you douche canoe. She's crying because her vagina hurts from GIVING BIRTH!"

"Why you got to pry like that, Facebook? What's on MY mind you always want to know? Why do you care? Huh? Ass."

"You're like a tornado of bullshit right now. We'll talk again after your bullshit dies out over someone else's house."

"I wanna see if Michael Phelps can take a bong rip and hold it through th Eisenhower Tunnel."

"I'd like a cuckoo clock over my desk with a button I could push to make the little birdies come out and they'd twirp "Crack rock, Crack rock" real loud while people were talking to certain clients."

"nor do I hold it against you. You can't help being a Theravada Buddhist. Is that yoga for racist?"

"What's up with the gallon bottle of chocolate syrup."
"I mean fucking business, Dean."

"If you fuck a baby up, there's no amount of salt and butter that will fix it."

"You gonna sock some armless chick because shes got no balance? What do you think this is your birthday?"

"when I was little, I thought that mermaid vaginas were in their belly button."

"That blue water really cleans my hands, but it sure tastes like shit!"

"Yeah it is, I might have had to spit on a homeless person but I got 67%"

Robe

2010-01-05T13:27:00.009-07:00

I bought my dad a robe for Christmas. It was the softest, warmest, snuggliest robe I could find. My dad lives in his robe. He just retired. He'll be living in his robe even more. Not in a crazy, don't-do-anything-but-crosswords-and-yell-at-the-neighborkids sort of a way. Just in a finally-have-some-time-at-home-after-travelling-nonstop-for-the-last-15-years way.

As a little girl, I remember my dad would always make dinner, clean up, and change into his robe. We'd all go downstairs to play or draw or whatever and my dad would settle in to watch TV. Some nights, he'd make popcorn and I'd snuggle into the side of him. It was the best feeling in the whole world. It didn't matter what we watched. (Except the news. Or football. Those were not snuggling up programs. Those were stay-out-of-dad's-way-while-he-yells-at-the-TV shows.)

I'm a little hyphen-happy in this post-for-some-reason.

So anyway, I found this super snuggly robe and bought it for my dad. I wrapped it and put it under the tree where our kitty attacked it, tearing a hole in the paper and taking off with the ribbons. But I left it and waited for him to visit. Which he did.

Last time he was here we went to Strawberry Hot Springs. You have to walk quite a ways in your swim suit at this place and it can be quite chilly. A robe is so necessary for hot springing in winter. And hot springing in winter in and of itself is so necessary. My dad LOVED it. He almost for a split second thought about moving here for it.

Which says a lot. He's a big city guy. Opera, nice meals, lots of people, public transit, huge organizations of AA and whatnot to get involved in, more restaurants, plays, that's his scene.

We live in a small, mountain town with weird mountain characters that you run into overandoverandover again at the grocery store or wherever. Its rare I go anywhere without seeing someone I know. And I'm not all that social.

So anyway, I thought I'd get this super soft robe for him to keep at my house and always feel welcome and take to the hot springs and stuff. He opened it and loved it. Said, get this, he didn't have a robe right now. So he was super excited about this robe. It was the perfect color for his silvery goatee and the perfect size for his buddha belly.

My grandmother always kept toothbrushes for each of us at her house. It made it feel part yours. You were thought of. Planned for. Waited for. Wanted. Loved.

I hoped my dad would feel the same way about his robe.

He decided to go to Target to buy another one, so he could have one at home and one at my house. He bought me one too.

Last night I was soooooo cold. I just couldn't get warm. I had my down comforter wrapped around me and down slippers on and the cat but it just wasn't cutting it. So I wrapped up in my robe and read myself to sleep.

It made me feel warm. And snuggled and thought of. Planned for. Waited for. Wanted. Loved.

Twenty Ten

2010-01-05T10:53:00.004-07:00

I wonder sometimes if anything ever really changes. I mean really. Sometimes it feels like we take two steps forward and eighteen million steps sideways and who can even perceive how many backwards and then when you account for orbital, the earth spinning, relative position to the sun and whatnot, did we move at all? Did we get anywhere?

I'm not much for New Year's resolutions. I think its bunk. If you need to change something in your life, you need to change it now. Not quit smoking by the time you're 30 or lose weight after the holidays, or stop drinking after Mardi Gras. Do what you have to do now because you know you need to do it. And even though I'm not much for resolutions, I've been thinking a lot about progress and change and the movement of time since New Year's.

They have this new chip that's maybe gonna get tested on folks that would detect if cancer had metastacized llooooonngg before it was ever visible as tumors or masses or tissues in other areas. That seems like progress.

So does the fact that I can tell stories about my dad to anyone, anytime, anywhere and not really worry about something unpleasant happening just because he's gay. It can just all be out there.

But then, I watch a lot of documentaries about wars and conflicts, religious and race based. These conflicts just keep going onandonandonandonandon. One gets better and we'll all supposedly learn from it, but then next thing you know the Israelis are knockin on the Ethopian (jewish) refugees they let in the country in the 1970s because they're not Jewish enough because they descended from Sheba who was not a Jew and and juddaism gets passed from the mother, so they all need to be converted. There are certainly more recent examples. But I think of Israel as being a country devoted to education and that should save us from racist thinking right?

But it doesn't. us them. It goes onandonandonandonandonandonandon.

We beat kids. We haven't solved that one yet. Nor have we solved rape or sodomy or being nasty to each other on a daily basis.

I'm guilty of this. Not beating kids, but the nastiness. I get in a funk and want to yell and scream at strangers who don't know where anything is in my grocery store and stand in the MIDDLE of the isle discussing whether or not we need marshmallows for the hot chocolate and I just want them to FUCKING MOVE!

I haven't learned in 30 years not to be angry at things not worth being angry about.

I believe in anger. Its an important emotion. Its possibly the most motivating of all emotions. It forces us to change. Maybe we're angry but not enough, not at the right things. Maybe I should stop being angry that people drive the wrong way down a parking lot row and yell at doctors who don't report child abuse. Maybe I should stop getting so snippy at my husband for leaving bottle caps on the counter instead of in the trash can and tell the tourists at the grocery store "Of COURSE you need marshmallows for the hot chocolate! What kind of fire will you have later without them?" Maybe I should stop blogging and write letters to legislators and companies telling them about my outrage and my suggestions. But I probably won't. I like blogging. I snip. I'm annoyed by tourists. I should see the things I need to change and change them now.

And sometimes I do. I don't smoke. I eat pretty good. I floss. I exercise a lot. The mental energies could definetely be handled better though. I should structure my time more and focus on my writing. I should structure my mind more and focus more on what's right and less on being so fucking critical.

Maybe the teens will be better, the twenty-teens that is. Teens are angsty and full of fear and rage and change. But they're clumsy and insecure too, so maybe we'll keep stumbling around, taking steps forwards and sidewards and cattywompus, never really sure of our place in the universe.

Happy New Year's

2010-01-02T13:34:00.005-07:00

I just slid across my kitchen floor in stockingfeet. I love sliding. If I'm walking and there's snow or ice on the ground, I will take a few hurried steps, rushing into a slide. The only thing better is when there's that skin of frozen that you can jump on and crunch beneath your feet. Oh, and crunchy, squeaky snow under sneakers: the really cold kind.

In my first apartment, my roommate and I pledged all the floors and wouldn't let people wear shoes. I loved skidding across that floor. I remember sitting on a pillow and her pushing me around from room to room like a hockey puck. It was hard to stay on the pillow but worth it if you managed it.

But nothing but nothing is better than sliding on snow. So I'm off to ski. Cross country that is. Too crowded for downhill today. Downhill'll wait till tomorrow. Nice and early. And on new snow.

Happy New Year to you and yours. I hope you remember the little things you love, spend lots of time with people you like, and do things you feel passionately about like sliding on snow and wood floors and slick streets.

Friday Quotes! Last of 2009

2010-01-01T08:22:00.002-07:00

"is dreaming of a better world...where chickens can cross the road without having their motives questioned"

"Hoping that chocolate makes everything better. The last week of 2009 can kiss my ass."

"New Years Eve and April Fools Day should switch since most resolutions are a joke anyway."

"WOOF! Where's he been all my life?"
"Um, in the cradle."

"If you have a girl, someday she'll get a pearl necklace."
"I'm sure she will."

Matt- "A while back, Juno just jumped in the lap of the cable guy." (the cat)
Dad- "I did that once."

"If Tiger Woods comes back to golf again, he's going to have to change his name to Cheetah."

A Public Service Announcement from Smokey the Bear

2009-12-26T08:00:00.003-07:00

I'm reposting this because Lora at Fever wrote about smelly lotions a while back in a post, and then a day later my boss gave us all decorative money clips (because social workers have lots of money) and honeydewmellonball and sugarplum fairy handsoap (because all that money we have is dirty.)

THEN, at a Sustainability Task Force meeting (which is where a bunch of us from different departments all over the county government get together to try and get us to a zero waste organization,) we got off on a side conversation about feeding wildlife. I was so stunned. I mean, who doesn't know not to feed wildlife? Apparently, one woman showed up to do a home inspection, only to find bag upon bag of dog food in the garage. She asked the homeowners about their dogs, to which they looked confused and then explained that they leave the food out for the foxes and coyotes. Don't worry, I'm sure the bears know its not for them. Jesus, idiots. There were tons of stories like this.

So without further ado, A Public Service Announcement from Smokey the Bear.

Stop Wearing Shit that makes you smell like food.

Seriously. Its fall. I'm hungry. I'm trying to store up for hibernating so please, stop wearing that ridiculous mixture of mountain boison berry soap and java pumpkin seed lotion.

You think I don't eat you because you have semi automatic weapons and big trucks, but that's not it. I feel sorry for you. For you and all your stupid weird-patterned-hair brethren. Seriously, what's with that tuft of hair on the back of your head? And the occasionally spotty patches elsewhere? No other animal looks so pathetic.

I watch you on the bike path with your dog Sparky. "No Sparky, get down. Don't stick your nose in that poor gentleman's crotch. No!" Don't you get it you dumb bald animals? Sparky is trying desperately to figure out where you DON'T smell like food. He sniffing around going, "Where's the animal? Why does this bald thing smell like a roast? What the fuck?"

Sparky will eat you if he can't figure out that you're NOT a roast duck or a berry desert. And he's excited about this. That's why he's wagging his tail. Sparky's not real bright. That's why an animal stupid enough to need fire advice from a fucking bear who sleeps several months of the year, is able to own him.

So stop washing and conditioning your pathetic patch of hair with Olive Oil and Soy

and washing your hands with black raspberry vanilla

And putting lemon parsley lotion on afterwards

Remember only you can keep me from hitting you over the head before making you my dinner.

Unless you want me to think you're marinating on your way to being burried for a luau. Because, if it smells like dinner, and runs like prey, it must be...that I'm gonna eat you.

Then I'm going to bed for a few months.

Friday Quotes!

2009-12-25T21:47:00.001-07:00

"beer-and-a-pot-pie cha-cha-cha!"
"College, are you there? Its me, Karin."

"if by 'bottleservice' you mean 'bringing beers in my purse' then yes, we are."

"I have a crush on Swedish Skier's brain."

"Hullo, I glanced at your post and needed to share with you something that you will find engrossing."

"Don't give my dog drugs. I mean it!"

"I'm trading A-basin in my crotch for Beaver Creek."

Wednesday Weirdos: The Grimmkeeper

2009-12-23T20:26:00.003-07:00

Ever met someone who manages a cheap motel? I did.

At a party no less. He runs the cheapest, creepiest place in town. He's nice enough, gives out vouchers to help stranded people and victims of domestic violence. But the place is infamous.
And he was exactly what I would have pictured.

As in... missing teeth.
As in... corners you to tell stories about the dead people he's found in hotel rooms.
As in... corners you and does not stop talking to you for 45 solid minutes about said dead people.
As in... not even all the way in the door to the party, corners you and does not stop talking to you for 45 solid minutes about dead people.

It was awkward. And uncomfortable. But worse yet, I was invovled in a finding-a-dead-guy-situation and I totally wanted to tell people about it.

But I won't. Except, now I've put it out there so I have to.

The story is really just sad. I got a referral about a man who had been neglecting himself and was dying after years and years of abusing alcohol. I was unable to go out and check on him, so I sent police. Who found him. Dead.

That's all I know. But it was upsetting. And I wasn't even there. Thank god. But it was still upsetting anyway.

So yeah, I get why the guy told us about the dead people he'd found in hotel rooms. But he was still missing teeth and telling strangers about dead people while sitting on a staircase. So, I'm making him a weirdo anyway.

The Grimmkeeper.