And we're on the last day!
November 30, 2006
Overall, I liked the project. Thanks Mrs Kennedy.
UPDATED: I offered Miranda choice of pancakes or french toast this morning. She said, "Maybe when you grow up you can go to cooking school."
November 29, 2006
I had a glimpse of the future today. We were riding in the car, where all deep conversations begin. Miranda asked me what she was going to be when she grew up. And she talked about college and I brought up all of the paths there are in life. Despite liking college, I am not knee-jerk that it is the only path for my children. The journey toward grown-up life rightfully includes an exploration of what you want to do. And technical school has many options. In fact, it is harder to explain to a 5 year old what college has to offer. You can't mention beer or freedom from parental expectations or the ability to arrange a schedule without Friday classes. Miranda is more concrete than I am and may find my endless need to keep "gray" in the conversation annoying at best.
We discussed whether she'd have babies. And whether she'd stay home. And what sorts of job she might have. And I pointed out to her that life is long and she will do many things. And I threw us a curve ball be saying that I'll go back to work full-time, someday. She asked when. I suggested fourth grade, when all of my babies are in school. She was not sure that would be a good idea.
I find staying at home boring and frustrating and tiring sometimes, but I remember that working full-time was all of those things too, sometimes. And I love being here, being present, bearing witness, knowing the children through osmosis. My reality is framed by their lives. And just when that feels like it might swallow my brain, I think how short it is, in the scheme of life. I am not sure I am great at finding joy in the moment, but I certainly feel joy from my children and from our relationship. I have known for most of my life that if I had children, I wanted to be there when they were young. It wasn't religious or moral or ethics driving this desire; and in hindsight, it may not have been the perfect fit for my personality. And it is never a judgment on other people or other children. But for us, being home and in the car and Target and the grocery store and gym class together is good.
While thinking of going back to work, even if it is 5 year out, it struck me later in the day how the work may not be full-full-time. It seems doubtful I will pursue an ambitious career. Rob works a lot--he loves his job and that is a good thing. He is ambitious and dedicated and reliable. And we love him for it. But I can't imagine being driven to be gone 45+ hours a week and then come home to the children and home. Or to clarify, I can't imagine having both of us work full-time with the attendant overtime and long nights and deadlines and such. To balance dinner and homework and baths and cuddling and my own needs. I can only stretch so many ways--a European-style full-time sounds ideal--32 hours a week, many weeks of vacation. And who knows if that is even possible. Or what the job market will have available for me, a mom who has freelanced for 10 years (at that point, 5 years now plus 5 more years) and is unused to the office. Will I fit?
And later yet, it sort of clicked that my worries about fitting back into an office don't really matter. Life takes you many places and my path will not be as ambitious as someone who never jumped off of the moving train. It's not really about wanting it or striving or looking. My path will take me forward (or sideways or upward), because it wouldn't be a path if it stayed still. And I am on a moving path, just maybe one of those moving sidewalks at the airport, not one of those little subways. Potty training is happening and soon Henry will be in preschool and Miranda will be in a real grade and even if I planned to stay home forever and ever, I'd have to move on this path too.
And I fully believe that work will fill my days and engage my mind. I am not missing out on a long-held dream to edit the newspaper or practice law or fix my own plumbing (if you could check my ACT, I think those were the three career paths I picked--but I may have put the ship captain's choice about the newspaper thing). But my failure to pursue, much less achieve, those goals has nothing to do with the children or staying home. Those choices were made separately. I don't think this has been a very happy-sounding post, but it is as glowing a report as I can give. I'll ride this one out for a while. Life is good, as the t-shirts at REI say.
November 28, 2006
I think the entire blog world will fall silent for the first week of December, in pure exhaustion after NaBloPoMo. I suggest February for future events.
Miranda had her follow-up eye exam yesterday. We went with the ped. ophthalmologist for her amblyopia care. Not to take a Rumsfeld question/answer view, but did I let money dictate my choice of action? Sure, it influenced it. The vision therapy program, even with potential insurance help, was a huge amount of money. On the initial checkups, the insurance paid 90% of the ophthalmologist but only about 10% of the vision therapy charge. I also felt like it would be easier to try vision therapy second if traditional methods failed.
And traditional methods are not failing. Miranda has patched for 6 weeks. She improved form corrected 20/100 to 20/70 (20/60 if she reads one letter at a time, but officially 20/70). All improvements are in corrected vision. The prevent blindness forums prepared me to believe that if she didn't progress three lines on the eye chart, wit would be suggested we patch much more. I will confess that our patching was not quite as perfect as I may have noddingly suggested it was (not that there is a chance that our doctor is reading this, so I question my own blog coyness.) The vision therapy groups asked for 30 minutes of intense patching. The ophth. wanted 2 hours. We sort of split the difference. At least an hour has been my goal. Bribery worked wonders and after 3 days --> puzzle, 7 days --> DVD and 14 days --> Playstation game. "We love Katamari" is currently delighting us.
Miranda is starting to call her bad eye a blurry eye. She really is seeing out of it! I have no idea how she is integrating the images. But I lack imagination to understand non-binocular imagery. Even when I read about animals that don't integrate their 2 eyes at all...I don't get it. And color blindness. I hope the picture integration will get easier if at our checkup in 8 weeks she is at 20/50 or 20/40.
Excuse me while I whip this out
November 27, 2006
I am anxious. Christmas shopping is under control. I have two fun getaways for the next two weekends. I should be relaxed. Or at least anticipatory. Instead, I am jumpy.
A bonus story:
Henry has been carrying a small pirate figure everywhere for 1-2 weeks. He is partial to the red guy with the blue hat and silver sword, but luckily Henry is mellow enough that you can substitute the purple pirate in a pinch.
It is time for bed. Henry is upstairs and realizes the pirate is downstairs. Papa suggests that Henry go get the pirate.
"No, I scared."
"What are you scared of?"
"It's dark. And there are monsters and kitties and ghosts."
"I scared of monsters and kitties and ghosts."
And before you worry that he is feline-phobic, he's certainly not afraid of real cats. I wonder how he'd do with real monsters or ghosts... And Papa helped him retrieve the missing pirate.
November 26, 2006
It is invigorating to wake up at 4 on the Friday after Thanksgiving. I wish I had grander shopping designs than saving $2 on a race track for Henry.
Rob wasn't feeling like himself; the lure of Christmas lights was too strong. He did up the house amazingly well.
November 24, 2006
To all a good day. Enjoy the turkey and family and friends.
November 21, 2006
We have the new Weird Al album. It's good. The kids have been laughing at the Weasel Stomping song. The song after it is "Close but No Cigar." It feels like a parody of Cake--lots of horns. Weird Al has that particular genius to mimic without mocking, or mocking without mimicking--he usually separates the two. I love Cake. And I have decided that I would like nothing better than to hear Cake play Close But No Cigar.
November 20, 2006
I have been dashing forward with Christmas shopping. I feel behind and so I am buying the things that seem right. Part of me says it is good to just buy it, to get it over with. That the time, energy and costs of deliberating for weeks is worse that any potential buyers remorse. So far, I have few targets for Black Friday.
I usually write less when things are less funny to me. As this is often a real-time record/diary of how events were on the ground while the kids were young, not a nostalgic view I write up when they are old and I have forgotten how tiring it was to find activities for Miranda to do while wearing her eye patch. But I don't think I can be quite as brutally honest as this or this. Even when I may feel that way, just a little, sometimes.
All I have for personal funny is Miranda's lunch. I started with the frozen juice box, an idea gleamed from camp. That didn't defrost enough by lunch for her to enjoy. She also went on a milk kick and bought milk. The pre-paid lunch plan is pretty cool in that the kid has much more control and relies less on mom remembering 30 cents each day for milk.
Last week, she read me the riot act for not giving her a healthy lunch. I was skeptical, as my lunches are pretty healthy IMO. And when she was wee, she went to a day care that did not provide lunch. I had to make her lunch and/or breakfast and it had to meet state guidelines. One grain, one protein and 2 fruits and/or vegetables in any combo and milk. I am habituated to making such a lunch. That is my standard. But I also remember being a kid and figured that I could supplement with fun extra food. As Jon Stewart would say, not so much.
I put...heaven forbid...CANDY in her lunch. And chips. And this is true, albeit on limited occasion. After Halloween, yes a few pieces of candy made their way in. The counters were overflowing. it was that or hiding it in my shoes. And last week, chips did make their way into the lunch box. We had limited food supplies (we were not food insecure, to use the new hunger parlance. We had the money, just not the time/energy to grocery shop. I tried to talk her into the hot lunch of the day, but she was not interested. And so, chips went in. I shall remind her of this story when she asks for chips in her lunch in middle school.
Miranda suggested/demanded that we get water bottles in her lunch. I thought we had had this conversation before, but I misunderstood. I tried refillable water bottle and they leaked. She even add they needed the sport top, just like her friends. And ah, the light dawned. Miranda got slack for poor eating habits from her peers.
To back up the story--Miranda is a delight to feed. She is adventurous. She likes veggies. She does meat, fish, fruit, sauces. She isn't crazy about spice, but we have to leave some mountain to climb in the future. She eats well, she eats healthily, she chooses carrots over chips. She likes hummus. So it is bizarre that Miranda would be accused on poor eating habits. My fault I guess.
I bought the incredibly expensive, tiny kid water bottles with sports caps. She and Henry had four in 45 minutes. And to prevent choking, you can't unscrew the cap at all, so I can't refill it.
Miranda is still interested in candy--just not in her lunch. In the same day, she was upset that I brought a healthy after-school snack and not sweets. I pointed out that I thought she didn't want candy. She said, after school is OK, just not during school. I think peer pressure on having a healthy lunch may be a good thing, but probably not, if it changes her otherwise fairly healthy dynamic with food. I think peer pressure may be one of those forces I will be pressuring her to resist for years to come. It's OK when it's from Mom, right? Or still not so much?
And the new vehicle is...
November 19, 2006
We went car shopping on Friday night. Despite my allegiance to Honda, Toyota was wooing us, or so we thought. But Saturday morning in the cold light of day, the deal was not a deal. At least not fir us. So we went o Honda. And came home. Ahh. We have replaced our 2004 Odyssey with a 2007. Both vans are LX's, meaning base trim. On the plus side, it is much easier to find a minivan without a roof rack. Of course on the negative side,we don't have a roof rack. The new van smells clean. It is smooth and unsoiled, un dinged, untouched, No fingerprints, no teddy grahams under the seats. It will be fun breaking it in.
November 18, 2006
What do write about other than NaBloPoMo when you realize that 8 hours ago,. you lost. No post yesterday. Excuses, excuses. I think I screwed myself up by posting Thursday's early--I got out of my late night posting routine. Oh well. Now the question, will I post every day after this, or will I let myself off the hook and post mostly every day?
November 16, 2006
The scene: Sarah and Henry in the minivan, traveling down the road. We see a woman wearing a red hat and a black eye patch. It is a winter hat, maybe with a Christmas pattern. She is not in a costume.
Henry: "A pirate! Arr maties"
He repeats this 6-7 times until she is out of sight.
Thank god it is too cold to have the windows rolled down.
Rob is a (lucky) idiot
November 15, 2006
Today, Rob booked airfare for a conference. That conference happens Feb. 5 -9. When I got a copy of the seat confirmation, I noticed that Rob was flying Mar 4 - 10. My first thought was, wow, he'll miss my mom's birthday on March 9. My second thought was that Rob is an idiot.
That the calendar month layout is the same for February and March may seem like a weak excuse, but it was good enough for the airline. He called tonight and only pleaded a little and got his tickets changed to the right month, same dates and flight number, and if he is lucky, same seats. And to top it off, the sooner flight is cheaper.
Stranger than fiction
November 14, 2006
Three strange things:
1. In the Baby Disney books Henry insisted I read this morning, there were blocks in the background of one of the pages. The letters on the blocks read: N, R, A in one cluster and B, M in the second. That made me giggle.
2. The standard criticism of nutritional data on the food label is it doesn't reflect what you eat. 55 goldfish, c'mon. Or that candy car is 2 servings. We bought Chocolate Advent calendars at our new Trader Joe's. The serving size is 2, each serving being 12 pieces. Um, yes, that does happen. But an Advent Calendar seems one place that it would be OK to claim 24 servings.
3. On the lunch calendar for Miranda's school (it is a system-wide calendar) there are two footnotes on the bottoms. The * means it contains pork, the + means it contains turkey. The sausage pizza gets * for pork and that makes sense. The mock chicken leg gets a * for pork and that explains the mock, I guess. But the ham sandwiches get a + for turkey and not a * for pork. The turkey hot dogs don't get either mark. Neither does the turkey dinner.
Talking too much
November 13, 2006
I took Miranda to school at 12:45 today. You have to call when you are going to be absent or late, or else the school has a recording that calls you to ask you why your child is truant. I called the school to say Miranda would be late , like after lunch late. She needed to be on antibiotics for 24 hours before resuming activities. I felt better knowing she had 2 doses by the time she went to school. About 3 hours after the first dose, she was fully improved. It felt a trifle silly keeping her home. But...I hated to think of spreading any more strep than we probably have. She also has speech and gym only on Mondays. Those are both good things and I didn't want her to miss them.
The strange thing? I didn't tell the school. I didn't volunteer why we were basically a half day late. Why I drove her 20 minutes from home to have her spend just over 2 hours in school. I didn't say she had been ill, she was better, she needed gym and speech. Nope, I stayed quite. I maybe smiled enigmatically. I didn't even apologize for our lateness. This was novel for me. I tend to explain too much. Like I am doing right now.
The school secretary was not an 'inquiring mind' this morning on the phone or this afternoon when we buzzed in. I think she is used to people over-explaining, glossing over the details that people feel the need to spill forth. Like receptionists at the doctor's office, who hear why you've come in in more detail than they will ever need.
Miranda's teacher was not in today. She may have raised an eyebrow or asked Miranda what had happened. But the sub just accepted her. It felt strange to not explain or apologize. To just glide by, to not get tangled in the words. I often think I am a better liar than truth teller. When I lie, I think through the story; when I tell the truth, it falls out artlessly.
When I was in high school and my tendency to verbose was combined with my tendency to be 17, I had to make my mantra "write like Ernest Hemingway." He knew brevity. The paragraph does not need a parenthetical, a subordinate clause or three reasons, despite how well I may be able to craft such. I can edit what I write. I can find the simple declarative sentence. But speaking...I have rarely been able to control the overflow. As a sugar packet I picked up in high school said, 'never explain, your friends don't need it and your enemies won't believe it anyway.'
November 12, 2006
Miranda has strep throat. I actually like going to the doctor for things that can be checked. There is a process: they swab, they run the test, they know. There is no need to reenact your symptoms, to remember every detail of the course of the illness, no subjective reasoning about whether you or your child are miserable enough to get antibiotics. I am not an antibiotic seeker, but really, if I decide that someone in the house is sick enough to see the doctor, I usually think they are infected with an infection. Not just a little cold. I use Dr. Google to its fullest potential. We stay home for little colds. We go to the doctor with suspicions of ear infections or sinusitis or strep throat.
Of course, Rob had similar symptoms. He was swabbed and he has no strep throat. Unless the 24-hour culture shows them growing. But he feels miserable, perhaps even worse than Miranda. Maybe not.
As the urgent care doctor who saw them both separately put it--don't you hope you don't get it?
POST POST POST
November 11, 2006
Wow, a day is almost gone. Whew. Fabulous sales on Xmas toys. Rhino hats. 2 week old baby cows. Orange wedding cake. Flying Trucks. Wonder Woman. 23 pound cat. Aren't you curious?
And Happy Armistice Day! I didn't realize that postal holidays could be on Saturday.
Adjusting to the glasses
November 10, 2006
Miranda has continued doing remarkably well adjusting to her glasses. She does not protest wearing them. But I am doing a mediocre job of remembering them. In the past 2 weeks alone we have returned to the house on our way to school 4 times to get her glasses. It is 6.5 miles to her school so it helps if we are less than 1-2 miles from home. Today, I think it might have been smarter to bring her, return home get the glasses and bring the glasses to her.
I have had a bad memory week in general. I forgot to put the unpeeled carrots in her backpack for school for her "snack" day. Our day only rotates every 6 weeks or so. I bought the damn carrots. I just didn't open the fridge to see them there and then put them in her backpack. And you could perhaps argue these are her problems, but you won't get a nod of agreement from me. She is 5. She can't read the LARGE note I wrote on the calendar saying SNACK-UNPEELED CARROTS.
And I forget to put her library book in her backpack on Thursday. So she didn't return it and she didn't get to check out another book. Last week, I kept the book in her backpack all week, in fear. So we didn't read it much at all. This one we've read several times. But it didn't go back on time. And it is heavy to carry around a library hardcover unnecessarily.
I do think she could probably do better with the glasses, but the trick there may be that she isn't getting much benefit from them. The eye doctors try to spin her willingness to wear them as a sign that they are helping with the amblyopia. I think she may see them more as a fashion statement. And a fount of compliments. But I hope they might help her eye as well.
Both of my parents wear glasses. They wear their glasses from morning until bedtime. They are never without them. I can't relate to the incessant cleaning that her glasses demand or how every morning I have to bring them downstairs (they are put high up at night so Henry can't reach them) for her to put on.
I have also left my wallet on the table for 2 days now. I mis-marked my leg waxing appointment (but on the upside, being cruelly forced to shop for 2 extra hours did get me some great boots). I forgot my Kohl's coupon and when I tried to buy Henry's shoes, I discovered I still had not returned my wallet to my purse!
Our diaper stockpile (and to think when I hefted the last Pampers box in cart, I said--"no more. We are through. He is going to be trained." Alas, not yet.
We are supposed to have a dinner tonight, Zoo classes tomorrow and a wedding in the evening. Let's hope I haven't screwed up too many of those dates.
November 9, 2006
The unseasonably warm weather has decided bid us adieu. We had two glorious days, glorious at least for November in Wisconsin. The garage is fully painted. The storm windows in need of paint are painted. I even painted the trim on the screens. I think that means I won't be dwelling on outdoor paint in February when I get closer to trying to Sell This House.
I was thinking about the weather and its rude kiss off (predicted high Saturday when we will be an outdoor (-ish) wedding--37. Thirty-seven. That's the high!) And I come back to what should be my thesis question if I ever write a thesis on weather, my ancestors or geography. Odds: 1: 1000000. How in the latter part of the 19th century did at least 8 families (that produced the people that produced the people that produced me) settle in Wisconsin? Granted, they were coming from Belgium, Ireland, and Bohemian Austria...it is not like it was tropical there.
Winter weather is largely an inconvenience for me. I don't like being cold. I drive a car and live in a well-heated, gas-furnace, forced air home. I keep the temperature high, even at night (always over 70 and usually over 72) and pay the bills accordingly. And I still think it is cold. As I am feeling like we are missing out on the cold weather play time, I am trying to steel myself to pay outrageous prices for higher-quality winter gear.
But I do wonder every fall why I live here--why I was born here. And the answer is largely, the family. And I wonder about the grander sense of family--why did they stay? By 1900 they hadn't figured out that those bamboozling letters sent to them in the old country by friends and family already in Wisconsin were, well, bamboozling? And I can wonder if the Wisconsin tradition, the university's winnowing and sifting, the progressive politics and the voices of reason...if they made Wisconsin compelling, I just can't know.
For my birthday, Rob got me a copy of Family Tree Maker, with so much nifty online data. And we discovered that his mother's family has been in the USA since the 17th century. When it was really cold--in Massachusetts and Virginia. But they moved on--to Maryland and North Carolina. And as the frontier moved west, they headed west--to Indiana and Tennessee and Kentucky and Wisconsin. If you moved two states away in 1820, would you ever go back home again? A move like that seems far more dramatic than my thought of taking up residence a short airplane ride away, somewhere warmer.
Today was beautiful. It was in the 60s. It was sunny. It was pleasant to be outside. And I am left to think that those sunny days must have sustained hope in the great-grandparents. But really, my children, it's okay to follow your father's side and move.
Was that in the 80s?
November 8, 2006
I got my legs waxed tonight. I end up interrogating (nicely!) the aestheticians who wax me because I don't know what to talk about. My (estimated age) 19 year old aesthetician had lovely brunette with deep red highlights mentioned she had blonde hair for real. I asked if she had dyed her hair any other colors. And I volunteered that I had had an urge for a blue streak. And she asked, "was that in the 80s?"
Silent thought: No. I'm 30. Not in the 80s. I was a pre-teen in the 80s. I said, "no, it was about a year ago."
"oh, I asked because when my mom went to beauty school in the 80s, she dyed a pink streak and my dad thought it was too strange."
Maybe I do need to start wearing makeup. Or using night cream.
November 7, 2006
That is an exciting title, isn't it? As I am waiting for election returns , but not doing anything nearly as cute as the Scribbler Blue household.
It was February 17, 2004. Henry had been born 3 days earlier. I had a c-section to deliver him and was still in the hospital. The hospital is 2 blocks from our house. Our polling place is about a half mile away. I had discussed checking out of the hospital on day 3, but the doctor and nurses talked me into staying one more day. But in anti-democratic fashion, they wouldn't let me leave the hospital to vote and then come back. I couldn't take the baby with me. And it was frowned upon to leave him behind.
In retrospect, I should have planned ahead. I should have gotten an absentee ballot. To my credit, Henry did come 2 weeks early. And even when I joked about an early birth, I did think they would let me leave. What were the odds. It was the presidential primary. I doubt my one vote would have swayed the nomination, but on principle, I wish I could have voted.
As it is election eve...
November 6, 2006
I feel like we are on the precipice of a very important election and yet I am lucid enough to know things won't change all that much. Nancy Pelosi's 100 hours notwithstanding. It is one of the greatest things about this country--that the business of politics is not the business of the people. Businesses will open, people will work. People will fall in love, buy houses and pass away. Babies will be born. The lack of interest is frustrating, especially when it extends to not just viewing the political process with detachment but actual apathy or animosity. In 2000, my least favorite buzz sentence was "what's the difference between the Democrats and the Republicans." More than anyone else, George W Bush has shown us the difference. Insert your own punchline, but I am partial to George W Bush knows baseball.
Elections are punctuation to the paragraphs of civic life. Even in my deepest fear about the Bush appointments to the Supreme Court and their far-reaching, long-term implications...I know that we'll keep on keeping on. My mom uses the analogy of the pendulum to detach herself from politics--when one side goes too far, equilibrium brings power back to the other side. Let's hope we're on our way back. Despite it seeming funny to say I've spent the Bush years barefoot and pregnant (an incentive to have #3 before '08), a swing the other way is a good thing. It can't come too soon.
And I have been meaning to make some animations (I'd call them ads, but that implies revenue and there is none.)
Lest I forgot. Vote tomorrow. It's a good thing.
November 5, 2006
Although I am not renting a ship or hanging a banner behind me, I am feeling great about the garage painting. Our awesome friend N came and helped us. 12 "man" hours later, we have 1 coat of brown paint on the majority of the garage and 2 coats of beige paint on the door and trim. One more day of painting (and second coats go faster) and the garage project is done. Woohoo!
We visited my grandparents yesterday. They have a small dog. There is a picture of Miranda holding Trinket floating around the house right now. Henry likes the picture. So we decided to give him a picture of his own.
MIght I add that I hate this political season. Not because the issues aren't important or worth discussing or worthy of scrutiny. They are. But my grandparents are in a toss up House seat district. During our 5 hour Saturday visit, they received 3 recorded phone calls. The TV ads were overwhelming. I wonder if there was any room for any ads for consumer goods? And I think is is not working how the politics might hope--my grandparents are not party line followers. They'd rather not tell you how they vote (but it is good fun to poke a bit at their true-blue liberal family--and I suspect they also do it to the staunch republicans in other branches of the family). The ads are not reassuring, informative, persuasive. What a waste of cash.
One more anecdote
November 4, 2006
On Thursday, Miranda told me that her teacher played music for the class that was written by a four year old. I nodded in reply She was quite in awe.
Yesterday, Miranda told me that the four year old's name was Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. But lots of people just call him by his last name, Mozart. Ahh.
A story about stories
November 3, 2006
Earlier this week, Miranda came home from school to say she read her journal story aloud to the principal. It was about hippopotamuses and her teacher said she never had a 5 year old want to write about hippopotamuses before.
Yesterday, the class gerbil died. The class escorted the teacher outside to bury it. I hope in the new garden patch. I hope in a box. i hope the teacher spotted it was dead first. But the world will never know, as the tootsie roll owl would say.
Today, Miranda told my mom that I went over a railroad track and there was a train coming. They were spotting signs, after exhausting all of the 5s on the road. She said the train was 100 inches away. And that it was going as fast a mouse. And that I was going 8000 (units unknown) per hour and missed it. I don't remember any part of this happening.
And a day late--Happy Birthday L
A day early, Happy Birthday T
November 2, 2006
I have been working on being a better complainer. I don't feel like confrontation is my strong suit. I tend to get too emotional. I can't marshall my facts or say what I had in mind. And I think I have made some progress. this doesn't mean I have been more successful. In some cases, the sloppy tears worked much better. An example from long ago, when my first college roommate and I were not a good fit. I had some valid reasons for this, but in essence, we did not mesh. But I think I could have laid out a court brief and I would have gotten a line of "college roommates help us learn about ourselves and getting along with others" nonsense. But the tears, they got me in a new room just after Christmas break.
Today I complained even though I wa pretty sure I would lose. Short story--Miranda is talking a climbing wall class. The class is in a family room and despite the fact that the family gym closes 4-5 times a day, the room remains open. And there are children yelling and basketballs slapping. And I am not sure if it ruins in for Miranda, but it bothers me. For the price, I think it should be quiet in there. I think what I got out of my complaint is just disturbing that sense that everyone loves the setup. That complacency that if no one complains, it is all right. That and the removal of the basketballs.
November 1, 2006
And so it begins. The yoda on the right refers to my decision to try Fussy's NaBloPoMo. So I will post every day. I am just using HTML and not any blogging software, so I need to do this each day, no time shifting. If I happen to draw any readers from the contest--Hi. How are you? I don't have comments set up but email is welcome.
My name is Sarah. This website is a domain my husband, Rob, and I reserved in 2000. It is a play on our last name, essentially, but less difficult to spell. Because domains just don't seem that expensive, we reserved names when our kids were born. So AboutMiranda.com was registered on Miranda's birth day. And About-Henry.com was registered while we were still in the hospital. The kids' sites were handy ways to show pictures to family and friends. And I'd write little notes. And it was password protected anyway. I ran out of time to post when Henry was small. And blogging was growing popularity. We tried Movable Type, which was pretty cool. But websites are not just a hobby of mine, they are a job--the limitations to the blog form were irritating. But I probably still would be using it if we hadn't changed hosts and broke one of the MT tables, locking me out.
About me, because I don't really have an about page. I walk a meandering line between being completely public and trying to avoid Google. I live in Milwaukee, the city of my birth. My kids are 5 and 2. I am a SAHM and I work as a freelancer in websites.
I have tried to make myself write every day on my own. I have failed. I usually only want to write when things are funny at home. October, not so funny. This is public, so its not like I'm going to whine about people, places or events.
We went as a family of bugs this Halloween. The costumes were generally made by me.
Miscellaneous factoids include: I drive between 25-30 miles a day and I don't feel like I go anywhere. I had two c-sections, but I am not particularly sad about them. I breastfed my children. I like parent blogs. Miranda goes to a public school in the city that is Montessori. It's free. I drive her to school. We're planning to move next year and I am nervous about our jump to the 'burbs. I'm liberal, white, pro-choice, a Democrat. I drive a Honda Odyssey and I don't understand minivan bashing. We get 3-4 car magazines a month and I still don't understand minivan bashing. I love California, particularly the Bay area. I can see why I don't have an "about me" page--this is too weird.