validation and renewal

I find myself cranky today, for no good reason. Well, it’s rainy, and I have a lot of work to do. I also need to get myself down to the RMV to get my driver’s license renewed, as it’s only valid for a couple more weeks.

I’ve had the license for 10 years now, which means I have to get a new photo for it, too. So I don’t get to renew online. Aside from the laziness factor, and not wanting to waste my productive hours hauling my cranky ass down to stand in line and deal with potentially cranky RMV employees, I should probably be glad to get a new photo.

I got my first driver’s license in California when I was 17. It was a really good photo. I mean, really good. One of those photos that look better than the live person. I remember at least one occasion when some guy at the CVS counter looked at my license and asked if I was a model. Heh.

I think I may have had that license (or at least the same photo on it, since I had to get my actual license replaced when I was mugged) till we moved to Massachusetts in 1995. I lived in Rhode Island for about 6 years, but didn’t have a car there. I may have had a license there, but I don’t really remember it.

I don’t remember, either, what the photo looked like in that first Massachusetts license. I don’t think it was particularly good, because what I do remember is the determination to get me a good photo for the next license.

I remember the day well that I went for renewal. I made efforts to wear a flattering color, wore make-up (which I almost never do). It was a good hair day, even. And then I stood in line for over an hour in stuffy hallway on a hot day. By the time I got called to get my photo, I was tired, sticky, limp-haired, and just in a hurry to get out of there. My interest in getting a flattering photo was drained out of me. The forced smile under the glare of the glasses has been irking me for 10 whole years.

So now I get to prepare for the next 10-year photo. I haven’t had a haircut in over a year. I’m pretty sure no one will mistake me for a model now, with my glasses and perma-ponytail look. I’m okay with that, as long as I can manage a less downtrodden expression.

Maybe what I need is some validation:

Check out at least the first few minutes, if you don’t have time for the whole movie. Found via BipolarLawyerCook, who is back online with a spankin’ new url, after her old blog disappeared for a couple of months. Glad you’re back, BLC!

So, what about you? Have you ever had a really good ID photo? Or a really bad one?

excuses, excuses (ad nauseam)

Dear Blogosphere,

Please excuse Alejna’s continued absence from posting and visiting and other blog-related activities. She has been recovering from a blechy stomach virus, which has been making her feel really icky since Wednesday night. She has also been tending to a very sick sweet Phoebe, who was hit even harder by the nasty bug. Also to a teething Theo, who thankfully seems not to be overly affected by the virus.

Alejna hopes to return to her regular blog attendance in the next couple of days, and hopes she can be allowed to turn in any missed assignments at that time.

Sincerely,

Alejna’s Largely Neglected Laptop

So much for jumping right back into blogging.

I was feeling really great Wednesday morning, if just starting to deal with the the 3-hour time difference. I took Phoebe late to daycare, ran some errands with Theo, then came home. At which point I noticed that the contractor we’ve been working with installed a different door on our deck than the one we discussed. (Have I mentioned we’ve been dealing with home repais?) Then I tried to do a little work, trying to hold on to my recent productivity, and encountered a big setback in my research. So I turned to the internet for solace, and skimmed through friends’ recent status updates on Facebook. And saw that azahar, who had been told she was clear of any signs of cancer, now has evidence of two new tumors. Fuck.

These various things, combined with jetlag, left me feeling drained, and then queasy with worry for the evening. Or at least I thought it was the anxiety causing the queasiness. The 101 fever seemed a bit much. And then when my anxiety caused Phoebe to start vomiting, I realized that there was probably something else going on, too.

John was up with Phoebe just about all night. Theo was also quite fussy, though that may have just been teething. (His first tooth broke through Thursday night.) Phoebe was sicker than we’ve ever seen her on Thursday, and recovery’s been pretty slow. I’ve had a much milder version of whatever it is, but I haven’t managed to eat normal food until today. It’s been largely impossible for me to get in the sort of calories I need to keep up with Theo’s feeding.

We’re glad this didn’t hit us while we were on the trip. And relieved that John has (at least so far) seemed to have missed it. (I don’t know how single parents manage sometimes.) John has some important work deadlines he’s got to keep working towards, too.

We largely gave up on trying to adjust to the time zone, so we are still on West Coast time. Sleep, whenever we could get it, seemed more important than paying attention to the clocks.

I’m still feeling pretty icky, but am clearly on the mend. Phoebe’s mostly better, but is now afraid both of sleeping in her own bed, and of vomiting. Theo is still teething, and may have a second tooth about to pop through.

I haven’t really managed to get online much, so I’m sorry for my continued neglect. Thanks so much for your comments on my last post, and thanks to anyone else who is still reading for standing by.

I’ll be back for real. Sometime. Soon, I hope.

p.s. The March Just Posts are just around the corner, and they need you! Have you read posts this month that moved you or made you think about topics of relating to social justice? Have you written one? There’s still time. For more info, check out the info page.

p.p.s. Just to add to my general crankiness, I am informed that my post title contained a spelling error, so I have fixed it.

cough, cough

No, I’m not just trying to get your attention. Well, maybe I am.

Our household has been beset by a plague of mucus. I’ve been feeling pretty worn out. It’s no fun tending to a sick baby when sick oneself. I can’t tell you the number of times when I’ve finally gotten Theo to settle down and then had to cough or sneeze, causing him to wake up and/or get riled up. Phoebe and John are both sick, too. We are a fun bunch.

The laundry situation recently became so dire that yesterday I found myself wearing an “outfit” that defies description. Let me describe it to you, and defy its description-defyingness.

Finding that all pants fitting my current size were sufficiently soiled with various baby-related fluids that even I wouldn’t wear them, I was pleased to discover that my maternity yoga pants actually fit moderately well, if rather differently than they did a few months ago. They are velour, in a very pretty dark plum color. (Yes, I’m saying I put on some fuzzy purple pants.) I next surveyed my shirt options. Because it’s freakin’ cold here, I like to wear a long-sleeved t-shirt layered under a sweater. The only such long-sleeved shirt remaining in my closet was my Halloween shirt. Orange. “Fuck it,” I said. (And I believe that’s an exact quote.) I grabbed the damn orange shirt, layered a blue hoodie on top, and next went on a quest for socks.

I have a gazillion socks in a pile. Almost none of which seem to match. The only pair I could muster were a sort of raspberry color, no doubt remaining only because I don’t generally willingly wear them. (I can’t remember what words I used when I made this discovery.)

I did find myself thinking, though, and for the second time in less than a week, “someday soon, I will embarrass my children.” (Now that I think about it, the other time was a sock-related incident, too. A public sock-related incident.)

It’s a glamorous life I lead.

weaving out of control

overwhelmed and under pressure
buckling under, in over my head
fruitflies overtake an underripe banana

overeducated and underdressed
chronic overachiever feeling snowed under
underestimated tasks, schedule overloaded
commitments overlapping and under the gun
time to shave underarms when hell freezes over

overwrought and under attack
hot under the collar I overreact
overeasy eggs have undercooked yolks

overextended and underfunded
tree branches overhang, basement floor under water
the undergrowth is overgrown
overdue bills crackle under foot
in under the roof, squirrels overrun the attic

overprivileged and underproductive
an overstuffed sofa cushion under my butt
get over yourself and get underway
the monkey’s overboard and the undertow pulls

overtired and under the weather
overconfidence getting undermined
soft underbelly feels overexposed
overanxious thoughts swept under the carpet
laundry overflowing and no clean underwear

overwritten and underwhelming
an overzealous undertaking
overblown metaphors from under my hat
overcooked pasta with underseasoned sauce

I’m a loser, baby…

And my time is a piece of wax
Falling on a termite
That’s choking on the splinters
                             -Beck

I lost my car keys today. I hate losing things.

Theo has been fussy the past couple days. Phoebe went to daycare yesterday (she still goes 3 days a week, which helps us maintain some sanity, and which helps me preserve the illusion that I will be able to get some of my research done), but it was such a fussy day that I was clearly not going to accomplish anything requiring either more than one hand or more than half a brain. I hoped to at least get out of the house, but I barely managed to get dressed and eat breakfast by the time Phoebe was due to come home. By the end of the day I was going a bit stir-crazy.

Theo seemed more calm today, and I was bound and determined to get out. I got a bit of extra sleep, and then managed to get us out the door some time before one. Theo needs some warmer pajamas, so I decided to head to a used children’s clothing store. (I try to explore the reuse options for kids’ clothing. We’ve been lucky to have a large number of hand-me-downs for Theo, including many of Phoebe’s old things.) Then I was going to stop by a fabric store to further my goals of getting together some Halloween costumes. I also thought I might pick up some lunch, as I hadn’t wanted to delay leaving by eating.

My first stop was the used clothing store. Theo was asleep when I got there, and I carried him into the store in his carrier. I spent quite a bit of time in the store, poking around for things for Phoebe as well as Theo, checking out the sale racks and Halloween costumes. Digging through bins of winter hats and mittens. Basically roaming the whole store. I bought quite a few things for both Phoebe and Theo, and took my big bag of clothes and my still-sleeping bucket of baby back to the car. Only to find that I could not actually get in the car. My keys were not in my pocket.

The keys were clearly not in the car, as I’d used the remote to lock the car. Also not on the ground. So I went back in the store to see if they’d been found. I figured that the keys must have fallen out of my pocket while I was shopping. I seriously expected to find them quite quickly. It’s a fairly small, if densely stocked, store. But I looked all over the store, as did the manager and other empoyees. We looked on the floor, in the bins of hats, around the register, in my bag of purchases, the car seat… Nothing. I expect they will find the keys some day, probably stuck to a hanger or in the folds of some hanging item of clothing. Or perhaps one of the various kids that had been playing in the store pocketed them, or stashed them in some toy or shoe.

The people at the store were very helpful, and were nice enough to let me sit in the back room to feed Theo. The manager let me use her phone to call John, and suggested that we could get the car dealership to make a new key for us. Remarkably, John had gone to a meeting in the same town as our car dealership, so this was faster than having him go home and hunt for the other keys.

I ended up spending about 3 hours in the store, what with the time spent shopping, then looking for the keys, then tending to Theo, then waiting for John. I could have gone to lunch, but by the time the plans were underway, it was 3:00, and the closest feasible food options closed at 3:00. I didn’t want to walk too far, as I didn’t have my cell phone. (I also left the diaper bag in the car, as I hadn’t planned to be in the store very long. Sigh.)

Really, things were not that bad. John was able to get and bring me a replacement key (4, actually), all in time to get Phoebe from daycare. Meanwhile, I was in a safe, moderately comfortable place. Theo was with me, and I was able to feed him and walk and bounce him around to calm him, which is largely what I do all day at home anyhow. There was a bathroom, water to drink, a chair to sit in, and the manager even found me some nuts to eat. It was hardly harrowing.

But damn I felt like a loser.

Update: The store called. A customer found my keys stuck to a sweater on one of the racks. Yay. I guess.

(Also, it appears I can’t embed the Beck “Loser” video.)

isolation

Theo is one month old today, and I can’t believe how fast it’s flown by. So different from my previous experience with the newborn phase. (I’ve been known to say that the first 4 weeks of Phoebe’s life were the longest 6 months of my life.)

But I admit it. I’m going a little stir crazy. Having a newborn is very isolating.

I actually wrote up some longer whining, but it was too whiny. Life is good. I just miss adult conversation. And the ease of electronic communication afforded by having two hands available for typing. And unfettered leisure time that can be measured in increments of longer than 5 minutes. Okay, I’m getting whiny again. Sorry.

But I do like having an excuse to post some Joy Division.

juggling acts

It’s been one of those weeks. Nothing major has happened, just a lot of little things that make me realize I can’t quite keep all of my balls up in the air.

I’ve had a lot of demands from work this week that I wasn’t expecting. There’s another deadline at the end of the month, and seeing as I don’t expect to be terribly available then, I feel particularly compelled to contribute as much as I can now. It turned out that a lot of the new data we were adding to the pool for this particular study needed a lot of cleaning up (as well as some of the old data), and I was the one in the best position to clean it up. So I’ve been putting in a lot of hours, including late night hours, this week. I’ve been quite productive, and yet since it was work I hadn’t anticipated, I don’t get the satisfaction of feeling that I’ve made progress. (Especially since this has left me virtually no time to work on my own research projects, and every time I have a pause in the progress there, it takes me a while to get my momentum back.)

Then Phoebe came down with a stomach bug that had been looming at daycare. I had toyed with the idea of keeping Phoebe home, but for one thing, I needed the work time. And for another, it was probable that Phoebe had already been exposed to the bug by the time we learned of the menace. So keeping her home wouldn’t have likely made much difference.

Phoebe is largely okay, though there have been some rough stretches. (This was actually the first time she’d ever vomited, aside from one flukey time when she was a very young baby. She was pretty freaked out by it. And can I just say that I’m lucky I didn’t lose my laptop to the inaugural event, which happened on the couch?) She was pretty chipper by this evening, so hopefully we can put this behind us. (And can I also say that I really, really don’t want to catch a stomach bug right now?)

I am so, so not ready for the new kid to arrive. The guest room still needs to be readied for my mother’s arrival (or for the contingency plan), the infant carseat installed, and there’s some form I’m supposed to send to the hospital that I haven’t even looked at. I haven’t even visited the hospital to find out where to go, where to park, etc., when the time comes. I’m told I’m supposed to have packed a bag by now, but that feels too much like admitting that I may need to use such a bag soon.

When people ask about “decorating the nursery,” I can only laugh. As far as nesting goes, I’ll be lucky if I can find the time and energy to clear out whatever lifeforms are currently nesting in my fridge.

So if you’ll excuse me, I have a few balls to chase around.

catching up, bearing down

I don’t have much time tonight, as it’s 10:30, and I’ve got some work to do before a meeting tomorrow. However, I feel compelled to give an update.¹

Pregnancy seems to have finally caught up with me. After feeling strangely spry for the first 2 months of the 3rd trimester, my body apparently caught sight of the calendar. Suddenly, the heartburn has kicked in stronger. I’ve started having joint pains. Gravity is now exerting a greater than normal force on me, causing me to be more strongly adhered whatever surface I happen to be sitting on. And most irritatingly, the sausage feet that visited me occasionally have not only returned, but apparently camped in for the long haul. I feel like I am walking around with a 5 pound weight strapped to each of my feet, and I can barely shove my feet into the pair of sandals that had previously fit just fine. When I take my sandals off, I get a couple of big stripes of puffiness and dents that would make the Michelin man proud. Attractive as this may sound, there is a downside. My feet hurt, dammit.

I’ve been trying to keep my feet up when I can, but this is not as often as one might expect when one is tending to a toddler. While Phoebe has gotten quite capable at many tasks, showing amazing fine motor skills in her paper-folding abilities, she has not yet mastered the art of cookery. Letting her have a go with the cooking knives did not go well, and she struggles with even the most rudimentary recipes. (This should not surprise me, considering previous research.)

Then there’s the potty training, which continues to be the bane of my existence. We are on our third chart now, each glimmering with sparkly stickers of victory. 28 stickers on each completed chart. And not a single potty usage at daycare. (The child, who apparently has some sort of will of her own, has announced her intentions of using her diaper at daycare. She can do well keeping her big-girl underwear clean and dry at home, but if she is wearing a diaper, she tends to use it. And the daycare provider is not comfortable with kids wearing underwear until they have demonstrated an ability to use a potty for a couple of weeks.)

I had an ultrasound today, as the new kiddo was stubbornly keeping his head up at my last appointment. Happily, he is now facing the general direction of the exit. Also, he appears to be growing well. (I actually had an ultrasound 4 weeks ago, too, to check on growth. My external measurements were not increasing over a whole month, which was a bit unsettling. We’ve both caught up, though.)

I also had my last violin less for some indeterminate amount of time, which should at least make my schedule feel slightly lighter as I continue to grow heavier. Which is good, since I am feeling the pressure of time bearing down on me. I still have work/school goals I haven’t yet abandoned, and there is some chance I can get some of them done.²

—-

¹ I’m apparently still addicted enough to this blogging business that I will take a break from my other methods of procrastination in order to blather on.

² Assuming I stop procrastinating.³

³ I’m still also working on finishing up writing about our experiences with Early Intervention. I’ve also got some pants on the backburner. (And I say Phoebe has trouble with cooking?) So, as soon as I have a chance to catch up….

Phoebe's progress charts. Note the evidence that Phoebe is our child: she picked black for the background of the most recent chart.

bucketful of blues

bucket of blueberries

Okay, so I’m cranky tonight. It was a long day. Generally it should have been a good day. We went blueberry picking in the morning, and then went out for pizza and ice cream in the morning.

But this potty training business? It’s a royal pain. And frustrating as all hell. That chart I showed off recently? We’re still working on filling it with stickers. There is one spot left. One freakin’ little spot.

It was recommended to me by a developmental specialist¹ that we give some sort of additional reward after getting a certain number of stickers for successful potty training. For more motivation.² So I thought, sure, let’s do that. So I said we could go and buy a new toy once Phoebe had filled in the whole chart. As of last night, there were 3 slots left. I was sure, sure, we’d manage to accomplish the goal by the end of today. Here it is Saturday. We were going to be at or near home all day. Then we could swing by some place in the afternoon to get a toy. By naptime, we had added two more stickers. I was already planning out our excursion. We’d go for a toy, and pick up some dinner at Wholefoods.

But it was not to be. Phoebe kept her big girl underwear clean and dry, holding out for the time when we would next put on a diaper. Which we finally did when we decided to go out for pizza and ice cream after 7:00, when it was clear that we weren’t going to get to go toy shopping.

It’s rough, because Phoebe was at daycare all week, which led to a bit of a setback. I had her go 4 days instead of the usual 3, so that I could make some progress with my own research project. But the daycare provider doesn’t have time to sit with her in the bathroom, or follow her around watching for “signs”. And the trick we’ve used at home of having Phoebe wear underwear also isn’t fair for daycare, as it does involve a certain amount of extra cleanup. And vigilance.

And lest that stunning sticker chart makes it look easy to motivate with stickers, let me explain that each and every one of those stickers involved an investment of time and energy. There was a lot of coaxing and cajoling. Sitting and holding hands. Sitting and comforting. Running to the bathroom for false alarms. Sitting and singing. Cleaning up. Changing underwear and clothing. Not to mention lots and lots of forced cheerfulness when I’ve wanted to just say “screw it,” and let her wear diapers as long as she wants. Even if that means till she’s 12.

I do have to remind myself that we’ve made some great progress. As much work as it’s been, it does seem to be working. Phoebe has used the potty successfully every day for the past 8 days, whereas previously we’d had weeks at a time without output.

And then having this face to look at helps a lot:

Phoebe has blueberry eyes.

———————
¹ I saw her during Phoebe’s recent assessment for early intervention services. I’ll hopefully write about that soon. The short story (so as not to leave you hanging) is she has been receiving services, but no longer qualifies.
² Also known as bribery.