Since I need to add to my existing issues with Brighthouse Networks a complaint that their online complaint form will only accept 1,000 characters, here is the full text of the message I'm trying to get to them so that I can send them the link and share my thoughts with the company in their entirety:
I’m sending this feedback from my home cable internet service, which I have tonight, no thanks to your staff. The multiple points of failure in the service I have received from your employees are as astounding as they are infuriating.
On the evening of 12/28/09, I began experiencing odd issues with my cable television service. My DVR allowed me to watch recorded programming and displayed title bars as I changed channels, but every channel showed only a black screen instead of the listed program. Having had issues with my Brighthouse service before, I knew how to reboot my DVR and did so before calling. The reboot stopped with an “alt” error message on the screen.
When my husband arrived home from work that night, he called tech support. He was told that because of the error message, the DVR was bad and that he should come to the local office to swap it out the next day. However, later in the evening we noticed that we were not getting any service on our cable modem. This brought doubt into our minds that the problem was with the DVR, so my husband did NOT juggle our toddler through the process of swapping out the box as he rushed off to work the next day.
On 12/29/09, we called the tech support line again to explain the new development and were told that we needed to have a service call. Over the course of a few conversations that day (and again on 12/30/09), my husband attempted to convince the techs to allow an “outside only” service call. We work odd hours, have dogs and a baby, and are unable to take time off of work to accommodate a service call. Furthermore, with the same problem occurring with two devices plugged into two different outlets, there was every reason to believe that the common denominator was the outside connection to your network. Even upon threat of our canceling our service with you, your employees (or your guidelines) would not accommodate our needs.
Today, 12/31/09, we realized that your company had backed us into a corner with no good options. We could lose time at work, make arrangements for the care of our pets, and find a babysitter so that you could conduct a service call we believed to be unnecessary. Or, we could cancel our service with you and jump through the same unreasonable hoops to have a Dish or FiOS installer come to our home.
With no good options, my husband went to the outside box to see if he could easily determine what the problem was. He found that the wire labeled with our apartment number coming from the building’s main connection was lying, loose and unplugged, in the box. In constant communication with tech support, he worked in the box until he realized the root cause of the problem. On the line coming from the main building connection was a splitter. One of the lines coming from that splitter had a tag for our apartment number. The other line had a red tag labeled with the date “12/28/09”. However, rather than just the “12/28/09” branch being disconnected, the entire main line had been separated, taking our service down along with our neighbors’.
Once he figured it out, it took my husband two minutes to fix it.
Here are the major issues we have with this series of events:
1. When our neighbor’s service was disconnected on 12/28/09, the service technician disconnected our service in error.
2. During our initial service call, we were told in error that we would need to swap out the box, which is functioning perfectly.
3. During subsequent calls to tech support, we were assured that the problem was inside our apartment. Again in error.
4. Your policies dictated that we must go to extreme lengths to accommodate a service call, rather than your being willing to eliminate external causes before inconveniencing us.
5. No point in the troubleshooting process cross-referenced our location with recent disconnections to determine if some type of error had been made.
6. The box containing our cable connections on the outside of our apartment building is not secure and most teenagers would have the tools and knowledge necessary to steal service that we are paying for.
My husband and I are VERY dissatisfied. Short of a few months last year when we lived out of state, we’ve been doing business with Brighthouse for 10 years in spite of the availability of competitive products and services. To have so little regard shown for our time and effort is insulting. Almost everyone we’ve dealt with through this process (spanning 9 calls) has been sloppy, poorly informed, and dismissive. Thank goodness we’re savvy enough to solve the problem ourselves. I shudder to think what an elderly customer in the same situation might suffer.
We would like to know how you plan to make amends for this nightmare. I believe a credit is in order for at least the amount that you would charge a customer for a non-covered service call. Please let us know what arrangements you’ll be making on our behalf.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
It Just Got Real
I've been a perfectionist for as long as I can remember. I have vivid memories of losing sleep and having an upset stomach over my perceived failures in a house we moved out of after I finished the second grade. In third grade I regularly missed school, my stomach was so upset over the criticism I received from a stern math teacher. Since childhood, the slightest embarassment or criticism makes my chest and neck (sometime my arms and face too) turn hot and red.
Most people hear that you're a perfectionist and assume its a good thing. That the drive for perfection means that you have the cleanest house, the most perfect life, and the healthiest relationships. For me, it goes beyond that and loops back to make my life a literal mess. Long ago, I adopted a pretty destructive defense mechanism. Essentially, if I can't guarantee that its going to be perfect? I won't do it. If something goes wrong? I quit. If I'm forced to hear criticism, no matter how kindly its delivered or how constructively its intended, I ruminate indefinitely about my failure.
As a result, I'm a quitter. I'm hyper-critical of everyone I meet. My house is a wreck. I have a laundry list of dreams that I've left behind without even trying to realize. Inspiration dies on the vine because of my fear. I'm terrorized by my perfectionism and its shaped every aspect of my life.
Something has to be done. Not just because life is passing me by, though it is. At this point, my life and house are such a mess that its negatively affecting the people I love the most. I've made a fresh start recently in so many other parts of my life. I should make a fresh start here, too.
What path this is going to take, I don't know. I'm scared of what I'm going to have to face about myself, but it can't get much worse than this.
Most people hear that you're a perfectionist and assume its a good thing. That the drive for perfection means that you have the cleanest house, the most perfect life, and the healthiest relationships. For me, it goes beyond that and loops back to make my life a literal mess. Long ago, I adopted a pretty destructive defense mechanism. Essentially, if I can't guarantee that its going to be perfect? I won't do it. If something goes wrong? I quit. If I'm forced to hear criticism, no matter how kindly its delivered or how constructively its intended, I ruminate indefinitely about my failure.
As a result, I'm a quitter. I'm hyper-critical of everyone I meet. My house is a wreck. I have a laundry list of dreams that I've left behind without even trying to realize. Inspiration dies on the vine because of my fear. I'm terrorized by my perfectionism and its shaped every aspect of my life.
Something has to be done. Not just because life is passing me by, though it is. At this point, my life and house are such a mess that its negatively affecting the people I love the most. I've made a fresh start recently in so many other parts of my life. I should make a fresh start here, too.
What path this is going to take, I don't know. I'm scared of what I'm going to have to face about myself, but it can't get much worse than this.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Today was a Good Day
This afternoon, Dannon, Orion, and I met up with the grandparents on Dannon's side and went to the petting farm. I had a blast. Orion had a blast. As agreed, Dannon pretended he wasn't miserable and didn't complain about how high the admission was. In fact, the theme of the event became, "Jesus Christ, this place is expensive." All week, every conversation with Dannon or his parents involved the special arrangements necesssary for everyone to manage the $19 per adult admission fee. Orion's Oompa spent the whole event waiting in the car rather than pay it, and I had to get a special commitment from Dannon not to bitch about the expense the whole time so that we could have fun. Once we got in the gates, I was glad that I got to stop thinking about the damn $19.
After the trip, I was on the phone with my mom telling her where we'd gone today. She said, "Oh, I know that place! It's really expensive right?" Shit.
Anyway, Orion rode a pony and a train. He milked a cow. He fed sheep and petted a chicken, a pig, and a turkey. Better than all of that, though, was when we were given our own baby duck and chick to hold and pet. He loved those little birds so much! They'd nip at his little fingers, and he'd try to kiss them back. He wanted to take the duckling with him, tapping on his drink holder and saying "Duck! Duck!" to try and get us to set the duck down so he could keep it. It was AWESOME.
The farm was followed by burritos and ice cream, where Orion held court at Ben & Jerry's by making the whole store his private dance floor. Then the whole gang gathered on the sidewalk outside to watch Dannon, his dad, and his mom take turns doing magic tricks with coins.
It was a wonderful day, I hope your's was too.
After the trip, I was on the phone with my mom telling her where we'd gone today. She said, "Oh, I know that place! It's really expensive right?" Shit.
Anyway, Orion rode a pony and a train. He milked a cow. He fed sheep and petted a chicken, a pig, and a turkey. Better than all of that, though, was when we were given our own baby duck and chick to hold and pet. He loved those little birds so much! They'd nip at his little fingers, and he'd try to kiss them back. He wanted to take the duckling with him, tapping on his drink holder and saying "Duck! Duck!" to try and get us to set the duck down so he could keep it. It was AWESOME.
The farm was followed by burritos and ice cream, where Orion held court at Ben & Jerry's by making the whole store his private dance floor. Then the whole gang gathered on the sidewalk outside to watch Dannon, his dad, and his mom take turns doing magic tricks with coins.
It was a wonderful day, I hope your's was too.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Orion Vick, Mind Freak
Orion and I really don't have much time together during the week. My commute home takes about an hour, so by the time we get home there's just enough time for dinner, a bath, and cup of milk while we snuggle and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse before he goes off to bed. If we have to stop at the store for anything, that time is even shorter.
I've been trying to think of cool things we can do in a very short period of time, so when it was clear that Orion wanted to walk through the park-like area between the tennis courts and the pool, I thought it would be nice to get outside together in the middle of the week. I left my groceries next to the car and followed his lead.
When we got near the pool, he started pointing and calling out "Pool! Pool!" (where do they learn this stuff?) In his excitement, he pitched his sippy cup right through the bars of the pool gate. I reached for the gate latch and found a padlock. Shit.
Down I went onto my hands and knees, hoping that my arm would reach the cup. When I finally dragged the cup back to me by my fingertips, I looked up to see Orion INSIDE the gate.
My first thought was, "How the fuck did that happen?" I was stumped. The gate was locked, and he'd been right there beside me while I pulled in his cup. Then I saw it. One of the bars of the gate was missing, turning two 4-inch gaps into one 8-inch gap. I called Orions name, and got the worst response I can imagine. He looked at me grinning ear to ear, waved, said "bye-bye", and bolted for the water.
While I yelled from the other side of the locked gate, Orion climbed into the water. He climbed down the steps and sat down with the water up to his waist. He splashed and played while I cried and screamed his name.
I assessed my options. I could climb the fence, but the fence was 6 feet tall and I'm fat and weak, plus I was wearing work clothes and shoes. Even if I got to the top of the pointed fenceposts, how could I get over and drop to the concrete patio below without breaking my legs? I could run back across the street and get the cop that lives above us. I could see his car in the parking lot, so I knew he was home. But, that option was no good because it meant taking my eyes off of my baby. Just imagine what could happen in those two minutes. You go ahead, because I sure don't want to.
Over the fence I went, scraping and bruising my legs on the posts as I went over. I ran over and grabbed Orion of the water, freaking him out to absolutely no end. After a little bit of planning, I got us both back out of there and back across the street to our apartment.
After the initial shock wore off, I was livid with the apartment management that they would leave the gate in such a dangerous state of disrepair. Had it been during buisness hours, someone would have had to bail me out of jail. I'm not generally violent, but I was about to get ugly. As it was, Dannon had to handle it on Friday while I was at work. He said that the manager was appropriately horrified and that they agreed to do something about it immediately. In this case "something" has meant that they've closed the pool and wrapped the gate up in caution tape. I guess that's good enough while they get a decent repair made.
Have you seen the little phrase about how having a child is to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body? Yeah, I always thought that was stupid. True maybe, but stupid. I totally get it now.
Have you ever had any close calls with your little one?
I've been trying to think of cool things we can do in a very short period of time, so when it was clear that Orion wanted to walk through the park-like area between the tennis courts and the pool, I thought it would be nice to get outside together in the middle of the week. I left my groceries next to the car and followed his lead.
When we got near the pool, he started pointing and calling out "Pool! Pool!" (where do they learn this stuff?) In his excitement, he pitched his sippy cup right through the bars of the pool gate. I reached for the gate latch and found a padlock. Shit.
Down I went onto my hands and knees, hoping that my arm would reach the cup. When I finally dragged the cup back to me by my fingertips, I looked up to see Orion INSIDE the gate.
My first thought was, "How the fuck did that happen?" I was stumped. The gate was locked, and he'd been right there beside me while I pulled in his cup. Then I saw it. One of the bars of the gate was missing, turning two 4-inch gaps into one 8-inch gap. I called Orions name, and got the worst response I can imagine. He looked at me grinning ear to ear, waved, said "bye-bye", and bolted for the water.
While I yelled from the other side of the locked gate, Orion climbed into the water. He climbed down the steps and sat down with the water up to his waist. He splashed and played while I cried and screamed his name.
I assessed my options. I could climb the fence, but the fence was 6 feet tall and I'm fat and weak, plus I was wearing work clothes and shoes. Even if I got to the top of the pointed fenceposts, how could I get over and drop to the concrete patio below without breaking my legs? I could run back across the street and get the cop that lives above us. I could see his car in the parking lot, so I knew he was home. But, that option was no good because it meant taking my eyes off of my baby. Just imagine what could happen in those two minutes. You go ahead, because I sure don't want to.
Over the fence I went, scraping and bruising my legs on the posts as I went over. I ran over and grabbed Orion of the water, freaking him out to absolutely no end. After a little bit of planning, I got us both back out of there and back across the street to our apartment.
After the initial shock wore off, I was livid with the apartment management that they would leave the gate in such a dangerous state of disrepair. Had it been during buisness hours, someone would have had to bail me out of jail. I'm not generally violent, but I was about to get ugly. As it was, Dannon had to handle it on Friday while I was at work. He said that the manager was appropriately horrified and that they agreed to do something about it immediately. In this case "something" has meant that they've closed the pool and wrapped the gate up in caution tape. I guess that's good enough while they get a decent repair made.
Have you seen the little phrase about how having a child is to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body? Yeah, I always thought that was stupid. True maybe, but stupid. I totally get it now.
Have you ever had any close calls with your little one?
Friday, September 11, 2009
Orion on the Wagon
When I went to pick Orion up from the sitter's house today she said, "I hate to step on toes here, but have you thought about taking Orion off the bottle to sleep? My doctor said that the bottle should be gone by a year old. He's been going down for naps here without it just fine." OK...couple of things. First, YOU WORK FOR ME! I TOLD YOU TO GIVE HIM A FREAKING BOTTLE AND I EXPECT YOU TO GIVE HIM A BOTTLE!!!! Second, for real? He went to sleep without a bottle? You rock!
In all the press that Orion's horrible food issues have gotten (Gah! Yogurt. Who knew?) the fact that he's a terrible sleeper hasn't gotten much attention. By 10 months old, he was still waking up three times a night. Every time I put him down, it was a complicated dance of laying in my bed with him while he had a bottle, laying with him until I was sure he was asleep enough to move, and then walking across the house holding him like a 30 pound bomb. I don't even want to get in to the issue of putting him down witout waking him up. With the initial bed time I was doing this routine four times a night.
So when, at 10 months, he figured out how to hold his own bottle I took advantage that very same night. I walked him into his bedroom wide awake, put him in the crib, and handed him a bottle. Then I poured myself a glass of wine and climbed into the bathtub with a good book. I didn't care what the parenting books said, I had taken back the night. Soon after, Orion started sleeping through the night most of the time. When he did wake up, all we'd need to do is bring him a fresh bottle and he'd go right to sleep. Awesome, right?
The problem was that he had me figured out. Soon, it was taking two or three bottles to get him to fall asleep. Multiply that by naps, and he's drinking a cow-load of milk every day. He was drinking so much at bed time that he was peeing through his diaper every night. Plus, don't even get me started about his teeth. They're fine so far, but how long would that last with a mouth full of milk all night? Then consider that this means that he won't sleep in the car or the stroller and the choice starts to become clear.
So tonight, I let the babysitter convince me of what I already knew. It was time to drop the bottle Ferber style. Of course, tonight is the night when he figures out to tell me he's sleepy for bed by saying, "Ba, ba, ba!" over and over again. At bed time, I picked him up and took him to bed. He got the usual bed time routine...but no bottle. He looked confused. Before I could get to the door, the screaming started. For the first round, I screwed up and left him for 10 minutes. The next round, I got back on track and let him cry for five minutes. As we neared the 10 minute mark again for round three I posted to Facebook that he was still screaming after 26 minutes.
I hit enter. Then wait...I don't hear him. Let's give it a minute. No...still nothing. So now he's been asleep for 33 minutes after just 26 minutes of crying. Hell, sometimes it would take him that long to go down WITH a bottle.
If this is as easy as it would have been all along then, man, I feel like an idiot.
In all the press that Orion's horrible food issues have gotten (Gah! Yogurt. Who knew?) the fact that he's a terrible sleeper hasn't gotten much attention. By 10 months old, he was still waking up three times a night. Every time I put him down, it was a complicated dance of laying in my bed with him while he had a bottle, laying with him until I was sure he was asleep enough to move, and then walking across the house holding him like a 30 pound bomb. I don't even want to get in to the issue of putting him down witout waking him up. With the initial bed time I was doing this routine four times a night.
So when, at 10 months, he figured out how to hold his own bottle I took advantage that very same night. I walked him into his bedroom wide awake, put him in the crib, and handed him a bottle. Then I poured myself a glass of wine and climbed into the bathtub with a good book. I didn't care what the parenting books said, I had taken back the night. Soon after, Orion started sleeping through the night most of the time. When he did wake up, all we'd need to do is bring him a fresh bottle and he'd go right to sleep. Awesome, right?
The problem was that he had me figured out. Soon, it was taking two or three bottles to get him to fall asleep. Multiply that by naps, and he's drinking a cow-load of milk every day. He was drinking so much at bed time that he was peeing through his diaper every night. Plus, don't even get me started about his teeth. They're fine so far, but how long would that last with a mouth full of milk all night? Then consider that this means that he won't sleep in the car or the stroller and the choice starts to become clear.
So tonight, I let the babysitter convince me of what I already knew. It was time to drop the bottle Ferber style. Of course, tonight is the night when he figures out to tell me he's sleepy for bed by saying, "Ba, ba, ba!" over and over again. At bed time, I picked him up and took him to bed. He got the usual bed time routine...but no bottle. He looked confused. Before I could get to the door, the screaming started. For the first round, I screwed up and left him for 10 minutes. The next round, I got back on track and let him cry for five minutes. As we neared the 10 minute mark again for round three I posted to Facebook that he was still screaming after 26 minutes.
I hit enter. Then wait...I don't hear him. Let's give it a minute. No...still nothing. So now he's been asleep for 33 minutes after just 26 minutes of crying. Hell, sometimes it would take him that long to go down WITH a bottle.
If this is as easy as it would have been all along then, man, I feel like an idiot.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Scarred for Life
My great aunt, Sissy Weatherford, was a cozy pillow of a woman. Sitting on her lap as a child was at once blissfully comfortable and a bit terrifying. Once you climbed up, you wondered if you'd make it back down or if you'd just sink right into her lap and be lost forever. Thankfully, it was usually about the time you'd figure you'd better climb down just in case that she'd need to get back to her crochet.
Sissy was always working on a crocheted afghan. Every woman in the family got one. My mom's was dark blue with little multi-colored bursts. Mine was kind of a raspberry red with pink squares. Don't worry, it was uglier than it sounds. What matters, though, is that it was absolutely the most comfortable blanket ever. Laying under that afghan, with just a sheet between us, is still one of the most blissful tactile memories I have. People, I haven't been able to find that afghan in years and years (I think I recall a child thinking I'd given it to her and being stuck with that plan) and I can still close my eyes and feel it's weight. It brings tears to my eyes.
Aunt Sissy lived in a big old house with a huge yard outside of Athens, Georgia. I loved taking baths in the claw-foot tub and squashing pennies on the railroad tracks. Every year, extended family would come from hundreds of miles to a reunion at Sissy's house. I was probably about 9 years old when the reunion turned into the most surreal event of my life.
That the accident wouldn't even have happened without the fog didn't spring to mind until later. At 7am, it seemed to be an extension of the haze everyone was in as they draped around the porch drinking coffee and trying to wake up. Sissy was inside cooking breakfast. I remember sausage patties and yeast rolls. Always yeast rolls.
I can't remember if I was actually outside when the truck missed the curve in the fog and flipped over onto Sissy's azalea hedge, but I've seen it so many times in my mind's eye that I'm certain I know exactly how it happened. What's unmistakable is that I was outside by the time the first chickens reached the porch.
Many of the chickens died when the truck turned over. They were the lucky ones. The rest of the chickens exploded from their...coops? Pens? Crates? Whatever. There were chickens everywhere. Maybe thousands of them. They were all white, at least until the entire clan of aunts emerged from the house with every piece of cutlery from Sissy's kitchen. An army of southern belles descended the steps of that wrap-around porch with dogged determination. The sheer number of chickens to be dispatched required that no time be wasted.
When the fog lifted, many hundreds of chickens had gone to meet their maker. Some had been decapitated, so their heads were scattered randomly with their bodies landing impossible distances away after too many seconds of the proverbial running around. Others had gotten their necks rung when the knives proved messy and inefficient. Those chickens laid on the ground whole, but broken. None of the chickens were white anymore.
When the cops showed up, they were stumped. They'd never seen such a gruesome scene, but they couldn't figure out what laws had been broken. In the front yard, they issued a citation to the truck driver and helped him arrange for a tow truck. In the back shed, however, the plucking and cleaning had begun. They tried to make me help but I couldn't even stay in the room with the bald chickens hanging upside down to drain. When the fried chicken was served at dinner, I tried one bite but then couldn't even handle the gravy.
The temptation is to think that I made this up. Surely I didn't actually witness a bloody chicken Apocalypse at 9 years old, right? Surely the adults into whose care I'd been trusted didn't try to feed me the victims of a fatal truck crash, right? But no, I've fact checked this crazy story many times over the years.
Tonight for dinner? Steak.
Sissy was always working on a crocheted afghan. Every woman in the family got one. My mom's was dark blue with little multi-colored bursts. Mine was kind of a raspberry red with pink squares. Don't worry, it was uglier than it sounds. What matters, though, is that it was absolutely the most comfortable blanket ever. Laying under that afghan, with just a sheet between us, is still one of the most blissful tactile memories I have. People, I haven't been able to find that afghan in years and years (I think I recall a child thinking I'd given it to her and being stuck with that plan) and I can still close my eyes and feel it's weight. It brings tears to my eyes.
Aunt Sissy lived in a big old house with a huge yard outside of Athens, Georgia. I loved taking baths in the claw-foot tub and squashing pennies on the railroad tracks. Every year, extended family would come from hundreds of miles to a reunion at Sissy's house. I was probably about 9 years old when the reunion turned into the most surreal event of my life.
That the accident wouldn't even have happened without the fog didn't spring to mind until later. At 7am, it seemed to be an extension of the haze everyone was in as they draped around the porch drinking coffee and trying to wake up. Sissy was inside cooking breakfast. I remember sausage patties and yeast rolls. Always yeast rolls.
I can't remember if I was actually outside when the truck missed the curve in the fog and flipped over onto Sissy's azalea hedge, but I've seen it so many times in my mind's eye that I'm certain I know exactly how it happened. What's unmistakable is that I was outside by the time the first chickens reached the porch.
Many of the chickens died when the truck turned over. They were the lucky ones. The rest of the chickens exploded from their...coops? Pens? Crates? Whatever. There were chickens everywhere. Maybe thousands of them. They were all white, at least until the entire clan of aunts emerged from the house with every piece of cutlery from Sissy's kitchen. An army of southern belles descended the steps of that wrap-around porch with dogged determination. The sheer number of chickens to be dispatched required that no time be wasted.
When the fog lifted, many hundreds of chickens had gone to meet their maker. Some had been decapitated, so their heads were scattered randomly with their bodies landing impossible distances away after too many seconds of the proverbial running around. Others had gotten their necks rung when the knives proved messy and inefficient. Those chickens laid on the ground whole, but broken. None of the chickens were white anymore.
When the cops showed up, they were stumped. They'd never seen such a gruesome scene, but they couldn't figure out what laws had been broken. In the front yard, they issued a citation to the truck driver and helped him arrange for a tow truck. In the back shed, however, the plucking and cleaning had begun. They tried to make me help but I couldn't even stay in the room with the bald chickens hanging upside down to drain. When the fried chicken was served at dinner, I tried one bite but then couldn't even handle the gravy.
The temptation is to think that I made this up. Surely I didn't actually witness a bloody chicken Apocalypse at 9 years old, right? Surely the adults into whose care I'd been trusted didn't try to feed me the victims of a fatal truck crash, right? But no, I've fact checked this crazy story many times over the years.
Tonight for dinner? Steak.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Whew! and then AHHHHH!!!
I got the awesome job which is, of course, awesome. I start on Monday and I'm nervous and excited. I want to be successful and I'll be working hard. Also, this will be the last you read about my job because now that I have it, I'd like to keep it if that's alright with you. Word on the street is that some companies are pretty testy when it comes to blogging employees and I'd rather not run afowl of any policies.
OK, that's not the last thing. See, I'm kind of a wreck. I'm realizing that I've forgotten a lot about how to be at work. Even before I began my five month tenure as a stay at home mom, nothing was normal about my job. For the eight years until last July I was kind of a big deal in my office, had a ton of friends, and could do my job in my sleep. I'd mastered the art of work related bullshit. I was super successful, but I always had the sense inside myself that it was all smoke and mirrors. Then we went to Oklahoma and things were a disaster from day one. I spent those eight months running my ass off. I was typically confused, angry, and exhausted. Looking back, I realize how the nature of the business I was in rewarded the appearance of hard work and success rather than the real thing.
Throughout the incredibly complex hiring process I've been through for my new job, I've really learned to respect the company that hired me. They seem really on top of things and they seem to have really high standards. In short, they seem like a really first-class operation. It's just that after everything I've been through professionally in the last year I don't trust myself anymore. Everyone tells me I'll do great, and intellectually I know I will. I just need the courage to put one foot in front of the other and do it.
There are some exciting things brewing on the childcare front. Dannon's mom has offered to do a trial run of watching Orion for us during the four half-days a week when our schedules will overlap. That's awesome for a lot of reasons. I can't say enough about the idea of Orion being with people who love him instead of getting lost in a group at daycare. Also, when he was in daycare he had a snotty nose, an ear infection, and chest congestion all the time. I've been crediting the moist Florida air with doing away with all of that mess but I think if I searched my soul I'd realize that it was the fact that daycares are essentially giant petri dishes that was making him sick. Then there's the very real possibility that I'll get hung up at work sometimes and I really doubt that Dannon's mom is going to charge me $20 for every minute he's there past 6:30pm. I really hope that the plan works out for the adults, because I know its what's best for Orion.
OK, that's not the last thing. See, I'm kind of a wreck. I'm realizing that I've forgotten a lot about how to be at work. Even before I began my five month tenure as a stay at home mom, nothing was normal about my job. For the eight years until last July I was kind of a big deal in my office, had a ton of friends, and could do my job in my sleep. I'd mastered the art of work related bullshit. I was super successful, but I always had the sense inside myself that it was all smoke and mirrors. Then we went to Oklahoma and things were a disaster from day one. I spent those eight months running my ass off. I was typically confused, angry, and exhausted. Looking back, I realize how the nature of the business I was in rewarded the appearance of hard work and success rather than the real thing.
Throughout the incredibly complex hiring process I've been through for my new job, I've really learned to respect the company that hired me. They seem really on top of things and they seem to have really high standards. In short, they seem like a really first-class operation. It's just that after everything I've been through professionally in the last year I don't trust myself anymore. Everyone tells me I'll do great, and intellectually I know I will. I just need the courage to put one foot in front of the other and do it.
There are some exciting things brewing on the childcare front. Dannon's mom has offered to do a trial run of watching Orion for us during the four half-days a week when our schedules will overlap. That's awesome for a lot of reasons. I can't say enough about the idea of Orion being with people who love him instead of getting lost in a group at daycare. Also, when he was in daycare he had a snotty nose, an ear infection, and chest congestion all the time. I've been crediting the moist Florida air with doing away with all of that mess but I think if I searched my soul I'd realize that it was the fact that daycares are essentially giant petri dishes that was making him sick. Then there's the very real possibility that I'll get hung up at work sometimes and I really doubt that Dannon's mom is going to charge me $20 for every minute he's there past 6:30pm. I really hope that the plan works out for the adults, because I know its what's best for Orion.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Who's that squirrel?
On the job front: Yesterday, I finished a pretty grueling interview process for a job that would solve, well, all of my problems. I feel like it went really well but I'm not naive enough to think that its all locked up. The company wants the person they select to start on Monday, so I know that at the very least I won't be sitting here wondering for long. On the other hand, I'm experiencing all of the stress of the interminable wait to find out condensed into three three days. If this entry is a little choppy, its probably because I'm having to stop occasionally to breathe into a paper bag.
On the kiddo front: I've been walking around all week wondering if I should call the cops. Maybe get John Walsh or Nancy Grace on the case. Someone has come in the night, scooped up my squirrel, and replaced him with a sweet and adorable clone. Probably made of Folgers Crystals.
Orion just wasn't born as a real cuddly kid. He's always preferred to be held and carried around, but I've suspected that its more so he can have an improved view of the world. He doesn't want to sit on your lap. He doesn't want a hug. He doesn't want a kiss. I didn't like it, but I got used to it. I admit that the main reason I eventually decided to co-sleep was that he'd actually let me snuggle him while he was asleep. I was heartbroken on the day that I realized he would sleep better in his own bed.
But now, whoo boy! I am finding out how the other half lives. He's turned into a complete snuggle bug. He even lays his head down on my shoulder when I carry him. Hell, when he's sitting in his stroller or highchair he'll grab my hand so he can snuggle my arm and lay his little cheek against my palm. It's magical.
Of course, this is all happening when I have very limited time left to stay home with him. I'm down to seven days at most, and I may only have three days alone with him. Man...just when it was getting good.
The little stinker still won't say "Mama", though. Every time I walk in the room his face lights up and he calls, "Da!" Maybe they'll straighten him out at daycare.
On the kiddo front: I've been walking around all week wondering if I should call the cops. Maybe get John Walsh or Nancy Grace on the case. Someone has come in the night, scooped up my squirrel, and replaced him with a sweet and adorable clone. Probably made of Folgers Crystals.
Orion just wasn't born as a real cuddly kid. He's always preferred to be held and carried around, but I've suspected that its more so he can have an improved view of the world. He doesn't want to sit on your lap. He doesn't want a hug. He doesn't want a kiss. I didn't like it, but I got used to it. I admit that the main reason I eventually decided to co-sleep was that he'd actually let me snuggle him while he was asleep. I was heartbroken on the day that I realized he would sleep better in his own bed.
But now, whoo boy! I am finding out how the other half lives. He's turned into a complete snuggle bug. He even lays his head down on my shoulder when I carry him. Hell, when he's sitting in his stroller or highchair he'll grab my hand so he can snuggle my arm and lay his little cheek against my palm. It's magical.
Of course, this is all happening when I have very limited time left to stay home with him. I'm down to seven days at most, and I may only have three days alone with him. Man...just when it was getting good.
The little stinker still won't say "Mama", though. Every time I walk in the room his face lights up and he calls, "Da!" Maybe they'll straighten him out at daycare.
Friday, August 7, 2009
God Bless Dr Sears 2, Electric Boogaloo
I recently started sharing my blog post links on Facebook. So far, its been a safe way to dip my toe in the water as far as getting my stuff out there. The people reading it are predisposed to like me. They’re already used to my voice and the characters in my stories and are bound to be kind.
An unexpected result has been that people have been going back and reading my old entries from the end of my pregnancy and my early days of motherhood. The feedback has been positive, but I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. I was getting three hours of sleep a night when I wrote that stuff, so I had no recollection what it was about. This led me to do something that I don’t advise anyone to do. EVER. I read my own archives.
I learned two things about myself. First, its impossible to write with proper spelling and grammar and with no typos when you are also working full time and caring for a growing fetus/infant. Second, I won’t fucking shut up about what Orion is eating. Holy shit! I even got tired of reading it myself. It’s a wonder that anyone else has tolerated that kind of crap.
The very worst part is that on September 7th, 2008 I wrote this:
“Dr. Sears tells me some shit I can do to feel like I'm helping (Give him some live and active cultures!) Dr. Sears even tells me all of this for free.”
And then on June 17th, 2009, I wrote:
“Our first shot at defeating the Yellow Poop of Doom was to change his bottle-beverage to Almond milk, which Orion loves because its sweet and expensive. At three days post-switch, it's not seeming to be good enough. We're now facing down the elimination of all dairy products from Orion's diet.”
Does anybody want to guess what after 15 months, zillions of poopy diapers, eight kinds of formula, four kinds of milk, and a box of gluten fucking free waffles has turned Orion’s poops into solid little balls that roll out of his diaper when I take it off?
Yeah, that’s right. Mother fucking yogurt.
Y’all, I’m married too a guy named Dannon.
I quit.
Therefore, I am calling an official moratorium on baby diet posts. You’re tired of hearing about it, I’m tired of writing about it, and it seems I’ve finally gotten out of my own way and solved the problem.
An unexpected result has been that people have been going back and reading my old entries from the end of my pregnancy and my early days of motherhood. The feedback has been positive, but I couldn’t help feeling a little nervous. I was getting three hours of sleep a night when I wrote that stuff, so I had no recollection what it was about. This led me to do something that I don’t advise anyone to do. EVER. I read my own archives.
I learned two things about myself. First, its impossible to write with proper spelling and grammar and with no typos when you are also working full time and caring for a growing fetus/infant. Second, I won’t fucking shut up about what Orion is eating. Holy shit! I even got tired of reading it myself. It’s a wonder that anyone else has tolerated that kind of crap.
The very worst part is that on September 7th, 2008 I wrote this:
“Dr. Sears tells me some shit I can do to feel like I'm helping (Give him some live and active cultures!) Dr. Sears even tells me all of this for free.”
And then on June 17th, 2009, I wrote:
“Our first shot at defeating the Yellow Poop of Doom was to change his bottle-beverage to Almond milk, which Orion loves because its sweet and expensive. At three days post-switch, it's not seeming to be good enough. We're now facing down the elimination of all dairy products from Orion's diet.”
Does anybody want to guess what after 15 months, zillions of poopy diapers, eight kinds of formula, four kinds of milk, and a box of gluten fucking free waffles has turned Orion’s poops into solid little balls that roll out of his diaper when I take it off?
Yeah, that’s right. Mother fucking yogurt.
Y’all, I’m married too a guy named Dannon.
I quit.
Therefore, I am calling an official moratorium on baby diet posts. You’re tired of hearing about it, I’m tired of writing about it, and it seems I’ve finally gotten out of my own way and solved the problem.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Why I can't wait to go back to work
Orion and I came in the door from our trip to the grocery store. I sprinted to the bathroom because its impossible to use a public restroom with him in tow. When I get done, I go into Orion's room and realize that one of the dogs has pooped in his room and has (OMG) tracked it all over his room. He's bawling and exhausted, so I pick him up and plop him in the crib and go to get a bottle. While he settles in, I get all of the solid matter up and start planning my carpet cleaning strategy for after he wakes up.
As he sleeps, I realize that in my haste I've put him to bed with his shoes on. No biggie, but I've never done it before. I wonder if it will keep him from sleeping well.
He wakes up right on schedule and I go in to find that it most certainly was NOT the dog who tracked the poop all over the room. It was Orion, and I have put him to bed in shit encrusted shoes. Shoes which he has now used to track shit all over his crib and, as a result, himself.
So to sum up my afternoon, I:
1. Picked up dog shit
2. Cleaned up 20 spots of dog shit tracked around the carpet
3. Washed a shitty crib sheet
4. Bathed a shitty toddler
5. Used a toothpick to clean dog shit out of every groove in a pair of size 6 double Wide Stride Rite sandles
6. Cleaned the litter box
At this point, I will take any job where no one smears shit on themselves and expects me to clean it up.
As he sleeps, I realize that in my haste I've put him to bed with his shoes on. No biggie, but I've never done it before. I wonder if it will keep him from sleeping well.
He wakes up right on schedule and I go in to find that it most certainly was NOT the dog who tracked the poop all over the room. It was Orion, and I have put him to bed in shit encrusted shoes. Shoes which he has now used to track shit all over his crib and, as a result, himself.
So to sum up my afternoon, I:
1. Picked up dog shit
2. Cleaned up 20 spots of dog shit tracked around the carpet
3. Washed a shitty crib sheet
4. Bathed a shitty toddler
5. Used a toothpick to clean dog shit out of every groove in a pair of size 6 double Wide Stride Rite sandles
6. Cleaned the litter box
At this point, I will take any job where no one smears shit on themselves and expects me to clean it up.
Monday, August 3, 2009
You Can't Go Home Again
We'd been avoiding it since we got back to town. Thank goodness when we bought it, we'd selected a neighborhood that wasn't on the path to anywhere else. At the time we thought the remoteness would make for peace, quiet, and dark skies for taking the telescope out. It was all of that, although we tended to watch more satellite and space station passes because we could catch those with binoculars. But for the past four months we've gotten a different benefit out of how out of the way it is.
This afternoon, Orion and I were going stir crazy. I wanted a coke and he needed a snack, so I figured we'd drive through McDonalds. When we pulled away from the drive through, it just felt like the car was pointed there. Pointed home. I let the car take me there, like a dog that runs away after a cross country move and turns up later back at the old house.
I expected it to have changed a lot. I figured that there would be different plants, new window treatments, and that something would have finally been done with the precious front porch that I had always meant to decorate. But aside from the bushes being bigger and the new owners having (finally) removed the ornamental grasses that I hated so much, it looked exactly the same.
I expected to be sad and had braced for it the whole way there. I thought that seeing the house again would conjure memories of all of the life we lived there. This was the house we brought Orion home to, where I'd walked back and forth in the living room for hours in the middle of colllicky nights. Surely, I'd mourn the loss. Surely I'd feel, well, something.
But I didn't. I left there for the last time just about a year ago, and today when I drove past it (twice) I was driving past someone else's house. I realized that wanting to have "A" home again didn't really mean wanting to have "THAT" home again and that just maybe, home wasn't even a building to begin with.
This afternoon, Orion and I were going stir crazy. I wanted a coke and he needed a snack, so I figured we'd drive through McDonalds. When we pulled away from the drive through, it just felt like the car was pointed there. Pointed home. I let the car take me there, like a dog that runs away after a cross country move and turns up later back at the old house.
I expected it to have changed a lot. I figured that there would be different plants, new window treatments, and that something would have finally been done with the precious front porch that I had always meant to decorate. But aside from the bushes being bigger and the new owners having (finally) removed the ornamental grasses that I hated so much, it looked exactly the same.
I expected to be sad and had braced for it the whole way there. I thought that seeing the house again would conjure memories of all of the life we lived there. This was the house we brought Orion home to, where I'd walked back and forth in the living room for hours in the middle of colllicky nights. Surely, I'd mourn the loss. Surely I'd feel, well, something.
But I didn't. I left there for the last time just about a year ago, and today when I drove past it (twice) I was driving past someone else's house. I realized that wanting to have "A" home again didn't really mean wanting to have "THAT" home again and that just maybe, home wasn't even a building to begin with.
Nuggets of Weekendy Goodness
Yesterday, Dannon and I went to this park in St. Pete that we've been frequenting to play a little bit of disc golf while Dannon's mom* watched Orion. We got to what should have been the 18th hole, and any disappointment that we might have had over the 18th hole being removed instantly evaporated when we saw the elevated gazeebo on the water. We climbed up and sat in the shady seabreeze watching the crabs skittering across the wet sand and the anchored sailboats bob in the harbor. My God, this really is all worth it.
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For the past few days, I've become aggressively empathetic over other people's happiness. Yesterday afternoon we drove past the port just as the cruise ship was pulling out. all of the little bitty people were standing around the edge of the ship waving. I started crying. Just imagining how happy all those people were was overwhelming. What a grand adventure they were all leaving on. How many honeymooners were there? Seniors getting to enjoy their retirements together? Kids already eyeballing the pool slide?** It just created a giant psychic cloud of happiness that was impossible to ignore. That kind of thing has been happening to me for three days. It's neat, but WTF?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a freak toddler head butt incident, Orion broke my nose for the 3rd (OMG THIRD!) time. Well, he hasn't done it three times. The blame can be shared equally between Dannon***, Ophelia, and now Orion. However, this was first break since the surgery I had to fix the damage from the first two. Thereby rendering the "up my nose with a rubber hose" ordeal completely useless. If I'm not able to breath out of my right nostril within the next couple of days I'll be making another visit to the nice nose surgeon with the sexy accent as soon as the insurance kicks in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orion learned how to eat with a fork. Do you know who knows how to eat with a fork? That's right. People. People eat with a fork. People who are NOT babies. Fuck.
*Who has been awesome in every way, I must report. She and I never had much of a relationship before but between the financial help, babysitting services, and general shoulder-to-cry-onedness she's proven to definitely be on our team. Eff with my mother-in-law and I will cut a bitch.
**It briefly occured to me that there were also people on that ship trying to save failing marriages and travelling with family members they couldn't stand, but that was no fun so I pushed it out of my mind.
***It was an accident, I swear! Please don't call social services.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
For the past few days, I've become aggressively empathetic over other people's happiness. Yesterday afternoon we drove past the port just as the cruise ship was pulling out. all of the little bitty people were standing around the edge of the ship waving. I started crying. Just imagining how happy all those people were was overwhelming. What a grand adventure they were all leaving on. How many honeymooners were there? Seniors getting to enjoy their retirements together? Kids already eyeballing the pool slide?** It just created a giant psychic cloud of happiness that was impossible to ignore. That kind of thing has been happening to me for three days. It's neat, but WTF?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In a freak toddler head butt incident, Orion broke my nose for the 3rd (OMG THIRD!) time. Well, he hasn't done it three times. The blame can be shared equally between Dannon***, Ophelia, and now Orion. However, this was first break since the surgery I had to fix the damage from the first two. Thereby rendering the "up my nose with a rubber hose" ordeal completely useless. If I'm not able to breath out of my right nostril within the next couple of days I'll be making another visit to the nice nose surgeon with the sexy accent as soon as the insurance kicks in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Orion learned how to eat with a fork. Do you know who knows how to eat with a fork? That's right. People. People eat with a fork. People who are NOT babies. Fuck.
*Who has been awesome in every way, I must report. She and I never had much of a relationship before but between the financial help, babysitting services, and general shoulder-to-cry-onedness she's proven to definitely be on our team. Eff with my mother-in-law and I will cut a bitch.
**It briefly occured to me that there were also people on that ship trying to save failing marriages and travelling with family members they couldn't stand, but that was no fun so I pushed it out of my mind.
***It was an accident, I swear! Please don't call social services.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Will Work for Food
The good news is that in my disagreement with Dannon over whether or not I should have been trying to find any job possible right away versus holding out for a "good" job and trust that the unemployment was going to come in, I seem to have been proven right! Woo Hoo!! The bad news is that this means the unemployment did not, in fact, get approved and there are no "good" jobs to be found. For that matter, if the last three weeks are any indication, there are also no decent jobs around either.
I've tweaked my resumes. I say "resumes" becuase I have four of them, playing up and down my various qualifications for the different types of jobs I'm looking for. I have had only one interview in three weeks and I'm starting to get a little depressed about the whole thing. When I started to really pour on the steam after the unemployment decision came in, I was pleasantly surprised to find how many jobs were listed. There were certainly more than when Dannon had started looking. But after three weeks of no real leads I'm starting to wonder what the problem is.
My guess is that I'm looking for entry level positions with Mid-Career Manager qualifications. Even on the resume versions where I've tried to downplay my experience I'm afraid that I come across like someone who knows a little too well what she's talking about. Maybe there's too much jargon for me to pass myself as a generic customer service rep. I tried to scrub for things that make me sound overqualified, but I end up having to make myself sound dumb so I put it all back.
I've probably applied for about 125 jobs in the past few weeks. All it takes is for just one of them to break my way.
In the mean time, I'm getting an ungodly amount of spam wanting me to sell Life Insurnace. There are no words for how terrible I would be at that job. But all the things I'd be good at? No bites at all.
I've tweaked my resumes. I say "resumes" becuase I have four of them, playing up and down my various qualifications for the different types of jobs I'm looking for. I have had only one interview in three weeks and I'm starting to get a little depressed about the whole thing. When I started to really pour on the steam after the unemployment decision came in, I was pleasantly surprised to find how many jobs were listed. There were certainly more than when Dannon had started looking. But after three weeks of no real leads I'm starting to wonder what the problem is.
My guess is that I'm looking for entry level positions with Mid-Career Manager qualifications. Even on the resume versions where I've tried to downplay my experience I'm afraid that I come across like someone who knows a little too well what she's talking about. Maybe there's too much jargon for me to pass myself as a generic customer service rep. I tried to scrub for things that make me sound overqualified, but I end up having to make myself sound dumb so I put it all back.
I've probably applied for about 125 jobs in the past few weeks. All it takes is for just one of them to break my way.
In the mean time, I'm getting an ungodly amount of spam wanting me to sell Life Insurnace. There are no words for how terrible I would be at that job. But all the things I'd be good at? No bites at all.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Milking It
A couple of weeks after Orion was born, I gave myself a firm pat on the back for having safely sidestepped postpartum depression. Of course, I was dealing with my stress by living on nothing but peanut butter cups and spending 20 hours a day on the Internet with my BabyCenter birth club. So, although I didn't FEEL like a depressed person I sure was playing one on TV. At least I had a chance to channel the Crazy by putting using my medical degree from the University of Google to diagnose Orion's GI issues.
The first thing I figured out was absolutely correct. He had a raging case of reflux. It took a couple of weeks and a trip across town to a specialist (who was kind enough to walk a screaming Orion down the hall for a few minutes to give me a break) but we got the right medication rolling and that has been under control ever since. The second thing I Googled up was a home-diagnosis of Milk Protein Allergy.
Orion had this horrible orange-yellow runny poop all the time. My research told me that it was the milk proteins in my diet that he was reacting to. I guess there are a lot of milk proteins in peanut butter cups. Faced with the possibility of having to cut out all of the dairy in my diet (read: I was addicted to the peanut butter cups) I made the decision to switch him to formula. Luckily, I was able to dodge all of the expensive and smelly specialty formulas by using Good Start, which doesn't have the milk protein Casein in it. All was right with the world. OK, life was still crazy but at least Orion's poop issues were resolved.
I kind of forgot that someday it would become highly unfashionable for Orion to still be drinking formula and that he'd be getting his milk proteins the old fashioned way, as the beverage included in a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal. I guess that's why, when his recent switch from formula to whole milk was followed by a return of the nasty yellow poop, I didn't instantly recognize the problem. But lo and behold, here we are over a year after my initial diagnosis dealing again with the potential of Milk Protein Allergy. Either that, or he isn't tolerating the peanut butter cups I'm feeding him. (I kid! He much prefers Snickers bars.)
Our first shot at defeating the Yellow Poop of Doom was to change his bottle-beverage to Almond milk, which Orion loves because its sweet and expensive. At three days post-switch, it's not seeming to be good enough. We're now facing down the elimination of all dairy products from Orion's diet.
What a pain in the ass. Anybody got a peanut butter cup?
The first thing I figured out was absolutely correct. He had a raging case of reflux. It took a couple of weeks and a trip across town to a specialist (who was kind enough to walk a screaming Orion down the hall for a few minutes to give me a break) but we got the right medication rolling and that has been under control ever since. The second thing I Googled up was a home-diagnosis of Milk Protein Allergy.
Orion had this horrible orange-yellow runny poop all the time. My research told me that it was the milk proteins in my diet that he was reacting to. I guess there are a lot of milk proteins in peanut butter cups. Faced with the possibility of having to cut out all of the dairy in my diet (read: I was addicted to the peanut butter cups) I made the decision to switch him to formula. Luckily, I was able to dodge all of the expensive and smelly specialty formulas by using Good Start, which doesn't have the milk protein Casein in it. All was right with the world. OK, life was still crazy but at least Orion's poop issues were resolved.
I kind of forgot that someday it would become highly unfashionable for Orion to still be drinking formula and that he'd be getting his milk proteins the old fashioned way, as the beverage included in a Chicken McNugget Happy Meal. I guess that's why, when his recent switch from formula to whole milk was followed by a return of the nasty yellow poop, I didn't instantly recognize the problem. But lo and behold, here we are over a year after my initial diagnosis dealing again with the potential of Milk Protein Allergy. Either that, or he isn't tolerating the peanut butter cups I'm feeding him. (I kid! He much prefers Snickers bars.)
Our first shot at defeating the Yellow Poop of Doom was to change his bottle-beverage to Almond milk, which Orion loves because its sweet and expensive. At three days post-switch, it's not seeming to be good enough. We're now facing down the elimination of all dairy products from Orion's diet.
What a pain in the ass. Anybody got a peanut butter cup?
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thanks GI Joe!
I have such paralyzing social anxiety, especially regarding use of the telephone, that I used to joke that if you left me at home with no car, a phone, and a $10 bill I would starve to death before I got the guts up to call and order a pizza. You can tell I've been suffering from this for a long time because we all know that, for starters, you can't get a pizza for $10 anymore and also that now I can just go online and put my debit card into the computer and for some amount greater than $10 (I try not to look) a creepy guy will show up at my door with the pie of my choice without my having to even pick up the phone. Ironic that I've spend the last 10 years working in call centers, no?
So it was a huge, HUGE, step for me today when I got a text message inviting Orion and I to a playdate today. A real one, with other kids, and other girls my age. Girls who cuss and laugh at farts just like me! These particular girls have known each other since highschool and I know how hard it is to find a new place withing those kinds of friendships. I'm not foooling myself into thinking that these are going to be my new BFF's or anything. But, how nice was it to sit and laugh while the kids played? Really nice, that's how.
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Dannon had an interview today for a job that he's overqualified for. We've got our fingers crossed that the company will see that they won't just be a pit stop (where else is he going to go?) so that they'll hire him and we can all eat again. We don't need much to live on now, but we do need something coming in soon. The feeling of not knowing where its going to come from is a little like having already jumped from the plane and then starting to wonder if you have a parachute or an empty backpack.
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When I was trying to get pregnant, or trying to get Dannon to let me try to get pregnant I Googled like a crazy person trying to figure out why I kept. Having. Miscarriages. In my searching, I came across A Little Pregnant. Julie's experiences were so similar to what I had been through, thought I would still have to go through, that I went back and read through her whole archive. I laughed with her and cried with her. Most of all, I realized I wasn't alone. When I'd devoured everything she'd written, I started chewing my way through her Blogroll.
I started at the beginning, and found All & Sundry right at the top of the list. I found that Linda's voice sounded even more like my own, and here we were at such similar points of our pregnancies. She with her second son, and me with my first. Again, I read every word I could find (note: let this be a lesson to employers not to allow emotional pregnant women unfettered access to the internet). From there I moved on, and now count Amalah and others as daily must reads, but it's Sundry that continues to speak to me like a little voice in my ear.
There's been a lot of self reflection going on on these blogs (I won't even THINK the MB word) in the last week about why bloggers do what they do as well as the morality and professionalism involved (or missing) from the decision to accept free products, trips, and other goodies in exchange for reviews. As a blog reader, I think its pretty cool that these awesome girls get thrown a little bone for their hard work. I take the trips vicariously through them and appreciate the giveaways they're able to sponsor. Frankly, I don't care if they spell out every single time that they've been compensated in some way for kind words aimed in the direction of a product. This may be SO last century, but I actually trust these writers. If they're going to tell me their kids' real names the very least I can do is believe them when they tell me that a certain kind of vacuum cleaner rocks out with it's cock out. I think that they go above and beyond when they add a disclaimer. FTC be damned, I'm smart enough not to need my hand held.
So that's that. However, the truth is that the BA Fearless Self Inventory had kind of prompted me to do something similar. Every time I read one of these posts, I just keep thinking about how very lucky these folks are to have people reading their words, laughing and crying along. Hey! I want people to read my words. Why aren't people reading my words?! There's a really simple answer. I have never given this link to another breathing human being. Well, I sort of described the link to one of my friends but I don't even know if she's come and read.
You may say, "But surely when you comment, you put the link in the little asky-bar custom made for these things!" Well, this is where we come full circle. I don't comment. I'm too chicken to comment. So my summer resolution is this:
I will commnet on blog posts that make me think, laugh, or cry. I will add my own blog link hoping people will find their ways here. I will see these ladies (and man...Hi! Danny) as torch-bearers and, though I am miles behind them in readership and book deals, I will get my writing out there.
It's going to mean that I open myself up for people to hate what I write, but that's ok. In order to hate it, people must first read it, and that's half the battle.
So it was a huge, HUGE, step for me today when I got a text message inviting Orion and I to a playdate today. A real one, with other kids, and other girls my age. Girls who cuss and laugh at farts just like me! These particular girls have known each other since highschool and I know how hard it is to find a new place withing those kinds of friendships. I'm not foooling myself into thinking that these are going to be my new BFF's or anything. But, how nice was it to sit and laugh while the kids played? Really nice, that's how.
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Dannon had an interview today for a job that he's overqualified for. We've got our fingers crossed that the company will see that they won't just be a pit stop (where else is he going to go?) so that they'll hire him and we can all eat again. We don't need much to live on now, but we do need something coming in soon. The feeling of not knowing where its going to come from is a little like having already jumped from the plane and then starting to wonder if you have a parachute or an empty backpack.
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When I was trying to get pregnant, or trying to get Dannon to let me try to get pregnant I Googled like a crazy person trying to figure out why I kept. Having. Miscarriages. In my searching, I came across A Little Pregnant. Julie's experiences were so similar to what I had been through, thought I would still have to go through, that I went back and read through her whole archive. I laughed with her and cried with her. Most of all, I realized I wasn't alone. When I'd devoured everything she'd written, I started chewing my way through her Blogroll.
I started at the beginning, and found All & Sundry right at the top of the list. I found that Linda's voice sounded even more like my own, and here we were at such similar points of our pregnancies. She with her second son, and me with my first. Again, I read every word I could find (note: let this be a lesson to employers not to allow emotional pregnant women unfettered access to the internet). From there I moved on, and now count Amalah and others as daily must reads, but it's Sundry that continues to speak to me like a little voice in my ear.
There's been a lot of self reflection going on on these blogs (I won't even THINK the MB word) in the last week about why bloggers do what they do as well as the morality and professionalism involved (or missing) from the decision to accept free products, trips, and other goodies in exchange for reviews. As a blog reader, I think its pretty cool that these awesome girls get thrown a little bone for their hard work. I take the trips vicariously through them and appreciate the giveaways they're able to sponsor. Frankly, I don't care if they spell out every single time that they've been compensated in some way for kind words aimed in the direction of a product. This may be SO last century, but I actually trust these writers. If they're going to tell me their kids' real names the very least I can do is believe them when they tell me that a certain kind of vacuum cleaner rocks out with it's cock out. I think that they go above and beyond when they add a disclaimer. FTC be damned, I'm smart enough not to need my hand held.
So that's that. However, the truth is that the BA Fearless Self Inventory had kind of prompted me to do something similar. Every time I read one of these posts, I just keep thinking about how very lucky these folks are to have people reading their words, laughing and crying along. Hey! I want people to read my words. Why aren't people reading my words?! There's a really simple answer. I have never given this link to another breathing human being. Well, I sort of described the link to one of my friends but I don't even know if she's come and read.
You may say, "But surely when you comment, you put the link in the little asky-bar custom made for these things!" Well, this is where we come full circle. I don't comment. I'm too chicken to comment. So my summer resolution is this:
I will commnet on blog posts that make me think, laugh, or cry. I will add my own blog link hoping people will find their ways here. I will see these ladies (and man...Hi! Danny) as torch-bearers and, though I am miles behind them in readership and book deals, I will get my writing out there.
It's going to mean that I open myself up for people to hate what I write, but that's ok. In order to hate it, people must first read it, and that's half the battle.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
When it matters most, trust Duracell
We were at the playplace today and while the kids were playing (less than 10 spread among 4 parties) one of the dads chatted me up trying to figure out where he recognized me from (Answer? Nowhere). His wife walked over and we were making typical parent playground smalltalk for a couple of minutes. When I did my routine child inventory, Orion was four feet behind me HUGGING A MAN. Luckily, this particular man was a good guy. He was there with his wife and kids, and was taking a break from body-slamming his 12 year old son in the ball pit. He was super friendly and kept rolling the ball back and forth with Orion for a few minutes, until I pulled the plug and left.
This time, we were lucky. Not only was this man a good guy, but we were in a video monitored facility where they check to make sure that the kid you're leaving with is the one you came in with. But the truth is, this isn't the first time I've had an "Oh, shit!" moment when it comes to Orion's safety.
We've recently gotten Season Passes for Disney, which means we spend a significant amount of time standing in line. Every single freaking time that he makes eye contact with someone in line, he's reaching his arms out to try to get them to hold him. I'm scared to death that one of these days someone is going to reach out to take him and I'm going to have to cut a bitch. Honestly though, why does he do that? Why does he approach every single stranger looking for love? I might as well put a T-shirt on him that says "I HEART WINDOWLESS WHITE VANS".
I guess vigilance is key, but jeesh.
Here's a lighter, but still a bit on topic, story from earlier today so that I'm not closing out with "OMG WTF MY BABY IS GOING TO BE ABDUCTED!!!" We used to frequent a fast food place before Orion was born and there was this girl working there that was kind of odd but very friendly. We only went there once with Orion before we left town because the girl didn't quite get the whole personal space thing. While we were in Oklahoma, our old haunt closed down. We had even wondered where the girl ended up. Today we went to another fast food place and there she was. We had a conversation similar to what we were used to, but then the oddest thing happened. Orion did the typical toddler thing where he takes a piece of food out of his mouth and holds it out in offer to the nearest adult. Of curse the standard response is, "Oh, no thank you! That's for you!" Not from this girl. This girl leaned down, opened her mouth, and fucking ATE the chunk of soggy chicken nugget right from his greasy paw.
It's good to be home. The End.
This time, we were lucky. Not only was this man a good guy, but we were in a video monitored facility where they check to make sure that the kid you're leaving with is the one you came in with. But the truth is, this isn't the first time I've had an "Oh, shit!" moment when it comes to Orion's safety.
We've recently gotten Season Passes for Disney, which means we spend a significant amount of time standing in line. Every single freaking time that he makes eye contact with someone in line, he's reaching his arms out to try to get them to hold him. I'm scared to death that one of these days someone is going to reach out to take him and I'm going to have to cut a bitch. Honestly though, why does he do that? Why does he approach every single stranger looking for love? I might as well put a T-shirt on him that says "I HEART WINDOWLESS WHITE VANS".
I guess vigilance is key, but jeesh.
Here's a lighter, but still a bit on topic, story from earlier today so that I'm not closing out with "OMG WTF MY BABY IS GOING TO BE ABDUCTED!!!" We used to frequent a fast food place before Orion was born and there was this girl working there that was kind of odd but very friendly. We only went there once with Orion before we left town because the girl didn't quite get the whole personal space thing. While we were in Oklahoma, our old haunt closed down. We had even wondered where the girl ended up. Today we went to another fast food place and there she was. We had a conversation similar to what we were used to, but then the oddest thing happened. Orion did the typical toddler thing where he takes a piece of food out of his mouth and holds it out in offer to the nearest adult. Of curse the standard response is, "Oh, no thank you! That's for you!" Not from this girl. This girl leaned down, opened her mouth, and fucking ATE the chunk of soggy chicken nugget right from his greasy paw.
It's good to be home. The End.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Party at my Crib
Orion has never had really consistent sleeping arrangments. The original plan when he was born was to have him sleep in the bassinet part of the Pack & Play in our room for a few weeks, then transition to his own crib in his own room. When we realized that bed time turned him into a head-spinning, projectile-vomitting, demon child we relaxed our goals a little bit. Eventually, we settled on co-sleeping as the best option for us. Mostly because I fell asleep feeding him one night and woke up four hours later which, at the time, was miraculous.
As time went on, we gradually transitioned away from co-sleeping using various combinations of bassinets, cribs, and co-sleeping time until he was finally spending all night in his crib in the weeks before we left Oklahoma. Well, except for the two to three times he was still getting up and coming into our bed for a bottle only to be carried back to his room when he was done.
When we hit the road to drive home, Orion was approaching his first birthday and was nowhere near sleeping through the night. When we got to the hotel the first night we set up his Pack & Play and put him down for bed, crossing our fingers that he wouldn't be confused by sleeping in the place he'd been playing and snacking at the old house. When I woke up, eight hours later, to the realization that Orion was STILL asleep I was amazed. Now, 45 days later, Orion is still sleeping through most nights and he's still sleeping in his Pack & Play.
I feel terrible about it. He's in there right now, sound asleep with his head and body backed against the narrow end and his feet straight out in front of him. There is room to spread out, if he lays just so, but many times he gets himself into the funny positions where it just doesn't seem like it can be comfortable. Dannon thinks he must be cozy. I think it looks restrictive. But I'll be damned if he isn't getting the best sleep of his life. Like, 12 hours a night with 0-1 wakings.
I'm just afraid to kill the mojo. We have plenty of space and plenty of opportunities to put the crib together, but there it sits. Leaning up against the wall in his new bedroom. I'm trying to convince Dannon to build the crib this weekend to give Orion a little bit more space, but I hope I'm not screwing up a good thing.
As time went on, we gradually transitioned away from co-sleeping using various combinations of bassinets, cribs, and co-sleeping time until he was finally spending all night in his crib in the weeks before we left Oklahoma. Well, except for the two to three times he was still getting up and coming into our bed for a bottle only to be carried back to his room when he was done.
When we hit the road to drive home, Orion was approaching his first birthday and was nowhere near sleeping through the night. When we got to the hotel the first night we set up his Pack & Play and put him down for bed, crossing our fingers that he wouldn't be confused by sleeping in the place he'd been playing and snacking at the old house. When I woke up, eight hours later, to the realization that Orion was STILL asleep I was amazed. Now, 45 days later, Orion is still sleeping through most nights and he's still sleeping in his Pack & Play.
I feel terrible about it. He's in there right now, sound asleep with his head and body backed against the narrow end and his feet straight out in front of him. There is room to spread out, if he lays just so, but many times he gets himself into the funny positions where it just doesn't seem like it can be comfortable. Dannon thinks he must be cozy. I think it looks restrictive. But I'll be damned if he isn't getting the best sleep of his life. Like, 12 hours a night with 0-1 wakings.
I'm just afraid to kill the mojo. We have plenty of space and plenty of opportunities to put the crib together, but there it sits. Leaning up against the wall in his new bedroom. I'm trying to convince Dannon to build the crib this weekend to give Orion a little bit more space, but I hope I'm not screwing up a good thing.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
This shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S
Last night, all I wanted was to do some laundry and watch American Idol. Ever since we moved into our apartment, our dryer has been out of commission. For some reason, this place requires a three prong dryer cord and our current one has four. I'm somewhat of a pro at this since we were living in this complex when the dryer was purchased and had to change the cord when we moved out. I'm convinced that no other place on earth has four pronged dryer outlets. Freaking communists. Anywho, one month, four trips to Home Depot, and a new power tool later we were all ready for the final push yesterday.
While I got the baby down, Dannon made the "final" trip to the store to replace the screw that we'd has to cut off. Just as Orion drifted off to sleep, the unthinkable occurred. The power went out due to the storm and stayed out for about 20 minutes, cutting a giant hole in the middle of my AI recording. I was bereft. Then Dannon came home and announced that Home Depot doesn't carry the right bolt. I was screwed. I had no other choice but to start getting caught up with Fringe on Hulu.
After a couple of stops this morning we finally found and old-timey hardware store with a couple of genuine old-time men who were willing to sell us a nut and bolt that "should work since it's not stainless steel". I have one more chance at my deal of catching up on laundry during AI. I think it's going to work, I just hope we don't burn the building down.
On the baby front, Orion has decided that he will be eating only bananas, Nilla wafers, and these vile toaster muffin-tops (heh!) I bought the other day on a whim. Since His Highness still requires warm stage-2 formula prior to falling asleep I'm not worried about nutrition, and I've read that it's a normal stage, but I'm getting a little bit tired of cleaning my thoughtfully homemade spagetti o's off the walls.
While I got the baby down, Dannon made the "final" trip to the store to replace the screw that we'd has to cut off. Just as Orion drifted off to sleep, the unthinkable occurred. The power went out due to the storm and stayed out for about 20 minutes, cutting a giant hole in the middle of my AI recording. I was bereft. Then Dannon came home and announced that Home Depot doesn't carry the right bolt. I was screwed. I had no other choice but to start getting caught up with Fringe on Hulu.
After a couple of stops this morning we finally found and old-timey hardware store with a couple of genuine old-time men who were willing to sell us a nut and bolt that "should work since it's not stainless steel". I have one more chance at my deal of catching up on laundry during AI. I think it's going to work, I just hope we don't burn the building down.
On the baby front, Orion has decided that he will be eating only bananas, Nilla wafers, and these vile toaster muffin-tops (heh!) I bought the other day on a whim. Since His Highness still requires warm stage-2 formula prior to falling asleep I'm not worried about nutrition, and I've read that it's a normal stage, but I'm getting a little bit tired of cleaning my thoughtfully homemade spagetti o's off the walls.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
We've strung a couple of rainy days together here, so the thee of us found ourselves at Family Fun Center again. For the third day in a row. Again. It's nice to be able to let Orion roam. Sometimes we're even lucky enough to meet nice people with nice little kids.
Today, I struck up a conversation with a couple of moms, one of whom I'd shared the L&D room with the day Orion was born. Soon we were talking about weaning strategies and growth curves and all that other great mommy stuff. I felt so...normal.
Then as the crazy elementary age kids worked the door for some afterschool running, jumping, and generalized mayhem I got the equivelent of the mommy secret handshake. That's right. An invitation to their Mommy and Me group. I know I should be all cool and aloof about this, but instead I feel like I'm sitting at the cool kids table in the lunchroom. It scares me to death but I think Im going to go tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes.
Today, I struck up a conversation with a couple of moms, one of whom I'd shared the L&D room with the day Orion was born. Soon we were talking about weaning strategies and growth curves and all that other great mommy stuff. I felt so...normal.
Then as the crazy elementary age kids worked the door for some afterschool running, jumping, and generalized mayhem I got the equivelent of the mommy secret handshake. That's right. An invitation to their Mommy and Me group. I know I should be all cool and aloof about this, but instead I feel like I'm sitting at the cool kids table in the lunchroom. It scares me to death but I think Im going to go tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Home again, home again...
One day, a couple of months ago I had an epiphany. I looked around and realized that I'd been playing tough, but in reality I was a wreck.
The root of the problem was obvious. I had waited many years to have my first child, battling infertility and spousal indecsion to finally find myself with a three month old baby in July of 2008. I lived in a house that I loved and that Dannon and I had worked hard to get. We lived in Central Florida, our home, among friends and family. We loved our lives. I loved my life. So, of course I had to fuck it up somehow.
We accepted a transfer at work and moved, with only a month of notice, to Oklahoma City. A lot about the move looked great on paper, but quickly turned sour when we arrived. We found ourselves working impossible hours at an impossible task with impossibly cruel people. We were a million miles from home and a million miles from each other. Dannon and I barely knew each other, and our baby Orion was a stranger to both of us as we had no choice but to let the daycare raise him for us.
When I realized that I was daydreaming about things like cutting myself and suicide, I figured it was time to speak up. We had begun to hatch a plan that would get us out of Oklahoma City in an intellegent, well thought out way. Unfortunately, things came to a head and we found ourselved unemployed in Oklahoma at the beginning of April.
A few unexpected, but small, windfalls gave us enough cash to rent a truck and drive cross-country. From our swanky house in Oklahoma, we're back living in the same apartment complex we lived in when we were first married. We're financially ruined, and will be for years and years unless Powerball intervenes. There are still things that stress us out, like job searches and unemployment hearings, but we've already gotten back so much more than we've given up. We've got each other, we've got our families, and we're watching our son grow up. We're home again.
Home again.
Jiggity jog.
note: view my old, pregnancy and baby-centric thoughts at http://theorionnebula.blogspot.com/
The root of the problem was obvious. I had waited many years to have my first child, battling infertility and spousal indecsion to finally find myself with a three month old baby in July of 2008. I lived in a house that I loved and that Dannon and I had worked hard to get. We lived in Central Florida, our home, among friends and family. We loved our lives. I loved my life. So, of course I had to fuck it up somehow.
We accepted a transfer at work and moved, with only a month of notice, to Oklahoma City. A lot about the move looked great on paper, but quickly turned sour when we arrived. We found ourselves working impossible hours at an impossible task with impossibly cruel people. We were a million miles from home and a million miles from each other. Dannon and I barely knew each other, and our baby Orion was a stranger to both of us as we had no choice but to let the daycare raise him for us.
When I realized that I was daydreaming about things like cutting myself and suicide, I figured it was time to speak up. We had begun to hatch a plan that would get us out of Oklahoma City in an intellegent, well thought out way. Unfortunately, things came to a head and we found ourselved unemployed in Oklahoma at the beginning of April.
A few unexpected, but small, windfalls gave us enough cash to rent a truck and drive cross-country. From our swanky house in Oklahoma, we're back living in the same apartment complex we lived in when we were first married. We're financially ruined, and will be for years and years unless Powerball intervenes. There are still things that stress us out, like job searches and unemployment hearings, but we've already gotten back so much more than we've given up. We've got each other, we've got our families, and we're watching our son grow up. We're home again.
Home again.
Jiggity jog.
note: view my old, pregnancy and baby-centric thoughts at http://theorionnebula.blogspot.com/
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