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.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
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.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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.
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