JUST What I Needed...

I've been trying to get my head wrapped around the whole "mom" thing, with varying degrees of success.

A few weeks ago, a dear friend evidently believed me about the dresser drawer thing (she can sleep in a dresser drawer.  When she cries, I'll shut the drawer.  Win win.) and drove here for the weekend from Nashville with a nursery in her truck.  She brought a crib, mattress, bedding, a dresser/changing table, a swing, assorted other things.  And then she worked her tail off emptying shelves, moving the shelving units to the basement, reassembling them and then hauling all of the craft stuff downstairs to the new location.  When she was done, I had a nursery.  Holy crap.

And then I went home for my birthday, and my friends there threw me a beautiful shower and I came home with Petunia LOADED with assorted baby stuff.  It occasionally freaks me out, how very very happy everyone else is about this but it has reinforced that I have really fantastic friends.

And then last Thursday happened.  It's been raining here a lot.  Wednesday night, a friend came over and we made the bunny magnets that will be the favors for my shower here and at 10 pm that night, the basement was dry.  Well, as dry as my basement ever gets when it's raining but I'm prepared for that - most everything's in plastic bins or up on pallets or something.

Tiny Little Bunny Magnets, In Process

I woke up Thursday morning to a slightly different scenerio.  I had knee high water in my driveway and 4.5 feet of water in my basement. 



My Porch, The Bottom Step Of Which Is Completely Submerged

  

My House, With Water Lapping On All Four Sides

 

To The East



To The West



To The South

My Neighbor, Serving as Water Taxi



The water rose and fell freakishly fast - by Thursday afternoon, it had receded outside completely and was nearly gone from my basement as well. That left the clean up.



By Thursday Afternoon

I've lost a lot.  And it's not over yet - all of my power tools were submerged, so we washed them and are letting them dry but they may be gone.  Same with my washer and dryer.  It remains to be seen how much of my (very expensive) cross stitch fabric can be washed and salvaged.  (I've been hanging it on the line to dry until I can wash it.)  Most of my Christmas decorations are gone.  I *think* we managed to save most of my grandmother's ceramics.  I have A LOT in the garage to go through, and a lot of it won't survive.  I have pictures drying on several flat surfaces, and more to spread out.  My neighbor put it very well when she said that it was "1000 little hurts."

It could be so much worse.  I could have fried myself when I went plunging into the water to retrieve the tea set that my grandmother made.  (Irony - it was on top of the heavy old metal file cabininet that didn't flinch and was probably the safest thing in the basement.)  It could be like the house across the street - with the sandstone foundation that washed away, leaving the house condemned and them with a day to remove all of their possessions. 



Clean-Up



So.  If disasters come in threes, whatever is next is probably going to send me to my knees 'cause I'm kind of wobbly right now.

"Gobsmacked" Doesn't Begin To Cover It.

In my personal history, 2012 will be remembered as "emotional shit storm david" because well, it was.  EVERY. SINGLE. MONTH. there was some new and exciting way that he managed, quite without trying, to shatter my world.

One of the highlights was June, when he was drinking too much and caught his ex - the one that he's been in love with since he was 13 - in a lie and it made him feel all bad and guilty so he called me and confessed his (many, many, many) sins from when we were together.  Thanks.  I needed to hear most of that... never.  This was good in that I decided it was way past time that I took a more... proactive... approach to getting over him.  So I joined an online dating site.  Except that I was broken and looking for a rebound so I thought it was kind of dishonest to go on one of those "happily ever after" website.  Wow.  I've learned a lot I didn't want to know about the male of our species.  And, in July, I met Chris.  Chris and I saw each other for several months, but his repeated no call, no shows drove me nuts so I ended it.  And then a couple of months later, he texted me and we ended up getting back together.  We haven't been in what I'd call a relationship because it's been pretty much completely physical. 

And for the last year, I've felt like crap.  But I really figured that most of it was depression left over from emotional shit storm david.  In August, I got a sinus infection, and the head goo never went away.  So, I haven't been able to breathe in months.

In the beginning of February this year, the head goo flared up again and I felt really awful, so I made a doctors appointment.  I was coughing so hard that I pulled something in my back, and it hurt to breathe for several days.  And right around the same time, these weird feelings started in my stomach.  So when I went to the doctor on Feb 15 for the head goo, I also peed in a cup.  And.  It's positive.

Thirty years of not wanting kids.  Eighteen years of completely neurotic birth control use.  Down the drain.  I went for an ultrasound that day, and it turns out that I was very nearly one of those women on TV - I was 28 weeks when I found out.  My OB told me last week that for women like me with screwy hormones and irregular cycles, the nuviring can actually make you "super fertile" in the one week that it is out every month.  It would have been really fucking good if THAT had been listed in their brochure or online or SOMEWHERE.  Or if my doctor had mentioned it when I started on the damn things in July.  (The math adds up - I got pregnant after the first one came out in early August.)  So, yeah, my birth control apparently leveled things out and helped me get knocked up.  Fan-fucking-tastic.  

Over that weekend, I googled all of the doctors that my primary care doctor sent me and chose an OB.  The next week was a whirl of talking to the OB clinic and getting my first appointment set up, a pregnancy class, the appointment (with a total bitch of a midwife, but that's another story), another ultrasound (28 weeks and 2 days!) and then traveling for work.  That Monday, I also told Chris.  We were both careful, and I'd been told before that I'd probably need help if I decided to try for kids, so shock doesn't begin to cover it.  It is, as of this moment, about 80% that he's going to walk away.  Or, if I don't hear from him this week, that I will send him away because I just need things settled and I'm SO very sick of waiting for the phone to ring.

So.  Here I am.  My daughter is due May 15.  And I really have no idea what to do now.  But every time I see something else about my "support person" or bringing my spouse or whatever, it makes me tear up because I am so sick of being alone, and I've never felt more alone in my life. 

Disturbing...

A friend of mine posted a link to this blog post on Facebook today.  In it, a woman details a train ride wherein she is accosted by strangers in ham-handed attempts (apparently) to pick her up that become very nightmarish.

And my friend posted a comment about her very similar experience last week in Portland.  A month ago, I had something similar happen to me here in Chicago.  In less than 3 hours, my friend's post had more than twenty comments, from women of all shapes and colors, from all over the country, talking experiencing nearly identical  (well, let's be blunt here) verbal attacks on or near public transit.  My friend's experience was at a bus stop - the timely arrival of the bus saved her.  Two older women moved from the back of the train car to sit next to me, and their glares backed the guy down when mine appeared to be making things worse.  Every one else managed to escape unharmed as well.  But reading those comments struck me like a board.

When I was talking about my experience later with friends, my female friends were sympathetic - they'd been there too.  My male friends generally made some comment about how I should expect guys to try to pick me up 'cause I'm pretty.  More than one male friend asked if my hair was down, because my hair is gorgeous (they said...) and they didn't blame random strangers for wanting to talk to me or touch me when I was displaying my locks.  Their comments made me FURIOUS but I was having a hard time articulating why I was so upset. 

I think she says it very well:

So when people (men) want to talk about “legitimate” forms of assault, tell girls they should be nice to strangers and give men the benefit of a doubt, tell them to consider it a compliment, tell them to ignore the bad behavior of men, I want them to be forced to feel, for even one minute, what it feels like to have so much verbal hatred and physical intimidation thrown at them for nothing more than being female and not wanting to share.


I just wanted to read my book.

It’s not my fault I’m pretty.

Because you know what?  I'm 38.  I don't dress particularly well - jeans and button downs - not provocatively at all.  "Fluffy" body type.  I don't make any attempt to attract.  But if I am alone on a train or a bus, odds are very good that some guy will come over, try to force eye contact and make a pest out of himself.

I am strong, intelligent, and I've been looking out for myself for a long time.  I HATE it when I'm made to feel small and weak.  I hate that I avoid eye contact with strangers.  I hate that I feel threatened every time a male comes too close.  I hate that, from the time I leave my door until the time I return, I am alert and braced and ready for attack.  I don't want to get all political here, but I really do believe there is a war on women happening in this country right now.  And it is being waged not just by the jerks on the train who are obnoxious and rude but also by every guy out there that downplays that behavior.  Everyone out there who tells me (and every other female) that it is our fault.  We shouldn't wear our hair down.  We shouldn't wear a dress.  Or pretty shoes.
You know what?  Bullshit.  I wish you could spend an hour in my shoes.  Women grow up knowing that we are smaller, and weaker.  Things can happen to us.  We need to be aware and alert and ready to run all the time.  That is what I wish men could experience.  Just for a little while.  It doesn't matter how smart I am or how much I work out or how alert I am - that swaggering asshole on the train makes me aware that I am prey.  And that is what I wish I could make men experience.  Live it for one train ride.  Then tell me I deserve it for being pretty.  I dare you.

WARNING: If You Belong to 24 Hour Fitness Gyms...

I am on facebook, and completely addicted to it, and I am connected with most of the people in my class from high school.  One of them lives in California, outside LA.  As near as I can tell, he's a total gym rat and he has a physique rarely seen in actual, real-life humans.  But, he's kind of an asshole.  And by "kind of an asshole," I mean "pretty much a total asshole."  One of his favorite pastimes, while hanging out at his gym ALL the time, is to take pictures with his cell phone of people - men and women - who do not share his dedication to the gym.  And then he posts those pictures on his facebook wall with nasty, mocking comments about how horrible these people look.  And then he and his smug, well-toned little friends have a ball continuing to leave hateful comments on these pictures.

I've been pretty much skipping his posts for a while, but it bugged me.  And the idea of having someone do that to me is one of the reasons I dread going to the gym.  (FYI - I belong to a different gym.)  So I called 24 Hour Fitness and ratted him out.  "Andre" transferred me to "Autumn," who demanded the 10 digit code to the gym in question as well as the guy's code.  And when I said that I didn't have that information, "Autumn" (who, by accent, resides somewhere in India) said that there was nothing she could do and that I should have a nice day.  And when I asked who else I could talk to, we strangely got disconnected.

So, if you belong to a 24 Hour Fitness, know that you may well be on candid camera.  Know too that it is apparently just fine with their customer service people.  Happy workout!

Happy Star Wars Day!

May the Fourth be with you!

You know, I giggle EVERY time I say that.  Every.  Time.  And I've been bothering my coworkers ALL week.  In retailiation, *someone* plastered Star Wars stuff all over my cube yesterday.

I was determined to not miss it this year so Wednesday, I spent some quality time researching recipes.  That was kind of a bust, except I stumbled across a blog post of cookies in these great Star Wars shapes.  (On a side note, this lady does AMAZING things with icing.  I lost a couple hours wandering around her blog.  And I got a new tip - roll out on parchment paper, and turn the paper every few rolls.  Presto!  No more cookies stuck to my counter!  Yay!)  So then I wandered further and found someone else raving about the cookie cutters available at Williams Sonoma.  Holy crap, y'all!  I had NO idea!  I called the store nearest me, and they put the two sets I wanted behind the counter for me.  Also, they were on sale online so Sam left a note to match the price for me.  I picked them up on my way home that night.  So happy!

Last night, I did my typical play-online-procrastinate-procrastinate-omg-it's-bedtime-and-I-haven't-started-baking-yet thing.  Good that some things stay the same, right?  *snort*  Happily, my mom's sugar cookie recipe is pretty much impervious to screw-ups.  I was a bit worried 'cause it was HOT in my house last night but it all worked out okay.

Crumbly is OK.



Darth First!





Darth & Storm Troopers



X-Wings & Yoda

Normally I go all kinds of bonkers on the decorating but I was just too tired last night.  I knew this because I could not get the glaze to the right consistency.  I struggled and struggled with it, and used most of a new bag of confectioners sugar.   Nothing turned out right with the decorating, so please excuse how pathetic the poor things look.  They taste delicious, that helps, right??

My first step was making the black for Darth.  Thanks to a quick trip online to the Wilton forums, I had an idea of what would work.  I added about 2 heaping tablespoons of unsweetened coco powder to probably a cup and a half of glaze and mixed well.  Then I used Wilton's paste color in violet to turn it black.  That paste is intense!  It didn't take nearly as much as I thought it would.  (It just took a couple globs of the paste on a toothpick.  Seriously way less than a pea.)

Yes, I trash my kitchen.  I bake like the Swedish Chef.

At some point, I decided to add sparkle.  I have no idea why.  So I went for the black sugar I have for Halloween.  Instead of sparkle, Darth looks like he has mange.  Sigh.  I'll know better next time.

I used the glaze as-is for the X-Wings and the Storm Troopers.  Again with the sparkly - I scattered blue sugar on the X-Wings and called it a day.  I attempted to add black details to the Storm Troopers but the glaze was too thick, then too thin so I washed it off and called it good enough.

 

Poor naked looking little things.  I'm sorry.

  

They sorta look like X-Wings.  If you squint.

 To get the green for Yoda, I used the Wilton paste color in Leaf Green.  Again, just a small amount - I dragged the toothpick thru the glaze twice in probably close to 2 cups of glaze.  Then I added small amounts of the black, stirring well each time, until the green was close enough.

At least his color is close.

I left my kitchen in the shambles and stumbled off to bed while they dried.  This morning, I loaded them up on a platter and brought them into the sugar vultures at work.




Next year, I'll decorate them properly...

Anyway, have a great Friday and May the Fourth be with you!

Update:  Heh.  A coworker just emailed this: "Good these cookies are! Awesome you are!"  Totally made the lack of sleep worthwhile!

Why, Airports? Why?

Whoa! I leave for a while and they change everything. We'll see how well this goes...

I'm probably the only one to wonder about things like this, but a while ago I was taking the train from the economy parking lot to O'Hare Airport and noticed that all of the driverless cars on the tram have windshield wipers. Why'd they do that?

From there, I flew on to Dallas, where it was also raining. And lo and behold, Dallas also puts windshield wipers on their driverless airport tram and they do it even more strangely - only the right side of the tri-windows has a wiper. Weird.

Just Once...

I'd like to be wrong about this sort of thing.

It's over.

I hurt.