The Time, It FLIES.

Isn't there a Chinese or Arabic curse, along the lines of living in interesting times?  I TOTALLY get that.  I think I'm FINALLY sorta, somewhat close to a gloriously boring rut.  Oh, how I crave thee, boring rut!


Moving back to Ohio did not work out as anticipated.  I moved into a lovely house 50 miles from my parents, which realistically is as close as I will ever live, and in a bit over a year, they visited 3 times.  If I wanted to see them, or if I wanted them to see their only grandchild, I had to rearrange my schedule and drive to them.  Most of the friends I had in college left the state, the ones remaining weren't the friends I thought they were, except for the 2 who liked me but couldn't stand kids.


Then, on February 26, 2015, I walked into the first "weekly" meeting with my boss in months to find HR in there too.  The company was not growing as expected and they eliminated my position, effective immediately.  By the time the HR lady had gone through my severance letter, my boss had gathered everyone sitting around me and sent them off somewhere, found a couple of boxes, and was waiting at my desk.  He's a sales guy, my role made zero sense in his group, and I was basically counting down until I didn't owe back relocation anymore.  Still, that was a shock.


They gave me 5 weeks severance, 3 months worth of cash for COBRA, forgave the relocation debt, and paid for 3 months of a career placement service, so all things considered, they were pretty cool about it.  I was also eligible for unemployment.


I applied and interviewed for a bunch of jobs in Cleveland, but the offers I got were for contract work.  Meanwhile, my dream job back in Chicago had expressed interest in January, and I'd told them that I wasn't looking, but I saved the email.  The first thing I did after leaving my now-former company was finding that email and sending a note to the recruiter.  I had a couple phone interviews with them in March, they flew me to Chicago for the day for an interview on March 26, and told me in April that I was the "top candidate."    They had some internal hoops to jump through, and well, I sub-let a friend's apartment, moved cat and kid BACK to IL, and started my newest job on June 15, 2015.


(Due to Peanut's unwillingness to use a litter box, she has gone to live with my aunt.  Sophia would very much like for me to send Squeak (the toddler) to live with my aunt as well...)


My friend's apartment is in Evanston, which is about 40 miles from the job.  This sounds nuts, except that our original daycare is in Niles, about 8 miles from the apartment.  So, as a stop gap until I vetted a local daycare, it worked quite well.  I found a house in Naperville, and got the keys on 6/15/15. 

The newest "new" house.

The next week, I was in Ohio for the pack/load.  The following week, Squeak started at the new daycare, our stuff arrived at the new house, and we moved out of the apartment.


Moving is hell.  Unpacking is awful.  It is WAY worse with a mobile, curious toddler.  Oy.  Then a week or so later, Squeak fell on the stairs and broke her wrist.  Cue 6 weeks in a cast up past her elbow.

This is the third time in less than 10 years that I've moved to the Chicago area.  Maybe this time, I'll stay for a while.  *eyeroll*


I'm still unpacking.  We were only in the Ohio house about a year, so I didn't put much of a dent in all of the flood stuff.  Here, I haven't started on the basement.  Or my craft room.  I haven't found my Tupperware.  Colander.  Mixing bowls.  Favorite fall coat.  Squeak's snow pants.  But, we're getting there.  I found some Halloween decorations, and then this week, I took them down and started putting up Christmas decoration.


I was SO proud of myself - I did the ginormous bank of windows in the living room and it took 3 strings of lights, but I only had one bulb to overlap.  Yay, me!  And I got so hung up on hanging the lights that I completed disregarded how Squeak was going to react to them.  Which has basically been like this:

So keeping her from killing the lights has been entertaining.  *eyeroll*


In the spring, when the job offer looked like it was on the way, I texted Squeak's dad to let me know that we'd be back and he made it pretty clear that he didn't care.  No one can say that I haven't tried.

 

Squeak, in September

So, that's what's new here.  



Well, That's That, Then.

Sometimes, I think my life is like a French farce.  Except not French.  And sometimes, not very funny.  So exactly like that but completely different.  Yup.

I found out on Friday, February 15, 2013 that Squeak was on the way.  I told her father on Monday, February 18, 2013.  We texted back and forth, but I didn't see him again until July 2013.  (He claims that he stopped over to my house several times, but I wasn't home.)  I told him and told him that I'd like to try us, but if he walked, I was moving back to Ohio to be near my family because I didn't think I could do it alone in Chicago.  He kept saying that he didn't want me to leave, and he wasn't going to walk, but I didn't see him very often.  (The sum total of his contribution, aside from kid herself, has been a broken shoestring to play with the cat.)  By the end of August, I'd interviewed for a job in Ohio, had a job offer and was negotiating salary requirements.  This, he knew.  After I accepted the job in Ohio, put in my notice in Chicago, and started preparing to move, he said again that he didn't want me to leave.  And spoke of transferring to Ohio as well.

I started the job in Ohio in the end of September, 2013.  I was back in Chicago in November 2013, December 2013, February 2014, April 2014 and June 2014.  Every time, we'd been texting, he wanted to see us, blah blah blah and then something came up and he couldn't make it.

I've made it clear that I wasn't going to go to court and demand anything from him, but I was not okay with his family not knowing about her.  We are both single, consenting adults.  These things happen.  My family is very small and far-flung.  His family is huge and relatively close.  Every time I got after him about telling them, I got "I know, I know, I'm going to." 

So in October 2014, I sent this:

Hey,

You’ve made it pretty clear that you’re out, which is your choice.   But any drama that I can handle before she starts realizing what’s going on around her, I will. 

So here are your options:

1)      You have an excellent reason that you are keeping her a secret.  (Hint: I can’t think of anything excellent enough.)

2)      You tell your family that you have another daughter. 

3)      I will inform your family that you have another daughter.

Your call, but I’ve been about as patient as I’m going to be.  I’m not looking to jam you up or anything, but I won’t tolerate them not knowing at all.

If they chose to not care, that’s fine but she is not going to have to inform them that she exists. 

Let me know what you decide before the end of this month.  (Also, school pictures are tomorrow.  Let me know if you want one.)

And I got... no response.  His cell phone got shut off - again - but we both have kik.  I asked him if he'd gotten the email, and I know he read it, but he never responded.

So in November 2014, I wrote this:

Hello.

I’ve been writing this on and off for several days.  I am not looking to make trouble for anyone, but I feel – strongly – that you have the right to know this.  Last May (5/14/13), I gave birth to C-- W---'s daughter.  Her name is xxxxx.  I also feel – even more strongly – that this notification of existence is not something I am willing to leave for her to have to deal with someday.  I have included pictures of her for you.  He has chosen to not be involved.

How you react is entirely up to you, but in my ideal world, you would choose to know her.  I have a small far-flung family.  She and I will get along just fine, but I think knowing you can only be a positive thing for her.      

Having a child was not ever in my plans, not even a little.  So, some restructuring of my life was necessary.  I moved back to Ohio, to be near my parents and other family.  Should you choose to be involved in whatever fashion in xxxxx’s life, I will be happy to work with you to make that happen.  (I have very dear friends in Nashville and Chicago, so trips to both places happen on a fairly regular basis.)

I suppose that you are wondering about me.  I was born and raised in xxxxx, Ohio by xxx and xxxx.  He is retired from xxxx and still does the occasional electrical contracting job, she was a secretary and a homemaker.  They still live together in the house where I grew up with my younger brother.  I graduated from the xxxxx, with a degree in xxxx Engineering.  I have a career that I love, in supplier quality engineering, that helps make me financially stable.  It has moved me from Ohio to Chicago, North Carolina, back to Chicago, and now back to Ohio, in addition to allowing me to travel extensively.  I have a slew of hobbies – pottery, reading, cross-stitch, geocaching, etc – that have all currently taken a bit of a back seat to child rearing.  I met C--- online in July 2013 on an online dating site.  

xxxxx (or Squeak or BJ or monster or …) is a very active and healthy toddler.  She had a heart murmur that was corrected with a cardiac catharization procedure this summer.  We’ve corrected the tongue tie, but still need to handle the lip tie.  She loves helping, throwing things on the floor, and mauling the cats (now that she’s fast enough to catch them).  Live music is her favorite, socks are for eating, and her primary goals in life include successfully capturing someone’s – anyone’s – smart phone, climbing out of the pack n play, and going headfirst down stairs.  Generally, it’s time to find her when you hear the crash, followed by “uh oh” (which is her favorite word).  I hope that you decide to know her.

I’ll not bother you further, but I want the best for Squeak and welcome your involvement.  Please feel free to contact me by phone [personal cell: xxx; work cell (that actually gets reception in my house): xxx], email [personal: xxx, work: xxx], online [https://www.facebook.com/xxx] or via mail [xxx].

The packets included this letter, my business card, her birth announcement, last year's Christmas card, her "school" picture, and about 40 snapshots from birth to current age.  I'd google stalked his parents and found their address in Tennessee, and his aunt's work address in Illinois.  The two packets went out registered mail on 11/18/14.

Then the person who signed for the TN packet was NOT one of his parents.  And the facebook message I sent to his mom went to her "other" folder, where she will NEVER find it.  And the woman in IL called me because it turns out he's got one of the most common last names in the country and in spite of her being a real estate agent at the same company that his dad retired from after 30+ years, they are not related.

So I returned to my stalking, and discovered his dad's sister-in-law is an artist and had a show at their library.  I really liked her work, and I've been filling Squeak's nursery with family (blood and chosen) art for her.  I called the library, and told them that I'd seen her show and wanted to buy a painting for my daughter's nursery and could they put me in touch?  She works there, so she called the next day.  We talked about the painting - size, cost, subject, etc - and then she asked how I found the show, given that I was in Cleveland.  So I told her.  And she asked if his parents knew, and then freaked out over her facebook settings which were supposed to be private.  She didn't care about another child at all, just that she had to adjust her settings.  *headdesk*  We left it that she would email me a picture of the painting when it was done, and if she talked to his mom, she'd tell her to check the "other" folder.

In the course of my stalking, I'd found a cell phone number for his dad.  So around Thanksgiving, I called it and his mom answered.  I said "My name is Ericka xxxx, and I sent you a package in October.  I'm calling to confirm receipt."  And she said, "I have no desire to talk to you."  And I said, "Okay, thank you" and hung up.  I'm sorry, my baby, I tried.

So.  That's that.

I won't contact his kids while they are minors, but his daughter is 16.  I suppose, in 2 years, I'll need to think about that.  For now, though, Squeak has me and that'll just have to be enough.

This is really long.  Wow.  So, here's a picture of my kid since you made it this far.  How could you not want to know her??

Air Travel Tips

I posted this last year on Facebook and was told I should publish it.  Heh.

Ahhhh, the glamor of travel... I know that I travel a lot, and should be more patient with people who CLEARLY never leave their house but gods above, people, you make me crazy!  Congratulations, Cleveland Hopkins, you definitely win some kind of wanna-be Darwin award for the sheeple wandering helplessly around the airport tonight (11/19/2013).

So, as a public service announcement, please observe the following guidelines:

1. DO have your boarding pass and id ready before you get to the first check-point.

2. Do NOT give the boarding pass to your toddler to hold.  Or your passport.  Who does that?!?

3. Do NOT freak out on the TSA guy when he won't just believe that your toddler dropped your passport and boarding passes somewhere and he should just let you thru so you can make your plane.  This is not his fault.  It's not the toddler's fault either so I'm totally judging you for yelling at him until he cried (toddler, not TSA guy).  Way to go, parent of the year.

4. DO realize - before you reach security - that your teenager DOES need his/her own ticket/boarding pass.

5. Do NOT wear thigh high, skin tight, lace up boots.  WTF, woman?

6. Do us all a favor and take off coat, belt, shoes, etc as you go, just like the rest of us.  Also, the five pounds of scrap metal that you hung around your neck is going to need to come off too.

7. DO put toiletries in the approved baggie prior to your arrival at security.  Yes, it's stupid.  Screaming at the TSA agents because they won't let you take a 32 ounce bottle of shampoo thru just makes all of us want to beat you to death with it.  And we don't care that you paid $200 for the face goo in the 5 ounce container.  This confirms our opinion of your intelligence.  The many steel balls of various sizes in your braids made for a festive touch as well, 'cause that looked FINE on the x-ray.  Yay for planning ahead!

8. Do NOT stop suddenly and stare helplessly into space in the middle of the hallway.  You will get run over, and I'm wearing steel toes, so it's going to hurt. 

9. Those moving walkways?  They are not called "stand theres," are they?  MOVE, dammit.

10. When you get on the plane first, and you have an aisle seat, do NOT assume that the plane is yours and make yourself comfy by spreading everything you own across all three seats.  We love having to wait longer while you gather everything up so the window guy can get in.  Really.

11. Before you leave your house, pick up your carryon.  If you can't lift it, remove some of your stuff or check the bag.  Do NOT get to your seat, stare at the overhead, announce that you can't pick up your luggage and then plunk yourself down in your seat and expect someone else to load your belongings for you.  Also?  When we all get off the plane and the escalator isn't working, don't expect your fellow passengers to haul your shit up the staircase.

And finally, 12. When a woman lugging a carseat with an infant in it plus her carryon comes onto the plane, accompanied by her 2 small children, standing there bitching about how you hate traveling near children while watching her struggle to get everyone settled AND blocking the aisle so no one else can help her either makes YOU the problem, not her.  (Note: I have no idea how that woman did it - she's clearly some sort of magician - but her children played and talked very quietly the entire flight.  That woman deserves a metal.)

Joss and Main Soho Console Chest UPDATED

Do you ever have one of those lives where every little thing is just a hassle?

In January, I fell in love.  With a console table.  It was beautiful and called to me.  But it was very expensive, so I mourned and moved on.  And then in April, I found it again at about a third of the price.  So I ordered it from Joss and Main.  And then they delayed the delivery 4 times – stretching it out until December.  And then they cancelled the order.  And I was sad.  And also angry.  They were keeping me from my love.  Isn’t it wonderful?  So I called early last week and growled and they put the order back in because it was available on a sister site except she had to mess with it to get the price the same as what I paid because they were charging over $100 more for it.  And also, after the 4^th delay I emailed them and grouched so they gave me $15 off.  And it was to be delivered LAST WEEK instead of December.  And the sun came out and I was so happy.
 

So pretty.  So perfect for my living room...

And I got home last Wednesday and there was a huge heavy box on my porch and I was SO excited!  I hauled it into the house and tore into it like a 3 year old on Christmas morning.  And they sent the wrong g*dd*mn color.  This thing is hideous.  I love blue, usually.  But, yuck.

So not pretty.  :-(

I chatted with them last Thursday because there’s no way I would not have used bad words on the phone because they are thwarting me, g*dd*mm*t, and I’ve had about enough of that lately.  And they said that they'd send another one.  And I have to keep this one for 3 weeks in case they want to come inspect it.  And if I didn't hear from them, I could donate it.  

So then Saturday, the doorbell rang and POOF there was ANOTHER huge box on my porch.  YAY!   I dragged it inside (heavy!), but this time, I was a bit more careful in opening the box, which was fortunate because THEY SENT THE WRONG DAMN COLOR AGAIN.  I called (Wayfair.com this time) and spoke to a manager (Jesse) and sent him pictures of the boxes and the lower shelves and he said that he'd talk to the warehouse on Monday and figure out what was going on.  (Both boxes said that they were the black one.  Both boxes were wrong.)

Then Wednesday, I emailed Jesse because I hadn't heard anything and he came back and said that he hasn't heard back from the warehouse and he hoped that he'd have something by Friday (today, for those keeping track at home).

Soon, hopefully, maybe, possibly, my lovely lovely chest will be here where it belongs.  Until then, I have TWO huge boxes taking up most of the room in my living room, I've waited 6 months for something that was supposed to take a week, and I've spent at least an hour emailing, chatting and talking to various people trying to get things straightened out.  *growl.  snarl.*  Why can't ANYTHING be easy??

Next up, a sleeper sofa for the living room.  Except I want a queen, but 60 inches wide.  So at least I will remain reasonable in my demands...








Update:  
I did not hear from Jesse on Friday.  I emailed him again on Tuesday (11/11/14) and asked for the status.  And heard nothing.   

Final Update:
It turns out that when the pictures and description of the console chest was moved from Joss and Main to Wayfare (their sister site), the color names and pictures were reversed.  So I kept ordering the black one and they kept sending the black one, but my black and their black were different.


Anywho, the third chest was the right color.  YAY!  So pretty!  Except, now I have two extra huge boxes in my living room.  So, I called back and they said that they'd send UPS shipping labels and I said that's great, but I travel for work so I have to call to arrange pick-up for when I'm home.  And they said no problem!  And then I left for a week, and came back to 4 UPS "Sorry we missed you" labels on the door.  Argh.  So I called UPS but they weren't willing to come out anymore and I called Wayfare and they just really wanted me to go away.


So I tried listed the chests on craigslist, but no one else wanted them either.  Then I was trying to get ready to move.  So one chest went home with a college friend who came over and bailed me out when I was panicking over moving into temporary housing.  And the second chest went home with one of my movers.  So, happy ending but man, what a hassle!

Oh, Good. More Snot.

My daughter turned 11 months old two days ago.  She's getting increasingly mobile, right as I'm FINALLY getting ready to move into our new house.  (Pack/load is Monday.)

I love my daughter.  I do.

But I hate being a parent.  I resent the ending of my life in Chicago.  There is nothing satisfying or enjoyable about 90% of this.  Why the fuck does anyone do this voluntarily?  Turns out?  Those 30 years I spend not wanting children, not even a little bit?  I knew what I was talking about.

How am I going to keep doing this?  When I don't like my job, and I can't fix it, and it's not going to get better, I leave.  And now I'm trapped in this godforsaken backwater with this time-sucking little beast.  And it is not going to get better.

A Finish!

This is "Tempest in a Teacup."  He's a free pattern by Teresa Wentzler.  TW is known for thousands of colors, crazy fractional stitches and insane back stitching, but I LOVE the way her patterns turn out.  Of course, this is the first one of hers that I've managed to complete and I don't even want to talk about how long it took me...

But, it's done it's done itsdonedoneDONE!  Yay!  *insert happy snoopy dance here*

Maybe, Maybe, Maybe

On the 18th of February, I went browsing through a realtor's online portal and found this house.  This lovely, lovely house.  I sent a request for more information via the site and then also called and then called again, because I NEED A HOUSE.  The realtor (MY realtor) sent the request over to the person handling the listing and heard... nothing.  And so she called and called and called and emailed and the woman responded to her string of questions by email, and answered one question.  And so it's been. 

It took until February 24 to arrange for a viewing, and my realtor emailed me that day to cancel because she hadn't gotten confirmation back and then emailed again in the afternoon to cancel her cancellation 'cause she'd finally heard back.  I walked through the house on the 24th, turned to my realtor and said "this is it.  make it so."

It is now the 10th of March and I still do not have a lease.  I have a signed form saying that they are going to do a lease, which my realtor assures me means that the house is mine.  I will feel SO much better about this when I have a lease.  GIMME THE HOUSE.

On one hand, if the realtor for the house had been at all tech-savy, I would probably not have found the house.  And I do mean at all - I'm on Zillow, trulia, hotpads, rent.com, yahoo homes, realtor.com, craig's list, various online newspapers, several realtor's portals and several other locations - and this house showed up NOWHERE.  If you google the address, it shows up for sale on one site that I've never heard of.  When I drove by it, the 'for sale' sign in the front yard was hand-lettered.  So in this market, where rentals are gone in a day, this house has been available since NOVEMBER.  In November, I was in the midst of my "we shall audit all the things" whirl of travel so odds are very good that the house would have been long gone before I was available to see it.  So, I should be patient because this is going to work for me.  Patient.  I shall be patient.  GIMME THE HOUSE! 

Evidently, the owners have never rented before and they're freaking out over drawing up a lease so they have their attorney drawing it up.  And there's a new request for information about every day.  Last week, they requested names, ages, pictures and assorted other information about my cats.  So I sent them this.  I see no way this could possibly go wrong...

 

(Yes, I did send real pictures of my cats later.  No one but my super cool realtor saw this one.  Relax...)

 

My perfect house is older, updated with character, 4 bedrooms (upstairs), 2 bathrooms, 2 car garage (I prefer detached, with garage behind house), basement, eat-in kitchen with dining room, space somewhere for a baby pottery studio of my own, fireplace, nice front porch, and room for my books.  I want 4 bedrooms because I'd really like to have a dedicated guest room.

 

THIS house is older (1924), updated with character (yay, built-ins!), 2 bedrooms upstairs (one of which was 2 rooms until they took down the connecting wall) and one bedroom downstairs, 2 bathrooms, 2 car detached garage behind house, basement, dining room (with bonus woodstove!), a separate room in the basement where I can put a baby pottery studio of my own, fireplace, fantastic front porch, and room for my books.  There's also what the owners call an "artist's loft" at the top of the stairs, so I need to wander the house and ponder a bit, but the downstairs bedroom may become a dedicated guest room and my craft room can go in the artist's loft, with overflow in my bedroom.  the kitchen is not big enough to be eat in, but there's a family room off the dining room (which has hard floors.  why does anyone ever put carpet in a dining room?  my darling child can spread a single green bean around a 5 foot radius, for pete's sake.  carpet = bad.) and a living room that is the front of the house, so there's probably space for my lovely tables. 

 

There's also a fantastic patio in the back and a very small amount of grass to deal with.  (Have I mentioned my hatred of grass?  I hate grass.  Biggest waste of resources ever.  What is wrong with meadow?  Grrrr.)

 

 

 

AND it's only about 5 miles each way to work!  Huzzah!

 

So it only took 5 months, but I think I have a house!  Soon, hopefully, I'll have a comfy little rut, in my house, with my stuff to call my own.  YAY!

 

Just as soon as they GIMME THE HOUSE!!  (Patient.  I will be patient.  If it kills me.  And them.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

In Which We Reconvene...

It's been a bit over a year since the day my world came crumbling down around me.  I'm still struggling to wrap my head around it all. 

My water broke at 6:00 in the morning, May 13.  Squeak was born on May 14 at 2:23 am.  I went back to work on the 25th of June.  And then I put my notice in at my company in Chicago, worked until 9/20, spent the weekend moving to my parents' house and started at my new company on Monday, September 23.

I STILL haven't found a house here so my stuff is still in Chicago.  I think a big part of the problem there is that I do not want to be here.  I don't want to leave there.  I don't want to leave the place, my studio, my friends, etc.  I don't want to admit that her father doesn't care.  I don't want to leave.

Except, I've already left.  I've been with my new company for nearly 5 months.  I'm currently driving 60 miles each way, every day.  I love Petunia, but gas mileage is not her best thing.  Filling her tank every day or so is KILLING me.

One more thing: I spent last weekend in Chicago, staying with a friend, while we packed up my kitchen and dining room.  At some point between 1/19 when my friend was there last and 1/31 when my landlady found it, a pipe burst in my kitchen.  This has required my kitchen to be gutted out to the external brick.  A team of water/fire/mold experts came in and cleaned.   The floor in the dining room, and part of the wall, had to be torn out as well.  So that was awesome.

And walking into that house, and smelling the damp, and seeing the destruction, made me realize that I'll never stay in that house again.  And it hit me all over again how unhappy I am to be in Ohio.  Sigh.

I have to wonder about the CRAZY housing market here.  It's worse than Chicago, where, if it was on the market more than a day, something was wrong with it.  I have actually walked through at least 10 houses.  I've had easily twice that many cancel because they've already been rented.  And that doesn't count the houses (at least 15 or so) that will not allow pets.  So it's not like I'm not trying.

Of the ones I've seen, the house in Seville was beautiful but 50 miles away from EVERYTHING.  More of a problem was the pond.  The owner mentioned that they used to have 3 little donkeys but a month or so before, one of them fell into the pond (RIGHT OUTSIDE THE HOUSE) and drowned.  If a donkey can't get out of the pond, my daughter would be toast.

Then there was the huge, 6 bedroom house that clearly used to be amazing but was so run down that probably the only hope is a wrecking ball.

And the tiny, super expensive houses in Bay Village.  One didn't even have a basement.  And the tiny duplex in Bath.  Interesting that they can apparently count the square footage of a garage if it's attached, even without a door to the inside.

And the gorgeous historical home in Highland Square that had plaster walls that were bubbling off due to the water damage.  (Thanks, but I really hope to be done with water for a while.)  The historical home in the middle of nowhere that was going to have the crazy caretaker ("I don't need any drugs now that God is talking to me.") living in the basement.  The craftsman bungalow that reeked of pot and had no appliances... The super expense yet small ranch in West Akron with a vertical driveway and zero storage... The house in Medina that had no grass, and an oven from the early 50s - which I wouldn't have minded, had it worked.

And so on and so forth.  So that's been frustrating.  I just feel like I'm stuck in such a rut.  I need a house.  I need to get out of Chicago.  I need my own routine.  My parents would like their house and life back.

In the meantime, Squeak is 9 months old.  She's got four teeth, all on the bottom, and most resembles a tiny bulldog.  Her hair is a dandylion fluff of white gold that waves around her head like a fraggle.

I'm not yet at the point that I can't imagine life without her, because I totally can.  And it would be fabulous.  But, I can imagine life WITH her and I'm looking forward to Halloween costumes and Christmas mornings and seeing the world through her eyes.  So, that's progress, I guess.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.  I NEED A HOUSE.

The Unfairness of It All

Something's been bugging me for a while. I love my daughter, I do. 

 

But I spent 18 years arduously avoiding pregnancy and was relieved when I was told that I'd probably never them.  In spite of that, and the nuvering, and the condom, I found out at 28 weeks that I was pregnant. (And I'm lucky she didn't pop out wearing that damn thing as her first bracelet.) Right up until I had her, I was seriously considering adoption because I had a fabulous life that I loved a lot.

 

So, you know, it's been a fairly traumatic year for me and I do my best to make light of it and I'm determined to be the best mom I can be and I'm making the best decisions for her that I can... but some days are harder than others which kinda makes me feel like those whiners in 'first world problems' or whatever. (Oh, poor little me, with my fantastic supportive parents, awesome new job and perfect baby - I can't sleep in when I want to anymore.)

 So I was talking to a couple of people at dinner this week, and I told them the highlights of my year, and the lady started to cry because she tried for 5 years, lost twins at 4.5 months, tried for another 2 years, lost that one at 5 months, gave up and then had her daughter (who almost killed her) a year or so later.  And she was really having an issue with the comparison. and I can't really blame her, because it's something that I feel kind of guilty about.  

I' m struggling with still coming to terms with having a child at all, and then I am also struggling with the unfairness of it all - people who so desperately want children and would be such awesome parents put themselves through hell trying to have them, to no avail, while I tried so hard to NOT have them, and then have the easiest pregnancy ever and now I have this gorgeous child. (And don't get me started on the sperm donor buying a boat this year while I left Chicago to afford his child.)

I don't do regret - what's the point? - and I'm not a believer in plan of a higher power, but any words of wisdom about reconciling my brain right now would be welcome.

Bitter Tears

 I told my daughter's father tonight, via phone, that we were moving to Ohio, and he started cracking jokes about taking my dead plants and who had to move my tons of books, as tears slid silently down my face. 

My fault, for fucking someone I barely knew to get over someone else. 

My fault, for wishing that he cared enough to even try when he so clearly doesn't. 

My fault, for letting emotions get in the way, for the little thrill that went through me when he said my name.   We've been "together" or whatever you want to call it for over a year, and this is the first time he's said my name.  I wasn't even really sure he knew it.

My fault, for breaking apart a little every time he says "my daughter" and means the real daughter, with his ex-wife, the one he acknowledges. 

And so I sit here on my couch, and watch my daughter sleep, and I mourn for the daddy that she'll never have and the hole in her life that I can't fix and it's killing me and there's nothing I can do about it. Every time I think that I'm as hurt as I'm going to be and surely it'll start getting better, it gets worse. and I am just so tired and heart-sore. And maybe one day, I'll be able to look at a father and daughter or read about a happy family and not be engulfed by a wave of agony for what will never be that damn near brings me to my knees. At this point, I don't even know which I hurt for the most - that he can walk away from her so easily, or from me. But I wish, oh how I wish, that I wasn't so easy to leave. And gods, I hope this scabs over quickly because I don't know how much more I can take.

 

ME TOO!

I started to write a comment at Jenny's hilarious entry but it kept growing so I decided to just post it.  You're welcome.

Roy Orbison isn't blind?  Really?

I thought slugs were homeless snails too.

I was in my thirties before I realized that the short bus had an ELEVATOR, not a cage, in the back.  My parents told me that it was a cage for really bad kids.  My cousins were laughing hysterically at me when I confessed, and my brother looked confused and said, "Wait, it's not a cage?"

If you show me the word "Arkansas," I pronounce it ARK-ansas.

When we learned about maps in fifth grade, I decided that that meant that you were always heading North, and a righthand turn meant that you were turning toward the East.  A lefthand turn, of course, meant that you were turning West.

To this day, I don't like raisins in things mostly because my dad said they were beetles.  Also, he told me that tapioca pudding was made of fish eyes and I haven't eaten it since.

I also thought people were talking about the old TV show "Sanford and Son" when they went on about Mumford and sons.

To this day, I have to make my pointer fingers and thumbs into an "L" to figure out which is the left one.  And sometimes that doesn't help.

It was very recently that I discovered that "Duck Dynasty" was not, in fact, about ducks.  I thought it was like that meercat show where they followed around a family of ducks.

I'm not alone - friends from college visited last fall, and we went to Navy Pier (in Chicago).  As we were walking back to the train, my friend asked where the seals were.

In college, I worked for the library and one morning a week, I had to work the information desk from 7:00 to 12:00.  A woman used to come complain all the time that men were using the women's bathroom.  When I finally asked her what made her decide that, she told me it was because when she went in there, all of the lids were up.  (The cleaning people put them up when they cleaned the toilets.)

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.