Walking on my lunch break

On my lunch break, I walk around the building's perimeter. See, HR?  Here's my proof of my "Active, Healthy Lifestyle."

 

Now please ignore the fact that I ate a cupcake I ate for lunch.

We suck at Christmas

Here's a picture showing how much my family sucks at Christmas, and why you should pity my poor son.

See this?  That is our tree.  I asked my husband if we could make room in our shack for a real tree.  He said he didn't see a way to do it, and unless I could come up with one, we would simply have to accept our treelessness.  His other argument against having a tree is, we have four cats and a toddler.  At least one of them would try something stupid that would result in a mess and/or a pricey trip to the ER.  Reason number 3: we're crazy-broke right now. Real trees + tree stand + decorations = money we don't have right now.

With nine days before Christmas, I've done something to alleviate the Christmas-shaped hole in my life.  I purchased a plant from Trader Joe's for four dollars. It's shaped like a tree.  I set out the only two ornaments I have (Stefan's 5 month old footprint, and a Costco-made metal picture from last year) in front.  Next to our tree, a bow light I purchased for a dollar at the West Marine sample sale as our make-shift Festivus pole. It's red and green, see? 

More proof that I am the worst mother ever.

Another tree.

Here's another tree on the property. I suspect it's an Oak. I don't know this for sure, and my co-worker told me that she thinks it's too big to be an oak. I don't know.

Also, no one has guessed what the other tree was.  If anyone actually reads this page, I don't suppose they're saying so.  I mean, I wouldn't see why they would.  This subject of trees is absolutely scintillating. 

I can't unsee anything anymore.

I had a baby.  Now, for some reason, I can't watch violent scenes in movies or on television without my whole body having a visceral reaction.  I feel like I'm going to cry and throw up at the same time.  I understand that this may not be BECAUSE I had a baby. That would be a mad case of post hoc ergo propter hoc.

I only know this: before I got pregnant, I could watch Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead. I could sit through the horror movies (preferable bad unbelievable horror with very limited production budget) my husband and I liked to make fun of.  Please don't misunderstand.  I'm not a fan of torture-porn, or violence for its own sake.  I need some plot, even if it's stupid on epic scales.  I could always withstand some murder-y grossness as it furthered the story.

As my son grew, he began to sleep more regularly, and at times, alone in his crib.  This happened around the one-year mark.  Once I put him to bed, instead of diving for my own bed in a desperate grab for any sleep at all just in case he awoke for any reason that only Mommy could take care of, I would join my husband in front of the television to enjoy some pop culture together, if only for half an hour.

I was actually doing okay for a while. I managed to get through a couple episodes of Daredevil with some minor wincing and looking away during fight scenes.  But it was when Vincent D'onofrio murders an associate so brutally, I jumped out of my chair, ran to the bathroom, and chundered like a snow-blower.  My poor husband. He had no idea what was going on.  As I wept and shivered, I explained to him that I couldn't watch the rest of it.  I didn't give up right away, I tested myself a little more with some Walking Dead, but it became pretty clear I wasn't going to make it.  I didn't even try to catch up with Game of Thrones. 

So, there you go.  I came to the conclusion that I shouldn't watch anything violent or disturbing.  I rarely get a break from working and parenting.  Why would I spend those precious minutes doing something that disturbs me or makes me unhappy?  I might build up some desensitization again, but I don't really know how that works.  How do you desensitize an over-active amygdala?  For now, I'll simply spend my few pre-sleep minutes watching something cute or funny like Bob's Burgers, or pretty like Jane Austen.  Daredevil will simply have to wait.

Trees!

So, I'm woefully ignorant when it comes to the outdoors.  I have a love/hate relationship with camping. I am too inexperienced to go by myself, but when I go with other people I'm always embarrassed by how I don't know how to do even the simplest tasks like making a fire, or even finding the stupid toilets.  In one way, I've managed to find a happy medium: I live in the mountains, but I don't have to sleep outside.  I would, however, like to become a bit more savvy when it comes to my environment.  So I'm starting small.  I wander around the property I live on and take pictures of the trees.  Here is a tree I don't know the name of.  Do you know it?

 

 

I see these trees all over Santa Cruz.  What is it?  Don't make me look it up on CNPS. 

An Unfortunate Condition

My husband will break out in hives, occasionally, for no reason that we can determine. 

Today, he has one on his lower lip.

What the hell is he doing to that chicken?

My husband was playing Fallout 4 on his computer while watching episodes of America's Test Kitchen in the background.  This what it sounded like to me while I was playing with our son in the other room:

"Bathe the chicken in this brine. Be very thorough."
*BOOM.*
"You take both chicken legs --"
*BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM*
"Run a skewer through the mid-section --"
*piercing death shrieks*BLAM! BLAMBLAMBLAM*
"That's beautiful."

That sweet, sweet internet money.

My husband has battled insomnia his whole life.  When I ask him what he thinks is preventing him from falling asleep, he tells me, "It's like my brain keeps running. I can't get it to shut off." So some nights, he just doesn't get to sleep.  I know this is bad.  I know that his health will suffer if he isn't able to get sleep.  I encourage him to grab a nap when he gets home from work, because he gets home from work hours before I do. He can usually "catch up" on a little of the sleep he lost. 

But I can't help but worry when I stumble out of bed to discover my husband who has been up all night researching how to make money on Youtube: "All these people are on Youtube, but are they actually making any money?  How do I make internet money?  Where does the internet money come from?" 

Uh-oh.

Exercise is more interesting than everything else. And that's sad.

I'm listening to Harry Potter audiobooks in Spanish. I don't speak Spanish.  I can recognize a word or two from each sentence.  I know what's going on because I know these books really well. I'm not sure what I hope to accomplish, but it's actually more fun than listening to the English version again.

My torso is very unhappy from the Crossfit workout yesterday.  We did a little dance move called Maneaters. It involves dumb-bells and push-ups and squatting and jumping up. Dancing is not something I've ever excelled at, so remember this move is difficult. But it wasn't the maneaters that killed me. It was the running.  I'm not a runner.  Granted, I'm a lot better at it since I started these crazy lunch-time workouts, but I'm still very slow compared to everyone else.  I'm quite used to being lapped by the younger, more-in-shape crowd.  I may be slow, but I'm also tenacious.  This time, I kept running (cue Forest Gump jokes).  My asthma kicked it, but I didn't stop. I got a pain in my shin, and then in my side, but I ignored them and kept going.

What drove me? Pride? Shame? Nope. Boredom. My life, (as I've probably mentioned many times before this), is a very full, yet consistent cycle of work, childcare, and more work. This weird lunch-time ritual of random physical exertion with a flock of human-turkeys is more interesting than anything else I've been doing for the last year and a half. I am sweating like a farm animal and I find it curious. For a whole hour, I didn't think about my baby once. And that is bizarre to me.  This is the one thing in my life that feels crazy (and maybe a little stupid), and is also good for me (suck it, baby weight).

I wish I could afford to do it twice a week instead of just once.

Limbo! How much purgatory can you stand? Also, trees.

Are we moving, or aren't we?  Ha ha. WE DON'T KNOW. It's all a waiting game of interviews and tests and mind games.  I'll let you know when there's any REAL news.  So far, it's back to the hellish status quo.


To take my mind off of this, I've been developing a few projects in the back of my mind.  Nothing too ambitious.  I would love to start quilting again, but that's off the table until I don't have to be toddler-wrangling. That could be years. *shrug*  Until then, I've been using my breaks and lunches at work to knit.  I'm working on two sweaters for the boy. I finished a hat for him (so freaking proud). 

The other project I'm working doesn't have anything to do with yarn. I know. I'm shocked too.  It has to do with learning about the trees on our Creepy Compound.  For someone who went to a college that specializes in forestry, I know nearly nothing about plants.  Yes, yes, I know. I wasted my education. We can shame me for that later.  For now, my plan is to walk around the property (with toddler in tow), and take pictures of the trees.  I'll post them here with my guess as to what they are.  There is, however, a problem with this project. I can only do it on the weekends. During the winter months, I'm only home when it is dark out. I am never home when there is daylight. This makes me sad. But I will make this happen somehow.

What Happened to Little Legends?

When I went back to work, I placed my baby in Little Legends daycare/preschool.  It was the first one I toured. I liked the owner, and felt comfortable leaving my three month old baby in her capable hands. After a few months it became clear to me that I wouldn't be able to keep my boy there.  I work five days a week, and I have to be at the office to do my job. Working from home is not an option in my position.  Little Legends (like many preschools, I'm sure) had a strict vacation policy.  You pay for your kid to be there, even if it's a holiday.  So when the place closed for the winter holidays, I was paying them LOTS of money for my kid NOT to be there. I also had to take the time off to take care of him.  Luckily, I found another daycare through the recommendation of a coworker. The lady works out of her home, there are only a few kids, and it's right next to my work.  Also, it was a fraction of what I was paying to Little Legends, and her holiday schedule was MUCH more relaxed.  I jumped through the necessary hoops, and transferred my baby.  After that, I tried to get my deposit back from Little Legends.  Strangely, my emails and phone calls were never returned.  Being the anxious and non-confrontational personality that I am, I didn't press the issue.  It was just a couple hundred dollars, but I kept trying because...broke.  After a couple of months, I gave up.  Yesterday I drove by there on a whim.  The place was empty.  And I don't just mean there weren't people.  There was no furniture. The place was completely bare. The play structure in the front yard was gone, and the yard itself was ripped up.  The whole thing was an empty shell.

I don't know why this stunned me.  Maybe it's because I remember how optimistic the owner was when I talked to her.  She said that they were always full and the business was going really well.  It made me wonder if it wasn't really going that well, or if something really awful happened.  I know I was one of the only full-time customers. Most of the other people only had their kids in school a few days out of the week. Maybe the school just couldn't pay for itself. Maybe the owner was a wonderful teacher, but not a very savvy businesswoman. I guess I'll never know. R.I.P. Little Legends Preschool.  No hard feelings, right?

My boy at his first daycare - December 2014

They Are Malicious Cookies

Yesterday, I came home to find my husband baking chocolate chip cookies.  This was a welcome surprise.  I usually come home to find him passed out in his chair.

Me: "Ooh. Homemade junk food.  My favorite."
Him: "Yes. And you can eat as many as you want. I encourage it."
Me: "You realize this will make it harder for me to lose the baby weight."
Him: "That's my plan."
Me: "This is part of a plan?"
Him: "Yes. My plan is to feed you so much that you will become so large, you will never be able to leave. Ever."
Me: "And how long did it take you to come up with this plan?"
Him: "I just thought of it, and then I started making cookies."
Me: "Very efficient."

I would post a picture of the cookies, but I ate them all.

Introvert Mommy

Being a working mom is the most difficult thing I've ever done.  It requires me to be consistently, thoroughly, unlazy.  There are just too many things that have to happen, and I'm the only one who can do them.  I've given up (albeit temporarily) many things to do this job that I've given myself.  One of those things is my social life. 

I'm not a social butterfly. I never have been. I have a few close confidants, and a wider sub-set of people I know and like. That's worked well for me.  However, since I became a parent, I did what a lot of parents do, and I disappeared.  I work, I go home, I spend time with my kid.  Weekends are devoted to taking care of my home, and spending time with my kid. The end.

This not something I'm blaming anyone for.  I recognize that this is my choice, and I am doing what I think is best for me and my family.  Trying to pile extra play-dates and fun trips on top of a 40-hour work week, 8 hours of drive-time weekly, and other chores and necessary house-hold excursions, would tip my exhaustion meter past the red bar and throw me into non-function instead of just dysfunction. And it isn't just the extra time it takes.  It's all the extra interacting with humans that I have to do.  It's a little easier interacting with my friends who have kids, but I also have to interact with the other parents from daycare who I'm not friends with. 

My husband is a little better at this, but at the last birthday party I attended, it was very obvious how out-of-step we are with the mainstream parents.  We went to a park for a 3-year-old girl's birthday party. We showed up to see all the dads standing around drinking beers, and the moms playing with the kids and chatting with each other.  My husband didn't even bother to approach the dads.  I could see why. They all looked the same: t-shirts, ball caps, beers in cans...bros.  The generally non-communicative sort. My husband is not a bro.  He sat down on a bench and was immediately involved in a conversation with several of the moms.  Eventually other moms joined them.   I don't think he talked to another dad at that party the entire time.  Me? I sat on the grass and played with our son.  Occasionally, other little kids would join us, but I don't think I talked to another mom that whole time.  And I was okay with that. 

I'm okay that my off-time is a bit isolated: just me, husband, and boy. If it involved more people, I might be losing my marbles a bit more.  The few hours I spend on the floor between work and bed-time, playing with my baby are wonderful.  We are alone and I love that. 

I get that this will change as our son grows up.  I will be required to throw birthday parties (shudder), and I when he chooses his friends, I will have to communicate with them and their parents (double-shudder).  And someday, I will have my social life again, and I will be able to reconnect with my friends. 

It's okay. I'm not going to make you join my cult.

What you've heard is true: I go to Crossfit.

Woo-hoo.

I'm not an athlete, but I do see the value of exercise, and so I try to make it part of my life.  I've done this most of my life.  As a kid, I had the normal hatred of physical education.  Year after year I failed Ronald Regan's stupid physical fitness requirements.  I wasn't inactive, though. I rode bikes with my friends, went hiking with my Dad, and every summer I would beg my mom to take me to the pool every day.  I swam on the junior varsity team in high school (I was the slowest one, but what the hell, I was moving, right?).  I was at my heaviest and most out-of-shape at college.  In my 20s I went with my friends to cardio-kick-boxing, yoga, and finally joined a gym, all in an effort to be a semi-healthy adult. 

I suppose Crossfit is simply the next incarnation of my "hey, I should maybe exercise because I'm feeling super-out-shape these days" semi-self-awareness.  That's the best way I can describe my motivation. This is not exciting to me. This like taking vitamins, or getting one's car serviced.  It's a thing you need to put on the to-do list. 

Here's my list of reasons I'm doing Crossfit, and not some other exercisey thing:

1. It is at my work.  This is the most compelling reason.  I have a child now.  I cannot schedule any time for myself without inconveniencing at least one person.  My lunch-break is my ONLY flexible hour now. 

2. It is efficient. Crossfit is this crazy thing where you get a ridiculously intense workout in the space of that one precious hour of free time I call my own.

That's it. It's a short list. 

Today at Crossfit we did something that involved squatting while holding a bar with weights on your shoulders.  We kept adding weights until we were too scared to add more.  Then we did some timed death-race of two things called "wall-balls" and "burpees."  However, in my mind I called them "not-my-face" and "hey-it's-your-ex-just-kidding."

I only go once a week.  It's all I can afford right now.  Once a week seems to be pretty good, though.  I've lost 15 lbs of baby-weight since I started about five months ago.  10 more lbs, and I'll be the weight I was at my first pre-natal doctor visit.  Here's hoping.

I miss candy.

Oh, Halloween.  It used to be a wonderful excuse to indulge my out-of-control sugar-addiction.  I was never super-picky about which candy I ate either.  I've never been accused of having a refined palette. In fact, "raised by wolves" has actually been used to describe my eating habits on more than one occasion.  Anyway.

As my husband and I slowly age, our candy-consumption has diminished.  We still consume, mind you. Especially him. His favorites are Charleston chews and milky ways.  I will enjoy the occasional box of junior mints, but I've pretty much sworn off all other candy.  Why?  It has nothing to do with my weight, or my skin, or any other vanity-related complaint.  It's my teeth.

In the past 10 years, I've had to have a couple of root canals, a crown replacement, and a major extraction.  In my defense: I take care of my teeth. I brush twice a day, floss, go to my cleanings, and max out my dental insurance every freaking year.  I can only chock up my horrendous dental luck to genetics (I AM my father's daughter).  But I decided a while ago, that I must give up food that will place my already expensive and extensive dental work in peril.  Good-bye peanut brittle, almond roca, and heath bars.  So long sugar daddies, abba-zabba, and salt water taffy.  I'm even swearing off popcorn.

My husband, on the other hand, is in is forties, has never had a root canal, and never worn braces. His teeth are beautiful. I pray to whatever deity will listen, that my son inherits his father's dental legacy, and not mine.  Let the bad teeth genes die with me. 

The Oatmeal Hates Me.

This is a conversation that took place between me an husband not long ago. 

The scene begins with me sitting on our couch, weeping pathetically. My husband enters the room.

Husband: "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

Me: "The Oatmeal hates me!"

Husband (thoroughly perplexed): "What's The Oatmeal?"

I hand him my tablet showing The Oatmeal's cartoon Having a Cat vs. Having a Baby. I won't post a link because hotlinking. You can search it up for yourself.

Husband (glancing through the cartoon): "Hon, I still really don't understand. Do you know this person?"

Me (crying harder): "No.  He's a artist and I love his work.  But he thinks our baby is a goblin and that he ruins all our dreams and poops and barfs everywhere on everyone.  He doesn't understand at all!" 

Husband (pauses, then speaks carefully): "So you don't know the person who wrote this.  And he doesn't know me, or our kid?"

Me (sniffling): "No."

Husband: "Sweetie, I'm going ask you a few questions.  Has our kid ever barfed on anyone other than you and me?"

Me: "No."

Husband: "Did you ever tell The...um Oatmeal that he needs to meet our kid or have his own?"

Me: "No." 

Husband: "I think I can safely say that this thing you just read has absolutely nothing to do with you and you might be upset about something else, or maybe you're caring about what someone else thinks, except that he has never thought about you specifically.  Ever.  He doesn't know who we are, and probably never will."

Me: "That sounds very likely. Why did I think he hates me?"

Husband: "Because you're afraid of people you like not liking you.  And reading this pressed your buttons because you love your baby and you love reading this comic and it caused you some emotional controversy. And you're probably hungry."

*FIN*

There.  My irrationality laid out in theatrical format.   

Reload?

I'm obviously not an experienced blogger.  Why else would I abandon my blog for over a year?  Well, I'm still alive.  Not that anyone would know this from my behavior.  I did the atypical thing you do when you have a kid, and disappeared.  My life goes like this:

- Get up, shower, gather things, wake baby, etc.
- Drive to work, drop off baby at daycare which is 1 mile away from work.
- Work.
- Pick up baby from daycare.
- Do middling grocery chores that didn't get done during the weekend.
- Go home, cook, clean, take care of baby, acknowledge husband.
- Magically get baby to go sleep.
- Acknowledge cats, knit (maybe), poke around online
- Sleep.

REPEAT EVERY DAY.

But thank you, social media, for allowing me to glimpse the lives of my friends and loved ones.  I miss them very much.

Side note: The Golden Fleece (the only physical yarn store I've actually been to in the past couple of years) has closed.  Bummer.