The Friday Chronicles

It's been a long damn week. The Eagle has been here for eight days now and although I'm still happy to be spending time with her, her overt opinions are driving me a bit nuts. I know she doesn't agree with a lot of our decisions and that she desperately wants us to move back to Pennsylvania. But does that mean she has to proverbially beat me in the head with a two-by-four of it?

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Our car is falling apart. Sitting at a railroad crossing today, my temperature gauge started climbing alarmingly quickly. Luckily, we were already on our way to meet my husband at work and I had him check it out. He threw some water in the radiator and coolant reservoir and then he checked all the other fluids. The prognosis: We need to change the oil and filter, flush the cooling system and start fresh, figure out why the brake fluid is low (which involves taking the brakes apart to see if there's a leak), and change the transmission fluid. All this in addition to the two new front tires we need to replace the ones that are warped and balding. Anybody have a few hundred bucks falling out of their ass? Send it our way.

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I'm pretty sure I'm being haunted. Haunted by a friendly spirit, but haunted nonetheless. I've talked about this before, so this is an addendum. The other night, I was trying to rock Bubba back to sleep in his room and was getting really frustrated because he just would not calm down. Out of nowhere, I felt a hand on my back and it stayed with me for probably 10 seconds or so, swaying with me. I tried shifting a little bit to see if maybe my shirt was just sitting on my back - right between my shoulder blades - but it wasn't. I suspect my dad or aunt Joann, just offering me a little extra support.

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I'm pretty sure I've gained 10 pounds this week. My mom has a sweet tooth and a need to spoil her grandchildren...and me. We've had ice cream, cookies, brownies, candy and potato chips (not sweet, but definitely junk food) all in the last week. How much of this do I normally buy? Ice cream, maaaaybe once a week. I keep a cup on the kitchen counter and I put my spare change in there. Once I have $7.00 or $8.00 saved up, I'll go buy two pints of ice cream. It's the Ice Cream Fund. Like I need one.

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Evidently, I need to leave my comfort zone. With my weekly writing assignment, I generally pick the topic that recalls a memory. I love my memories, I cherish them. I pride myself on having a great long-term memory and I embrace any and all opportunities to remember something from years ago. However, there are those who feel I need to step up my game and try a writing prompt that I'm less okay with. We'll see.

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My son's first birthday party is tomorrow and I have to admit, I'm excited. For as much as I bitch about my in-laws and all their annoying attributes, I like family get-togethers and love focusing on my kids. My son has turned one and he's absolutely amazing. Happy birthday, little man!

Fresh out of the oven...


Four months old...


Eight months old...


Three days ago...

My Weekly Writing Assignment

This week's assignment is as follows:

The Prompts:

1.) Write from the point of view of a glass at the edge of the table.

2.) Describe a typical day during your Jr. High years.

3.) Why do you write?

4.) When I'm around too much negativity I...

5.) You've been hired as a writer for "Late Show with David Letterman." Your first assignment is to come up with a witty, nonpolitical Top Ten list for him to read on air.

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A Typical Day in April of 1993, Spring of my 7th Grade Year

I wake up at 7:00 a.m. because I had to be on the bus at 7:45 a.m. Yes, I only gave myself 45 minutes. For some reason, it took me a lot less time to get ready back then. Maybe it's because I didn't have kids OR a giant purse. Hm. Anyway, I got my shower and headed back upstairs, turned on the 1"-barrel curling iron and got dressed. I was probably wearing a pair of straight-leg jeans that were docked, a dark green turtleneck bodysuit (you remember them - just like a baby's onesie but a lot bigger and more chic, ha ha) and an oversized white cardigan sweater. Then I did my hair: I pulled it back into a slick ponytail and doused my bangs with hairspray. I wrapped the top half of them around the curling iron, rolled it back, and held it for a few seconds and released. Curled the other half of them down. Then I properly feathered the top half and re-sprayed, just for insurance purposes. Don't need flat bangs by lunch!

I grabbed my backpack, skipped breakfast completely because I wasn't hungry and I didn't have time anyways because I'd redone my bangs four times just to achieve the proper height and proportion. Ran out to the corner and hopped on the bus just as it came up the sidestreet to pick up me and Kim, my neighbor and good friend who was two years my senior.

My school day, though littered with eight classes and a lunch period (this was in the days before block scheduling and different classes in different semesters; we had eight periods a day, same classes all school year long), was spent SOCIALIZING. Seriously folks, for every ounce of nerd in me existed an ounce of wanting to be liked. I was a joiner. That year, I'd participated in junior high basketball, junior high intramural volleyball, marching band, concert band and concert choir. Okay, I only lasted about six weeks into basketball. Evidently, you need to be in the know as far as rules of the game and how the game is played in order to not be last-ditch, gotta-be-fair-and-let-them-have-court-time third string. Hm.

I wrote notes. I now half-heartedly and somewhat sheepishly refer to myself as a writer when in close company - in other words, in front of people who won't laugh at that idea - and I earned a degree in it, so my note-writing obsession was probably just a little hint of what was to come. I used to save my notes. Up through the end of college, I kept an old Utz Pretzel jar in my closet with a batch of notes from grades 7-12. I finally trashed them when I met my husband. Fire hazard, anyone?

I chased boys, although I went about it in completely the wrong way. I thought my best way in was to be a friend first. This failed in multiple ways, but none that I was aware of until I was much older. To begin with, once you're a friend, it very rarely transpires to anything more, especially with teenage boys. And then you end up being the girl the guy goes to when he's have problems with the girl he actually likes, and that girl isn't you. Then you feel like crap for weeks. Finally, I realized that the whole "friend" thing was an easy way out for the guy: he didn't have to tell me what he really thought about me. I'm thinking those things varied: you're not interesting, you have a bad attitude (actually heard this once), you're fat, blah blah blah. Stupid boys.

Boy-chasing was actually a full-time extracurricular among my friends and I. Isn't it that way for most 13-year-olds? Now I can look back and laugh about it, but I was an overly open book about my crushes and all it brought me was humiliation. Ugh. When people ask if I could go back to high school and do it all over...HELL NO! It was awful enough the first time, I'm not that much of a masochist to want to relive it.

Finally, at the end of a day full of note-taking, note-writing, and crush-obsessing, I'd go home, crank out the homework uber-fast and then get on the phone to talk to all my friends about the day's events. There are two things I do well now: write and talk. It was no different at 13.

And so we've turned the corner...

...in mom's visit, that is. The niceties are more or less done and now it's back to the way we were five and a half years ago when Rob and I still lived with her. We're butting heads. She's refusing to accept that I'm now a mother and am perfectly capable of raising and disciplining my own children and is constantly trying to overrule me with my own kids. At least once an hour, I find myself saying, "Mom, stop. I've got this."

Last night, things reached kind of a head. It started with a disagreement about MyCoke Rewards. She's of the opinion that Coca-Cola is discriminating against people who don't own a computer because you can only do MyCoke Rewards online. "What about those of us who don't want a computer or can't afford one?" she asks. I say, "Well, if you choose not to buy a computer, then it's your choice to not have online contests available to you in your home. What's to stop you from walking two small-town-sized blocks to the library? I'm sure the librarian would be happy to show you how to go to the website and enter teh codes. Same goes for those who can't afford a computer."

Her response? "Well, it's still not fair. What if I don't want to go to the library?"

Oh. My. God. "Then it's your loss." She says, "They should have a 1-800 number to call and enter codes." I say, "Then how would you see all the rewards?" She says, "Well, they could print them on the inside of the box." I say, "There are, like, thousands of rewards and contests. That's an impossibility." She says, "Well, they need to figure something out. It's discriminatory."

I nearly choked on my tongue I was trying so hard not to push it. Then there was the argument about a story we saw on the news. Reader's Digest version: an older woman's house went into foreclosure in February, she was ordered to be out by the end of August. August came, she left, and then repeatedly broke back into her home. Her reason? She didn't know what else to do. Finally, yesterday, police broke down her door and arrested her because she refused to leave.

Mom's take: That poor lady. So sad.

My take: Well, that sucks for her but she had six months to figure out what to do and where to go. I'm sure her mortgage-lenders could have pointed her in the right direction and if they didn't, she could have talked to the local housing authority or homeless shelters. They all have resources for people in her position. What stopped her?

Mom's response to that: A bunch of huffing and puffing about how old the woman was, how she maybe didn't know who to talk to, how upsetting it must have been.

My response to mom: In six months, she couldn't find one person to point her in the right direction? I'm sorry she's in this situation but it's her fault she didn't do something to secure a landing place in the six months they gave her.

Mom's response to me: I'm sorry to hear you say that and I'm sorry to see you thinking that way.

[Big, deep, calming breath and a slow count to ten to stop me from flipping my lid.]

STOP TRYING TO BLAME EVERYONE EXCEPT WHO'S ACTUALLY TO BLAME! It's not Coca-Cola's fault you don't have a computer and it's not their responsibility to ensure your participation in their online rewards program. It's not the police department's fault, nor is it her lender's fault, that the old lady in Oakland couldn't contact the local housing authority during her six-month grace period and that she was dumb enough to keep breaking and entering a house that was no longer hers. She was trespassing and she deserved to be arrested.

RAWR! I feel a little better. Thanks for asking. In other news, I decided to shut my yap - for a change - and graciously allow my stepmother-in-law to bring the pizzas. Can't hurt, right? Mom and I are making homemade mac 'n cheese with cornbread tonight. I haven't had homemade mac 'n cheese in YEARS. Yay!

Oh, and my son has a new word. He can say "cookie."

And that's all the news in Darcieland.

Apparently, I'm just not capable.

Of planning and hosting a one-year-old's birthday party, that is. Originally, what Rob and I planned was cake and ice cream at 2 p.m., our place. Grandparents and immediate cousins invited, that's it, that's all. Nothing fancy, nothing big, and nothing costly. We haven't been exactly flush with money lately but we want to throw our son his first birthday party. We can swing cake, ice cream and some soda.

So I email the west-coast grandparents to let them know the details. Here's a copy-n-paste from her - my stepmother-in-law's - response:


"...Yeppums, we will be there!! Is there a little Cesar's nearby to your place w/the $5 pizza's?? If so we can buy a couple (3 or 4) there for Saturday afternoon as a contribution to the feed I think, or we can pick some up in [their town] & warm them up in [our town]. And maybe [brother-in-law] can bring something too like a few liter bottles of soda, diet & regular (probably less than $10), then [my mom's] help would maybe be less needed that way since she's already paid for an airline ticket to come visit. Maybe she could buy some chips or something, or salad to go along with the Pizza?? Something cheap & easy...prebagged salad of course!..."

Let me preface my rant with this: I appreciate generosity. I do. And I appreciate the gesture.

But what you all don't know is that she always does this. She can't let someone else control a party she's attending. For every one of Beth's birthday parties, she couldn't let me run the show. For her first birthday, we were going to cake and ice cream, with some chips and dip and soda, in the mid-afternoon. Simple. The kid was one, there were no other kids at the party. What does she do? She nabs up two pans of wannabe Chinese food leftovers from one of their church thingies and whips up a green salad.

For Beth's second birthday, we were going to do the same thing. They insisted on bringing extra chips and soda. For her third birthday, we went all out. Chicken, pizza, chips, dips, cake, ice cream, beer, soda, etc. Good times! What does she do? Brews a pot of coffee and throws her homemade salsa out on the counter. She just can't relinquish total control! She has to have her hand in everything. Fucking irritating!!!

So this year, I announce cake and ice cream because again, the kid's only one and the only other child in attendence will be our three-year-old who only cares about the cake. And what you see in the italicized paragraph is her reaction. I don't know of a tactful way to say, "Stop trying to control and design my kids' birthday parties! Their our kids! Just come, enjoy the company, and eat some cake. Then go home. This isn't your party to throw!"

Oy.

I just don't understand her need to do this. After watching her control family gathering after birthday party after family gathering after holiday...you'd think I'd be used to it. Why can't she respect what we've decided and just leave it at that? Does anyone have any insight to this phenomenon or how to approach her about it?

A Year Ago Today...

Let's see...what was I doing one year ago today? I was running errands. We were living in a town about 45 miles from where we were running all our errands but since I was due - to give birth to my son - any day and the hospital I was delivering it was in the vicinity, we figured it was safe enough. Around noon, we stopped at Hell-Mart Wal-Mart and I noticed things felt a little different. I mentioned it in passing to my husband but brushed it off as wishful thinking.

Then, for lunch we went to China Cook - a fanTAStic Chinese take-out place in Hayward. Because I was a gestational diabetic, I had to go with egg foo yong and a medium hot & sour soup. I love hot & sour soup. I was trying all the old wives' tales to induce labor: sex, castor oil (Yes, I really did try it. Nothing happened. NOTHING.), rides on bumpy roads, walking, and spicy food, which is what landed me at the hot & sour soup. Two nights before, I'd had the Prego Pizza from Skipolini's. I had high hopes...but nothing had happened.

We got home around 4 p.m. and I made dinner which, if memory serves, was kielbasa. I started feeling contractions around that time. By 7 p.m. they were pretty bad, so I took a shower and called the hospital. We took off around 8 p.m. and I endured a hellish ride to the hospital. It only took about half an hour but it felt like three hours because we were on 580 west, possibly the bumpiest, crappiest road in the east bay. We got to the hospital around 9 p.m.

They checked me in and put me on Skid Row in the observation room - just click on "Observation Room" to the right - to make sure I was truly in labor. Yeah, I KNOW. I can barely stand up, I'm hollering for an epidural, but they need to be sure I'm in labor. 'Kay.

Turns out, I was about 7 centimeters. Transition time. They had me in the L&D room - just click on "Birthing Suite" - within minutes and I was going through an awfully quick labor. Despite my begging and pleading for an epidural, the nurse anesthetist took her sweet-ass time, asking me the same series of questions at least three times, and finally tried to administer it when I was NINE CENTIMETERS. Who waits that long?

The epi never took and about five minutes later, I started pushing. I was in horrible, shiver-inducing pain. Most of the pain centered around my left hip and lower back. Terrible. At 12:10 a.m. on October 28, eight short hours after my contractions began, my son was born. I posted this today because I spent the 27th in labor. Seemed fitting. Just after midnight tonight, I'll tiptoe into my son's room and stroke his hair and cheek and whisper "Happy birthday, Budda-Boy."

That's right: Budda-Boy. My nickname for him.

The day before I went into labor.

The Friday Chronicles

Well, it's been a busy week and not a lot has transpired, save for the organization and disinfection of my home and a trip to San Francisco International Airport whence I picked up The Eagle. With that said, only two weeks into my new "tradition" of posting The Friday Chronicles, I'm going to thieve this idea from Mimi because it sounds like fun. I love reminiscing!

So my crushes from, we'll say, 1992 - I turned 13 that year - were, in no particular order...



Tommy Puett! What? You don't remember him? He was Becca's boyfriend - before Jesse came along - on the TV show "Life Goes On." HOT. At least he was in the very early '90s.



Yeah, I'll admit it. I was a fan of Jeremy Miller, who played Ben Seaver on "Growing Pains." And not only was I a fan, I was a member of his fan club. Oh yeah, it was bad. Ha ha.



Bret Michaels baby! I searched and searched for the same poster I had on my bedroom wall, but apparently nobody felt like posting it online. He was the bad boy in my would-be man harem.



Mmm. Actually, all the guys in 90210 were yummy, but I drooled extra hard for this guy. Ever seen "8 seconds?" You should. I have a thing for guys in cowboy hats. My husband owns two. *wink*

So tell me. Who were your crushes when you were 13?

The Eagle Has Landed

She's here and so far, so good. No comments about my weight, our financial stupidity, or any decisions we've made, save for a few remarks on how she can't believe - and for which she gives us credit - we've stuck out California for over five years.

We did some shopping, got Chinese take-out, and have vegged all night watching TV. We'll see how tomorrow goes.