Wooley Snuggles

I've always thought it was odd that Gracie didn't have a lovey. That there was no particular attachment to a blanket, toy or doll.

Over the last few weeks though, one has been building. It is generic. It is to any and all Baa's. Ironic, huh?

This weekend the lovey was solidified. She spent all weekend dolling out hugs and making replica whale noises.




Luckily, it is her Sleep Sheep and can easily be replaced when the time comes.

Open Book

A few months ago I had a background investigation review done for my job.

I’ve gone through these interview and reviews for years. They have never been more than a slight inconvenience. Until this last review.

I assume the investigator never found any issues with my past behavior as I still have my job, but she really did try to find something. She asked me the same questions over and over and over again, during interview after interview after interview. Finally I grew terse with her in a post 5 pm Friday phone call, which for me is as good as yelling.

I never did hear from her again after that call.

The one of questions she kept asking me was, “How come you don't have any friends that knew you before you moved to Maryland?”

This has stuck with me and keeps bouncing around in my head. (Obviously)

I see this as a (perceived) accusation that there is something wrong with me for not having 40 phone numbers programmed into my cell phone and a Facebook page full of people that I don’t know in real life. I kept wanting to defend myself with long explanations, but told myself that it was none of her business. Keep my answers short, she doesn’t need to know WHY I can count the people that I would call my friends on one hand.

Yet, I keep writing this post and then deleting it.

How much information is enough? How much is too much? Is it my right to air my memories of final acts in a forum that they would never be able to respond? Is it my right to air their hurt?

I don’t know. But I am writing this blog for Grace. For my family to know things about me that I might not be able to say to their face. So they can understand me better.

So here I go:

My friends, my true friends, know that I love them. I call them. I smile at them. I talk to them. I include them in my life. I have no secrets from them.

I decided long ago that this would be my mantra.

I believed that friends that drifted away weren’t really friends. I know that friends that would intentionally speak ill of me are not my friends. I have a one strike – maybe two – policy. Any hurt after that will be done to someone else.

- K was my best friend from infancy to grade school. She developed breasts early, which made her popular. I did not, which made me not cool enough for her and the other brassiere wearing legions to hang out with.
o Her final act was convincing me to talk to the most popular boy in school on the playground because he had a crush on me. She made sure everyone stopped to watch and orchestrated a wave of laughter.

- E was my best friend in junior high. She was a new girl from California and had no bias like the rest of the school that I had been with for the last 7 years. In the final weeks of 8th grade, the high school activities recruiters came around. We decided to be band geeks together and she wanted to talk to the cheer squads too. Once we were in high school the social cliques pulled us apart.
o Her final act was telling me that she had to go straight home after school on a half day instead of having lunch with me. So I went out with my dad. She was sitting in the restaurant with a group of girls who whispered when they say me. I knew E felt bad, but she said nothing. They laughed as I walked out.

- D was best friend for the next 3 years in high school. I spent the rest of my freshman year alone. I could never imagine my life without her in it. We did everything together. When I went to college we were still in contact and I gave her a list of friends for her to lean on at her University the following year. She took my advice and went on a date with B on my recommendation.
o My final act was doing nothing. She called me the next night in tears, because she needed someone to talk to. B had assaulted her. No, she didn’t want to call the police. She didn’t want anyone to know. She just needed to talk. So I talked, but I did nothing. She stopped calling me after that and part of me was grateful because I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t make it right. I had hurt her and she had every right to quit me.

- L was my best friend in college. We, again, did everything together. Maybe we did to much together because I never realized what she was doing. I knew she resented that two of her ex-boyfriends asked me on dates after breaking up with her. I always said no, and never told her. I tried to pretend like it never happened, but I knew on some level that she knew.
o Her final act was my realization of the rumors she spread about me. When Matt and I started dating seriously, I questioned him as to why he hadn’t asked me out earlier. He said L told everyone who listened that I was a slut that slept with anyone with a pulse. I asked every. single. mutual friend we had and they all told me the same story.

So that, dear investigator, is why I don’t have tons of friends.

I am cautious of who I let into my life and don’t feel the need to keep friends that don’t make me feel good about myself. I married the one person who has known me the longest and he has never let me down.

The glorious women I have in my life now are solid. You have their names and numbers. Talk to them, they know everything important that there is to know.

All Through the Town

I'm slowly, but surely, becoming what I hate.

OK, hate is a little bit dramatic.

What I've always mocked.

Even after Grace was born, I still stuck by the notion that parents who listen to kiddie music and watch Elmo were suckers. I still believe that, I'm just slowly sinking into the sucker category.

At home the TV is always on. I know, I should have principals against that, but I don't. I like the noise and I'm lazy. However, the TV is on SportsCenter or Style - NOT - kiddie programing.

Monday I broke though. Grace decided that the 3 hour naps she took on Saturday and Sunday meant that she didn't need to sleep on Monday. About 4 hours into the meltdowns I turned on Noggin's Little Bear in the hopes she would at least lay down and snuggle for a few minutes. You know, take a quick break from smacking her head on sharp corners. We made it through one 15 minute episode. Then she was done.

The kiddie music though, oh, I have definitely failed that one.

No, we don't listen to CD's really. At least not kiddie ones. In a pinch, I turn on the CD with her ever present favorite song, I'm Yours. (Yeah, it quickly over took Pink.)

But the singing. The singing!

The child cannot get enough of The Wheels on the Bus. This is amplified by the sudden connection of what a bus is AND the fact that we pass 40 of them on the way to work. (The hazard of working at the junction of two counties and a heavy Metrobus route.)

So now, NOW, we HAVE TO, sing The Wheels on the Bus for at least half an hour each way. If nothing else, there is a quick declaration of 'All two toouwwwm.'

And I comply.

How can I not? It makes her so happy, which makes me happy.

Like I said, I am officially a sucker.

They Say It's Your Birthday...

Traditionally, yellow roses are representative of friendship, joy and well wishes. I guess dad got the joy right, because in our family, yellow roses are birthday roses.

My father is not one for flowers or presents in general, for that matter. As far back as I can remember, either I bought gifts for him to give to my mom, he gave her a horrible one he picked out himself (ehem - can you say roadside emergency kit?) or he just doesn't buy her anything at all. I am 100 precent sure he has never bought a single gift for me himself.

Except for one.

When I was born though, he came to the hospital with roses. As mom tells the story, two dozen perfect yellow roses. One for me and one for her. I have an affinity for yellow roses. In my mind, yellow symbolizes love a million times more than boring old red roses.

Today, a rose bloomed in my back yard.

Friendship At Its Finest

When NES told me this story yesterday, I giggled and thought about creating a post surrounding it.

Now I don't have to. Click on over.

The Town Approved Us to Do What?

Matt and I are planners. And control freaks.

So this is a big weekend for us. We are building a deck around the pool and we are indeed planning, controlling and freaking out.

Sure, we had contractors come out and give estimates, but they wanted SO much money to do it. We got $7,000 estimates for something that is costing us about $1,500 in materials. Combine the price difference with the fact that we have just enough handyman talent to be dangerous, and look out.

Of course, when I am saying 'we' through all this, I mean Matt. Matt is the one with the handyman talent.

My brother loves to (semi) joke that our dad thinks anything can be fixed / created with a screwdriver, hammer and a monkey wrench. When he hung a ceiling fan for them a few years ago, my dad presented him with a screwdriver, hammer and monkey wrench to get the job done. When he (tried) installing a door for them last year, my dad once again gave him said screwdriver, hammer and monkey wrench. The ceiling fan went fine (after a hunt for more tools) while my mom had to purchase another door and hire someone to install it.

Given all this, how am I expected to actually know how to fix anything?

What I lack in technical skills though, I make up for with creativity and vision. I am thinking about doing multiple tones on the deck, which I haven't informed Matt of yet because I know he will think I am crazy and say no, but I guess I just told him - so honey - I am using multiple colors on the deck. It will be pretty. You'll see.

Anyway....

We are building a deck. The materials are being delivered Friday morning. Construction starts 48 hours-ish later. Neighbors beware. There is a racket coming this weekend, and it's a long weekend too, so be prepared for three days of racket (with stoppages from noon to 2pm so our child can sleep).

But don't worry, come August when it is so humid you can't breathe, you now have friends with a deck that will be able to endue hurricane force winds and stain application that looks like something out of a home decorating magazine.

Put Your New Shoes On

OK - I know it must be annoying that I keep writing posts every time Grace gets a new pair of shoes.

It IS a big deal in our house though.

You should see her face when presented with new shoes. She gets so happy. Last night's presentation of the new shoes was greeting with shrieks of Yay! and happy feet stomping, followed by demands to immediately wear them. So long Abigail's.

Not to even mention the amount of time I spent obsessing about this pair, her first real pair of big girl shoes.

No more soft bottoms for Gracie.

In fact, the purchase of these new pretties was moved up by the fact that she had torn a hole in the bottom of her shoes, presumable from the vigorous outdoor play. Franky, I wouldn't want to be running on wood chips wearing slippers anyway, so I had been feeling a little bad that she was doing just that.

So I present the new Pedipeds - the Janines.

Grace has already fallen about a dozen times this morning. Presumably due to the new concept of actual grippers on the bottom of her shoes.

Plus, in keeping with her tradition of taking off her shoes and socks anytime we are in the car, she has also realized that these have removable cushion inserts too. Now, not only do I have to put socks and shoes back on while she kicks at me, I must cram 4 inserts back into the shoes too.

Good times, good times.

Weekend Warrior

February 2007.

It it seems like so long ago, and really for all Matt's effort it was.

Sunday was the start of Matt's 2009 triathlon season. It still makes me giggle a little, the phrase "triathlon season" but I guess it isn't a joke anymore. It never really was for him, but now - now - these triathlons have turned into serious business.

I couldn't be more proud of him. His determination. His perseverance.

His professionalism. ------ (There had been talk of dying his hair the same color as the swim cap to keep the florescent look throughout the race.)

All of his training for bigger and better triathlons left him with a lot of wiggle room during this one.

Of course he was tired.

A 1.5K swim (about 0.9 miles), 40K bike ride (25.5 miles) and 10K run (6.2 miles) will do that to you. He pushed through through the rain and wind - but - he also admitted later that he knew he was doing really well during the run and was tempted to slack off a little.

He didn't.

He powered through and still ran 9 minute miles with energy to spare at the finish line. He shaved 45 minutes off his time from last year. I guess shave isn't the right word. Amputate seems much more appropriate. He chopped it off.

Again, I am so proud. I know how hard he's worked for this. Sure, having spent a little extra money on nicer gear helps, but it isn't anywhere near the top of the line products, and he still has to push through himself. The nice bike doesn't get up to do a 5 am swim, a 12 pm run and a 3 pm bike for him.

It was a winning event for me too.

I found easy in and out parking. I changed a diaper on the ground and in a slight drizzle with little damage. I only ALMOST sent Grace careening down a slick hill into a pit of weeds. (ALMOST, reflexes like a cat.) With Jen's enduring friendship (because it does take a great friend to get up at 5:30 am on the weekend to sit outside in 50 degree rain with you) I / we were able to entertain Grace for 3 hours.

This is the beginning of what I know will be a great summer.

Skin Deep

A colleague called me beautiful today. OK, I exaggerate slightly, she said the color of my hair was beautiful. Still, she used the word beautiful.

I've been thinking about beauty on and off today. Matt tells me that I'm beautiful all the time, but I guess you become slightly immune to your husband saying it. While I know he means every syllable of the word, the cynic in me doubts them.

Why is it, as women, we seem to be programed to look for flaws, picking away at our own warped body perceptions and dismiss contrary declarations as obligation?

Today, I also WANTED to tell someone they were beautiful.

I held back.

I thought / knew that marching up to someone I had just meet 30 seconds earlier in a workplace environment and declaring their beauty would be poorly received. But lord she was beautiful. She had the most exotic, striking face I've ever seen. And I'm sure she looks in the mirror and picks herself apart for it.

When I was about 7 months pregnant with Grace, I was stopped by a stranger outside of the hospital I went to for checkups. As she neared me, I she made direct eye contact with me and smiled. I just have to tell you, she said, you look so beautiful.

I was shocked. I blinked and said thank you. She kept walking in her direction and I in mine.

That comment got me through the next two months with my head held high. Today's comment will get me through the next few months with my head held high again.

I keep thinking about this though. If I don't believe in myself, if I don't think I'm beautiful, what kind of a role model will I be for Grace? If I don't take a compliment from Matt without a sarcastic grunt, why should Grace believe me when I say it to her in the coming years?

So I will start saying it out loud. To myself and others. I believe in karma and I am going to pay this one forward.

For myself.

For others who need to hear it.

For Grace, so she is never surprised to hear the words You Are Beautiful. So she isn't shocked by them. So she believes them.

The Beginning

I felt wise this morning, which doesn't happen all that often. Smart, well smart enough to get through the day unscathed is standard, but wise is rare.

My friend David and his wife just had their first child.

As cubicle neighbors, he spent a lot of time asking overwhelmed, not sure what to expect, first time daddy questions to me. I also spent a lot of time listening to his quasi-private conversations about the baby with his wife. (Because really, if we normally talk through a half wall he must have full knowledge that I can hear every word spoken when its not directed towards me. And frankly the conversations are more interesting than the work infront of me.)

The baby was born last Monday, three weeks early. I knew they weren't prepared. I didn't know that the baby shower had been the day before, but I knew HE wasn't prepared.

Today is David's first day back and he stopped by to show me pictures first thing. His little girl is beautiful. We all look forward to welcoming her into the folds of our little daycare community.

This is where the wisdom comes from.

The ability to look at the red bleary eyes and understand. Truly understand as someone who is not so far removed from those days themselves can only understand. To be able to offer sage advice as someone who has been there and done that. To assure him that taking a nap at your desk on your first day back is perfectly OK.

While in the end I can offer little useful advice since everyone has to feel their way out of the darkness themselves, I can offer my wisdom. My silence. My knowing smile. My friendship.

Congratulations David and welcome Anna.