My hollow leg


Well, not mine, but Harry’s. It’s currently half-past noon and in about four hours’ time, Harry has eaten one breakfast taco with egg and bean, part of another scrambled egg, about 2 cups of popcorn, a peanut butter sandwich, about 4 ounces of lemonade, 2 ounces of a banana and soymilk smoothie, and one cat treat. This is more than I ever see him eat on a typical weekend day. I suspect a growth spurt is the culprit, but it’s just really fascinating to see how much he’ll eat.

It’s been a long morning, and I’m really looking forward to naptime. We went to our usual farmer’s market, but I had a hankering for the very delicious (and very expensive) blackberry jam sold by a vendor that has since moved to a different Saturday market. So, after breakfast and a trip to the Habitat Re-store, we went to the downtown market for the jam. That’s a lot of running around for a Saturday morning, and I’m wiped, but will soon be happy to enjoy an apple scone slathered with homemade blackberry jam. YUM.

Advertisements

Stop the insanity!!!


Back when I was pregnant with Harrison, there were a few moments that convinced me I was carrying a boy (and I was right!). I was working at California Pizza Kitchen (AKA Hell’s Kitchen) at the time and there were times when I was filled with irrational rage disproportionate to the stimulus. Despite my good feminist, academic training, I just knew that my rage could be attributed to the testosterone building up inside me because of the boy baby. The ultrasound confirmed my suspicions.

So, if that logic, faulty as it appears on the surface, follows, this baby is a girl and will be a DRAMA. MAMA. I cannot tell you how many times in the past three days I have burst into tears at the slightest provocation, how many times my teeny little lizard brain has convinced me that my husband is an EVIL, EVIL brute WHO DOESN’T LOVE ME and is acting like a COMPLETE JACKASS just to SPITE ME and make me cry, or that the world in general is out to get me. I swear, it’s like I’m 13 again, all teary eyes, sulky pout and slamming doors.

This morning, my OB was running late, so I rescheduled the appointment for next week. However, I did not make it under the wire for the 15 minute grace period for the hospital parking garage, so I had to write a fucking check for a fucking dollar. “You’re charging me $1 for a cancelled appointment?” I asked the attendant. “Hey, it’s a different company,” he said, unsympathetically.

Seriously, I’d been parked for about 17 minutes, and it took me 5 of those minutes just to get to the damn exit gate. So, I wrote the check, having given my last cash dollar to an overheated panhandler in traffic yesterday. And yes, I did write “YOU SUCK” in the memo line of the check. And then I called my husband in tears over the whole kafuffle. I swore then and there that not only would I not give another dime to the parking company (I WILL park and walk to the next appointment!), but I will also deduct $1 from the copay next week and explain to them that they do indeed owe me that dollar, dammit. “I’m glad you’re handling this so well,” said Matt.

Fortunately, I was laughing by the end of the conversation, AND I made it to the early prenatal yoga class on time thanks to the cancellation. And then I had tacos and tried to let myself into a car identical to mine afterward … while the owner of said car looked on from about three feet away. My car was two spots down. I need a bumper sticker or something.

This post brought to you by too much caffeine and a lack of ability to concentrate on my diss chapter revisions.

$%!#$!#% Rodents!


I’m hoping a gardening expert can help me out here. I’ve got my first-ever garden thriving in my backyard — so far we’ve harvested 4 plump jalapenos that are destined to be salsa later today. I’ve got 8 heirloom tomato plants and 4 heirloom eggplants.

Until this week, all of my plants were thriving. I had 9 tomatoes ripening on their vines, although none of them ever reddened, and my eggplants are about to go crazy. My problem is that the tomatoes are disappearing. I now only have one tomato, still green, hanging out in the garden. I imagine it will soon be gone.

I suspect that squirrels are the culprit, but I’ve not yet witnessed any critters doing any actual pillaging. We have a scare cat in the bed, but it’s clearly not working to keep critters at bay. How else do I manage these thieves? I’m not going to poison them — I won’t have that on my conscience. Is my best bet to just enclose the whole shebang in chicken wire?

Please help, as my dreams of fresh-picked tomatoes sliced and sprinkled with salt, homemade pasta sauce, caprese salad, and bruschetta are quickly dying!

Shameless self-promotion


Looking for the perfect gift for the Gilmore Girls fan in your life? Have I got the book for you!

Dissertating for fun and profit


So, I’m sat at a favorite coffee shop that has a really yummy bagel sandwich (hummus, fresh veggies, chips and salsa on the side) and a vegan carrot cake that I want to marry and I’m making a little progress on my current chapter. I feel this horrible pressure to whip it into shape now, since I submit these pages to my dissertation group on Monday; we’ll meet next Friday for them to shred it. I just don’t want to look like an idiot in front of my peers and my diss co-chair, ya know? Suddenly I’m reliving the days of seminar-paper crunches, when we had three 20+page papers due within a one-week timeframe. Eeek! Except I feel like the stakes are higher with the dissertation chapter, obv. And I’m not even going on the market this year!

I’ve obviously got to do some carrot-and-sticking here. L and I are planning to see a matinee of Baby Mama tomorrow afternoon. So, I’ve got to get 4-5 more pages out of myself between now and then in order to make that happen. Okay, maybe three. Yeah, three.

And now I’m going to say something really politically incorrect: West Virginia? Not so interested in what brown can do for you, eh? Way to bust stereotypes, folks.

Oh man


I didn’t realize that my MIL had sent this book in a large collection last month. Tonight, Harry pulled it out of the bookshelf, wanting me to read it to him. I burst into tears on the spot, much to his puzzlement. I cried off and on for the next 15 minutes … I don’t know how anyone can get through that book without falling to bits, but maybe the requirement is that you’re not a hormonal mess 99.99999% of the time.

Holy wow


I know it’s been a while, and this post will be unsatisfactory for those craving a more substantial update, but I’ve got to hustle down to the liberry to return some recalled books (and maybe regulate those damn slackadaisical undergrads for not checking in a book that I returned AGES ago but have yet still received a recall notice for) and then go to a MANDATORY orientation for the English class I’ll be teaching next year. woo!

Anyhoo, just wanted to come on here and say that my good friend S and I saw Made of Honor last night and seriously? I don’t think I’ll be able to look at McDreamy the same way ever, ever again. But at least it was a bonding experience.

Watched Michael Clayton on DVD over the weekend — now THAT’S a good movie. Check it out.

Funny things Harry has said recently:

to Matt: “This is my friend Mommy.”

to a woman in a wheelchair (blessedly out of earshot): “Lady! You need to wear a helmet!”

to Matt at Home Depot: “We need to get some dirt so baby sister* can grow!”

*we don’t know if Baby Boo is a brother or sister yet. Stay tuned.